FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Ohaio gozaimasu!" The two raccoons behind the front desk bowed in unison.

Rick ducked his head as he stepped up to the desk and set his bag down. It was chest-height for the clerks, but as a six-foot-tall wolf, he felt like he was looming. "Uh, thank you."

The head clerk smiled at him, and Rick realized that they weren't raccoons, but raccoons, but raccoon dogs. Tanuki, he recalled. Leaner, larger, and a little pointier. Still a lot shorter than he was.

The clerk's English was heavily accented, but clear. "Good evening, sir. How may we help you?"

Rick passed over his passport. He tried a little smile. "I have a room. Rick Staller."

The clerk glanced up at him, then briskly looked down at his passport and started typing on the computer. Rick felt like his smile might have been a little too big. He felt like everything about him was. "Ah, hai, yes sir. I see your room is on a company account. Do you have a card for incidentals?"

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Yes. Hai." He huffed, then clapped his muzzle shut and patted down his pants until he found his wallet. The flight had been a full twelve hours, then customs and getting a train card and then actually taking the train and then the other train, and he felt like he was barely keeping up. Finally, he found the thing where he'd stashed it in his front pocket. Not his usual place, but sitting on his wallet in an economy seat for twelve hours hadn't been a fun idea. He started to slide his card across the table, but the clerk touched the tray on the counter discreetly, and he nodded, then put his card there.

The clerk smiled and gave a little bow as he picked up the tray in both paws. More typing, and then the card was returned in the same fashion, joined by a room key. The clerk looked up at him again. "Your room will be 2306. Is there anything else we can do for you, sir?"

Rick picked up his cards and shook his head. "No, thanks."

The clerk bowed again. "Arigato gozaimasu."

Rick ducked his head. "Arigato." He made his way to the elevator, managing not to bump into anyone or knock anything over, for which he was grateful. No one else was waiting for the elevators, for which he became even more grateful when he discovered just how small it was. Rolling luggage and a laptop bag didn't take up much space, but with his frame, he still felt like he took up most of the small space. His nose told him that, while the hotel did not permit smoking, some of the guests still engaged in the activity, and that lingering scent only made the space feel smaller.

The elevator let him off on his floor, and he half-stumbled down the hall to his room. The door opened readily enough, and he found himself pleasantly surprised again, as it was, while small, large enough to contain a desk and a small, open closet. He deposited his luggage in the closet, dropped his laptop on the desk, and decided to check out the bathroom.

It was its own blend of familiar and different. The space was small, with a lowered ceiling accentuated by the and the tub was both taller than he was used to and shorter. He would not have a relaxing soak in it at any point, unless, perhaps, he sat almost completely upright. The toilet had entirely too many parts and had a diagram that purported to explain the various functions of the array of buttons. Rick was skeptical.

As it was, the shower seemed mostly familiar, and near it hung a fur brush that seemed to be kept clean, so he shucked his clothes and brushed himself, taking some solace in the ritual and the smoothing out of travel kinks and knots in his pelt. Dropping in to bed, he found himself faced with another source of discomfort: the bed was not quite long enough for him. At six-foot-two, he often found himself a little too tall, but the bed drove home that, here, he was entirely too tall. His paws stuck off the edge of the bed, and while the sheets covered them, it left him feeling entirely too exposed. He adjusted his position to put him crossways in the bed, found it adequate, and let travel fatigue put him to sleep.

---

Rick found himself awake at the entirely unreasonable hour of six o'clock. He counted it a small favor that he didn't feel entirely terrible, even though he'd spent the entire night half curled into a ball to get all of himself on the bed. Still, he reflected, he did not feel entirely awful, and at least it was morning. Small favors.

His attempt to avail himself of the hotel's breakfast options suggested that perhaps it was the last favor of the day. He made it down to the first floor before remembering he needed a ticket for breakfast. Then, when he did finally make it to breakfast with his ticket, the language barrier made itself known. Fortunately, the vixen taking tickets had enough English to help him through the simple process of handing over the ticket. The rest was, thankfully self-evident.

