Blankets are exactly what Tarn wants right now. He snatches one up, not because he cares that he's exposed in public, but because they're dry and pre-warmed by the fire.

"Tarn." It's barely an introduction, but honestly Zarya is lucky that she even gets that much information.

As his body begins to warm, Tarn's hands regain their feeling. He hisses as his frostbitten fingers begin to burn, pulling them up to his chest. Are they going to fall off? Is he dying?