The rain had eased. No longer the thunderous noise under the hood of his wax-treated cloak, Kenichi was having a much easier time navigating the foreign streets of New England with only a light patter drumming in his ears. His trek had taken him across Asia, from Beijing to Constantinople by train, then Europe, to Rome by boat across the Mediterranean, then once again by train to Paris, followed by a river boat to Le Havre, where he had boarded an ocean liner bound for New York City. His trek south, to Virginia, had been mostly on foot, as he felt it necessary to get to know the lay of the land. For all he knew, he would be here for some time, and knowing the territory could be essential to his survival at some point. He had not, however, realized that the distance would be roughly equal to walking from Tokyo to Osaka, a journey he had wisely taken on horseback several times.

But now, finally, he had arrived. This otherwise nondescript building before him, with fresh coach tracks in the mud near the front door, matched the address on the letter that had found him on his travels to Kyushu. Reaching for the door handle, he had the strangest sense that despite the thousands of miles he had just traveled, his journey was only beginning. With a smile obscured by his heavy scarf, he opened the door and surveyed the room inside.

A brothel.

[i]Nan' da yo-?[/i]

There had to be some mistake. He looked at the letter again in confusion, and double-checked the address posted on the door. Yes, this was the right place. Surely, there was some mistake. Had they wanted a male prostitute, they could have easily found one far more locally. It was also far too elaborate for a practical joke. He knew of nobody back in Japan who would even know of Virginia, let alone any specific address there. There must be something going on, and from his trek across Europe, he knew exactly who to ask.

Woody had spotted the letter before Kenichi had even taken a seat at the bar. Pulling has scarf back down around his neck, the Japanese man began to speak, but was immediately cut off, as the bartender pointed up the stairs, toward a stern woman who appeared to be scolding - or perhaps cajoling - two younger girls.

"That's who you want to speak to," the bartender said, not interrupting his washing of the glassware at all. "Can I get you something while you wait?"

Kenichi pondered for a moment before replying.

"It is unlikely that you have sake," he said with an unexpectedly light accent, the result of months of communicating with multitudes of people across the world, "If you do, that will be preferred. Otherwise, I have developed a taste for whiskey in my travels. That would be fine as well."