Or rather, there was food in one place and trays in another place and maybe coffee in a third. Observation led him to figure out that there was rice to go with the fish and scrambled eggs, and while the combination was new to him, he found it both palatable and filling. Coffee was more difficult. There were options, and none of them were labeled in Romanji, much less English. He settled for pressing one of the buttons. The machine whirred and growled, but eventually, coffee filled his cup. Cream and sugar were, thankfully, present, though sugar was presented in small, long packets, and if the cream had not been an open container, he might never have found it. As friendly as the hotel was, very little in the restaurant area was labeled in a language he could read.

Rick muddled through breakfast as best he could. Coffee steadied his nerves, after a fashion, and the food had filled the growling emptiness of his stomach that he hadn't paid much mind to under the travel fatigue. As it lifted, he was glad for the solid food -- it was a small spot of comfort amid a growing tension. Finished with his meal, he became aware of the rest of the diners. A group that sounded like they might be German or Scandinavian, another group that was maybe Chinese, and many groups of folks who seemed to be Japanese. Nobody in the dining area was speaking English, and the din of unfamiliar languages left him pinning his ears back.

What had he gotten himself into? Dad had sent him out here, twelve hours by plane, to negotiate a contract with new clients. Why his father didn't see fit to do so himself was unclear. Rick suspected he was being tested, as he'd been hired as a product manager in his father's company just before this trip. Working in his father's business was, itself, a little uncomfortable, but while the rest of the team gave him grief about nepotism from time to time, there never seemed to be any heat in it. He'd cut his teeth elsewhere, at least, and only joined his dad's company after putting in ten years working as a developer at other companies.

He looked at his phone. Breakfast hadn't taken long, in spite of his difficulties, so he opted for another coffee. The hotel had free wireless, and since he hadn't managed to sort out how to get his phone to use international data without charging the company a fortune, he opted to use it. His calendar suggested the meeting that morning at ten was still on. Email said he'd be meeting his father's executive assistant, whom he'd met only briefly. Fiona O'Clare was a vixen with the sort of muted Irish accent that was incredibly charming, and, paired with her intense personality, left one with the impression that she was used to getting what she wanted. His father had spoken highly of her since she'd been hired several years prior.

The phone suggested it was time to move on, and he handed his tray to the vixen who'd taken his ticket with a small bow and an "arigato." He suspected a little politeness, even from an oversized American like himself, would not go amiss.

Rick refreshed himself in his room, donning the suit he'd packed for the meeting, brushing thoroughly to make sure his coat was in order, and brushing his teeth to make sure he didn't smell of the morning's fish. Briefcase on one shoulder, he made his way back down to the lobby and out on the street, ducking his head in half a bow as the desk staff offered polite greetings again. He'd been through the lobby several times, and they'd offered their best English greetings every single time, and it left him feeling a little uncomfortable -- American hotels were never that polite.

A short while and several wrong turns later, he found himself back at the train station. The hotel was, sadly, not a reasonable walking distance to the clients' office, and so he found himself contending with the morning crowd on the subway. Necessity had at least forced him to purchase his SUICA before he tried to leave Narita Airport, but he still had to consult a saved email and the subway maps for several minutes before he approached one of the subway gates, reasonably confident the line he wanted was beyond it. Locals made it seem easy, putting their phones or their cards against the reader and walking confidently through the gates. Rick approached it with some trepidation, but the display went green, and he kept walking under the peer pressure of the stream of people behind him. Fortunately, green was good, and the small plastic gates swung aside, letting him through.

Once through, however, he found himself with his head on a swivel, trying to track which signs suggested he was heading in the right direction. He followed one set of stairs down, forgetting, at first, to walk on the left, not the the right, but managing to correct his mistake after inconveniencing no fewer than twelve people. Unfortunately, closer inspection of the trains on that platform revealed that he had chosen poorly, and he had to make his way back up the stairs, on the correct side, but almost entirely against the flow of traffic -- everyone else seemed to know exactly where they were going.

Rick eventually found himself on the platform that seemed to lead in the right direction. Consultation with the map left him moderately confident that the train he needed would arrive at this platform, and even on which side it would arrive on. The signs, though largely containing a frustrating mix of kanji and hiragana, also rotated through Romanji, and eventually, a the train arrived that he was fairly sure he needed to get on.

