[Middy]

"Dylan, you need some time off from your duties of a Reaper, don't worry about the rest of us, we have it well under control. Why don't you go look around the local areas and do something to relieve stress?"

Dylan stood at the entryway into town, taking in the scenery around him and watching the townsfolk go about their lives. The very picture of all this brought him back to his human life when he would have been one of those people. He wouldn't see them as just another person on the To Die list, he would see them as other individuals. It was a sad thought, but that was just how he was these days. After his death at the hands of an Angel and being revived by the Bloody Maiden Chii to become one of her Sanguine Reapers, his outlook on life had changed.

"How am I supposed to adjust to normal life as a Reaper? I haven't known what's its like to be human in centuries... " Dylan walked through the crowds unnoticed by the busy people that roamed the streets carrying on with their own conversations and jobs. Dylan had been looking at the signs of various shops but none seemed to catch his interest, that is until he saw a blacksmith. He had always had an interest in the art of forging weapons and armor, mostly due to the Operas and plays that revolved around the medieval theme. "Might as well check it out..." he thought casually walking toward the shop his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his frock coat.

The blacksmith there was a rather large man, much taller then him and surely more built then he was. He was a little intimidating to approach that was for sure, but if he had a shop here then surely he meant no harm to anyone. He watched the man work but stood silent entranced by the red hot metal being struck against the anvil. Dylan felt like he couldn't find the courage to actually speak to him, it was almost funny how much his shyness came through in public, which is why he liked working alone in his job.

Finally he felt like he could at least try speaking to him, if he could be heard through the clang of metal being hit. "H-hello... what are you working on?" he felt his nervousness build up just hoping he would notice him and reply so he didn't look like a total fool.

[Silverin]

“This era is… lacking. Things lack strength and people hide behind their so called technology as a defence. When their technology can fail and be broken easily… It bores me, vexes me. It’s hard to even enjoy the thrill of the hunt any more. Even my job which I took up to occupy myself will become obsolete in 50 years or so…”

Fenrir stood there working away at a hot bar of metal with his hammer, shaping it gradually into a curved blade. He was half naked, black leather pants covered his lower body while his upper body was exposed to allow him to shed heat. Sweat rolled over his figure, highlighting each of his muscles in the way body oil would in the soft light of the flame. His skin was tanned dark from the light and heat of the fire, the evenness of the tan suggested that he also spent a good amount of time outside as well. Both of his hands were covered in thick leather gloves to protect them from the heat.

Even though he was bitterly complaining in the back of his own mind about his situation and how not many people knew how to even use a sword properly any more let along wield one, he still was absorbed in his work and would not allow himself to fall below his own standards of quality, putting great care into a finest details. He did not agree with giving the people he saw as foolish or unworthy any of the weapons he took care in making only to have them broken or misused as a result but money was money and just like everyone else he needed it to live in this environment.

He was so deep in his work he did not notice the man who now stood in the entrance till he spoke. Fen shifted his attention from his work to this rather petite man, narrowing his crimson eyes which resembled a demon’s in response to his question, an irritated look on his face. At this point he did not fully expect anyone to know what he was making but it still vexed him when anyone older than 15 asked. Putting the rough weapon to the side he stood to his full height. “I am making a sword that was requested of me.” He said with a bit of a growl in the tone of his voice. “Just another weapon request... Something of which is becoming rare now a days.” He said with a sigh as he ran his fingers through his long dark hair that was neatly tied back.

[Middy]

Dylan took note of the blacksmith's tone, he sounded rather aggrivated or annoyed or perhaps both. He continued to gawk at the blade being forged in front of him, remembering his youth in the 1700s when seeing swords and other weaponry wasn't so rare. Fencing using rapiers was big in France at the time and he enjoyed watching people duel as a child. Using the blades in such a way was like a risky dance of silver and extravagant cloth. Dylan loved watching the foot movement of the fighters, how they had to be positioned in such a way to keep balance then using specialized techniques to battle their foe. Even when he saw people fight for real and to the death, the manner this swords dance was in itself an artform.

