[b][color=662d91][h3]K E N J I    T A K E D A[/h3][/color][/b][sub]Below deck: (In a quiet corner or doctors room)[/sub]

[hr]

[b]A[/b] silence permeated the ship from above, it wasn't complete but more a subtle shift in the mood, a slowing of actions, a murmuring of words. Kenji sensed the change, the tension, as it dripped down through tired wooden planks above and slowly seeped throughout the ship.

Something big was going on...

Trying to ignore what was happening above, the young man of mixed lineage, sitting seiza before a table made low by sawing off its legs, drew his senses into a tight bubble around himself and focused within. 
-Just like he was taught-
He concentrate on his breath, on his thoughts, on his ki. 
-Just like he was taught-
Seeking that state of Zen and subsequently, enlightenment. 

Then, before he found it, the atmosphere above deck shifted once again, pulling at his attention. The creaking wood above whispered of someone leaving, moving overhead, a silence surrounding them, the ship itself groaning to the weight of their indomitable presence. Soon after a few muffled orders barked sent the ship back into a cacophony of busied work but underneath it all sat a new hum of curious whispers reverberating through the wood.

[i]'It was not of his concern.'[/i] He told himself. [i]'Only Jisei was.(自制) Character and Self-Control. The eighth virtue.'[/i]
Without even opening his eyes, through graceful familiar movements his hand slid into the draw of the low table and removed a stick of incense to hopefully help him on his path. Then he paused, and finally his green eyes did open.

The external distraction caused an oversight in what he already knew. He was all out of matches. 

Reaching into the ties of his patched up old hakama, he pulled forth a small rectangle box. With it in hand he hesitated before deftly, single handedly opening the package and peering at the matches within. Compared to what they had been using on the ship for the last few months these were relatively new and of quality.

These were not his. Obtained from two young deckhands squabbling over and trading them in a rush. They were not theirs either. He didn't know how they had obtained them, but he was sure it wasn't honourably. So, he had commandeered them. Kenji had been granted no authority by the captain to to do such things, but through reputation and role he had found some. As long as he didn't push it. Most did not want to upset the one who cuts their hair, or possibly their limbs.

So as he slowly examine the neat tidy little tightly packed box of fire sticks, he let the weight of the conundrum play out in his mind as he balance his choices. 

The distinct scent of sandlewood rose into the air on wisps of ghostly white smoke soon after, Kenji let out a sigh and closed his eyes once more, returning to his meditation, neatly placing onto the modified table the small box of matches, now containing one less.

He would find the new crewmate who these belonged to and return them, later.