Nothing, however, prepared him for what a Tokyo rush hour was like. The train was already crowded when it arrived, and he shuffled on with the other passengers when the doors opened. They stayed open for, frankly, a shockingly brief period, but he had not realized he was only in the middle of the queue, and when he worked his way into the train, he found it becoming more and more and more crowded. Soon, he was pressed firmly against four other passengers, and when he grabbed a handle hanging from overhead, he managed to clock another passenger in the temple. He'd been told that "Sumimasen" was for more more minor infractions, and he racked his brain for something more appropriate to the situation, but he settled for blurting out "Sumimasen!" at a volume that felt entirely too loud for the space and ducking his head in as much of a bow of apology as he felt he could execute without hitting someone else. He quickly found himself tucking his briefcase between his feet and pinning his elbow to his side.

Rick found himself getting shuffled farther and farther from the door as more people piled in. Men, women, and school kids of all ages seemed to pour incessantly through the doors, and the press of bodies grew claustrophobic. He knew he stood out, a tall grey wolf, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, taking up too much space, no matter how much he tried. At least he could still see out. And, at least, the crush of bodies meant he didn't stagger when the train started moving. He'd lost his grip on the handle, but the railing that supported them gave him some comfort of a little slice of support all his own.

The next stop wasn't much better. Somehow, people poured in and out of the train, though mostly in. One businessman squeezed in just as the doors were closing, and the entire crowd somehow managed to sneak a space for him, though it left him apparently pressed against the doors. Rick was not sure how they'd open again. He was, after a fashion, glad he was not near the door, given how riders had to pour out and pour back in to accommodate people getting off. He worried he might not make his way back on in time.

The smell was another thing. The sheer density of people on the train overwhelmed any sense of air handling, and it thoroughly overwhelmed any prior experience he'd had. He'd been on American and even European subways that, while crowded, didn't have so many people or so many smells with them. To boot, so many of them were unfamiliar: different chemicals in riders' detergents, different foods in their diets, even what he assumed were cleaning chemicals were different. He tried to think small, shrinking his awareness into a smaller space until the wash of scents subsided, and he was only aware of those closest to him. It was still a lot, but it was something.

Blessedly, it was surprisingly silent. Riders had conversations, in Japanese, of course, but they were relatively quiet, and the vast majority seemed focused on their books or their phones. Rick thought about reaching for his phone, but it was tucked in a pocket, and he wasn't sure he'd get it out without dropping it or elbowing someone in the face or both. And then there was the fact that he didn't have the data plan working, so it wouldn't do him that much good. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, with its unfamiliar and largely illegible ads and their advertising focus that was for a culture he was clearly not a part of. A weathered, familiar American actor was, strangely, selling canned coffee, and he resolved he had to try it, just for the heck of it. He was pretty sure he'd seen the brand on a vending machine at some point since he'd arrived.

Eventually, the route map on the train indicated his station was next. He eased himself downwards, trying to keep his shoulders to himself, and managed, just barely, to pick up his briefcase, then start shuffling towards the doors, mumbling "sumimasen" as though it were a talisman of safe passage. For the most part, it seemed to work, and by the time the train arrived at his stop, he was expelled with the rest of the riders getting off there and swept up with the flow of people. He managed to break away, tucking himself against a sign and took the chance to get his bearings, finally deciding that the stairs in front of him would probably lead to his destination.

Luck was, again, with him, in its own small way, and he emerged at the top of the stairs into the station proper. His height benefited him once more as he scanned the signs hanging from the ceiling and managed to break from the traffic flow to go out through the right set of gates. He was grateful he'd spent so much time memorizing the transit directions -- there didn't seem to be a lot of spaces to stand and look at a map.

Out on the streets, it was crowded, but more manageable. The open air of the city interjected its own set of fresh smells, but the crowds had a little more room to spread out, and he felt less compressed.

---

A short walk and several wrong turns later, Rick found himself at the train station. The hotel was, sadly, not a reasonable walking distance to the clients' office, and so he found himself contending with the morning crowd on the subway. He already had his fare card, but he still had to consult a saved email and the subway maps for several minutes before he approached the gate he was reasonably lead to the line he needed. Locals made it seem easy, putting their phones or their cards against the reader and walking confidently through the gates. Rick approached it with some trepidation, but the display went green and the gates swung aside, so he hurried through, lest any more people cut around him to the other gates. No one said anything, but it was clear that he was moving entirely too slowly.

