[Complete] Call the Locksmith?

This job had been a bit of a hodgepodge of faces. Colt hadn’t minded, enjoying chilling at the back of the group, toothpick rolling back and forth as he mused to himself how difficult this lock was supposed to be. Now and then he’d check his roll of pick, checking their edges and sizes were all in order for when called upon. Only one face had been constant through the whole venture and that had been the boss running the whole business. Two had swapped out at their designated points, diversions, false trails for folks to follow if their little escapade had reached some ears. A dwarf had joined them some time earlier, the muscle Colt thought, judging from the stout things axe.

Now they were just waiting on the corner for their fourth. Leaning in the shadows, Colt would close his eyes, arms resting across his chest for a brief few winks as they waited. His simple, minimal gear offered nothing to catch the light. He’d sewed in secret pockets and hidden blades into the black leather. At his waist along a belt hung a few pouches along with a pair of sheathed daggers, their scabbards hooked around his thighs for sneakier approaches.

[color=#c10300]“We need another?”[/color] he’d ask casually, cocking a brow at his temporary employer. [color=#c10300]“Got Smithy here, and I’m a dab hand if things get hairy?”[/color] Yeah. Legging it. Was he fuck meeting the gallows for these fuckers.