traditional crafts and tuesday afternoons

Hattori made a noise of understanding, low and deep in his throat. He wasn't much of a crafter himself, he could maintain his weaponry and armour, make simple repairs to things that needed fixing around Tojo, but aside from basic craftsmanship he knew little. He supposed that's why clans and packs came to be, some would fill in the gaps others could not.

There was a softness to Kiriko, edges that were worn out of necessity rather than habit. In a sense he wondered who she was, truly was, as he had gotten a feel for everyone else who called Tojo home. But this one? It was hard to say, even harder for Hattori to work out why he kept wondering so when in reality for the most part he left others to their own devices. It wasn't quite suspicion, as that implied a level of mistrust- and Hattori would never let anyone like that within the Bamboo- but more like a twinge, a thought that lingered longer than it had any right to.

"Where did you learn to weave?" He asked instead.