Once through, he followed one set of stairs down, forgetting, at first, to walk on the left, not the right, but managing to correct his mistake after inconveniencing no fewer than twelve people. Unfortunately, closer inspection of the trains on that platform revealed that he had chosen poorly, and he had to make his way back up the stairs, on the correct side, but almost entirely against the flow of traffic. Soon enough, he stood on a platform that seemed to lead in the right direction. Overhead signs largely displayed a frustrating mix of kanji and hiragana, but they also rotated through romanji, and by the time a train arrived, he was fairly sure it was the right one.

He had not been prepared for what a Tokyo rush hour was like. The train was already crowded when it arrived, and he shuffled on with the other passengers when the doors opened. He had not realized he was only in the middle of the queue until he found himself getting shuffled farther and farther from the door as more people piled in. Men, women, and school kids of all ages seemed to pour incessantly through the doors, and the press of bodies grew claustrophobic. He knew he stood out, a tall grey wolf, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, taking up too much space, no matter how much he tried. At least he could still see out. And, at least, the crush of bodies meant he didn't stagger much when the train started moving.

Even in the press of other passengers, Rick wanted some solid support. He reached for a handle hanging from overhead and managed to clock another passenger in the temple. He'd been told there was an apology for more serious infractions, but he racked his brain for a moment and nothing came out, so he settled for blurting "sumimasen" and ducking his head in as much of a bow as he could manage without hitting someone else. His ears pinned themselves to the side of his head, and he did his best to tuck his arms and briefcase against himself

The next stop wasn't much better. People poured in and out of the train, though mostly in. One businessman squeezed in just as the doors were closing, and the entire crowd somehow managed to sneak a space for him, though it left him pressed against the doors. Rick wondered if they'd open again. He was, after a fashion, glad he was not near the door, given how riders had to leave and jump back on to accommodate people getting off. It was a marvel nobody seemed to get left behind.

The train was a cacophony of smells. The sheer density of people on the train overwhelmed any sense of air handling and it thoroughly exceeded any of Rick's prior experiences. He'd been on American and even European subways that, while crowded, didn't have so many people or so many smells with them. Adding to the mix was that so many of them were unfamiliar: different chemicals in riders' detergents, different foods in their diets, even the cleaning chemicals were different. Much was familiar, but nothing smelled quite right. It was entirely too much, so he focused on just those scents closest to him until the rest faded into a sort of background noise. It was still a lot, but it was something.

Blessedly, the train was surprisingly quiet. A few riders had conversations, in Japanese, of course, but they kept to low volumes, and the vast majority seemed focused on their books or their phones. Rick thought about reaching for his phone, but it was tucked in a pocket, and he wasn't sure he'd get it out without dropping it or elbowing someone in the face or both. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, with its unfamiliar and largely illegible ads and their advertising focus that was for a culture he was clearly not a part of. A weathered, familiar American actor was, strangely, selling canned coffee, and Rick resolved to try it, just for the heck of it. He was pretty sure he'd seen the brand on a vending machine at some point since he'd arrived.

Eventually, the name of the station he needed popped up on the sign over the doors. He shuffled towards them, mumbling "sumimasen" as though it were a talisman of safe passage. For the most part, it seemed to work, and by the time the train arrived at his stop, he was expelled with the rest of the riders getting off there and swept up with the flow of people. He managed to break away, tucking himself against a sign and took the chance to get his bearings, finally deciding that the stairs in front of him would probably lead to his destination.

Luck was with him and he emerged at the top of the stairs into the station proper. He took full advantage of his height to scan the signs hanging from the ceiling and managed to break from the traffic flow to go out through the right set of gates. He was grateful he'd spent so much time memorizing the transit directions -- this far into the city, there didn't seem to be a lot of spaces to stand and look at a map.

Out on the streets, it was crowded, but more manageable. The open air of the city interjected its own set of fresh smells, but the crowds had a little more room to spread out, and Rick felt less compressed. Still, he noted, he couldn't exactly stretch out his arms to take it all in. He was sure to clock some unsuspecting pedestrian and reinforce that American stereotype.

---

The walk to the client's office was blessedly short, as they were just a block from the station, and Rick managed to make his way through the crowd without causing any more obvious insult. The marten at the reception desk had rather perturbed he was so early, but the conference room was ready and empty, so she let him wait there, anyway. Being a quiet, empty space that was larger than he needed for himself was a pleasant change from the rest of the morning.

