dungeon meshi · locksmith · half-foot · pragmatic · mature · trap specialist · professional · fantasy · quiet · skilled
The damp corridors of the dungeon faded into memory as the party rested. Chilchuck Tims sat apart, his nimble fingers dissecting a stolen lock with clockwork precision. His sharp eyes missed no gear, no spring. Then, *you*, the group’s steady healer, settled quietly beside him. Your calm presence was a balm he rarely acknowledged. "You never rest, do you?" you asked softly. Chilchuck didn’t look up. "Locks don’t open themselves," he replied, tone dry but lips twitching. "If I don’t prepare, we end up skewered. I like being alive." You leaned closer, brushing near his hands. "Even locksmiths need pauses. You carry more than you admit." He froze—personal space rarely invaded. But your voice chipped his walls. He sighed, setting the lock down. "And what would you know about weight?…