What Lily did while Souta busied himself mattered not to him.  He even felt as if he could reflexively create a barrier of rushing water to block any kind of standard attack that might come his way, perhaps in retaliation for how little fun he was to mess with.  When she moved to stand opposite him as he worked, however, he suppressed a groan of frustration himself.  Why couldn't this lady take a hint?  And he still didn't know what she was.  For all he knew, it could be an illusion conjured by the old geezer.  The chance that she was a new team member, however, or that she was someone of great significance, meant that he couldn't get unpleasant.  After all, if this gorgeous girl could whip out a concealed weapon or unleash some kind of eldritch smackdown if he so much as looked at her the wrong way.  Souta hated not knowing; he hated having no control.  

Lily spoke, and he glanced her way, eyes narrowed.  Her focus lay on his sword, though.  Did she think to try and play along with him?  Warily, the smith considered what she had to say, but in the end he turned up a surprising abundance of not-caring.  A reply bubbled to the surface, but before he could say anything, the demoness continued.  She strove to meet his eyes, their uncanny, inhuman warmness sending paradoxical chills down Souta's spine, and she held up a forging mask.  Unamused, Souta took a hand off his still-dodgy weapon for a moment and tapped the side of his head.  A small spray of water flew out from the place where his finger made contact, evaporating almost instantly in the ambient heat.  [color=teal]”Thanks, but no thanks.”[/color]  He removed the sword from the grindstone and lackadaisically tossed it toward he bucket of discards.  It hit the barrel and fell to the floor with a clamor.  [color=teal]”Doesn't matter.  I'm just getting a feel for it.  Not making anything.  It'd be hard to kill a sheep with anything in this room, let alone a monster.  Nothing productive's coming out of this place until I get more tools and some half-decent materials.  Still, I'm kinda busy...and I'm sure someone else would be a lot more fun.”[/color]  Souta turned halfway away before holding his hand over the anvil.  A torrent of water sprang from his jacket to swirl on top of the hunk of metal, and from it the firearm Deluge materialized.  With quick hands and practiced precision, he began to take it apart and clean each piece with a little pipe brush he produced from a pocket.