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Since hearing Gabriel's final words days ago, Oxford had become increasingly comfortable living in Inferni. He had discovered a small but cozy cave where Gabriel had directed him and had made it his home. It was decorated in the hides of a few animals and he'd set up his tools in an organized arrangement. It was a bit empty, but with time he was sure he could fill it up.
Today, he intended to make a nice knife for himself. His old one was growing too dull and he wasn't confident enough in its ability. All through his life, he'd collected little scraps to be used for his jewelry and weaponry. Metal from lumber mills or scrap yards were what he used for most of his knives and such. On a flattened boulder he'd found a few yards from his home surrounded by weeds and smaller rocks, Oxford had set up a small workshop. On a piece of carbon saw-blade stock, something he'd cherished as a great find during one of his lumber mill raids, Oxford designed the blade to his liking. With closed eyes, he pictured what he wanted before slowly and carefully tracing his picture onto the metal.
Clouds blocked out the sun, making it rather cold out, around 10°C. Still, he found beads of sweat had collected on his brows as he worked, showing his deep concentration. Some might consider Oxford a perfectionist, always wanting his works to turn out exactly as he'd planned. And maybe he was. Surely he looked like one as he moved the razor knife at a snail's pace along the steel, cutting out the blade of his knife.
[html] http://i155.photobucket.com/albums/s304 ... pd/run.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; padding-bottom:165px; background-position:bottom center; background-color:#C6EDFA;"> -Pretends to be alive.- >_x
>>>>>The power to kill without being seen--or, alternatively, to take a life without needing to look the victim in the eyes--was a terrifying concept. Undoubtedly, those that had tossed off the naivety of youth, were shackled to memories of vicious fights, bloodbaths in the name of religion or politics, and were educated enough to know something of the world's history before the rise of the canine--without a doubt, they had contemplated human weaponry at one point in their life. The madmen embraced it, the traditionalists despised it, and the wise feared it. Most of Anselm's training focused on tooth and claw attacks and defence, but he also knew how to use knives and how to defend against one. Guns were fascinating, and he had fired one before--but only once. In no way did he want to be responsible for using or popularising such a powerful killing device. He buried it shortly after he found it. It was unnatural, and leapt across the gap that told him knives (and even swords) could be treated as extensions of oneself, while the lethal accuracy of a gun and the ability to kill from a distance was tempting fate. The times were already chaotic enough.
>>>>>Thoughts of the war constantly raced through his mind. It was none too surprising, then, that he chose to approach one of Inferni's newer recruits--Oxford, the weapon crafter. For as much as he knew about what human weapons looked like and how to hold and use them, he knew strikingly little about their creation. His eyes widened as he watched the other male use what appeared to be a knife to create another knife. Fascinating... so these things were somewhat self-replicating? All you needed was one and some more material, and you could make more? That didn't seem quite right--in the natural world, trees might produce more trees, and deer more deer, but he had never seen those damned skyscrapers reproducing or the broken down automobiles magically healing themselves. So why was this any different? He stepped forward again silently, not wishing to interrupt, and watched with rapt attention. His tail hung neutrally toward the earth behind him, and for now he said nothing. Body language would convey enough.
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When the steel had finally been cut to Oxford's satisfaction, he set it down and prepared to work on the handle. There were two types of handles, the first being known as scale or slab while the second is just a one-piece. For as long as Ox had been making knives, he'd used the latter option. It was simpler and usually took less time. It was just as he was beginning to set up the material to surround the tang of the blade that he heard a rustling behind him and turned to find the man he'd met upon first joining the clan silently watching him.
"Hello," he greeted turning away from Anselm after the greeting to continue shaping the handle around the tang. "Need something?" he asked in a friendly enough way. Anselm had left a decent enough impression on Oxford. He'd seemed a bit strange but nothing really unnerving. As he smoothed the wooden handle with care, he kept an ear open for the older hybrid's response.
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>>>>>Anselm liked to think he was harder to impress than he really was. In reality, it did not take much to satisfy him--almost anybody who was laid back and had half a brain would be fine. It was only tension, insolence, and ignorance that got to him and made him tick. Unfortunately, for whatever reason, for most of his life he'd been greeted with tension and little else. Consequentially, it was hard to think of him as a bubbly, merry fellow, and he didn't think much of anyone else, either. Oxford, however, had already proven himself to be knowledgeable, respectful, and generally worthy of his time. So far.
>>>>>The coyote acknowledged him and he stepped around the boulder to the front with a silent nod. It was more much more interesting to watch Ox's hands (as opposed to his furry turned back). Frowning thoughtfully, he picked up the newly crafted blade carefully, lightly touched the sharp edge, and gave the broad edge a light flick with his nail. A dull tink! sound resulted, and he placed the item back down and exchanged it for the blade Oxford had used to make the new one. A similar inspection followed, and if the younger male was paying any attention, it would have been obvious that the gears were racing inside Anselm's head. Finally, he hunched his shoulders in a shrug and turned his attention back to Oxford directly.
>>>>>"These knives are both of a hard material and quite sharp, and yet you used this one to craft the other? How." Was it the angle? Were both simply much stronger than his own teeth and nails, thereby seeming extremely similar, when in reality they were quite different materials? Hopefully the craftsman would be able to make sense of this anomaly.
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