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Boredom did not befit a god: even such a minor one as a Kami. Bushi didn’t appreciate the boredom, and yet he was obliged by his honour to attend the meeting. If he were being completely honest, Bushi would admit he had nothing better to do with his time than to meet up with the new team mate: who was a selkie or a siren or a squid or...something. He couldn’t really recall which though: he had ignored the brief for a good few hours and was only going off of second hand information. Apparently it was a princess or something? That tipped the team’s numbers towards the fairer sex: not a sad thing, to be sure.

Bushi shared the room with his other team-mates, where he commanded a nearby chair which he leaned against the wall. He was close to falling asleep a couple times in the small period of time that had been allotted to waiting for the teammate, and had chosen to watch the members of his team, in order to stave off the tendrils of tedium that accompanied the mortal form. His focus was drawn mostly to the exacerbated form of the Kitsune. Robin was a strange creature: for far more reasons than the unusual nature of her name vs her heritage. It always caught him off to think of a mind-bending fox having the name of a song-bird, even if both parties were a sight to behold. 

Sadly, the song bird was singing a tune of anger and frustration as once again, her secret projects seemed to prove fruitless. Whether the projects were actually secret or whether Bushi simply hadn’t bothered to pry enough to find out was hardly the point: what mattered was that Bushi didn’t know why she was frustrated, and nor did he really care that much. Life was far simpler when you didn’t worry about other people’s problems needlessly. If she needed his help, she’d ask him.

Bushi reached to his belt, pulling out a small, corked gourde with two kanji on it. Too anyone who was able to read the language, they would see translate the symbols to ‘simple pleasures.’ “A drink would calm the nerves, fox. Hardly seems apt for you to stress yourself before meeting the Princ...” before he finished off the ‘-ess’ the door burst open to reveal their commander in arms. Young Mia, the wolf that guarded the sheep. Accompanied by the communication’s officer whose name he’d forgotten more times than he’d been told it and what he assumed was their newest crew member...a male?

Goddamn rumours…

"Alright everyone. Today, as you've all been briefed before hand, we are getting a new teammate. Meet Cerulean Mystique, I hope you can all treat him well and make sure he fits in here." 

Mia spoke in her same measured tone, and Bushi tried to stave off the inevitable forgetting of the new person’s name. Bushi looked at the rest of the room, quiet and unwilling to lead the introductions. In the end, Bushi shook his head and did the most evil of deeds he could inflict upon himself. He stood up, gourd of alcohol still in hand as he reached his full, towering height. Without a weapon to sharpen himself with, Bushi was a tall, thin man. Well over six foot three and less than two hundred pounds: at a glance, he would look to be a weak link in a team. To those in the know, he was a sheathed blade: undrawn, ready to strike in a moment’s notice. He wore loose clothing of white cotton and the most dominant feature, other than his body shape, was an eye patch. 

“A pleasure to meet you, newbie. I’m Bushi, and I guess this makes you the newest member of the team.” He made no mention of the fact that, prior to Cerulean’s arrival, he was the ‘new kid.’ Most of the normal rituals applied to a new member of a team were never applied to Bushi: perhaps it was his age, or his godhood, or the fact he could murder a dozen man with a spoon. “If you need any help, I’ll be able to oblige: same if ya have any questions.”

He looked around the group, noticing an approaching silence as no one else seemed to rush towards the mantle of conversation. He didn’t feel like fighting of any approaching awkward silences, so Bushi uncorked the gourd and poured rice-wine to his lips and taking in deep, heavy gulps of the sweet wine. 

Bushi slumped into his seat again, relaxing against the wall as he waited for someone to fill the silence. Hair-or-whateverhernamewas would probably suffice, or Mia might say something towards their next mission. Either way, Bushi was content with the alcohol in his hands. He almost regretted not having a piece of metal on hand: showing off his talents might have been fun.