Chachan wasn't completely idle as the Elezen spoke. As she mulled over the question, he hunted down a couple pieces of scrap wood. Nothing fancy - they were just to protect the blade itself from scraping against the clamp built into his workbench. As she further clarified her point to him, the Lalafell was setting the wood-guarded blade into the aforementioned device.
"Well, I'd figger goin' 'round wit a super-grumpy face would draw attention no matter what weapon yer bringin'," he commented idly as he tightened the clamp. "Doubly so if'n yer wearin' any sorta threatenin' armor. Though not always... ya should see Mr. Hammersmith sometime - he's all big 'n threatenin' lookin', but he mostly jus' wears kilts 'n carries 'round a rock wit a stick innit."
Pulling a slightly out of place step stool closer by hooking one of the legs with his foot, the Lalafell got himself into the proper position and unhooked his hammer from its sheath. Holding the thing - perhaps a bit surprisingly - in one hand, he steadied the grip and started giving the pommel a few light, steady taps. Every once in a while, he'd free the blade from the clamp to check its looseness before setting it back in to continue his work.
"'n I wouldn't rec'mend sleepin' in a bed wit yer armor on anyroad. Or goin' sweets-shoppin' innit," he added as he worked, his attentions focused on the blade. "'less yer worried someone's after ya - then yer in a bigger pot'a trouble at tha' point anyroad, right?"
"Well, I'd figger goin' 'round wit a super-grumpy face would draw attention no matter what weapon yer bringin'," he commented idly as he tightened the clamp. "Doubly so if'n yer wearin' any sorta threatenin' armor. Though not always... ya should see Mr. Hammersmith sometime - he's all big 'n threatenin' lookin', but he mostly jus' wears kilts 'n carries 'round a rock wit a stick innit."
Pulling a slightly out of place step stool closer by hooking one of the legs with his foot, the Lalafell got himself into the proper position and unhooked his hammer from its sheath. Holding the thing - perhaps a bit surprisingly - in one hand, he steadied the grip and started giving the pommel a few light, steady taps. Every once in a while, he'd free the blade from the clamp to check its looseness before setting it back in to continue his work.
"'n I wouldn't rec'mend sleepin' in a bed wit yer armor on anyroad. Or goin' sweets-shoppin' innit," he added as he worked, his attentions focused on the blade. "'less yer worried someone's after ya - then yer in a bigger pot'a trouble at tha' point anyroad, right?"
~