Tsura stood up as Kyo spoke, bending over to gather the luggage scattered about at his feet with a grunt, and deposit his cumbersome load near the railing, out of the way of the bustling crew. He had brought his violin along from force of habit, it wasn’t often he was invited somewhere other than to perform, and on those rare occasions when he was it was his custom to decline. Parties weren't his cup of tea; the clatter, the polite facades that veiled unspoken contempt, and the egotistical displays he so often saw left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. The only reason he obliged this time was due to his teacher insisting upon him going to meet Dr. Black.<br/><br/>Side-stepping a particularly haughty character making his way to the helm, Tsura leaned up against the metal railing. Gazing at the steadily advancing mass on the horizon, he flipped up his coat collar in an attempt to combat the biting wind.<span style="font-style: italic">What a dismal day.</span>He had woken from a restless night with a throbbing headache, trudged across the swaying vessel to the mess hall-if you could call it that- and was greeted by one of the most miserable excuses for a meal he had experienced since his days in the camp. A ladle full of some sort of soup, as cold as the weather outside, a handful of dry crackers and a cup of water, just as cold as the soup. With a sigh he had  Oh, what he wouldn’t do for a plate of fresh<span style="font-style: italic">Manriklo</span>, straight from the hearth, a piping hot bowl of<span style="font-style: italic"> joe grey</span>stew, and all the comforts of home.