Logan
Logan got off the plane and looked around. Well, Japan had definetly changed since the last time he'd been there. He frowned slightly. Wait...when had he last been here? He couldn't remember, but he *knew* he'd been here. Something about the place called to him...
Thoughtfully, Logan shouldered his bag and went to pick up the bike from the proper terminal.
Soon, he was on the crowded streets of Tokyo, Japanese phrases echoing around him between the engine noises. Somehow...it reminded him of something. Silvery laughter. Quiet open spaces...and somehow that didn't fit with his surroundings at all. Towering buildings and humanity ridden streets. The air was deluged in scents, and he could barely smell a thing, the 'noise' was so overpowering.
"Good morning, and how may I help you?" A solemn faced old Japanese woman inclined her head slightly from behind the reception desk of the lower price boarding house he'd made his way too. Logan put his hands together and bowed deeply to her in respect for her age, before slipping into flawless Japanese.
"[Good morning, ma'am. I was wondering if I could rent a room?]" He used all the correct honorifics for a woman of her age, and he could sense her reserve soften slightly.
"[We have several rooms free at the moment.]"
"[I require only the humblest of dwellings, for I would not want to inconvenience a lady of venerable age such as yourself.]"
"[We pride ourselves on our hospitality. How could I look my children in the eye if I had treated one of their generation so poorly?]"
They amicably bickered back and forth for a while, protesting their own unworthiness and Logan gradually haggling the price of his room down. After a while, the deal was struck. Logan bowed to her again, and she granted him a small bow in return.
"[Honourable lady of the house, may I inquire as to where the nearest Shinto shrine is? And also, are there any reputable dojos nearby?]"
She gave him directions, and the key to his room. Logan bowed again, then made his way to his room. He dumped his bag on the bed, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Somehow...the ache was fading. Japan was just so different...and the edges of hazy memories teased his mind, giving him something else to think about. Besides Nyx...he sighed, then pocketed his key and headed out.
Logan meditated in the shrine for a while, and signed up for advanced classes at the dojo. The sensei reminded him of someone. But he couldn't remember who. And he kept thinking he remembered the faces of the people he walked by. Names on the tip of his tongue. And that silvery laughter echoing, accompanied by the melodic sounds of a samishen...