cashing in my bad luck

Gin doesn't shake from the careful neutrality of her gaze. There's nothing to shift or change it-- Gin is, simply, as she is. Still, there was something else bleeding into the way she looked at the man, the stranger with the horns, who had appeared before her. What struck her as strange, though, was the fact that he'd appeared to her... the ghost usually revealed herself to others. This was different. Another careful, high, drifting step towards him as he spoke of a cause. Gin's ears twitched, first one, and then the other. What would his cause be? What banner would he fly above his people to unite them?

The man asks of her stories, he speaks a name. Hattori Hanzō it comes, and her thoughts spin for a moment. Is that his father, his grandfather? Is that the man who stands before her, asking with a bit of vanity? Gin's expression does not shift, does not change. She remains demure, though a small smile bleeds into her tone of voice. None so far, though I don't typically deal in the stories of those who walk among us. No, Gin deals almost exclusively in the tales of the deceased, and the tales of the immortal. It's likely for the best that she hasn't been taught the stories of Hattori Hanzō. What the ghost has yet to understand, though, is that she'll be present for the writing of such histories.

What kind of legacy do you want to leave? The question comes after a moment of watching him, of looking as deep into his soul as she can manage with the common gaze. Her tone is soft, but carried a musicality that could almost pass for unsettling. Gin needed to know in the same way that she needed to know all things.

Speech