Kalma
"I don't dive with newbies."

"Good thing I'm not a newbie!"

Tommy lets out a long sigh. He felt like he was starting to get much too old for this, and the sheer energy vibrating off the short, young man in front of him was giving him pain behind his eyeballs. He looks at the young man from head to toe, a little jealous of the youthful spark in his eyes. That excitement and foolish thought that dungeon diving was a grand adventure out of a storybook, rather than a gruesome job someone had to do. He was certain the young man had never seen a dungeon in his life, and probably thought he would instantly go into the depths and find a princess to save or dragon to slay, coming back with more riches than he could carry.

A fool, Tommy thought to himself, meeting the gaze of the brown eyes.

"So you have dived before? And not just read about it in some bedtime storybook." He questions, wondering if Francisco had ever even left his home village before.

Dungeons were not for the weak of heart, and he had seen young men like him a hundred times before. Thirteen in a dozen. They thought they were all that, often coming in with their shiny armour and hired mercenaries in tow so they can tell tall tales of how they slayed a beast and bring home the loot.

In truth they would scream at the first sight of slime and have their hired hands do all the heavy lifting. He'd been one of those hired hands plenty of times. Just because 'Frankie' didn't have a slew of servants and shiny armour, he shared the same foolish setup: he thought this would be easy. A job for anyone.

He would learn soon that the dungeons may call to many, but not everyone should answer.

mvseratii
"Well," Frankie starts with a peculiar sing-song to his tone as he does, "no but I've heard plenty of stories from my papa."

Which doesn't equate to hands-on experience in the dungeons. But his papa's stories were told in such vivid detail it made it easy to insert himself into the memories; he could see the weathered marble of castles crumbled centuries ago, he can see the ancient tree standing guard over her chambers, and even deeper still where the dwarves forged their lives and where spirits rest. However foolish to think he wasn't particularly new to the dungeons, they weren't a foreign concept to him.

"He liked to visit them all the time," he barrels on, not waiting for a reply. "My mama, she didn't like it very much. Not so much the fear he wouldn't return but having to deal with me on her own."

Their home, meager as it is, is stocked to the brim with spoils his papa would bring home from the dungeons. Gold, artifacts, scrolls he couldn't read... it didn't matter to him, and Frankie would be a fool to not continue where his father left off. Older now and unable to adventure on account of an injury that never healed correctly, there wasn't anyone left in the family willing to risk it. Except for Frankie.

"So," Frankie continues, grinning up at Tommy with a smile that swells the apples of his cheeks and crinkles the corners of his eyes, "how long have you been going in? Since you're not a newbie."

Kalma
"Hearing stories-" He starts, but the young man barrels on. Of course.

With youth comes a brash nature, and Frankie seemed to be bursting with it. He thought he knew better than everyone else because he had heard stories. He was so excited to share, to make Tommy understand and see just how different he was. Except he's not all that different, he is just like every other young man who has done the same exact thing as he has over the years.

It was good to know that Frankie's father would do dives as well - explains where his enthusiasm for it came from. Generational diving was nothing new, but he had to wonder why Frankie doing it on his own. He should be diving with his father, if he was such an experienced visitor. Tommy hoped there wasn't some quest of vengeance attached to Frankie's exuberant attitude.

Something about Frankie's grin annoyed him. It was too bright, too big for his small face; like the amount of energy he had. It was too much; all of Frankie was too much, like he couldn't be contained in his own body. Maybe a cruel joke of the gods to put so much energy into someone so short.

"Longer than you've been alive," he says with a curt tone. It was likely true - he had been diving for a very long time by now. The many years of diving had all blended together and he had no idea how long it actually had been. When he started, he was one of those young men, eyes bright and full of hope and excitement. Expecting to get his big break as an adventurer and etch his name in the stone, find buried treasures and return home as a folklore hero.

Instead, he was still here, worlds away from what he used to call home; now he wondered if the dungeons were closer to a home to him than the topside was. The years had not been kind to Tommy, and his experience was evident on his body. What hair he had left on his head, was no longer black but mixed with greys and whites. His skin was weathered and deep lines had formed on his face whenever he furrowed his brows and his short facial hairs were mixed with greys, though still looking more black than grey for now. He kept himself in good shape, finding being lean beneficial when navigating the dungeons. His tall and lean frame hadn't saved him from every scrape, though - he had several scars adorning his body, mostly hidden by clothing.

His clothes were old, but he liked them; they were broken in. The leather fit him like a glove, forming to the shapes of his body like a second skin and on top he had a thin but weatherproof cloak so he could hide his face and keep his head dry when running into bouts of water or rain. A small rucksack on his back held necessities as well as a simple bedroll he could lay down anywhere and discard if he absolutely had to.

