“Christ.. this sake tastes like shit...” Takeda grumbled as she reluctantly took another sip. The acrid smell of the low-quality alcohol hung in the air of the dimly lit bar, mixing with the sweat and tobacco of the other patrons. She doesn't even know why she wastes her time drinking here. Sure, they're cheap, but the drinks taste so awful Takeda would rather pay the extra yen somewhere else just so she doesn't have to risk puking her guts out.

As she finished another bottle, she pulls out some more yen and slams it down onto the rough wooden table. The sound echoes slightly above the muted conversations around her. "More." She mumbled as she looked around the bar, her single brown eye scanning the room with practiced alertness. Nobody ever sat next to her here. She was always alone. It shouldn't bother her, she wasn't here to make friends, but she still felt a pang of loneliness seeing everyone making toasts and chattering among each other. The memories of her family's slaughter by Tokugawa samurai flashed briefly in her mind - their faces, the blood, the hiding place in the closet that saved her life. Ever since that day, she's felt alone. So very alone. The only person she made a connection with since then was Akiyama-sensei, and he died last month.

Suddenly, the bell above the bar door jingles as someone walks in. The light from outside briefly illuminates the newcomer before the door closes. “Ooh.. he's smokin'..” She whispered, letting out a low whistle that nobody else seemed to hear. The wooden bench next to her creaks slightly as she shifts her position, the fabric of her black kimono rustling softly. I hope he sits next to me. He's way better lookin' than any of the other morons here. Then again, that isn't really impressive. The majority of folks who frequent here look like ogres. He doesn't, though.. she likes him. Her fingers unconsciously brush the hilt of the sword hidden beneath her kimono as she waits, her red hair falling forward slightly over her face.