"Nossir, he's been great.  I guess I was being kind of st-silly," Tim corrects himself.  Can't say that anymore!  Even if it's probably true no, it's not true, it's not impossible that he'd stop running dungeons because of one esper, it just hasn't happened yet.

"He's a very good kitty deep down. Do you want me to call him?"

"Nossir, I've got this.  Thank you very much for your time.  Um, d'you need to call someone else before we hang up?"  Loneliness!  That was his backlash, I remember now.  Okay, that explains the phone calls.  If not the illiteracy.  I'll check his blog in a bit.

"I would appreciate the overlap! If you've always wanted to be introduced to Doc Shoeswala the dungeon physicist now's your chance." Ring ring.

"I don't think I did, thank you."  Tim chuckles sensibly, waits for the two of them to get to chitchatting, then pads over to Cricket.  His instinct is to get down on Cricket's level, but that's a silly instinct and instead he'll stand like a civilized human being.  "Uh, Cricket?"  He starts softly, but will get gradually louder.

It requires, not quite yelling, but being pretty loud, before Cricket yawns awake. "You and whatsherface done in the tent?"

"Yessir.  Ready whenever you are."  He's got his dungeoneering outfit, although he's chosen to discard certain elements of it.  There's no need for a bulletproof plate when there are no threats on the scale of a bullet and also they're stabbing him internally half the time anyway.  Similarly, the guns are gone.  The only dedicated weapons left are the core detonation charges.

Cricket stretches and then takes off for the scaffolding where there's a pile of dead knives. He lands well away from them. "Slob."

Tim is moderately confused until he gets to the top of the scaffolding, then scowls.  "Yeah, that's a trip hazard."  And with these final words, he cheats a little and leaps for the portal.  As usual, he is poked ineffectually.  And as usual, he begins the mosquito/knife-swatting dance of his people.

"It's a laceration hazard. They're knives and they didn't fold up when you killed them. If you're too polite to somebody who wants to walk on their own, they will shoulder out of the portal before you and they will step on one without your power on and get tetanus," says Cricket as he follows, "and it'll be all your fault. I'm flinging mine into the bushes where you wouldn't walk anyway."

I can just heal them and it’ll be like nothing ever happened that is not a reasonable solution. “Good point.  D’you mind popping back out for a second and asking someone to get a dustpan?  I wanted to save them in case they’re crazy good dungeon materials for…something.”

I should have just told someone to clean up the knife monster corpses.  I assumed someone would.

"Uuuuugh finnnnne," says Cricket, and he steps out of the dungeon for a moment and is back a moment later. "Anyone's guess if they'll do what I say purely because it's an obvious good idea, of course," he mutters. "You should have a cardboard box or something on the next run. They'll poke through a bag and you're mangling them too much to fold."

"Yessir, that's a good idea.  I had assumed someone would clean it up, but.  Apparently nobody wants to touch a box of dead dungeon sharps.  Anyway.  I'll follow you wherever you lead me?"

"This" diediedie pocketknife "way." In they go.

That way they go!  He's getting oddly used to being led around on a leash by a talking dungeon cat.  He had been meaning to go for a hike for a little while, and this definitely qualifies.  The scenery is bleakly beautiful, too.  It's a shame he's going to kill this dungeon for being a kidnapping little knife-happy shit.

They can rescue this chatty mom who has been keeping her neighboring victims company and strongly feels they should go get Rhonda next after her and who wants to know if they have news about her kids and who can be shut up with a water bottle.

Tim will cheerfully give her a water bottle.  He doesn't mind chit-chatting, but they're on a schedule today.  While she's distracted, he'll check with Cricket.  "D'you think it's worth getting multiple vics before we head back?  Or do they only sound like they're closeby?"

"HEY WHICH ONE OF YOU IS RHONDA, WAVE YOUR ARM IF YOU'RE RHONDA," Cricket calls, looking around. "...Yeah, she looks like she can walk and isn't far out of the way."

"Okay.  Let's grab her and hit the road, buffing four people like this isn't much more expensive than three.  C'mon, ma'am, you can tell me about your kids while we hike?"  That usually gets them distracted from the whole kidnapping thing.

She will tell him about her kids! They know that if her dungeon alarm goes off they are supposed to wait for their aunt to come get them but she got taken in the middle of the night and is not sure if they will have a good day at school if the alarm woke them up. Rhonda joins the party and they can make their way back with minimum sliding (since the vics don't have leashes it's kind of a pain in the neck to shove them around). They need help on the steep sections but are game to just climb when they can.

Tim can and will pick up two people simultaneously should this prove necessary or fun and can be pulled around on a leash while this happens!  At this point, being ineffectually stabbed is kind of boring.  He's happy to walk his charges through minor rock climbing, as long as they go first so he can catch them if there's a problem.  And because if he's near them, the knives might spook 'em.  Knives might not like victims, but they like him just fine, unfortunately.

But aside from being 4D, this honestly isn't a bad dungeon.  He feels like it should be a B-rank, but he doesn't make the rules.

When they come out somebody has collected the ejected monster corpses into a metal wastebasket.

Great, fantastic.  "Glad they listened to you."  Is there, by any chance, a spare wastebasket he can bring into the dungeon?  He's sure that there's going to be more knife corpses, and maybe they'll even be useful for something good someday.  Maybe he'll swipe one and put it on display the MRCRF.

No one has anticipated his need for a spare wastebasket.

Well, dump the metal wastebasket into a cardboard box and give him the metal one.  Or give him the cardboard box.

I wish Bill ran this joint.  He solves problems like it’s his job.  Because it is.