Jezibel sits hunched over in the welding booth, working with a particularly thin piece of metal for some other machinery. He squints his eyes through the darkened mask at the delicate piece as of to project his frustrations at it. His hair is tied back into a slick ponytail, doing nothing to staunch the beads of sweat collecting at his temple. His awkward perch on the stool forces him to lean to the side slightly and pronounce the ache that comes with cramming yourself into a box for hours on end. Even so he told himself, "it is better than a desk job." Something he despised much more than any 'jewelry piece'.