[@Breo]
[h2][center][b]Emmerich Lisztmayer-Anschütz von Sabern, 
[i]Master of Rider[/i]
Miyama
The 27th of August, 1939[/b][/center][/h2]

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It was not easy to book a room in a country ever so xenophobic, but Emmerich thought nothing of it. It'd be hypocritical to judge the Japanese for being wary of outsiders when his own people were currently rounding up folk of questionable loyalty. This was perfectly normal behaviour for a culture so savvy of its ethnic composition - As a successful nation should be. The lanky officer did not risk abusing the arcane to get his way with the racist clerks nor did he even take offense at being escorted out. His magics needn't be so selfishly squandered on meager things such as this. If anything, he thought, this was a fine chance to survey the city's unique landscape personally.

To this end, the german officer donned a dress fit for public appearance. No longer did he only go around in rolled-up shirts and suspenders - The jackboots, however, stuck around. Its hobnails made a particular demand of Emmerich's gait to prevent slipping on flat pavement, granting the man a rigid albeit quite graceful and soldierly walk. Tucked into the gallant black footwear were his grey, ironed pants that begged the question how a person on the move actually irons his trousers without seemingly any purpose-tools at his disposal. Whilst the lanky officer did not bring along his hat for this stroll, everything else was in order: Brown shirt, black tie and a black tunic with white piping on the shoulders and four pockets on the front. However, the patches all over the outfit were blank. Only one article of clothing gave away Emmerich's allegiance. Above his waist, a black belt wore a square buckle with a subtle falcon and swastika, sporting the iconic text that all Schutzstaffel troops swore by - "Meine Ehre heißt Treue."

It wasn't long until he finally managed to find refuge in a hotel room from the bustling of Western Fuyuki. A comfortable beige room with a pair of single beds, a bathroom, a workspace and a phonograph that soon creaked to life with the officer's favourite German tunes smuggled into the establishment by his suitcase. Soon with tunic hanged and boots off his feet, Emmerich was already busy with some manner of paperwork on his newfound desk, once again donning a more work-oriented appearance with rolled-up shirt sleeves. With pen in hand, he mumbled a series of numbers absentmindedly. [color=#8c8c8c]"[b][i]One hundred more... I can't fit one hundred more in there![/i][/b]"[/color], he grumbled as he penned his calculations and awaited his lunch.

[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/wiD2ByQ.png[/img][/center]