'Demons, hm?' Motley muttered to himself, pondering the smith's insistence that they didn't use human souls, his own lack of knowledge about this "Gilgamesh Co.", and feeling a mite stung by the patronising tone, even if he'd brought it upon himself. 'That would make sense, I suppose, if the average demon is more powerful than the average human, though those humans worth turning into weapons would themselves be more powerful than average... and with the lack of buyers, I can't imagine work has been great for you.' He gestured around himself, just in time to pick up the sound of movement behind him, with his vampiric senses of course.
'That, I think, is my cue to leave you to your task, smith. If I find something worth smelting, I shall bring it to your doorstep post-haste.' Declaration made, Motley Crue turned to face whoever the approaching target was, walking away from the smithy just in case some aspect of what could be an ensuing fight turned sour, and forced the vampire back toward that area. As resistant to death as he was, he still tended to try and avoid sensations like being badly burned by the tools of a blacksmith. They weren't usually pleasant either way.