Dustin eyes him back, gaze level and calculating, although he really doesn't have to think too hard about whether this guy - turtle? Turtle guy - is being honest. Someone with Donatello's physiology cannot be comfortable in this kind of weather. He needs to do something before those fingers start to freeze off.

Dustin lets out another heavy, long-suffering sigh. "The Agriculture Building is significantly warmer than ambient and just across the plaza," he says, starting to clear out the pockets of his jacket. Handfuls of various junk are shuttled into the satchel sitting at his waist, ranging from piles of screws and a screwdriver, to empty glass vials, to a half-completed breadboard with unsecured wires trailing from the underside. Then he hefts the bag off and, reluctantly, also his jacket.

"Take this," Dustin continues, holding the coat at arm's length. "It'll keep you from freezing to death before you get there."