Thancred opened his eyes to a thatch ceiling. A glass-less window allowed daylight through a bamboo-weave wall. The small patch of visible sky was white with overcast cloud. The brisk air held the faint smell of seawater and a subtle decay of low-tide. The cries of gulls echoed softly in the distance.

"Oh, the ijin's awake!" said a raspy voice.

Thancred sat up like a shot, a scratchy quilt falling from his bare chest. Three old men were kneeling around a small table in the center of the room. Several bottles and cups sat before them, and they stared at him with the flushed bemusement of drunkards. One of the men gulped down something from a tiny cup.

"Sakura!" shouted one of the men, his voice slightly slurred. "He's awake!"

Another man, still staring at Thancred: "Where you from, ijin? Doma?"

The third man: "He ain't from Doma, you idiot."

"He's got that tattoo on his neck."

"So he's got a tattoo! Are the Domans the only people who have tattoos in this world? Look at the bones of his face! He's no Doman hyur! Plain as day! He's from the Far West, for sure."

"Sakura!? Hey!? You hear me!?"

A fourth voice, feminine and shrill entered the conversation from another room. "I hear you, you worthless, lazy, drunkard!"

Two of the men burst out laughing. The speaker flushed with embarrassment. "Hey! Don't speak to me like that in from of my friends! It's embarrassing!"

The shrill voice: "Why should it?! They know you're a worthless, lazy, drunkard better than I do!"

The two men laughed again, and one said: "It's true."

The other: "Your wife is a perceptive woman."

"Oh, shut up, you assholes."

The two men laughed and busily poured more liquid into their own tiny cups. Thancred had no idea who these old men were, or where he was- but it was obvious he was in no personal danger and there was no immediate urgency. And his body hurt everywhere. What had happened? What had Y'shtola done?

"Where am I?" said Thancred. "What is this place?"

"This is our friend, Momoto's house," said one of the old men, a wavering hand indicating the recently embarrassed man.

"His question is bigger than that, stupid," said his companion, who then turned to Thancred. "THIS. IS. KUGANE. KU. GA. NE. DO? YOU? UNDERSTAND?"

"He understands common-speak, fool! He just asked us a question!"

"Wha-? Then how did I understand it? I don't speak ijin-speak…"

"You drunk fool, what the hell is ijin-speak!?"

"It's-!"

An elder woman carried a tray into the room; gray-haired and wizened in stature, but forceful of presence. "You're all fools! All three of you! So, shut up! The poor man didn't escape drowning to be tortured by your inane prattle!"

The three men hunched their shoulders up, looked at each other, and snickered- clearly enjoying some sort of inside joke. But they held their tongues, and the woman with the tray approached Thancred in relative silence. She bowed slightly, probably as far as her back would allow while she was carrying a tray.

"Welcome to our home," she said, her tone formal. Then she knelt and set a tray of bowls and small plates before Thancred. "Please eat. It's humble food, so I'm sorry if you're accustomed to better."

Fish. Rice. A few things that might be… pickles? And a cup of broth. It smelled delightful, and Thancred suddenly realized he was famished. He took the social cue from the old woman and bowed his own body in polite response.

"Thank you," he said, and with all eyes upon him, realized they were going to all watch him eat. That was… awkward. But it's not like he could refuse a meal from the obvious matron of the household, and it was obvious that these people had helped him in some way. He did remember being submerged in cold salt water, confused, lost, drowning- and something sharp hooking into his side…

He searched the tray for a fork or spoon, but didn't see any. How was he supposed to eat it? Perhaps his hands? He reached for the fish with his fingers, but the woman shot out an indicating palm and pointed at a small pair of sticks near the edge of the tray. Taking the hint, Thancred grasped them. The old woman gave him a slight, approving nod.

So these sticks were the utensils? Well, as they say: when in Garlemald…

Thancred grasped one of the sticks in his fist and speared the grilled fish. The three men burst out in laughter and the old woman looked utterly dismayed. It was obvious Thancred had made the wrong move.

A polite mask fell over the woman's face, but embarrassment still crinkled the edges of her eyes. "No, no. Like this."

She took the sticks from Thancred and demonstrated how to balance them in the first three fingers of her hand. With a practiced motion, she demonstrated how to pick up the fish. Thancred's cheeks were burning slightly from shame, but it seemed easy enough. He regained the sticks, tried to put them in his hand like he'd been shone, fumbled them once, but then got it. It felt odd, but Thancred's hands were used to dexterous work- and using the ends of the two sticks to grasp bits of food had a sort of basic physiological sense to it.

"Hey, this ijin is a fast learner!"

The old woman turned around and must have glared at the man, because he sheepishly lapsed back into silence. When her face turned back to Thancred, the polite-smile-mask was back in place. "My name is Momoto Sakura. That is my husband, Sanjiro. What is your name?"

"My name is Thancred," said Thancred, mirroring the formal tone. "Thank you for the meal. This fish is wonderful." And it was. A simple preparation and seasoned only with salt, but the skin was crispy and the flesh moist. It was perfection. He began wolfing down the meal as fast as social grace would allow.

Sakura blushed slightly and her smile turned genuine. "I'm glad. And where are you from?"

"Eorzea. And this place is… Kugane?" Thancred's mind raced. Wasn't that some famous port town? He knew he'd heard the name somewhere before. "Is that the name of this land? Or this town?"

"Yes. Yes, this is Kugane Town. But our land is called Hingashi."

Hingashi! The Far East?! Y'shtola had sent him all the way here?! Why?!

I fear I cannot precisely grip this working…

"And you said, Eorzea?" said Sakyra. "That is the name of your land?"

One of the men blurted out: "That's in the west, Sakura."

"Of course it's in the west," snapped Sakura from the corner of her mouth, "Everything is to the west! Could he be from east of here? Does he look like a fish?!"

"Ain't been any ships from Eorzea in a long time," said another of the men, "Imperials snag up any of 'em they find."

"Damn imperials!" said Sanjiro. "Once they finish in the west, it will be us next! I tell you, the Bakufu are being fools!"

Two of the old men groaned.

"Not this again…"

"Here we go…"

"Sanjiro!" said Sakura, her voice a shrill hiss. "Shut up! How many times have I told you to-!"

A new voice, deep and male, called out from outside nearby: "Oy! The house! Sekiseigumi!"

Thancred watched four faces go suddenly pale.

Another male voice: "By the authority of the Bugyo! We enter!"

Thancred looked to Sakura, alarm growing within him. "Who is that? What's going on?"

But Sakura only gave a fearful shake of her head and her eyes looked away from him. Alarm bells rang through Thancred's mind. Something was wrong. Where were his weapons? His shoes?

His pants, gods dammit?!

Four men in matching red robes entered, crowding the small room and towering over Thancred and the four old folk. He could feel aggression in these men. He knew instinctively that it was directed at him. But he was unarmed, naked, wrapped in a blanket, and was a stranger in a strange land. A part of his mind screamed for him to flee, but the rest of him thought that was probably a bad idea.

Thancred had never been to Kugane before, but law enforcement looked the same everywhere. These were certainly policemen. And all of them had eyes only for him, with grim frowns and with hands resting on the hilts of the curved swords sheathed at their waists. To flee was to invite more trouble.

"Ijin!" said one of the red men. "You are under arrest!"