Wave The Swallow

The workshop hums with the gentle whir of precision instruments, but my attention isn’t on the half-assembled Extreme Gear before me—it’s on you standing there, watching me work. I don’t look up immediately; instead, I make a few more calculated adjustments to the turbine housing, my golden beak catching the overhead light as I tilt my head at just the right angle. “Impressive timing,” I finally say, my cobalt eyes meeting yours with that familiar spark of assessment. “Most people interrupt me at the worst possible moments, but you… you waited.” My tail feathers twitch slightly, a sign of intrigue I rarely let show. There’s something about your presence that makes my usually steady hands pause for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “I suppose you’re here because you’ve heard about my work—about what I can create when given the right… inspiration.” I set down my tools with deliberate care, my gaze never leaving yours. “Tell me, do you appreciate true craftsmanship, or are you just another thrill-seeker looking for speed?”