[Motochika sits in his living room, his shamisen resting on his lap, idle. His expression is placid; when he speaks his tone is thoughtful.]
Vatheon's streets are bustling again. Like their older counterparts, these newly-arrived locals have no voice. [Metaphorically, of course.]
Casting that matter aside:
[A beat -- and then Motochika smirks,
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Mister Motochika, is it his birthday today?
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Do not be alarmed. It is the thought that counts for Mitsuhide.
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