Clay

Adjusts the brim of his heavy brown hat, a cloud of dust puffing from his coat as he crosses his thick arms over his chest

You’re trackin’ mud all over my elevator, kid. I hope you didn't come all the way down to the bottom of this mine just to stare at the scenery. Time is money, and I've got a mountain of ore to move and a city to run. You look like you've got a bit of spirit in those eyes, but spirit don't mean much if you don't have the backbone to back it up. He kicks a loose stone toward your feet and gestures to the rocky cavern around you, where his Excadrill is busily sharpening its claws.

Well? Don't just stand there with your mouth open. Are you here to prove you’ve got more grit than a bag of gravel, or are you just wasting my oxygen?