Chapter 33

We spent the next three weeks sparing and deciding.

“May I choose my Japanese name?” asked the short but excellently assembled dark eyed raven headed beauty who was allowed out for a day by Sam Healing chamber.

“She has to come back,” said Sam. “She’s fragile, I need her one more day to finish the bake ... so to speak.” He chuckled at the look on Sato-san’s face.

“Drooling, Mahiro. Drooling. Suck it up, guy,” Sam said. “None of what you’re thinking. Making alterations to the base model was hard enough, I don’t need or want to do fancy embroidery.”

As to the name question all parties turned to the five foot ten inch tall dashingly handsome Japanese male.??

“No porn stars,” he said.

“Fujiwara Mioko, is Okay?”

“Who is Mioko Fujiwara?” Sato pronounced it My O ko

“She’s a voice actress, fairly famous for her work in anime. She’s my favorite voice.”

“No porn?”

“Animation and a couple of screen productions. Bit parts. Mostly voice-over for the Japanese showing,” Mioko said. She had it settled ... whether or not Mahiro agreed.

The pair found some cushions in a corner and sat chatting.

“Ellen?” Sam said.

“Yes?”

“Chaperon please.”

Ellen didn’t even ask why, she simply moved to the stack of cushions and sat down.

I don’t believe the chatting pair even noticed other than to make room for the chaperon. Mioko was summoned by Sam just before bedtime. Ellen and I had an evening meal of steak, oven fried and thyme potatoes with a spinach salad. I had a very nice mild porter and she had what smelled like a very good wine ... Curse my grape allergy! Sam and his magic box had not managed to cure me of it. Or maybe it was psycho semantic ... all in my head. I was used to it. And We do like the things we are used to.

I wasn’t curious enough to test it ... it’s my phobia ... and I’ll keep it.

I have no idea where Mahiro Sato had been sleeping ... but he wasn’t sleeping in my bed ... Ellen was.

In what seemed like morning the group gathered. Mioko was released and certified Japanese by Sam ... and Sato-san. Sam had done a bang-up job. Mioko glided ... and that’s hard to do in wood pattens. They took up where they had left off ... they chatted ... she removed a tatami ... how about that ... there was a sunken hole in the floor with a charcoal brazier in it. Hibachi cooking does exist.

Mahiro was in full spate ... he cooked. Looking up at the ceiling, he apologized. “Sorry, Ceiling-sama. There’s a little something missing in your preparation. Home cooking isn’t necessarily better than restaurant food ... but it’s made with love. A husband should be able to tell when the honeymoon is over by the taste.”

Ceiling, Sam, Ellen and I all started to laugh.

“Not THAT taste ... the food. Gods! You people have dirty minds!”

Mioko blushed. She was, thanks to Sam, a maiden.

“Look, you have put Mioko-chan to blush ... wash your minds ... you gaijin!” Mahiro took an adversarial stance, as if he had one hand on his Katate-uchi thrust through his obi and his other hand clutching his half opened ivory fan. The fan he had ... the Katate-uchi? No. He spread the fan, snapped it shut and huffed in disgust. (Katate-uchi is a single handed single edged sword carried edge up.)

“Sensei,” Mioko said, “Ignore the gaijin round-eyes. Please show me how to slice the diakon.” She looked fiercely at Ellen and me.

Both of them were dressed traditionally ... and very fine.

Ellen looked at me and said, “What have we done?”

“Turned a Samurai loose on the unsuspecting populace of Chaos. This should be interesting.”

We three had chopstick lessons and the cooking area was restored to rice-straw mats.

Ellen asked, “Have you decided on a rescue?” She was asking me, Mahiro Sato hadn’t decided if he wanted to go it alone.

He said, “Two please.”

“Going by yourself?”

“Yes.”

“That means you are going for the first time. You cannot use the yacht portal. So ... you have to build your own.” She handed him a set of plans and the directions and shoved him out the door, “See you in three weeks,” was her parting shot.

He stumbled through the portal backwards shouting, “Three Weeks? Why three weeks?” He turned and nearly tripped over the comfy chair.

“Where is JW?” asked Cyn.