He takes another look at Frankie, who had seemingly decided that they will be going in together, whether Tommy wanted or not. He could always try to lose Frankie within the early levels of the dungeon, but that felt like an asshole move and could potentially leave the young man in danger - Tommy had seen enough companions die to not let the newbie go off on his own.

He wasn't exactly sure what the feeling in his belly was; it wasn't the more usual feeling of pity. It was something else that he struggled to define.

"Do you have all of your supplies? If you insist on coming along, then you need to be able to keep up," he tries to sound harsh and uncaring, but there was a tinge of something else in his voice.

The longer he looked at Frankie, the harder it was for him to keep his usual stony outlook in place. He refused to care for some overenthusiastic rookie, but Frankie was like a siren song, irresistible to him.

mvseratii
"I promise I'm not going off of story alone," he reassures with that same bright smile on his face, "papa helped as much as he could. I know it's not the same, but..."

His enthusiasm towards seeing the kingdom for himself never wanes even though his companion doesn't share the same level of excitement as he does. There isn't any room for doubt now; he's paid the mercenary fee to hire one of the more notable dungeoneers - he thinks this one is Logue, evident by his sandy brown hair and bright smile when he looks over towards them - and if he turned back now, he doesn't think he could face the disappointment in his father's eyes when he comes home empty-handed with his tail tucked between his legs.

Still, it isn't the fear of disappointment that drives him towards the dungeons. There is something inside him that ties him to them so thoroughly, he doesn't think he'd ever be able to resist their call. It feels worse now that he's actually here, more intense in a way he hasn't yet experienced, but it doesn't feel scary. It feels solid, resolute. Safe.

"I doubt that," he says in obvious disbelief, his expression twisting up into something playful. "You don't look that old."

In contrast, Frankie doesn't look like he'd be fresh into his twenties; a little too baby-faced, having yet to shed some of the baby fat that rounds out his cheeks, and his eyes are too bright in the absence of dungeon horrors. It hadn't swayed Logue's decision to bring him along on the journey, handsome mercenary fee be damned, but next to a pair of seasoned veterans it looked like they bringing a child along to work.

"Logue has been checking everything to make sure," he explains with a sweeping motion of his hand. The aforementioned mercenary is perched on a makeshift bench around a campfire hastily thrown together with some underbrush and he's busy sorting everything out on a mat made of crude leather. The more abundant of the rationed supplies obviously belongs to the young merc, and what meager supplies Frankie had brought with him lay parallel next to them: enough food to see him through a couple days if properly budgeted, bandages if need be, and a few small vials containing a mystery liquid and salve, respectively.

Laughing, the merc has to fight off the sniffing nose of a small fox interested in a handful of cubed cheeses.

"That's Joaquin," Frankie says, motioning towards the fox. "I found him when he was a baby. I didn't want to bring him but he insisted! I could not get him to stay home for anything."

When he looks back at Tommy, his expression slowly lights up once more. He can feel it, how close they are to heading out. The way his heart starts beating a little faster, the way his fingers start to tremble when he brings his hands underneath the cover of his cloak, how the hairs on his arms prickle with an electricity that sweeps through his veins and settles warmly behind the rungs of his ribcage. He shifts a little closer to Tommy then and turns to face the mercenary, watching as he starts to pack everything up.

"I think I'm ready as I'll ever be," Frankie says eventually. He looks up at Tommy again, bright and eager. "How about you, old man?"

Kalma
The young man's promises and words of reassurance that his father helped him get ready didn't weigh much in Tommy's mind. He had seen it too many times before, but at least Frankie had the sense of hiring someone else to go with them. He recognized Logue, he had seen him in both passing and in some paid dives together - he was a solid sort, not the worst of the mercenaries that were out there for sure. He knew Logue would make sure his young client would come back alive. He liked Logue's attitude, he was open to adventure but had his feet on the ground about it. He never lied to his clients in the way he knew some others would, promising them untold treasure and taking them to places nobody else had ever been to.

He nods his head to the young man in approval of his preparations. Hiring someone level-headed and experienced was probably the best decision Frankie had made so far in Tommy's eyes.
"You look young enough," he retorts when Frankie suggests he didn't look old enough to be diving longer than Frankie had been alive. The young

man had boyish charm to him, still holding some almost child-like features. His skin was clean and pristine, his hair clean and freshly cut; he was no aristocrat but he came from a good family, Tommy could tell. His short stature didn't help his case, but his body was of someone's who had done real labour before, not some rich child doted in a castle who kept himself in shape by having little hunts in the woods every so often.

