[h1][center][color=silver]Silme Raana[/color][/center][/h1]

Silme merely clicked his teeth in annoyance at the girl's muttering, his already irritable mood only having grown worse thanks to her 'offer'. [i][color=silver]I barely trust the blacksmith to not fuck with my stuff, and that's only cause I'm paying him.[/color][/i] Speaking of the old bastard, the faunus couldn't help but wonder if his age had gotten to the man's hearing, otherwise he didn't properly seem to understand Silme's request. In anyoher town, Silme would've just told the owner to go fuck himself before heading off to some other place, but this was the only forge worthy mentioning in this craphole of a town. As such, he'd have to make nice. . . for now. He waited until Azu had finished up her talk with the owner, or at least was close enough to it that he could butt in when it could be considered less than rude to do so, if not particular proper.

 However, it would seem that the fates were against him getting his geared checked on, as another girl would appear in the doorway, loudly calling out to the blacksmith. Silme was half-tempted to tell her to sut her goddamn trap, but held it in. Raising a fuss would only get him kicked out and then he'd just be shit out of luck. So, knowing that the socially acceptable time to speak had passed, he decided to simply wait in a corner and stew in his frustration, taking the time to look around his surroundings a bit. 

He saw all the usual tools of the trade and craft that a man of Maroon's profession would have, stuff that he would love to have a go at if he wasn't afraid of busting his finnicky-as-fuck weapon. Just thinking about the damn things brought a low growl from his throat as he lifted them up. The gauntlets were of a fine and sleek make, despite the seeming bulk that made up the arm guards. With a fine Atlesian white and grey finish that held all the prim and proper appearance that came with such associations, you'd think it to be a state f the art weapon of only the finest quality. Unfortunately for him, this particular weapon was nothing but a proto-type, one that had been discontinued for being too impractical for the average Huntsman. They should've been scrapped for parts, but his teacher at Atlas had considered him to be a perfect subject to test out their practicality on the field.

With a grunt, he placed one of the gauntlets down before attempting to figure out the problem one more time on his own. Donning a gauntlet on his right hand caused the machinery inside the reinforced steel casing to purr as it came to life, but Silme didn't have time to appreciate the sound. He was too busy waiting for the now all too familiar sting as the weapon began to siphon off his Aura, an over all uncomfortable sensation the could best be compared to having someone sucking you blood out through your pores. The feeling lessened after a short while, though it never vanished. 

[color=silver][i]Ugggh. . . I'm never going to get used to that.[/i][/color] He grumbled internally as he began basic testing of his gear. First he'd start to clench and unclench his fist to make sure nothing stuck or was jammed, followed by a slight reving of the Aura reactor within the machine, causing the gauntlet to humm once more. After this were a few calibration tests needed to ensure all the support systems were still functional, followed by the big two tests. [color=Silver]"Aura Claws: Activate."[/color]

A rather boring activation code, to be certain, but he wasn't up to personalizing it until he had decided on a proper name for the damn things. The gauntlets, however, seemed to take offense to their master's lack of creativity, as the tips started shooting out a spray of silver sparks, making a rather hi-pitched screeching sound that would likely hurt everyone's ears a bit, his most of all due to his damned faunus senses. Luckily, this would last for only a short moment before the blades would form with a sudden 'bzzzt 'as they sprung to life. Five claw-like blades of silver energy sputtered to life in front of him, the edges rough, jagged, and seeming to move along the blade's edge in a fashion similarly to a chainsaw, causing Silme to let out a frustrated groan as he muttered the deactivation code. The claws would disperse into the air around him in a mist of silver wisps while the gauntlet powered down. As soon as it was safe to do so, Silme tugged the damn thing off and tossed it onto the worktable in front of him, the frustation of his many, many attempts to fix this problem himself coming to the fore.

[color=Silver]"If that girl still isn't done talking with the old man, I'm going to stop caring about social decorum and fuckin' make that old, hard of hearing bastard help me through this if I have to."[/color]