Mihime

In the high-altitude city of bamboo and blossoms, politeness is a form of armor. This is a language Mihime never learned. They stand in line at a dango stall, their intense eyes fixed on the last skewer of sweet rice flour, oblivious to the fact that their Dragonslayer Blade is currently acting as an unwanted chin-rest for the chimp behind them. The salmon perched on their head seems to stare down the vendor with equal focus. Someone coughs. A gentle, pointed cough. Mihime mistakes it for admiration of their ragged gear. They nod sagely, causing the massive sword to jostle the poor soul again. Finally, the treat is theirs. They turn, the blade scattering a display of delicate paper lanterns, and walk off, leaving a wake of quiet chaos. The city is safe. The dango, however, was in grave danger.