Chachanji had done as he was told when they entered the smithy, keeping to the lady Dragoon's flank as they entered the building and remaining quiet. Yet he was far from idle, those violet orbs taking in the establishment. Where her nose wrinkled at the smell, the Lalafell's took in with ease and familiarity. Even the sudden change from the frigid cold of the Brume to the stifling heat of the forge was taken with practiced stride, seeming at home even despite the heavy clothing he wore.
Hands clasped behind his back, he rocked back and forth a bit on the balls of his booted feet, his childish posture belied just how much he was taking in. The quality of the hammers by the anvil, the auto-bellows that kept the forge alight, even the size of the quenching bin was assessed through those reflective Dunesfolk eyes of his. So much so that he paid little attention to the discussion between the owner of the establishment and the Miqo'te that brought him here.
As such, he started a bit when his name reached his ears, turning about to gaze up at V'aleera in time to see her nod and move aside. He scratched at the side of his hooded head with a gloved hand, before the other joined the first to pull the hood down and expose his fluffy mass of unkempt green hair to the soft glow of the forge fires. His gaze moved to the elderly Duskwight, then away briefly in a not uncommon burst of timidness. However, it didn't last too long - the boy seeming to draw strength from such a familiar locale.
"Chachanji Gegenji," he affirmed with a small nod, thumping lightly at his chest with a gloved hand. "Nice ta meetcha, Mr..." He paused a beat, quickly trying to recall the name the Dragoon had given him moments before they entered before following with a timid and inquisitive guess. "... Dunewas?"
Another short pause as he flushed in mild embarrassment, what strength he had garnered flickering away like a dying flame, his freckles brought to the fore upon his cheeks reddened by weather and by word as his hand again busying itself with scratching at the side of his head. As if to make amends for an improper guess, his introduction was quickly followed by a soft: "Um... thankya fer agreein' ta let me use yer forge. 's greatly 'ppreciated."
Hands clasped behind his back, he rocked back and forth a bit on the balls of his booted feet, his childish posture belied just how much he was taking in. The quality of the hammers by the anvil, the auto-bellows that kept the forge alight, even the size of the quenching bin was assessed through those reflective Dunesfolk eyes of his. So much so that he paid little attention to the discussion between the owner of the establishment and the Miqo'te that brought him here.
As such, he started a bit when his name reached his ears, turning about to gaze up at V'aleera in time to see her nod and move aside. He scratched at the side of his hooded head with a gloved hand, before the other joined the first to pull the hood down and expose his fluffy mass of unkempt green hair to the soft glow of the forge fires. His gaze moved to the elderly Duskwight, then away briefly in a not uncommon burst of timidness. However, it didn't last too long - the boy seeming to draw strength from such a familiar locale.
"Chachanji Gegenji," he affirmed with a small nod, thumping lightly at his chest with a gloved hand. "Nice ta meetcha, Mr..." He paused a beat, quickly trying to recall the name the Dragoon had given him moments before they entered before following with a timid and inquisitive guess. "... Dunewas?"
Another short pause as he flushed in mild embarrassment, what strength he had garnered flickering away like a dying flame, his freckles brought to the fore upon his cheeks reddened by weather and by word as his hand again busying itself with scratching at the side of his head. As if to make amends for an improper guess, his introduction was quickly followed by a soft: "Um... thankya fer agreein' ta let me use yer forge. 's greatly 'ppreciated."
~