Oh how he longed for the days when such weaponry existed, not just the rapiers, but also other forms of swords from across Europe. Even back then armor was crafted for war, and othertimes it was for ceremonial purposes. Dylan sighed being entranced by the plumes of smoke rising from the hot steel on the anvil, taking in the smell of burning metal. It brought him back to those days, and even made him smile. Yes, it was one of those memories that reminded him that he used to be human oh so long ago, but it also told him that he could never let go of who and what he was... past and present. He was starting to remember more and more about his childhood memories concerning metalwork, looking back and realizing his love for such things wasn't entirely restricted to the arts.

He really wanted to talk to this man more about armor and weaponry, but couldn't help but feel so dwarfed by his sheer size. That wave of intimidation fell back over him although he was still quite sure that the man meant no harm to him. Dylan adjusted his glasses and coughed when he accidently inhaled some of the smoke. Now he just felt embarassed about coughing, and quickly added a question to his previous words, "A real shame that the art of weaponry and armor is becoming so rare. I have always found the art of the blade to be rather facinating... "

He figured he could try to spark some more conversation with the blacksmith, but if not then he would need to take his 'defeat' of sorts and move on to other parts of town, not that he really wanted to after finding someone who most likely knew his stuff about an interest he thought he had forgotten about. Dylan really didn't want to bother the man further if he didn't give a satisfactory reply.

[Silverin]

Fenrir watched this man out of the corner of his eyes as he took hold of the metal again, placing the end of it back into the furnace so that he could finish the edges of the blade. Pulling it out once it was red hot again and placed it back on the anvil to put the final touches in its blade. Although he was sure he was watched by many other people while he worked this one seemed to draw his attention and distracted him with only his presence. He could feel his eye being drawn to him every time he even glanced up causing Fen to ask him self why was he allowing such a thing to happen. The only time he ever found his eyes drawn to anyone was when he was targeting his prey for his next hunt but this felt different he could not taste any true fear from him, only the slight sense of shyness that was smothered in the feelings of... curiosity and... attraction? Maybe? He could not put his finger on the last feeling that he could see and taste but it was something that was rarely expressed in his presence. It was possible his predatory side was interested in this man, he did not look normal in Fen's eyes so it was likely he could provide some form of entertainment even if it was from a quick tease.

He seemed to daydream about something as Fen hammered the edges to form the blade. Although he could see, feel, taste and smell what feelings this man was expressing he could not tell exactly what he was thinking about, after all Fen was not a mind reader but he could tell the day dream seemed sweet and possibly a precious memory. He was curious as to what exactly was this memory but knew it really was not any of his business to ask. The older clothing he wore suggested that it may have been from ages old but in this area it was not uncommon to see people dress up like that. People did so for acting and just cause they felt like it some days. Even Fen had several older set of clothing from ages old but but had grown use to the more modern leather pants that he wore now and only dressed in his older clothing for show.

Fen gave a bit of a smirk at the cough and placed the blade into a barrel of water to cool it once he had finished with its cutting edge so that he could focus all his attention to his curious guest. He would work on the details of the blade and the handle later since the person who asked for it did not need it for a week. He watched the man who was back to acting rather shy, irritated expression softening at his comment. "Oh your interested in this sort of thing?" He said as he grabbed hold of a finished blade and walked over to him, his heavy boots clicking on the dirty stone floor. He then waved the blade past the visitor's neck, not close enough to cut him but close enough that he could feel and hear the blade rush by his throat. Fen brought the blade back up slowly running the broad side of it against the man's face. "Ok then if your interested, why don't you come in and have a little chat with me." He said with a smirk on his face as he turned and put the blade back walking to wards a curtain of leather that covered the entrance into the main section of his home.

