It seemed Max would have no need of his briefcase, but the Thermos full of hot coffee was sounding more appealing by the second, especially with the wind howling outside. It had seemed a bit nippy this morning, but now it was downright freezing out there. Max hadn't brought anything more than a light scarf, which seemed pretty inadequate. 

He slipped his notebook and Thermos into his jacket pocket, took the shofar by its leather thong and hung it from his shoulder, there for when he needed it quickly. After a moment's hesitation, Max lifted his jacket and removed his revolver from the hip holster he wore it in under his clothes- Maine, as it turned out, had no concealed carry law and a demon could strike at any time. He checked it carefully, observing all the rules of gun safety, making sure it was in working order and loaded. The Smith and Wesson was distinctly unmagical, loaded with plain old .44 special rounds. He disliked carrying it, and he doubted it would be much use against the bulk of supernatural creatures. It was a last resort, intended to be used on himself just in case one of the demons he summoned decided to take him for a ride. But one needs more than just good intentions to go face an unknown enemy.

Satisfied that his weapons were prepared, Max walked down to the armory just as Glory was asking about snow shovels. "The girl has a good point," he said, knotting his scarf around his neck. "If we're expected to walk straight into Cocytus itself, a shovel is likely to do us more good than all the AR-15s in the world," he said with a dismissive wave towards a rack of rifles. His eyes lit on a stack of military grade E-tools- small, lightweight, folding shovels. "Now this is the ticket," he said, taking one for himself and offering a second to Glory. "Maria, my dear, you will of course receive remuneration in full for the use of your fine stock. Case in point," he said as he helped himself to a rack of heavy winter clothing. A wool greatcoat (maybe half a size too small, but beggars can't be choosers, especially when they're 6'7") was slipped over Max' suit and the collars turned up, a pair of Gore Tex gloves were slipped over his hand- thick enough to keep his hands warm but thin enough to turn pages in his notebook. Excellent. "Now for a hat," Max mused, looking through the available options. Pickings in his size were slim.

It took a moment of searching, but with a groan he found a hat that would fit him and keep him warm- a knit cap. Normally a tight-fitting wool cap with ear flaps would be an excellent choice, but this one was perhaps too cheerful- not only was it a bright orange-red, but decorated with plush felt-lined fox ears. Like something a fourteen-year-old girl would wear. "Why is this even here? I thought we were professionals," Max sighed as he discovered it was a perfect fit for his head. He would have to wear it. "I look ridiculous, don't I," he said to the room at large, ear flaps dangling over the shoulders of his somber suit and greatcoat.