"Yes, I suppose he has." There was a veer of judgement in his voice, unspoken suggestion that Frankie should've known to check his own equipment and bring things himself rather than trust his hired help to do everything for him. He would learn in time, Tommy huffed to himself and fixed the strap of his rucksack, getting ready to leave.

Logue's laughter awakens him from his thoughts and he looks up to see the mercenary play with a little fox, not native to the area. He furrows his brows, but before he can ask about it Frankie pipes in. Of course Frankie would bring a fox with him on his first adventure. He tries to stop himself from rolling his eyes in judgement, holding his tongue from making commentary about how dangerous it was to bring pets into deep dives. None of them knew how the fox would react into going into the dungeon, or how it would react to the dangers they were to face.

He tried to remind himself, at the end of the day it was not his responsibility - what Frankie did and where his pet ended up weren't burdens on his shoulders, they were on Logue's, but something tugged at his innards when he thought of Frankie sprinting after his fox into some dark corridor or tiny hole in the wall without thinking twice.

With Logue getting ready and having everything packed, they were ready to go. The entrance they had chosen was a familiar one, he knew how to get down to the lower levels fairly easily without expecting too many encounters or dangerous pathways before reaching an area that would have potential loot to it.

He frowns at Frankie's comment, familiar annoyance settling on his face. " I thought I wasn't that old. " He shakes his head, looking towards the way of the entry.

" I think best option is that either I or Logue scout in first, you and your... pet hold the middle and then the other of us holds the rear. That way if something comes up front, you aren't immediately in danger and same if something tries to attack from behind. " He logics out their order of entrance, leaving out the part where he called the young man princess in his mind and thought of him like a noble in their carriage.

Hired help in the back and front doing all the heavy lifting and dirty work, and the higher class person safely in the middle.

mvseratii
"What would you know about my age?" he asks with a grin, bumping his shoulder playfully against Tommy's arm.

But there is a noticeable look of both fatigue and experience that decorates him, that gives Frankie pause enough to think maybe it was possible he'd been exploring the dungeons long before Frankie had ever thought about coming into being. Weathered as he may be, Frankie thinks he appears to be in good shape otherwise even if the underground haunts gather themselves in the lines crinkled between his brow and around the corners of his eyes.

Regardless, it settles some of his nerves knowing he'd be delving into the kingdom with people intimate with them - no matter how unenthusiastic Tommy seemed at the idea of bringing along a newbie - so he'd be able to experience the fairytales with relative freedom. These people know what they were doing and knew what to expect, wouldn't lead him astray when there was so much on the line; he'd be able to take the dungeon in proper, drink his fill until he's full-up on the experience and the insight and hopefully the glittering spoils as well.

Even if he came back empty-handed, it wouldn't matter much to him. He was just eager to enter the world his papa had painted for him since he was a babe.

"I wouldn't worry about him," Frankie says, motioning towards the fox. "You've heard the stories, yeah? He wouldn't be the first to go digging for gold around here."

Joaquin continues his hunt for cheese, paying no mind to the hands shooing him away. Logue isn't concerned by him; after several attempts at nipping a piece of cheese from the folded-up cloth, the merc takes Joaquin's head in a single large palm and gives it a playful wiggle until the fox yips in annoyance and grabs his wrist between gentle teeth. It gets the point across: Joaquin sniffs one last time at the cheese cubes before turning away to chew on the frayed edges of the merc's cloak.

"Ah, you are not that old," he reminds, looking away from Joaquin and Logue to peer up at Tommy again. "You haven't retired yet so you mustn't be, like, ancient or on your deathbed yet. So you're a nice young man. Well, maybe nice isn't the right word."

He glances towards the dungeon entryway, natural stone giving way to finely-crafted blackstone weathered by the passage of time. In the distance, he can hear the phantom sounds of dwarves past working molten metal into gilded armor and weaponry, of metal mechanisms working overtime to stoke the eternal fires of kilns eagerly awaiting product. He starts to think his papa was right, that he wasn't prepared for a place like this, and that he should stick to the pilfered remains of the overgrown caverns where he was safe. But you don't garner riches and fame by being safe, do you?

Swallowing the nerves, he nods in agreement.

"Makes sense to me. You'll protect me if something tries to eat me, right? I mean come on, look at me! I don't think I'd make a good snack, no?" He wrings his fingers together nervously but his grin is cheerful as always. A jester. A downright fool.

He was alright with that. Better a fool than wearied beyond repair.