The interior of the home was dark but appeared to be kept clean. The floors were made of finished pine and the walls of brick, a single window filled the room with light from out side, revealing how plan. He had no pictures hung on the walls, the only ornamental thing was some kind of hunting trophy of pitch black horns that resembled some kind of rams and a few blades placed on a small rack. Against the back wall was an old stove fireplace that was as dark as the night sky, and although was not lit at the time, looked as if it had been used recently. Pressed against the wall just under the window was a leather coach, with wooden tables at either end with oil lamps sitting on their surfaces. A chair sat across from the coach, also of leather with a quilt tossed over its back. It was almost like walking back in time.

[Middy]

Dyaln hadn't been paying too much attention to the world around him especially since all his energy and focus was on the bright red hot metal being hammered away, and the hiss of steam that rose from the hot metal that had been submerged. He did admit that the blacksmith had looked at him from time to time, almost like he was questioning him while still focusing on his work. He really didn't think nothing of it and just thought that maybe he was interested in his fancy attire. True it might have looked old fashioned, but he knew the suit hadn't gone out of style in the present. They may not be as extravagant as they were in the Victorian Era, but where he lived people were still very much interested in the old fashions of the 1800s. Even other Reapers that took over the British district had still been fond of the older styles and stuck to it even today, of course glasses never went out of style... maybe just updated to be more efficient.

He was caught off guard when the blacksmith asked if he was interested before swinging a sharp blade near his neck, Dylan froze when he heard the metal cut through the air and wiz past his exposed skin. He swallowed hard when the blade was withdrawn, realization hitting him that this blacksmith knew how to wield blades with masterful precision... it wasn't unheard of that smiths knew how to fight but somehow the way he used that blade spoke of someone who knew the complete ins and outs of combat. It was amazing that he had aimed at the only exposed skin on his neck, just above his dress shirt collar. He had thought about running then and there until he felt the cold steel of the broad side of the blade run along  his face. Where most people would find the smith's actions as a threat, Dylan felt intrigued... and maybe something else. He tried to hide a blush when the blade was withdrawn and put away, the chill of the steel being ran slowly against his skin felt... nice... a little exciting almost.

When Dylan heard the smith offer him to join him in a chat he had no choice but to agree, not really thinking if he got himself into trouble for doing this or not. To be honest, Dylan wasn't really thinking of the consequences. "I-I would love to chat with you further..." Great that trademark shyness of his was showing through again, now the red in his face was from embarrassment now. If only he could just stop being so nervous and shy this would go over smoother. Oh! He didn't even know this man's name and he was about to be invited into his home!? Dylan thought quickly keeping close behind him, "I never caught your name... mine is Dylan Kinlan," he chuckled softly and forced a smile.

Dylan paused when he entered the man's house, if that is what you could call it. It looked so old, almost like the buildings you would see in ghost towns of the old west. He sniffed in the air picking up scents of old wood and perhaps the oil used to keep it in shape... among other things, maybe comparable to any other old building. It wasn't a bad smell, in fact Dylan thought it reminded him of the old abandoned theater he lived in. He began to relax just a little, then his attention was turned to the horned ornament that hung on the wall. 'Did he kill that himself? If he did... then this man really was extraordinary...'
He tried not to frown at how bare the rest of the place was, maybe the smith liked things plain and simple. He himself liked extravagance, elegance... his home was filled with knick-knacks and treasures found through his time as an archeologist. Not a single wall was bare, and certainly all the rooms were filled with at least something. The rooms he actually lived in looked like places plucked from a mansion, and even his private library was stacked full of books old and new. His favorite of course being books of old plays and operas, including his prized possession of an original copy of Shakespeare's works.

[Silverin]

Fen carefully watched the man’s face intently taking in his reaction to the swing of the blade and the feeling of cold steel against his face. At first he could taste the faintest bit of fear from the man causing a faint grin to appear on Fen’s face for a split second as he anticipated him to run. Part of Fen desperately wanted him to run so that he could give chase but he was quickly let down when the man did not move. Most people would have run by now but he did not. In fact what he was puzzled by was the fact that this stranger actually seemed to start enjoying it as soon as the broad side of the blade met his face. He seemed almost pleasured by the touch. It was the first time Fenrir felt those sorts of feelings directed at him. He quickly brushed it off as just a coincidence before his mind could wonder into things he was not familiar with and that his man had some kind of obsession with swords of any kind, no mater what or who was holding the blade. Maybe it was the way he held the blade?