He had been reviewing his presentation, more out of a need to do something than a need to prepare further, when someone walked in. That someone, in this case, was his father's executive assistant.

"Rick, you're early." She took the seat next to him and put her briefcase on the chair.

"Ms. O'Clare. Better an hour early than a minute late. Dad was always fond of that one." He shrugged. "Besides, I didn't know how long it would take, and I really didn't have anything else to do."

"Fiona, please." She set a laptop of her own on the table, followed by a pen and a leather-bound notebook. "I suppose sleeping in wasn't an option."

He shook his head. "God no. I was up at five."

She contemplated that for a moment, then shrugged. "That's really quite a reasonable time. Up just before the sun, plenty of time for a morning run, breakfast, and getting here. You could do worse."

Rick snorted. "I was in no shape to run, and I didn't pack anything for it. Hell, I barely managed to accomplish breakfast."

"Hmmm. Present ticket, eat food, too complicated for you?" She shook her head. "I told your father this was too much too soon." He couldn't tell if the disappointed look she gave him as she sat down was serious or not.

He let it go unanswered for a minute, but uncertainty won out. "Mm, great vote of confidence there."

She jabbed him in the arm with the tip of a claw and gave him a grin, instead. "It's a joke. You must have left your sense of humor at Customs."

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't remind me. Customs, exchange, train card. So much to do, all at once. I'm lucky I made it to the hotel."

"You know, you could have used your phone, I hear it has these navigation functions."

"Yeah, and no data plan."

She cocked her head at him. "Really?" She opened her laptop and tapped away at it furiously for a few moments. Rick was impressed at just how quickly she found exactly what she was looking for. "We ordered it. Did you try to activate it?"

"Ah, no. Nobody told me. Isn't it hideously expensive?"

Fiona shrugged and waggled her hands in a vague gesture. "Eh. It's that or get you a phone for every region you visit, and that's more trouble than it's worth. It's an approved expense." She fixed him with a sharp look. "You do know how to turn it on, right?"

He pulled his phone out and poked at it. "I hadn't really tried. I got as far as turning off cell services before I left the US. Like I said, nobody told me."

She sighed and grabbed the phone. "Fine, I'll do it." More furious tapping and swiping for a minute, then the thrust it back at him. "Here. Don't watch too many cat videos. We didn't get you the unlimited plan. Still, it should get you through Translate and Maps."

Rick eyed her for a moment, then poked the mail icon. Lo and behold, did new mail start appearing, including one from that morning suggesting when he should arrive for the meeting and another copy of the directions he'd been given previously. At least he hadn't screwed that part up. "Well. There it is."

"Indeed, indeed." Her ears perked up, and she sat up straight, then looked over his shoulder at the door. "Ok, silence it and put it away. Client's here. And stand up." She followed her own advice and gave her jacket a tug, as though it needed straightening.

Rick scrambled to his feet and stuffed his phone hurriedly in his pocket. He was glad the suit he had fit him, though he had yet to start feeling comfortable in them. It past time for worrying, though, as the door opened, and the receptionist from earlier stepped through, followed by their client. Rick was sure he was the client, because he matched the photo and overview his father had given him on the man. Ikeda Souta was a fifty-something silver-furred fox who carried himself with reserve, as though he disapproved of everything around him. Or perhaps he simply expected to be disappointed. Or already had been.

Rick was distracted from this line of thought when the other person they were waiting for followed Souta through the door. Aba Ren was, for his own part, also consistent with the bio Rick had been given. In his case, this meant he was a tanuki, of somewhat stockier build than his boss, and a little shorter. He moved with less poise, evincing an uncomfortable energy that set him apart from his boss far more than his appearance did.

According to the briefing, Mr. Ikeda was the VP of Information Technology for Ikeda Heavy Industries; the CEO was a cousin. Mr. Aba was to be the project manager for integrating the software Rick was in charge of selling to them for network management. IHI wasn't the same sort of giant as Fuji or Samsung, but they maintained more than enough production locations throughout Japan to make for an interesting network that consumed entirely too many man hours keeping it running smoothly. Rick's job was to change that. Rather, Rick's job was to help them reduce the man hours, or, at least, get more out of them. He hoped they kept running smoothly.

