“Three nights, then,” The swordsman gestures over his shoulder, out towards the snowy street, “I trust he’ll receive the best service, for the extra paid?”

‘He’ appears to be an acquaintance of the black-hat samurai: a mountain of a man, donning the apparel of a cook, without hands.

A clumsy fellow, having disrupted a street-side puppet show taking place opposite the brothel you work at.

“My payment upfront,” The samurai continues, dropping three more silver coins onto your open palm.