Recognition rolls off of him, the calling of his name in such a questioning tone might have brought nothing but a spark of amusement. Of course the other had every right to assume such, but his sights had fixated on the personified embodiment of a blade he perhaps himself had forged. But such things need not have been spoken as he stood in the doorway to the shop in question. Rather out of place against such a distinct setting, the other fit in far more. “Rebellion.”
A brief glance cast in few directions; one to the office, where Dante had fallen asleep sometime earlier, likely with his feet on his desk and an empty pizza box on the floor. One to his own bedroom, where the tendrils of a sleeping blade tickle at the base of his skull... Almost as if he is ensuring that he can properly address the man, without causing some sort of issue.
He stands and approaches, though keeps a distance between them--out of respect, if nothing else.
"The boy sleeps. What can I do for you, sir?"