He was not expecting him to accept his offer, making Fen raise an eye brow at him. Did he not know what a dangerous man looked like? No natural instinct? From Fen’s experience he regarded him self as looking extremely dangerous. Everything about Fenrir was dark and dangerous. Even the bravest men were intimidated by his looks alone. People often made an effort to avoid him, even if they did know him they still often found him intimidating. Fen had met a few cocky ass holes who decided to push their luck which ended up with Fen marking them as a target and then slaughtering them or putting them in their place with a good growl. With this man who now introduced him self as Dylan, it was not that he was not intimidated and he was not being cocky, it rather seemed like he was drawn in by his own curiosity, which in this case could very much kill the cat if this cat made any wrong moves. He was frustrated by Dylan’s lack of true fear, making him want to drag him out to the street and kick him out but was somewhat enjoying his company.

“Its Fenrir.” He said giving Dylan a rather rough and unfriendly response. Although this was not his real name, it was the name he had gone by for years, even if he had been called many other things, Fenrir was what he was most accustomed to. It came from around the time when he started working with others, accompanying them on raids and eventually becoming their leader. They often called him Lord Fenrir out of respect and fear of him. People out side of their group also picked up on calling him that, in hopes that they did not displease him and become his next target along side hiring him as a mercenary even if he went over board in the process. He was regarded as a mad man and a ruthless beast, things he was proud of but those days had died and nothing was left of his rain of tyranny other than the ruins of towns, areas littered with bones of many and stories told to children about a black wolf bound in chains.

A smirk came across his face when he caught the traces of a disappointed look on Dylan’s face as he took in the plan interior of his house. “What? Too bare for you?” He said with a rather cruel laugh as he glanced back at him before turning his attention back to getting him self something to drink. He walked over to a cupboard just visible beyond the entrance into the next room, opened its door and pulled out a bottle whiskey, stopping to look at it for a moment before changing his mind and placing it back in the cupboard. He had a guest and knew drinking alcohol in front of one was not the best idea from past experiences. Although no one really questioned his actions and lived to tell the tale, he really rather not have Dylan making faces at him because stench of alcohol on his breath. Whiskey did not have the most appealing smell to it either. Instead he pulled out a glass and poured some water to quench his thirst.

“So what do you want me to touch on first?” he said with his back towards Dylan. Fen rolled the water around in the glass pausing for a second. He wanted to take one last shot at deterring his guest so that he may leave him alone. Placing the glass down on the counter after taking a few mouthfuls, he leaned back on his heals and turned to face Dylan, then started to approach him. Once he got close enough he reached out for his neck, wrapping his fingers around Dylan’s throat ready to lock him in a deadly grasp. For some reason though, he paused, stopping with his fingers just touching the surface of his neck. Fen was gazing in to his scarlet eyes, his own mouth drawn slightly open as if he was just noticing something for the first time. His hand changed from a threatening grip to a light touch, as he shifted his fingers to one side of Dylan’s neck drawing them up towards his face and across his jaw line before drifting away and back to his side. Fenrir looked away from him. “What the hell am I fucking doing?” he thought to him self.

Fen backed off and flopped back on the coach, undoing the buckles on his boots before kicking them off his feet. He leaned back against one of the corners, lifting one of his legs and placing his foot on the middle cushion, draping his arms over the back in a relaxed position. “Just ignore what I just did there.” He growled leaning his head back against the back rest of the coach. He was even more aggravated at his own actions now even a bit confused. He guessed Dylan was just as likely to be confused as he was.

