[ Tracing lines, enunciating similarities. It's all very trite, and very obvious; Douman, straightening up from his crouch over dirt, has to consciously keep himself from sliding his foot over the map he'd just drawn and digging his heel into the outline of it.

Hinomoto holds nothing for him but old grudges and bitter aftertastes, but common origins can be a saccharine tether holding two disparate people together; context allows him to start constructing a profile of the woman in front of him. Her shirking of titles, for one, and her mention of his family name holding nobility. "I am no lady", whip-fast and knife-sharp.

A chip on a shoulder a mile wide, he thinks. His country bred those insecurities the way they bred their ayakashi; varied and plentiful. ]

Of course, of course. If that's what you prefer. [ A low sweep, a practiced bow. ] I will call you "Hayame", if you'd refer to me affectionately as "Douman"!

[ He raises his head, and chuckles beguilingly. Very weird of him. ]

As those far, far away from home in both land and spirit, I suppose it's imperative for us to... mmm, how do they say it, "keep our chins up"?