The blacksmith flipped the sign. "Open," the sign said, beckoning for another day of customers. He tidied up a few more shelves and wandered around his shop for one final inspection before he returned to the back. The kiln should be ready now. He read over his next order. Selecting an appropriate piece of metal, he began his work.
Swords, spearheads, armor: the blacksmith smiths them all. He becomes excited of new projects. He becomes at peace when he worked. And he becomes proud when the work was completed to his liking, or annoyed when he failed to meet his own expectations.
The bell, attached to the door with a bow from his wife, jingled.
He set aside his work and headed to the front.
"Good morning, sir!" he greeted the customer, "Are you here to pick up your spear?"
The customer nodded, "That I am. I hope it turned out well?"
The blacksmith beamed. "Of course! I'll be right out." He walked into a storage area and picked up a hefty spear. He handed it the customer, who thanked the blacksmith and paid him for his services. The bell jingled as the customer exited. The blacksmith returned to the back.
Customers came and went. He had lunch outside the backsteps. The afternoon was busier; more requests for weapons, more repairs needed to be done, more upgrades to be made. Business was doing well. But a part of him wished it didn't. Not when he knew what they were for. He would have been happy to smith kitchen knives and chopping axes, with the occasional blade or spear. Not the other way around. Since Whitebeard's era had ended, a lot of pirates had been scrambling out from the cracks to take over as much of Whitebeard's territories as possible. The marines were flooded with requests every day for help to quell them. He was too old for the marines to want to recruit him but he wondered how many of the younger lads in the city had enlisted as of today. And how many will return when it was all over.
The bell jingled.
"Good afternoon, sir," an out-of-breath young man straightened up and greeted the blacksmith, "I'm here to pick up my weapon."
It was that strange, young lad from yesterday. He didn't look much older than 20. Blonde curls. Top hat. Probably some posh fellow wooed by the romanticism of heroism. Which is what the blacksmith might have believed if it weren't for the burn wound across his eye. A burn like that isn't caused from playing with a little bit of fire like most boys have done in their youth.
"Ah, yes. The pipe, right? Be back in a second," the blacksmith said as he walked into the storage room. He placed a long, thin, metal pipe onto the countertop. "What do you think?"
The young man whistled. "Looks good! Much better than when it came in. You have remarkable skills."
"Just doing my job. But I gotta ask; why a pipe? Most of the lads usually go for a sword or a spear."
"It's sentimental," the blonde replied. A touch of melancholy accompanied his smile.
"You planning on joining the marines with this?"
The roar of the kiln whimpered momentarily. "I never said I was with the marines."
"Oh ho. A pirate?"
This time, the young man smiled warmly. "Maybe when I was ten, but not anymore." The kiln returned to its usual roar. Whatever was going on with the kiln, it seemed to have gone away. Perhaps he should consider getting a new one if it continued to act up.
The blacksmith shrugged his shoulders. "In that case, what you do is none of my business. My business is just to smith the best I can. Take care of your pipe, and it will take care of you."
"Thank you," the customer counted out the appropriate amount of beri for the blacksmith. "By the way, is there a back exit I might be able to borrow?"
"Hrm? Why do you ask?"
Suddenly, a young woman's voice could be heard outside. "Sabo-kun! Sabo-kun, I know you ducked into this street somewhere! Quit playing hooky on your job!" The blacksmith noted that the young man flinched slightly.
"Oh ho," the blacksmith remarked, "hiding from the missus."
The young man sighed, "Ahh, I can't believe she found me this quickly."
The blacksmith hitched his thumb behind him. "Through the work room and to the left are some steps that can take you out back." The kiln let out a burp of flame, as if to welcome the runaway man.
"Thank you, sir!" And with the beri left behind, there was no other sign of the lad. The bell jingled. A young lady around his age opened the door.
"Hi! I'm looking for a blonde guy with a top hat. Have you seen him?" she asked the blacksmith.
He hitched his thumb behind him again. "He went that way."
"Thanks, mister!" and she, too, ran off in a flash. The blacksmith chuckled when he heard the young man's voice off in the distance.
"Oh, come on!"