Teja, on the other hand, was not afraid to ask for what he wanted, and did so, pointing to various pieces of merchandise, which he examined with a professional's eye. "This is weighted incorrectly," he muttered to the booth keeper, "and it's crooked," he added as he looked down its blade. "Whoever worked on these was doing a halfass job, trying to crank out as many of these as possible. A lot of your detailing is press work, or acid-etch, which is incongruous with a lot of the weapons' relative times," he shook his head. "Kind of sad that you sell such shit work for such high prices. I'd be charging just as much for twice the quality, and I've got a decade of experience as a blacksmith. I doubt any of these were actually smithed, just molded, sharpened, and assembled on a line." He turned to Gaz, shaking his head. "Hell, Gaz, this one's handle is loose as a geriatric hooker. Look at this." He handed it to her.