[Middy]

Fenrir... it was such an imposing name, but all the more fitting for the man's rugged and intimidating appearance. It was true that he felt small an almost insignificant in comparison to the taller man, even in build they differed greatly. Fenrir was well toned, built with tight muscles, and his stern look and all around appearance would surely be enough to send the normal person running, but not Dylan. He was confident in being around him, if he felt he was threatened too much he could retreat back to the safe haven where Reapers resided.

He kept his crimson eyes focused intently on Fenrir, watching the man rifle through the cupboard for something, he noticed he had grabbed a bottle of whiskey, but must have thought twice about his actions. He was extra careful not to let Fenrir see him 'spying' on him. He didn't want to make himself feel nosy especially around someone he just met, and with a man like Fenrir... it was best to keep distance. He hardly noticed that he was too late in already being in the room with him. Dylan found it quite amusing that Fenrir chose to drink water instead, although he wasn't sure what he was thinking at the time.

Dylan had forgotten about Fenrir's earlier question and ready to reply, but before he could speak he found himself face to face with the man, his hand outstretched to his neck... was he going to strangle him? Dylan flinched half expecting to feel those strong hands closing around his neck, sure as a Reaper he didn't need to breathe but the pressure of being strangled was something he wasn't looking forward to experiencing. Instead he was met with shock when the threatening actions became soft and almost.. pleasant. Dylan couldn't stop himself from blushing at the feathery touches, but in the back of his mind he was still worried. Could this be some... trick? To put him off guard to launch another attack?

He shivered when Fenrir backed off and instead flopped on the couch. He felt paralyzed, confused, and a bit frightened. All he could do was try to shrug it off and forget about what happened, less he think more on it then he really should. "I um... a-alright..." he walked towards the couch, sitting far away from Fenrir, hoping that in doing so, wouldn't put him at risk again. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees and resting his chin on his hands. To think almost a week ago he was in the clutches of a demon, and now here he was, in another bad situation that was bound to get worse.

[Silverin]

There was now this awkward silence between them that felt like it lasted for more than just a few minutes before Fenrir groaned in frustration. He placed his hands on his face, grasping at his own skin and then dragged them down in an attempt to shed this growing feeling that he did not understand. All he knew was that it was driving him crazy and he wanted it to stop, even if it was… a tiny bit pleasant. With a low grumble, he shook his head of the idea that he might actually like the feeling, heaving a sigh before he placed his hands back into a more relaxed position and turned his attention back to Dylan. “Good.” He growled in response, his own face now dusted with a pinkish hue in a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

Fen shifted him self into a more standard sitting position, trying to make him self as well as his guest feel a little less awkward. It was clear to Fenrir that there was not much he could do short of going crazy that would scare Dylan away. So he mise well make him feel a little less awkward, be a little more friendly and try his best to accommodate Dylan. Besides attacking his guest in a more violent manner would not be good for business, since he could be quickly linked to this man’s death if he killed him and if he ran out of his shop in hysterics it would draw unwanted attention, likely causing people to avoid him more than they already did, something he had not thought of before. He would not mind being avoided again or feared by all but doing so would put him at risk. The new age would not tolerate his behaviour and were developing new ways to deal with it. Even though he viewed more modern people as weak insects, there were things about their new technology that he feared or just greatly disliked.

“Sorry about that… I had a bit of a bad week and am a bit irritable.” He said with a forced smile as well as traces of a worried look on his face. Fen’s attention was now focused on reading his body language as well as picking out how Dylan was feeling using his ability to his advantage. Fen could see clearly that he was confused, a bit frightened and judging from his body language he had guessed he was deep in thought about something. It surprised him even more that Dylan had chosen to sit on the opposite end of the coach from him rather than the chair on the other side of the room. Once again it was made clear to Fen that Dylan did not find him as threatening as other people, setting him once again apart from many others.