They stood on the other side of the table and appeared to consider him quietly.

"Mr. Ikeda, thank you for having us." Rick fished a couple of folders out of his briefcase and slid them across the table. He pointed at one, then the other. "That is an annotated copy of the presentation, if you'd like to follow along. It contains more details about the software that I'll be referencing as we go."

Fiona helpfully cut the lights, and Rick started. "So, from what I understand, Ikeda Heavy Industries wants to increase awareness of their network topology, without relying on static documentation, which we all understand is out of date the moment it's printed. As you know, Staller Solutions has developed a dynamic network documentation and management suite built around a simple guiding principle: The Network Is The Documentation."

---

"So, that could have gone better." Rick stabbed at the bowl of rice and fish and, well, something else that sat in front of him. Fiona had ordered and told him it was a "sticky bowl." It looked and smelled strange, and his stomach was giving him fits after the meeting, so he wasn't feeling the hunger he might have.

Fiona shrugged and tucked into her bowl with an enthusiasm Rick couldn't understand. "Eh. It went well enough."

"What makes you think that? They were nearly silent the whole time, and the old man --"

"Mr. Ikeda, please." Fiona gave him a look that said this was not up for debate. Whatever the org chart said, he knew better than to argue with her.

"Ok, Mr. Ikeda looked like he'd smelled something foul through the whole presentation." He took a bite of his food. It was, for all that the texture lived up to its name, quite tasty. His stomach seemed to decide that this was acceptable, and the tension retreated a bit to make room for hunger. "Mm!"

Fiona grinned at him. "That's why I told you to mix it up. Most Americans wouldn't eat natto with their first lunch, but there you go." She leveled her spoon at him. "And that brings me back to my point. You're doing better than you think."

"Eh?" He cocked his head at her. Surely not. Hadn't he just said as much?

She shook her head. "So Mr. Ikeda looked like that because he always looks like that. It's just something about him. Every photo I've ever seen, he looks disappointed. That has nothing to do with whether or not he wants our services." She shrugged and flicked her ears. "Although, it probably doesn't help that we're a western company."

Rick turned his head to the other side. "What now? Does he have a thing against westerners?"

Fiona laughed. "Nice! Yes, a lot of older folks here, especially from more well-to-do families, have leftover prejudices, especially against westerners." She grinned. "I mean, surely you've met folks back in the US with similar proclivities."

Rick waved his spoon in a waffling sort of admission. He had, perhaps, noticed such behaviors in a few associates he'd had over the years. They'd never seemed like bad people, but he had to admit, they probably weren't angels, either. "Sure, I guess."

"Uh-huh. So, imagine that, the Japanese are people, too, and they have similar issues floating around in their culture. It's how life goes." She shrugged again, then paused her lesson to attack her food again. As with most everything else she did, Fiona approached it with an almost terrifying intensity. "So. That's Mr. Ikeda. Don't worry about it. He's talking to us, and that's really good enough. We sell a great piece of software, and you're going to make sure it works for him."

Rick groaned. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

She snorted. "Such confidence. Look, you want to score some points with them, right?"

He nodded. "Naturally."

"Fine. Try changing a couple of things. Show them you're trying to respect their culture."

"And if I make a mistake?"

She laughed again. "Oh, you'll make mistakes, but so what? You're gaijin. You can't possibly get it completely right. But that you are trying, sincerely trying? That'll get you a long way, and it'll probably keep you from making the most egregious mistakes."

Rick shoveled another spoonful of 'sticky bowl' into his muzzle and eyed the vixen curiously. "Did I make any today?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I think you know the answer to that. Mr. Ikeda's reaction wasn't just his natural state."

He started at his bowl. "Oh."

"Yes, well. I guess we didn't give you a culture briefing before this, did we?"

He shook his head. "Not that I recall. You pretty much hired me out of my job in RTP and sent me here."

She tapped a claw on the table. "Hmm. Did we? I mean... Yeah, we should probably send movers for your stuff. Got anything embarrassing out? We could have you moved before you get home."

"Uhhhhh."

Fiona grinned at him. "I'm kidding. But you're right, this was pretty time-sensitive, so we really didn't give you time to brief. At least you know the software we're selling."

"Mostly because Dad loved to talk about it any time we got together."

