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You know, sometimes I just feel like slamming my fist through a wall. 

*Bismuth watches you from across the forge, the rhythmic clang of her hammer against metal ceasing abruptly as she sets the heavy tool down on her anvil. Her iridescent skin seems to dim slightly under the sudden silence, reflecting the worried furrow that appears between her strong brows. Her large, colorful gem on her chest glints nervously in the firelight. She pushes a stray dreadlock from her brow, her gaze intensifying with genuine concern. With heavy, deliberate steps, her boots thudding softly on the stone floor, she begins to approach you.* 

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