[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Sagramore[/color][/h3][/center]

[color=c0392b]"...So it's ended up being Kirin we've all linked up with then."[/color] Rudolf began as he and the rest took their seats, plopping down in a cross-legged lounge onto the cushion that mindfully dodged total indignity, instead settling on "lax". As the shinobi stiffly finished her report to the elegant Faye hosting them, his eyes warily followed her out, searching for whatever read he could into the palette of emotions they'd seen of her in the past... really, five minutes. Her professionalism had proven itself on the day's journey, and it helped that she'd taken a shine to [i]some[/i] of their number from further-flung lands than his— but there was a lot of question marks left, even if they'd mostly nixed the one that asked "Am I gonna wake up with a kunai jammed between my floating rib and liver?"

It also served the secondary purpose of politely [i]not[/i] staring as the affection burst forth from this Lady Ciradyl, and Izayoi was suddenly undergoing a stress-test of her lung capacity. Much like 'Chisa' ([color=c0392b][i]remember the name for later, but [b]don't[/b] use it if you like having a tongue in your mouth[/i][/color]), their host was, objectively speaking, very beautiful. From her crisp movement to her melodic voice to her flattering dress, it was brain dead easy to see why the shinobi had left a teasing wink in her wake. Fight, little red, fight for your life.

All that acknowledged, beauty alone was something he could readily handle himself against, and not waver in focus. He'd been trained far better than that— but the near-tearful reunion was a different story. Honestly, was one intrusion on his part these past two days not more than enough? At least with Kurogane, there was the sense of matter-of-factness that every old smith the Mother Crystal ever made had that kept things grounded, but this sort of tender atmosphere was a whole different ballgame.

The moment passed, and he scratched the travel-worn mess atop his scalp as he pulled the collar he'd used to shield his nose from road dust down, raising the teacup to his lips and staring down at the orange liquid within. Bitter leaf water. As a bitter bean water enjoyer, there was always that initial rejection of the immediate grassy note, but he wasn't going to deny the clear craft that went into preparing these cups.

He sipped gingerly, cleared his throat, and continued. This had been a question on his mind for a while, but he'd not found a good time to bring it up yet. A discrepancy between the letters and the reality he'd need to send word back on (or not, depending on how this went).

[color=c0392b]"The understanding I'd gotten while playing catch up was there being [i]four[/i] teams— I think one was Unicorn, Fenrir... blanking on the other, but the important thing's this—"[/color]

He looked the assembly of nine over.

[color=c0392b]"Do we know what's going on with the other units? This group was the only one I'd really caught wind of, but we're pretty well-stocked with nine of us on the job now."[/color]

One more and that would make things an even million gil a piece, for those at home who meant to keep score. He had his own reasons, but the others might've been differently inclined.