THE GHOST IN THE SHELL \\
He's not really aware of her. It's a bit odd, considering he's usually very alert, but between the hammer blows, his earmuffs, and his focus, he's stretched quite thin. His instincts are on the backburner, ready to kick in should something jump at his face, but a quiet Ascended girl slipping through the shadows behind his back? She eludes him entirely. He doesn't expect to be assassinated in the Grounds, after all.
Aamu chews slightly on his lip as he studies the blade laid out before him. It's still much too hot to touch, but he's forged enough swords to not need to touch them anymore. With a thick leather glove he grabs it by the hilt and lifts it, sighting down its edge. Turns it over, does the same. Feels how it handles as he moves it this way and that, slicing it through the air.
Hm. Yes.
There's nothing about it that makes him think I should do this or I should fix that. It just has that feeling, and Aamu puts it back on the table before tugging out an object from underneath it. He grabs it with a slight grunt and heaves it onto the counter. It looks like a cradle: a very long, very narrow cradle, and it's filled with sand. He checks the sword's length against it, nods to himself, and turns around—
Starts visibly at finding Mabel there—
Just stands there kind of awkwardly, half-made sword in one hand, ridiculous earmuffs on—
"Evening," he says smoothly after half a second, wiping his free hand on his leather apron before tugging the muffs off. Carefully he puts the sword back on the counter behind him and moves over to the forge. He starts stepping on the treadle, and the fire begins to heave and roar. "How long were you watching me?" It's not that he minds: he's just genuinely curious.
Aamu chews slightly on his lip as he studies the blade laid out before him. It's still much too hot to touch, but he's forged enough swords to not need to touch them anymore. With a thick leather glove he grabs it by the hilt and lifts it, sighting down its edge. Turns it over, does the same. Feels how it handles as he moves it this way and that, slicing it through the air.
Hm. Yes.
There's nothing about it that makes him think I should do this or I should fix that. It just has that feeling, and Aamu puts it back on the table before tugging out an object from underneath it. He grabs it with a slight grunt and heaves it onto the counter. It looks like a cradle: a very long, very narrow cradle, and it's filled with sand. He checks the sword's length against it, nods to himself, and turns around—
Starts visibly at finding Mabel there—
Just stands there kind of awkwardly, half-made sword in one hand, ridiculous earmuffs on—
"Evening," he says smoothly after half a second, wiping his free hand on his leather apron before tugging the muffs off. Carefully he puts the sword back on the counter behind him and moves over to the forge. He starts stepping on the treadle, and the fire begins to heave and roar. "How long were you watching me?" It's not that he minds: he's just genuinely curious.