“Ok… back to the current matter… what your interested in…” Fen said glancing up at the ceiling trying to get his mind off Dylan’s face and remember where they had left off before he attempted to strangle him. He had expected feel of tension to fade a little but it still lingered and when he looked back at Dylan, Fen could still pick up on something else that seemed to be bothering him other than Fen’s actions. “Is something else the matter beside what I just did… you seem like your thinking about something else…” He said with a sigh, resisting his urge to go back and get the whisky to calm his own nerves.

[Middy]

So Fenrir had a bad week as well? Then maybe his awkward actions before were more understandable. He wasn't about to ask him why his week went so terribly in fear of having to share his as well. Pouring your emotions out on a man he just met about being pseudo-raped by a demon would not come off too well, it was just not something you would bring up right away if ever. Dylan quickly thought back to just earlier when the two were so close to one another, how Fenrir felt his skin. The memory made Dylan feel shivers run down his spine again, what was it about this man that he was feeling so... attacted to? No... he wasn't like that, he admired him maybe but attraction? He couldn't fathom such a thing! Then why was he sitting close to him? He should be on the other side of the room from nearly being strangled by him, but for some reason here he was. Relaxed, calm, questioning. Shouldn't he be more afraid?

Dylan shook his head quickly, "No, nothing else is bothering me aside from earlier but..." no he wasn't going to admit to him that he liked feeling his touches, that may come off as being a bit too weird for Fenrir's tastes. I mean, this man was probably not used to having some random man interested in the art of the blade come into his house to talk, only to be touched then admit to liking it so much. It was madness! He had to switch the topic back to what he was originally here for... what was that again? Oh right! Swords... rapiers... yes yes that was it. Nothing more then that.

"I was... actually interested in Rapiers, the kind used for the art of real fencing. Not the shows they put on now with thr art... but the real thing. The skills they used to kill one another using the fencing style. You could say it is one of my many interests revolving around weaponry," phew maybe that could cover him up, set things back on course instead of feeling strange. He shifted back and forth on the couch again to try to hide the fact that he was growing more and more nervous with each second. Dammit, why couldn't he keep himself under control? Dylan took a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, finally relaxing back into the couch. He looked back towards Fenrir who probably saw right through him at this point, it wasn't hard to see that he was a tad uncomfortable and nervous.

He thought back to the whiskey Fenrir had grabbed earlier before he put it back, damn if he had a shot of that he would feel more at ease in a jiffy. He wouldn't ask him to share, it may come off as rude and only proving more to Fenrir of how he was feeling around him. Maybe he was overracting to this whole thing. Maybe Fenrir would forget about it quickly so that Dylan could forget to. He scratched the back at his head and took another look around the room using his eyes. Something about this place...

[Silverin]

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. He knew full well that Dylan was lying to him and he was not doing a very good of covering it up. Dylan’s face was like an open book not to mention Fen had an unfair advantage with his specially adapted senses. To him this man was easy to read and yet the way he responded to Fen’s actions had so far been proven unpredictable. “Your not...” He said cutting him self off before he could complete his sentence. He wanted to reach over and shake him till he told him what was wrong, out of his own irritation. Doing so might also relive a bit of the stress from Fenrir as well but he knew better, he had already startled him enough. Maybe it was better to let things be for now, rather than ask questions of a nervous man who seemed like he was just going to keep trying to hide things. Fen would wait since it was still possible that Dylan would tell him later once he relaxed a little, although that might take a while… maybe.

Yes back to the original subject of this little talk of theirs. Weapons of times past, something Fen was very familiar with, he had seen all kinds of old weapons going as far back to the age of the Roman Empire or rather its end. He had even learned about weapons from even further back than that but was not around to see them besides he remembered very little of those times. Fen had seen the age of rapiers and never particularly liked them. He had used one a few times but he preferred his heavier weapons that were able to cleave flesh and break bone with ease. He had also made a few but most of them were more for ceremonial purposes.

