"Mmm, smooth." Shunsui said quietly as he swallowed a small mouthful of sake.

To Shunsui, drinking sake wasn't something one did mindlessly. It was an art. An art that he had spent years studying but felt he still had not mastered. Always pouring just the right amount into his saucer. Allowing the delicate wine to breathe a few minutes before taking that first cherished sip. Shunsui couldn't stand young kids that would kick it back like a cheap shot of some lesser spirit.

"What a waste." Is what he would say.

Shunhui felt that the first drink should be savored, enjoyed. The first of anything was important, a first kiss with a new lover; the first time you invite someone to your bed; the first stroke on a painting; or simply that first purifying breath of fresh air when you wake in the morning. To Shunsui, all firsts were important; especially every "first sip" of sake.

He had a ritual when it came to the first sip of his cherished wine. He would swirl the mouth-watering liquid in his cup a few times, bring it to his lips and hesitate for just a moment, long enough to appreciate its bouquet before allowing a small bit of it to rush passed his lips. Taking his time and allowing the wine to roll over his tongue until every taste bud was saturated with its delicate flavor, only then would he allow the liquor to slide down and coat his throat. Shunsui would then give his customary "ah" of approval.

When people would ask about Shunsui about his routine and why he did it; Shunsui would simply pose a question back. "Does an artist, when first beginning to create a beautiful masterpiece, simply throw some paint on a canvas?"

But Shunsui's appreciation of his favorite elixir didn't stop after that first, delightful sip. With every taste, Shunsui would try to discover all the underlying flavors that enhanced the overall essence of the sake. Shunsui was so in tune with his drink that he could tell you from which stream the makers had taken water to help filter the rice. He could even decipher the types of wildflowers that had grown by the stream or patties. "It's all in the subtle influences." He once said.

Shunsui likened sake makers to the prestigious artists that so many admired, like that man who had painted the ceiling of a church. Shunsui had seen the glorious chapel during one of his visits to the real world. He stood there for hours admiring the details and the hard work that had been painstakingly drawn and painted. Apparently it had taken the man about four years. On his back no less. Shunsui remembered the sake he drank while he marveled that painting. It was plum, a little more crispness to it than one would think, but it made it more enjoyable. But to Shunsui, the local sake producer was just as talented as that Michelangelo. Only his art involved things from the earth, not paints on a brush.

Shunsui took his last sip, "The taste of sake… On my tongue brings such delight… Pour me another." With that, Shunsui refilled his cup, brought the concoction to his lips, hesitating for only a moment before enjoying that first sip.

"Ah."