The man was foreign. Drae was no expert in the various dialects of the spoken word, but even his untrained ear could pick up on the Spanish roots in the violinist's lilting voice. Had they met under different circumstances, with the spider's sleep remaining uninterrupted, he might well have found his accent delightfully exotic and perhaps a bit charming. But as it stood, he could only find it in him to regard the man with the slightest hint of contempt, like that of a parent woken by the squalls of his first child - without malice, but with no shortage of frustration.<br/><br/>Provided the stranger simply packed up his things and moved on, Drae was perfectly willing to forget that the disturbance had ever occurred. He had much more to do than to fret about a common street musician picking the wrong corner on which to play. Instead, the man insisted on providing him with a bit of compensation by fixing the sign above the door. The Hex'ras was not inclined to believe he had truly altruistic aspirations, however, for the violinist had lost his paying clientele and was likely of a mind to make it up somehow. Apparently he had seen an opportunity.<br/><br/>"If I allow you to fix the sign," Drae pointed out, idly hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, "it will create a great deal more noise than your music. in which case, I suppose I'm left with the conundrum as to which would be more detrimental to my sleep - your violin, or the pounding of a hammer."<br/><br/>Cold though his outer shell was, the Hex'ras was not entirely without a heart. Something told him that the man standing before him was more than capable of at least trying to hustle him, perhaps even attempt to steal, but he posed very little threat in the great scheme of things. Besides that, Drae suspected that if he continued to brush him off, he would only invite the stranger's insistence. And so, with a low sigh, he turned and reached for the door. "In," he beckoned as he stepped through.<br/><br/>The muddled exterior of his shop carried through well into the inner sanctum, with its weathered wallpaper and creaking floorboards. Masks and totems and scrolls lined the walls at every turn, shelves and tables teeming with kitsch, yet it appeared that everything sat in precisely the order intended. Although a stickler for habit and routine, Drae was not a meticulously organized man, but there remained a certain method to his madness. A pristine inventory simply didn't suit his personality, and indeed didn't suit the personality of his shop.<br/><br/>Stepping behind the counter housing the register, Drae opened up the broom closet and from it withdrew a tool kit, its exterior coated in a fine layer of dust, which made it perfectly apparent that it saw little use. This he extended to the stranger with little preamble, along with a folding three-step stool, before he took a seat on the leather-padded swivel chair behind the register. "I'll ask you to make it quick," he said, removing his violet-tinted sunglasses now that the sun posed little threat.<br/><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(255, 255, 255)"></span></span>