You hum to yourself, careful not to chitter - you're mostly among low and mid bloods, but it's never wise to show your pincers in public.
You’ve acquired a spot at a craft fair in a community center - a town not too far from Blackstone. Fortunately, no one seems to find you too remarkable, just how you like it.
Organized in neat rows with red-printed price tags are some of the gadgets you've made. All are useful somehow - combs that never pick up static electricity, small metal crows that can act as alarms (among other things), metallic gloves like your own that strengthen and steady the wearer's hands.
Helpful enchantments for the everynight troll.
You should probably be advertising more assertively, but... tech displays aside, you hate talking yourself up. It feels so awkward.
Instead, one of your crows flies around above you whistling tunes - not too loud, but noticeable enough. It does fancy loop-de-loops and dives as well, carefully fluttering out of the way if anyone is passing through.
