Shepard may put on a casual face. She's just looking around at all the strange sights and new sounds. This isn't a world that means much to her. But she can appreciate something like it. Seeing Yamato practically effervescent with the buoyant energy he can barely contain dredges up her own memories of a young engineer barely out if basic and stalking the racks for the first time. The smell of gun oil and the vapor of a scorched heatsinks that are forever imprinted on her mind along with the feel of her first rifle fitted to her hands like it was an extension of her own limbs.

Yamato doesn't think much of her penchant for guns, her first love, but in them she wants to believe they manage to find common ground.

"Sensei? Just what do you think we're here for?" she teases lightly, paying more attention than she lets on even if she fails to catch the nuances of their exchange.

The man only smiles amicably, a skilled artisan proud to share his work with anyone that's interested. "I understand that you're looking for a sword."

Shepard gets that he's talking about swords of the native style, the very same that Yamato becomes in her hands. But she's missing even more. The word he uses. Shinken. A true sword. A modern blade with a near obsolete purpose. But one that could be resurrected through the care and attention of someone that really knew how to appreciate it.