“Ah… yes… The Rapiers… not a weapon I favoured but one I used when I had to… It was a fast and light one-on-one combat weapon for duels and self defence. Real fights with them were violent but they were fights of caution and precision since properly placed stab wounds were almost always lethal and too many wounds would cause one to die of blood loss. So a lot more dodging took place in the fights and they aimed for vulnerable areas of the body. Death did not often come swiftly and sometimes even the man who won died. A lot of the time they also threw punches, among other things common in hand to hand combat. Some even carried a dagger with them and each man developed his own fighting style.” He rambled as he got up, slightly irritated by Dylan’s shifting and went to his shop, coming back with one in hand then placed it on the side table next to the end of the coach Dylan sat on.

The hilt of the well crafted rapier was embellished in gold and silver, beautifully engraved with an attractive pattern and set with small oval cut rubies. Even if Fenrir did not like the type of weapon, he still enjoyed making them and was proud of his work no matter what it was. “This was more for ceremonial purposes… I don’t think I have any that were made to be used as a weapon… other than one I once had but it’s broken. I have no idea why I kept it though.” He said with a bit of a grumble as he found him self drawn back to the cupboard again, pausing in his tracks to debate with him self over the matter before finally giving in to his craving.

He walked back over to the cupboard and poured him self a glass of the strong smelling liquid, then glanced back at Dylan somewhat expecting him to turn up his nose. “Would you like some?” He said automatically without thinking. Fen felt that Dylan would refuse the offer since he did not look like the type that would drink anything but fine wine. In face he had no idea why he had even bothered to ask but something in him drove him to do so anyways. He swirled the liquid in the glass as he waited for an answer before taking a sip of the drink.

[Middy]

Dylan was both amazed and excited hearing about how much Fenrir knew about rapiers alone, he couldn't wait to ask him more about other old weapons from time past. There were many he favored study wise; from the Claymore, to the Zwei-Handler, and even daggers like the Kris. Evey weapon held such special meanings to him, especially since he had come across so many during his time as an archeologist. Thinking about the Kris brought him back to a time where he was in an excavation trip in Indonesia where he saw such blades, and strangely enough he found similar curved daggers used in ceremonial purposes in Voodoo cults of the present. He would need to ask Fenrir about them later when he felt more relaxed here. To be honest, he was starting to mellow out more after hearing Fenrir speak. It didn't mean the man wasn't still intimidating, no, he would still watch him carefully but it felt like his guard was going down.

Those guards soon came crashing down when Fenrir brought out a more eloquent blade of brilliant golds and silvers, and the redest of rubies that reminded him so much of the color of blood. His eyes were growing wide at the site of it, he was practically glued to staring at it now taking in every little fine detail on it. He had seen fancy rapiers before, but this one was surely near the top of one of the most goregeous he had ever laid eyes on. "It's... beautiful..." he picked it up to examine it further, it was heavier then a normal rapier, but since it was a ceremonial blade it was to be expected. Such lavish designs would never be used in the field of battle, and using one in competitive fencing would be pushing it a little. These were not the kind to be fought with ever, even so, he was entranced by it. Dylan had begun to relax a lot more and smiled with a soft chuckle, "I would love to see more of your work. Your craftsmanship is amoung some of the best I have seen."

Dylan continued to trace the engravings in the blade when he noticed that Fenrir was back over at the cupboard, confused as to why, he remained quiet about it. He heard the man pour liquid into a glass and then heard a question directed at him. Was he... offering him a drink? Dylan softly blushed, the most he ever drank alcohol wise was wine, he wasn't sure how he would take to something like Whiskey, or better yet if he even liked it. Sure he was up to try new things... and he was getting a taste for free so why not? "S-sure... I wouldn't mind having a glass myself if you don't mind," again he felt his heart start to beat faster with nervousness. He could have turned down the offer, but on the other hand maybe a drink would help ease his tension so that he could ask all the questions he wanted without feeling so nervous and anxious about it.

