The Hare enters the embassy's library, somewhat at a loss for words, but desiring paper, to write to the families of the comrades lost.

It probably wasn't his duty...but it seemed to be a pressing need. Still, he stood at the entrance of the place, wondering where to start looking. Or if he was even in the right place.

The Embassy was in a very quiet, efficient state of urgency. The inhabitants were packing up what belonged to them, what they could take along. What they could not that was of value was being piled in the courtyard.

If it could not be saved, it would be burned before gaijin could desecrate it.

The 'library', such as it was, was a hotbed of activity. One of the servants, an older man, darted over. 'Samurai-sama! Have you come to save some of the scrolls?" His eyes pleaded, the man on the edge of tears over the fate of 'his' library.

"Oh..uhm..." he paused, rubbing the back of his head. "I guess I could. I was hoping there was some paper I could use to prepare some messages?" He coughs. "Some room in my trunk though. I don't suppose the Captain would be against me storing what I could there."

He looks about. "What needs saving?"

Delight lit the peasants face. 'Oh, yes, have paper in welcome....here, here..." He surrendered a small packet (5 sheets). "Now then..."

Leading the Usagi to the pile, he began to pick up assorted scroll tubes. "This...and, oh yes, these were a marvel...and this, very insightful..."

It was clear that the man, unless stopped, would load Zenko down until his arms were full.

"Uhm.." he coughs, having slipped the packet into his obi as best he could. "I can only carry so much...and considering they'll be going onto a ship...I shouldn't over pack the trunk and expose them to the wet, hai?"

The idea of saltwater in his precious scrolls paled the already rather palid features. "Sweet Fukurokujin-kami, no! Better pure fire than to be stained in salt, perhaps to mildew.."

"Have some recommendations then? I've been able to keep my journal safe, I think...but its a bit different then all of this." he gestures a bit by lifting what he was already carrying.

He looks about the library. "If we had a good crate, we might be able to fit some of this into the hold..." He blinked, then looks at the papers. "Hmm...I'm not saving the monetary records of some obscure holding am I? Should we prioritize?"

The old man drew himself up, indignant. 'Fortunes', no! These are the works of art made here under inspiration, records of great service and glorious deaths, the great treatises of the head ambassadors here, everything that seems worthy of keeping. Mere records, daily things, are not worth the effort of saving. As for your journal, try wrapping it in oilcloth."

He shakes his head, "No no, not my journal. I meant, these works." he tries to explain, a bit at a loss.

"Oh....oh yes...." The old man fluttered anxiously. "We have a few chests but most are using them for their own things. Oh, dear...maybe the kitchens..."

Without further thought, he set off down the hall to see, his mission overwhelming his manners.

The Hare nods, following. It was after all a mission that could let him do what he'd talked to Hoshi about the night before...

Perhaps he'd do something about her pessimism, just in case she was watching. "Wait up! I don't know the way like you."

In truth, he didn't really need to ask the man to slow...he was older and not in great shape and both factors slowed him without Zenko needing to ask.

In the kitchens, too, preparations were taking place. Goods were being inventoried, stored, and a man in the mon of the Yoritomo was reading from a scroll, waving his hand slowly over baskets of grain and fruit. He nodded to his fellow samurai but, mid-prayer, did not pause to bow.

The older man moved to a likewise older woman, pudgy and grandmotherly, and asked her for spare crates or boxes. She pursed her lips in thought but nodded, sending a young man trotting off after one, even as she bowed neatly to Zenko.

Zenko nods, and nods again, then bows to his fellow samurai, straightening so as not to overly distract him. Oh that one probably. Yes, sister's favorite prayer would come in handy here I suppose.

"We going to have enough for everyone on the return voyage, you think?" he asks the older woman, taking an understanding that cooks knew what they were about, and this was likely the head cook.

"-sama, I'm not even sure we've sailors enough, or ships." The woman, heimen though she was, did not lack for bravery, or bluntness. "Though if it comes to it, we'll find a clean path to the next world, the Ambassador has sworn it."

Zenko nods at that. "Hai. A good goal, considering the situation." He looks down a moment, realizing his foot was firmly jammed in his mouth, proverbially speaking.

The old scribe was staring at him in something very like horror but the cook just snorted. "If you say so, -sama. Now, if you please, I've work to do." Reaching into one of many covered baskets, she pulled out a handful of sesame crisps and passed them to Zenko. "Take these and enjoy them while you wait for the crate, over there and out of the way."

She gestured to a corner chopping station, currently unused.

The samurai duly nods and goes into the corner. In some section of his mind, his pride was screaming at him. But his stomach really liked the idea of crisps, and he nibbles them awhile.

It was a good thing he'd listened because the amount of activity was truly impressive to watch. The Yoritomo priest was clearly in charge, though he was not at all loud or surly with the people who were obeying his orders. In time, just about the time the last crisp disappeared into Zenko's belly, the young peasant reappeared with a decent-sized crate that still held the faint scent of the fruit that had once been housed in it. The boy, grinning, said, "I washed it out and dried it, -sama. Will it do?"

Zenko nods, "Hai...I think so. Is it air tight? That'd probably be helpful." He looks to the peasant librarian for any possible guidance.

Those were good crisps!

The older man simply shrugged, even as the boy shook his head. 'Ije, -sama, we don't have any firm boxes left. This was the best I could do."