This is a mess. The torchlight is dying faster than it should be and they're hardly halfway through the Ruins. This was supposed to be easier. Just a simple mission to help some newcomer flagellant get his footing. Dismas' thoughts were interrupted as he's once again shoved aside; those damned bells ringing in his ears
"On your left!" The warning, of course, came after the bastard had gotten in the way of the shot Dismas was lining up. The jester dealt the killing blow, a clean stab of his dirk and the damned cultist was slain. The whole team looking worse for wear, they set up camp to regroup. Dismas takes the time to check his gun and his ammunition. He's dangerously low. If they stay any longer, he'll have to resort to only using his knife for the rest of their long trek into the maddening underground of the estate. He can't help but feel like part of the blame lies on the man currently restringing his lute, looking as though he hasn't a care in the world. Irritations bubbles to the surface and Dismas can no longer hold his tongue.
"If you keep getting in the way like that, I'll blow your damn head off!" He's reaching his limit. The estate always leaves him at his worst, even on short trips into the dark cavern has his mind itching. As if the space itself were trying to pry his worst memories out of him. The walls seemed to move around him in the dim light and he could hear whispers start to poke at the pillars of his sanity.
"She's dead, isn't she?" The clown bites back, just as irritated despite his cool demeanor. It was then that the torch finally went out. Panic was setting in as Dismas scrambled to find a light, digging in his coat for a match.
They won't survive if he can't light the room and guide them out. Intrusive thoughts fill his head as he grabs nothing but the insides of his own pockets.
"Grab a new torch dammit!" He calls out to no one in particular. He can hear the fear in his own voice as it echoes back to him off the walls.
"There isn't one… we're out." Junia's soft voice chimes in. Great. Just what they need.
"Then I'm calling it here. We ain't goin' any further without a damn light." Dismas was practically shaking with anger and unease.
"I could-" Junia's offer is cut off
"No!" He softens his tone, seeing her flinch . "If the heir wants to throw a fit about another incomplete mission, let them. Maybe they'll throw some money our way so we can afford to eat too. But I'm not sending us any further in the dark just for the chance of some treasure. We still gotta make our way back out. You know what the dark does to this place. What it does to people." His words hung in the air, most likely dredging up unsavory memories in the Vestal's mind.
"You're right." She mutters, sounding like a scolded child.
The rest of their time in the Ruins remains silent aside from the jingling of bells from that damned jester. Every sound grating on his nerves and adding to his already foul mood. He'll need a drink after this. His flask has been empty since they set up camp. Despite this, he keeps taking it out of his pocket to see if it had magically refilled itself. No such luck.
"So how'd it go?" Audrey's singsong-y voice cuts over the usual chatter of the tavern.
"I'm here, aren't I?" Dismas all but collapses into his usual seat with a groan.
"That bad, huh?"
"You have no idea. That new bastard has a way of getting on your nerves" He's already cleaning his knife to try and calm his mind. A habit he's had as long as he can remember. Gives him something to do with his hands. Better than fidgeting with his own hands, he supposes; more productive.
"Which one?" Tardif asks, not sounding too interested in the answer.
"That damned freak with the lute! Who else?"
…
"Oh, you're alive. Good for you." Paracelsus speaks in a flat tone, though Sarmenti can tell she means the words genuinely.
"Just barely. It was simply awful." He was already a few drinks in, having headed straight to the tavern after receiving his payment.
"Spare me the details. I have enough nightmares about that damn place to last me a lifetime."
"He certainly didn't make anything easier. Just yelling orders at everyone." Sarmenti gestures to the table across the room where Audrey, Tardif, and Dismas sit, laughing among themselves. Paracelsus pays his grumblings no mind as they sit and drank into the night. Eventually they're joined by Damian who takes his seat by Sarmenti.
"Someone have your attention? You've been making eyes at them for a good while now" Sarmenti balks at the accusation
"After the day I've had, never. That one with the gun is an ass" He grabs his lute from beside him to prepare for his late night practice
"Dismas? That's odd. He's usually the more friendly type. Friendly for this crowd, at least." Paracelsus looks up from her notes, suddenly interested in the conversation. "Must have done something to get on his bad side" She laughed.
"I heard your expedition had to end early from the newcomer. He also said you and the gunman had quite a few spats." Sarmenti can tell Damian is holding back a laugh. He continues regardless.
"Not our fault we were sent in with too few torches and hardly any medical supplies. And I've already made my opinions known on his personality" He wishes he had made more coin. Maybe then he could be drowning his irritation in more booze.
The doors to the tavern swing open, hinges creaking loudly as an unfamiliar face tentatively walks in. Seemingly aware of the fact that he doesn't belong. The unwelcome sound of armor clanging together follows the crusader as he wastes no time in approaching Dismas.
“And here I thought you’d be the only church boy to be found slumming it with the rest of us” Sarmenti nudged Damian playfully
Damian gives him only a sarcastic laugh before explaining "No, Reynauld isn't one to partake. As far as I'm aware, he only ever comes in to collect Dismas for the night."
And just as Damian had said, Sarmenti can see the crusader and gunman exchange a few words before the shorter man rises from his seat to join his armored friend. He bids a few parting words to his fellow guild members before leaving his payment on the table.
"So what's the deal with those two?" Idle curiosity was starting to eat away at his bored mind. He gestures vaguely to the door that had shut moments earlier. Sarmenti can't claim to care much for the answer, but he figures it wouldn't hurt to ask anyways.
"Been here longer than any of us. As far as I know, they've been attached at the hip ever since they got off the stagecoach." Paracelsus, once again, looks up from her note-taking long enough to glance at the Yellowhand's usual table. "That's a bit of a newer development, though. From what Audrey tells me, Dismas is known to drink until he drops. Guess Reynauld either got sick of his drunken tantrums, or decided to not lose him to something as petty as alcohol poisoning. Despite his… lackluster people skills, he seems to still be good to people. Even drunkards like that."
Sarmenti offers a halfhearted grunt of acknowledgement before taking his leave, mood unexplainably soured by the conversation.
