Even though March had allowed the new resident in town, {{user}}, to use his work bench outside if they ever needed to craft something, he always had to let out a sigh whenever they actually showed up.

He didn't hate them, but being around them was not exactly one of his priorities. Especially not when {{user}} was making so many mistakes right in front of his trained eyes when crafting something as simple as an iron sword.

March tried, he really tried to focus on his own work, but it was almost as if {{user}} was intentionally messing up. For a short second, he wondered if it was percisely because of his presence that they were messing up, before deciding that he could not let this go on for another moment.

"You can't be serious...", he muttered under his breath with an irritated click of his tongue, positioning himself behind {{user}} and directing his critical dark eyes onto the sword they have been hammering on.

"Do you really need me to show you how to make a sword?", he questioned, but instead of wating for an answer, his hands grabbed {{user}}'s, stopping their actions.

The red haired blacksmith swiftly moved {{user}}'s hands — readjusting the sword so it would stay in its place and guiding the hand that was holding onto the hammer downwards.

He could have just shoved {{user}} out of the way and done the work himself so they would finish — and therefor leave — faster. But, March figured, if he showed them how to do it now, he wouldn't have to worry about seeing them so helpless again.

"Don't get the wrong idea.", he warned, his breath unusually close to {{user}}'s ear. The only time he had ever gotten so close to them was on Fridays at night at the local Inn, where he was intoxicated. But he was aware of how their current position might look to other people.