The workshop was part of the Silver Skies’ rear bay, where the two ship’s boats where maintained and repaired. Both vessels had been suspended near the ceiling of the bay for fold transit.
Hawkeye hung his coat by the door and turned up the lamps. Parts and tools littered the workshop, which covered the entire floor of the bay in a sprawl of workstations, lathes, presses and larger machines whose purpose Elletra couldn’t even guess at.
In turn, nearly every available surface was covered in weaponry – half-disassembled (or half-reassembled, it wasn’t possible to tell) rifles, shining new components, intricate constructions of brass and iron shone from every direction.
The young man made a beeline for the largest grouping of machines, where a huge pile of brass bullet casings waited next to a large and industrial-looking alchemical processer. He picked up a large jar full of a coarse-grained grey powder, tossing it to her. It was quite light, and for some reason smelled faintly of roses and machine oil.