Clemente
The man is like a brick wall, and not just physically. Clem squints up at him, the glare of the pale grey sky annoying even if he can't feel the sting of pain it would have once caused. Clem's fists find his hips instinctively, heedless of how ridiculous he might look puffing up like an alley cat in front of the world's largest battle-scarred dog. Who would he be if he didn't pick fights he can't win? "What, ya allergic to words?" he tosses back before imitating Deimos' posture, setting his face in an exaggerated stony expression. "Exploring." He drops his voice as low as it will go, imitating the deep rumble of the older man, only to snort and ruin the look as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "I'm here t'be an asshole tourist, duh," Clem says while rolling his eyes. "Cuz ain't nobody givin' up info freely, and the hell is there to explore but snow?" This question is aimed more directly at Deimos, a disgruntled look on his own face. He despises snow, and has no idea why anybody would want to go walking around in it just for the sake of exploration. Especially if they can still feel pain and cold.