The Reaper placed the rapier onto the table in front of him and relaxed into the couch, taking in deep breaths to try to relax himself. He had no idea why he was getting so worked up over nothing, maybe something Fenrir seemed off? Dangerous maybe? He had these thoughts and feelings before, but now it was like something was telling him that he should just wrap up this meeting and leave while he still could. Ha, those thoughts sounded like nonsense when he mulled it over in his head. He shouldn't be afraid of anything, why not just have a drink and try to have a good time. Who knows? Maybe he was just paranoid is all.

[Silverin]

Dylan managed to surprise Fenrir with his excitement upon seeing the rapier he had crafted. “Oh? I have never heard that one before.” Fen responded with a chuckle at Dylan’s enthusiasm as he watched him run his fingers over the finest details of the blade. “Do you really want to see more?” No one had ever reacted like that to his work. Yes they might have thought his work was beautiful but they never complimented him on his craftsmanship. Fen could tell most people had no idea how much work he put into his products but for some reason or another Dylan could tell. He was one of the few Fen had met that could tell.

Fen's expression softened, shoulders relaxed and a gentle smile replaced his usual scowl. He enjoyed the compliments and having his ego stoked. Maybe he could admit this man was not so bad after all. If anything now he felt bad for his own behaviour towards Dylan. Fen did want to show him more. He wanted to show him everything he could or rather how ever much Dylan would want to know or what he could manage. He could easily over load him with all the knowledge skill he possessed. Many years of battle had exposed him to many weapons, skills and may other things, although people never really regarded Fen to be overly bright or smart, even if he possessed a lot of knowledge. It was likely because his beast-like nature, blood lust and aggression but he never really regarded himself as smart either. Fen was likely selling him self short though.

Assuming he was not likely use to a drink with such a high alcohol percentage, Fen did not pour Dylan as much as he poured him self. Fen normally drank enough to get the average person drunk in a heart beat. It had little affect on Fen, other than getting him buzzed. He had no idea how it would affect Dylan, nor did he think about what it would do when he placed the glass down on the side table for him to reach before drinking about half of his own glass already.

Fen sat down on the sofa next to Dylan again, resting his elbows against his knees and chin on his folded hands. “ So is there anything else you would like to see? Maybe I could even show you how to use one properly~ If you wish… or would you rather move on to something else.” Fen said with a smile as he placed his glass on the other side table while keeping his eyes focused on Dylan.

[Middy]

Dylan nodded in reply, of course he would love to see more work from Fenrir. Whether the man knew about the full extent of his talents in smithing or not, he felt like he should know. He knew that Fenrir must have greatly prided his own work, let alone knowledge of different fighting techniques as well. He felt he could learn so much from him if they just kept talking like this. Dylan relaxed himself still trying his hardest not to show he was a nervous wreck just being here in this place and around Fenrir, who face it, was not the most welcoming sort in appearances. "You know I would be delighted to see more, you have a far greater talent for smithing than many others I have seen."

He pressed himself further into the couch to try to get more comfortable, even as he saw Fenrir pouring him a glass of whiskey. He had to admit that the liquour would affect him much more than a glass of wine, it always did. When it came to the stronger stuff he was what they deemed as a lightweight, or even a cheap drinking buddy because of this.

Dylan tried not to flinch when Fenrir sat back down next to him, he was still trying to get over something that happened recently. In fact that is why he was in town to begin with, he was told he needed a break because of it and now here he was. He carefully picked up the glass of whiskey, making a bit of a face when he smelled it. Since he didn't want to appear to be rude he took a swig of it and managed a smile. He was expecting it to burn his throat on the way down, but from what he could tell it was high grade stuff. Not bad at all....

"To be honest, I have tons of questions I could ask you... but learning how to use other weapons would be an honor sir. I mean... if I don't seem like too much of a bother," he stared down at the floor, the feeling of nervousness slowly slipping back. He took another sip of the alcohol to help calm his nerves more so he wouldn't come off as being the wreck that he was. Although, he had a feeling the other man already knew of his state at the moment but didn't comment on it. He seemed sharp about things like this just from the two of them talking.