#his hair also grows ridiculously fast because the wolf he fused with was Magic and had some funky abilities

[resolvebound]

⭐

Send ⭐ for a sample of a new muse I am thinking of writing // accepting

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Dorian watched the customer leave his shop. Kids these days, he thought, they didn’t appreciate quality workmanship the way they used to. ‘Kid’ was probably not quite the right descriptor for the young man that had come and gone, as he was perhaps in his twenties, but still…that would put him at least half Dorian’s own age. It occurred to him then that he was getting old, almost reminding himself of his father with the weary thoughts of youth. The idea of having any sort of similarity to his father would have stirred up disgust in the past, yet now there was almost a touch of fondness (though a slight, reflexive scrunch of his face could not be denied).

As he picked up the magic imbued knife from the countertop, he held it up to catch the light. In the reflection of the blade, his own eyes stared intently back at him, the rich, chocolate shade of which he inherited from his mother, while the ever-present seriousness echoed of his father. He tilted the knife slightly, the adjusted view now showing the lower half of his face and the heavy stubble of dark brown that shaped it.

Eyes ever discerning, he spotted a smudge along the blade from where the kid had touched. Frowning, he pulled out a cloth from beneath the counter, carefully wiping the knife clean. Polished once again, the weapon gleamed from the tip down to the intricate detailing on the hilt that surrounded the Lacrima fused within it. When he thought about it, he supposed the knife, along with everything else in the shop, represented every interest he had that his father had struggled to understand. Craftmanship, art, creation, magic.

Dorian moved around the counter to return the item to its proper place, setting it gently on its stand. He turned, eyes surveying the rest of his wares to ensure everything was where it should be. Swords, knives, bows, arrows, armour – they made up the bulk of the humble store, all crafted with great care and typically infused with magic. Fusion was his speciality after all, and his curse. The joining of different elements, materials, or items to create something new.

His gaze shifted over the various magical objects he’d made, settling on the display of enhanced prosthetic limbs. They had been, and continued to be, the most difficult and rewarding work, and happened to be what had finally garnered the respect of his father, as one such magical limb had allowed the man to continue his work after that dark time.

He wondered if he should call in on his parents next time he headed out. A search for resources, or a job request via his guild, either could bring him back to his old hometown. Funny, even after all these years and everything they had been through, he still felt as if he needed an excuse to visit. Nevertheless, now that he thought about it, it had been a while since he’d taken up a request. Master Goldmine never seemed to mind the time that passed between his visits to the guild, knowing both his personality and his...circumstances.

It would be…good to visit. Yes, the timing was right too, the next full moon was still a couple of weeks away.

Plans of travel began to form in his mind, lists of what he might need to take with him, or pick up along the way. However, his thoughts on the matter soon halted as the bell above the front door jingled, heralding someone’s entrance. A quick look at the newcomer found his eyes drawn to the guild mark visible upon them, the shape of which stirred certain mixed emotions. Even without the guild’s fame (or infamy, according to some), the Fairy Tail insignia was all too familiar to him.

It wasn’t easy to forget his first guild, after all.

He frowned, rubbing a hand first along his shoulder where old scars seemed to ache, then through the thickness of his hair (which he had forgotten he’d cut short again, but knew it wouldn’t be long before the loose waves once again reached his shoulders). Smiling was not a common expression of his, and was not something he faked, not even for the sake of serving a customer, so he merely greeted his visitor with a respectful nod (if they looked, they might see a degree of warmth in his eyes, however).

“Welcome,” he said, voice low, almost as if it wasn’t used to being used, “Can I help you?”