Blaine was in the same situation only a short while ago -- tromping through the snow, getting colder and wetter as he went, headed for the Inn. He doesn't have anything in the way of appropriate clothing, either, and a lower body temperature to start with. He is actually in danger of freezing through if he's out for too long in the cold, and so has stationed himself by the fire. There's another seat across from him which is good because he's not going to want to give up this one. He's scooted it even closer than it was meant to be, and has a mug of coffee in one hand and a tiny croc-dog in his lap, idly petting it with one hand.

Does he look a bit like a popsicley supervillain? Perhaps. Trade the mug for a glass of wine, that's more his aesthetic, but right now warmth is the important thing.

When the door bangs open again Blaine looks up, and the man that comes in and bangs snow off his shoes has an expression that Blaine knows he did after his little stroll as well. He stops petting Bruno for a moment to gesture grandly at the newcomer. Over here, rando, there's a fire. We like fire.