Historically Inaccurate (Kelly/Open)

The samurai listened carefully. Interrupting was impolite after all. She had let him say his piece, even if he did not realize she was listening to him or at all intending on conversing with him. None the less, one does not show disrespect. Even to those you are about to kill. She was a young woman. Not only young in age but also young in terms of her era. The strange blending of styles was something that the Oni had never considered or understood. To him there was only one thing to wear, what he had always worn. He inhaled almost the entire time the young lady spoke. When he finally exhaled his black mist and opiate smoke formed a strange grey and black cloud that seeped from his lips. "The gore is less important than the accuracy of the kendo." he said rather matter of factly. "Then again," he started, "I expect that this light-play was made by someone from long after the time of my kind. Maybe one of your era of people." he tapped the edge of his pipe on the arm rest and sent a small puff of ash floating to the ground. His gleaming green eyes scanned the woman, relaxed, and also smoking. He saw many people smoking the same thing she had. They called it something like sigeret. He'd never had one nor did he wish to try. They smelled awful and did not seem to have as impressive of an effect as his pipe. "I think, perhaps, people from your era are more interested in the forms and less for the function." he took another long pull of his pipe before he continued, smoke leaking from his mouth as he spoke. "The meeting of form and function should always be the goal. Often enough it is the simplest thing that is most beautiful." The Oni did not realize that he was speaking about the current rage of minimalist art in Japan but there he was, aligned with a group of people arranging sticks and rocks. Of course he was more refering to the art of sword-play and combat but it did apply on a wider scale. "Where are my manners, I am Shimazu no-Oni." He inclined his head slightly as he introduced himself, as was respectful of their stations, "What are you called?" as he asked her what he might call her he took another look at the woman. She seemed different. He could not place his finger on it. Maybe she was just another champion and that was what he was sensing, or maybe it was something else. Something about the aura that she radiated. 

The woman stood as she seemed to muse about her own generation. It was something one should devote some thought to. After all, often people were not remembered at all and instead lumped in with whatever group was dominant in their life time. Oni had seen things like that before. The tales of the era of the Miniamoto Clan was full of great figures and their power seemed to bleed outward and infect everyone's perspective about that generation. The truth was, they were all just like everyone else. They were liars, traitor, cowards, and fools with a small spattering of heroes, as were all generations. Likely the ancient swordsman would be remembered as some kind of honorable and stoic fighter just like the men portrayed in the light-play he just watched. Portrayed as nothing more than a legend, a story, mythical and fake. The sad fate of all old men. The thoughts passed through his mind quickly as he watched the dull toned woman stand and zip her over-shirt back up. Out of politeness and for no other reason he stood as she did. Turning to face her straight on giving her his glowing green-eyed full attention. He pulled his pipe to his mouth and took another pull as he watched her. 

She let him know her name, it sounded odd. Something like what the gaijin who he met so many years ago. Back when his name and face were very different. Back when he was another man. However, he had never met anyone who was French. He recalled the other's were Dutch or something similar to that. It did not matter to him though. He had met every kind of people in this afterlife. He had even met things that were not people at all. "French." he mused in his own monotone and gravely tone. "I did not meet anyone of that kind when I lived. Only the Dutch. I did not like them." he spoke simply and punctuated his statement with a simple nod. "They had no respect for nature. They exploited everything they could. No honor." at least that is how the few he had acted. His daimyo was not so stand offish to them though. Seduced by their thunder sticks. 

Suddenly the woman wanted nothing to do with herself. She thought for some reason she had said too much about herself. Her tone carried a bit of malice in it, the smallest hint of emotion but still the most she had shown so far. The Oni would remember that but had no problem with changing the subject. The subject change was, of course, about his nature. Likely wanting to find out if she was in danger or if she needed to try to kill him. He wished her luck with that endeavor if she chose to take that step. "Yes, and no." He took a short pull from his opiate pipe. "An Oni is more of a corrupted reflection of what once was. I have purpose, unlike the demonic forces here." he did not care for those things called demons. They were pointless. Just violence without meaning. Violence needed a cause, needed truth. "What about you?" he asked gesturing to his companion with his pipe, "Are you a simple human? Or perhaps something else."