The Pen is Mightier than Iron

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Jan 31st BONUS— "AU"

"Oi, Shrimp, where's the smithy?"

Levy felt a vein throb in her forehead but kept her cool, keeping her hands on the sword she was currently inspecting, and taking a moment until she responded: "You mean the Scribe?"

"Yeah, that, whatever. The blacksmith told me that I had to come here to get magic spells sown or whatever into my sword." She finally had to look up at her assailant. He was tall—well, that didn't put him in the right for calling her "Shrimp," but she could see where he was coming from—with unruly black hair pinned back from his sharp face and clothed in an armored top with normal trousers and leather knee boots beneath. A large iron sword rested on his shoulder as he raised one pierced eyebrow at her. "Well? Am I in the right place?"

"This is the Scribe's, yes," she answered with a sigh, setting the sword down on a table with a few others as she jotted her observations down in her notebook. Old but lightly used; weak constitution; head hunting // VERDICT — ADM; PST; LLG; SLS. "And enchanting a sword is more complicated than that."

"Yeah, well, I need this done by tomorrow. Can ya make it happen?" He shifted his shoulder and let the sword drop, point down, into the cement. It was half his height and broad in frame, durable, like him. "I gotta take it to battle in the morn."

"Usually, these scripts will take two or three days. You're just giving me less than fourteen hours." He shrugged a shoulder and she pouted.

"Should be leavin' it to yer old man then, Shrimp," he said passively. Her face reddened as she stomped up to him and jabbed a finger in his admittedly hard sternum.

"There's no old man—I'm the Scripter here, so you give me respect, okay? And— And stop calling me shrimp!" she wailed. A smirk that he couldn't quite contain curved his mouth, then he chuckled.

"Got it, Scripter," he said drolly. "So, ya think ya can do it?"

"Depends," she held, relenting now that he'd eased up. "What kind of opponents are you going up against?"

With a completely straight face, he pointed at his sword and said, "Dragons."

She blinked twice and pushed her loose blue curls from her ears.

"I'm sorry?"

"Dragons," he repeated in the same tone. "I'm a Dragon Slayer, and...let's say Iron Dragon Slayer." He rapped the heavy sword with his knuckles for emphasis. "So I'll need somethin' tough, preferably fireproof, and hard enough to withstand dragon talons."

"You're kidding!" she exclaimed. "You go out and fight dragons?" She had never seen one personally, but all her books described them as monstrous beasts able to breathe magic like air and impossible to beat.

"Not just me," he grunted. "Me and this hotheaded moron, Dragneel." Levy decided to ignore the weird name for the sake of their current topic.

"How does that work?"

"I'd love to sit and tell ya, really, but I have places to be. So?" She remembered his sword and gave it a quick once-over.

"Well... I suppose," she finally decided. He grinned and had the audacity to drop a hand on her hair and ruffle it.

"Thanks a lot, Shrimp. Yer really savin' me here." She reddened heatedly at the contact and swatted his hand away.

"Stop it!" She pulled away and snatched the sword as she went, bending a little at the weight before heaving it onto her work table with a loud clang. "For the last time, I'm not a shrimp! My name is Levy!"