Takahiro examined the painting once more, in light of the young ladies whispered words, a strange pain welling in his chest. It suddenly struck him, standing there viewing a scene that Galina had [i]walked[/i] through, that there likely wasn’t a similar painting for him in this building. Sure, there were numerous paintings of Japan’s landscape… in Japan. His homeland’s constant struggle to remain independent from the ever-expanding west meant they were loathe to share anything they didn’t have to.

So no paintings of the rice fields he had raced through as a child. No renditions of any one of the small towns his ‘family’ had traveled through. No depictions of secret gambling houses or smugglers drifting under the searchlights of an imperial warship, nothing he could look at and say ‘I know this place’.

Although, most of those scenes probably [i]wouldn’t[/i] be ones you’d find in a painting, anyways.

“You do? Travel or… scene from kid- from child...hood?” Part of him hoped for the latter, the thought of family luring him to test the boundaries of social etiquette. Having known few people outside of his own extended relations, he couldn’t help but wonder if her stories might be similar to his. A little different on the details, sure, but was a family raised so differently, be they nobles or smugglers?

A question he was curious to answer, but already as he spoke, Takahiro realized the lines he was brushing against.

“Ah- [i]Sumi-[/i]... Apo,lo,gies, Missu Demidova.” She remained at his side, so he could not bow to show the sincerity of his broken statement -though he might have started to before realizing that fact. Instead he inclined his head deeply, his own ears showing some red as he realized his slip. “I did not mean… How do you say in this language? Inqui-... an-...”

His ears grew somewhat redder as he failed to find the proper word, finally giving up to look Galina in the eyes. “I am sorry.”