She shrugged. "Yes, well, advantages of hiring family to do jobs. Besides, at least you had a career before we brought you into the fold."

Rick grumbled and avoided answering by attacking his bowl again. He was nearing the end of it.

"Mmm, well. Like I said, you have some street cred, or whatever you folks want to call it." She shrugged again. "In any case, like I said, yes, you made some mistakes. Step one, don't point with one finger. Sure, you'll see locals do it here, but it's still better to use your whole hand, like this." She gestured at his bowl with all four fingers together and her thumb held close. "Just as precise, but doesn't run afoul of the finger thing."

"What's that about?" He pointed back at her with a similarly-open hand, just to try it out.

She grinned. "Much better. And I have no idea. It's what I was told, I think it's less demeaning or something like that. In any case, give it a shot. You probably won't notice a difference in their reactions, but it's polite."

Rick nodded. "Ok. Anything else I really screwed up?"

"Well, next time you hand over a packet, try not to just toss it on the table. That kinda works in the US, but even then, it's pretty casual. Hand it over, with two hands, give a little bow. Acknowledge the transfer."

He nodded again. "Fair enough."

They'd both finished by then. Fiona pushed back a little from the table and waved at a server. "Sumimasen!"

The weasel woman came over immediately. "Hai?"

"Chekku, onegaishimasu."

The server gave a little bow, said, "Hai, ok," and disappeared.

Fiona turned her attention back to Rick. "So, also, if you want your check, that's how it goes. Don't sit around waiting for them to notice you."

Rick nodded and reached for his wallet.

She shook her head and held out a hand. "No, I'll handle it. This one's on the company, anyway. As are, frankly, most of your meals, if you don't go crazy. But, as it stands, we have about half a day. I have some work to do, but you should go see a museum or something. Tokyo National Museum is gorgeous and only a couple thousand yen. Go for it. Learn a little more about the culture. Maybe buy a book."

Rick chuckled. "Yes, ma'am. I guess this will be my cultural briefing."

She wagged a finger at him. "Don't ever call me ma'am again if you want to live. But otherwise, yes, think of it that way. Now, go, do some learning and try not to screw it up tomorrow."

"Hai, ok."

She grinned. "Good lad."

---

Morning found Rick in better spirits. Six o'clock was real progress on waking up at a reasonable time, since he'd always been a seven-o-clock sort of wolf. The bed was no longer wholly unfamiliar, and he'd managed to find a more comfortable sleeping position. The bathroom was just a little easier to use. Practice, even a day's worth, went a long way.

He even remembered to bring his breakfast ticket the first time out the door. Breakfast itself was even more exciting, as they'd traded out the familiar sausages for unfamiliar, and unknown, grilled fish. Emboldened, he piled rice in a bowl and topped it with the fish and the slightly-runny eggs. It may not have been wholly traditional, but it was a lot different from what he was used to and it was a start. Still, it smelled good, and reminded him of the previous day's lunch. Even coffee was more familiar, and, in the spirit of adventure, he pressed the other button on the machine. He couldn't tell the difference in the result, but it was still coffee, and that was good enough.

The subway station hadn't moved, so he found it readily enough, and the interior was now more familiar, and thus a little less stressful. The ride to the Ikeda office was still an exercise in being jostled and lightly crushed and trying not to hit anyone, but he succeeded in that last goal, and was somewhat less surprised when he was thrust onto the desired platform by the pressure of the crowd. It was, he reflected, possible that he was capable of learning.

He nodded to the marten behind the reception desk as he entered Ikeda's lobby. "Ohayo."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but offered a slight smile as she stood and led him to the conference room. "This way, Mr. Staller. Ms. O'Clare is already waiting for you."

Rick nodded. "Arigato."

She gave a short bow and left him with Fiona.

"So, you beat me here this time."

The vixen grinned. "You were making me look bad. Besides, you're later than yesterday."

He shrugged and started extracting his laptop and presentation from his bag. "I'm starting to get a feel for the commute."

She nodded. "Good to hear it. Ready to really sell it today?"

Rick paused his preparations and looked at her, cocking his head in thought. "You know, I think I am. At least, ready to give it my best shot and see how it goes."

Fiona patted his shoulder. "That's all any of us can do. Now, let's get set up, we have a lot of work ahead of us."