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If Bushi liked anything about his continued existence, it was the little dramatic socialisations that came with being a living being. People were fascinating! He'd met so many bizarre individuals in his four centuries of life: dragons and demons and deadly damsels all made the demi-gods time more interesting and subsequently more enjoyable yet they so often paled in comparison to the mundane-ity of mortality. 

Like the way Robin seemed to ignore his offer of a drink, or how the pink-haired woman seemed enamoured with the Prince, or how that very same prince seemed to reject his heritage. The last one caught his interest the most; why would a prince reject his heritage? It made as much sense as a tiger rejecting meat. Some sort of doubt clearly held the boy, and Bushi could only ponder as to what it was that held him so tightly.

As was the norm, Angel acted so as to diminish his worth. The way the harpy dismissed himself was of great amusement to the Kami: who had long since learned to respect the Harpy's talents for what they were: indefensible. The fact he also proved an adequate drinking partner was another boon, to be sure. Bushi took a moment to ponder: how well would a creature of the sea hold liquor? That could be a fun experiment, to be sure.

In the end, professionalism trumped all: as one of Cyber-boss came on screen and began to chastise Pinkie. The dynamic between the pink-haired banshee and they electro-lady were another example of micro-actions that made humanity such a pleasure. In the time before, when he had been only Kami and not Bushi, he would never have enjoyed the simplicity of complicated conversations. His entire purpose was the blade and who held it...Simpler times, but less enlightened times.

And so, Air-headed lass and Mia led the group towards the simulation room. Inside was a large, electronic grid of light and contrasting nothingness. It was a blank canvass, ready for the swipe of the paintbrush. In this case, it was a key-card that created the artistry. Lines and blank-ness were filled with a grassy meadow: and suddenly Bushi reminisced about the last time he’d got to use one of these rooms. He’d been banned from participating in the simulations since last time: when he might have…broken it.

Bushi cradled the bottle of sake, before taking a large swig of the liquor and placing it on the floor. He watched the dynamic between Mia and the prince, and after they began fighting, he turned his head to Robin, a laugh on his lips as he took note of the illusions. “You seem in a better mood, songbird.” To see the Kitsune toying with the siren was a delight. He had met a few Kitsune in his lifetime, as they were a more common sight in the home land of Japan. All of them shared a slight mischievous spark which was a delight to watch.

The Siren seemed to be faring well enough. He was certainly surviving, which was a boon. Bushi was more interested in the weapon he held: A trident of high quality. Bushi knew very little about the smiting work of the Under-folk, but even he could tell the weapon was crafted to be at least beautiful. That meant it was either a shameless ornamental weapon or one that was meant to last. Bushi felt a sudden inkling; a desire, almost. He wanted to grab the trident: to feel its weight and judge its strength. To feel the power of the weapon as his own, and to…

The sound of a crash disturbed his thought patterns to a grinding halt. It was a horrifying sound, one that caused him to look left and down. The sight of his wine-gourd, broken on the floor and its contents spilled to the dirt was heart-breaking. Bushi had a look of genuine disgust at the wasted alcohol and suddenly he looked a great deal sadder.

“I liked that bottle…”