Private Finished Sumi-masen

As the appointed hour drew near, Qing prepared for Sumi's arrival in his wing of the dorms. He'd grown to have enough students under his care that the school had set aside a wing in the dorms for his kids to stay in a group. His common room was warmly lit, with a pantry in one corner and a small fountain in another. Qing waited for Sumi to show up on one of the chairs centered around a coffee table, a yellow scarf around the teacher's neck.

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The boy was garbed in whites and reds, with black permeating his hair and... tail? Well, Qing wasn't about to judge. He merely brought his mug to his lips and took a long, long-suffering sip. Clutched in his hand were a brush and scroll, wrapped delicately in cloth. Qing wondered if the boy enjoyed calligraphy, or if he was interested in Asian art forms; he certainly looked the part.

"Sit." He waved at a chair, which the boy took. "As you already know, my name is Mr Jiang -- or Zheng Qing, if you prefer. Just don't call me Qing, kay?" Now that the introductions were over, Qing took another sip of his tea, careful not to touch his scarf with the mug in his hand. Then he set it aside.

"Well, kiddo, tell me more about yourself."

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"And," he said, not at all fazed, "You got anything you need to let me know about? Part-time jobs, guardians, family members on the island..." He was recalling everything that Shiro had told him. From what he knew, Sumi didn't have family on the island, but maybe the boy was about to correct that notion? Qing didn't know. He was going to find out.

Qing drained the tea in his mug, stood, and walked over to the pantry. He pulled out a glass container that contained a number of rice "cakes" coated in crushed peanuts and sugar. Sumi might recognise them as something akin to freshly-pounded mochi, but Qing knew it was not. It was still made of the same glutinous rice, but was softer, and warmer. He called it muah chee. Placing a few onto a plate, he brought the plate over to where he and Sumi were seated, setting it down onto the coffee table between them.

"Have a piece," he offered, leaning back in his chair.

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He quirked a brow at the ink that dotted Sumi's finger, nodding along while reading the writing in the air. He shrugged by way of agreement. "Kid, you don't just "become" a god of art." Qing raised his mug to his lips again. "The godhood process takes time. But you'll get there some day if you're determined enough. Anyway, I'll take note of that. Now --"

Zheng Qing waved his hand, and the water bubbling in the fountain rose into a snaking rope, winding its way over to the pair. It gathered into a blob, hovering between Qing and Sumi. Qing made a tugging motion with his fingers, and the water began to form itself into different faces as he spoke. "-- The kids under my care are: Shiro, Kueria, Wen, and yourself. Know any of them?" As he said each name, the water's surface morphed into a head that resembled each kid.

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"Well then," he said again, "Sometime on your own, if you're comfortable with that, I want you to meet more of 'em. It'll be good to know some faces around here, especially since you're gonna be living near to them anyway." The water flashed through the faces again, so that Sumi could remember. Then, it returned to the fountain and continued bubbling away.

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