The internal conflict is going to kill him.

I ain't even gonna ask.

What the fuck.

Girl, do I [look] Bright to you?

It's... uh.

Uh..... yeah. Yeah, it sure is.

Well... that's why I'm tellin' you. Don't forget.

You call a different Halfling 'shrimpy,' they're liable to crack ya for it.

[He doesn't look too happy about it, either.]

What the fuck

Now you're talkin' my language.

[As if he was ever hurting for a drink - but only fools would turn it down.]

[Sense Motive: 1]

...Yeah, pretty sure I've got close to a decade on ya. Your knees ain't near as creaky.

I'm TRYIN' to figure out if I'm actually older than you, smartass.

Yeah, I mean, look at us. But what's the something?

...Hang on actually, how old are you?

Hey, kid, you lookin' for a job?

"...You should really meet my friend." Because he's completely lost the thread of what's going on in this conversation, but a professional storyteller with the focus borne of years as a combat caster could keep up.

Probably.

"Those people you escaped, they comin' after ya?"

This kid is gonna give him an aneurysm. Or a migraine.

"You [just] told me your dad is some as– guy named Percy, what are you talkin' about?"

He doesn't join the laughter or smile, but there's an air of quiet self-satisfaction as he strings his bow.

"Fire elementals are hot."

"If not, lemme know when you're ready."

"We don't confine our fights here, so watch your step and... I mean, let me know if you're worried about gettin' hit by someone else, I guess. I can tell someone to get lost for a while."

He spoke as he strode forward, taking a place on one end of a gap on the highest reach of the training yard.

Tarkith already seemed to have his weapons picked out, and the wear on the leather-bound handles matched neatly beneath his palms. A training shortsword and its mate, a dagger, were his usual weapons here, and as he collected them, he jerked his head towards an open space.

you off to pillage at the ripe old age of one, you found yourself in the ranks whether you liked it or not.

He came out of his thoughts and realized he was absentmindedly waving back. The hand drops quickly.

"Uh... Tarkith. That's tough, kid. Clarice. Your dad from that place, too? The garden?"

"...Huh."

It felt weird, suddenly realizing you've met someone who's had it harder than you. It's hard to compete with 'apocalypse happened, I was fixing it, by the way I'm like fourteen.'

Not that that was a competition he [wanted] to be in, but when your tribe put a weapon in your hand and sent

What the hells.

Butch Deloria???

There's things most people don't know about [this] world, kid, even livin' in it.

What'd you say your name is?"

He deflates from the fight he thought was sparking. Then he shifts a little uncomfortably, because he's a whole grown Halfling that was about to argue with a teenager half his height taller than him.

"...I know what a garden is, yeah. Sand too, but not a company about it.

I'm 'bout to teach this kid so many fuckin' swears.

and we say, alright, that's none of my fuckin' business, or we see the shit that matters and ask.

And I'm [tryin'] to tell you other people would explain it all better. I ain't your dad."