[[Some parts lifted from "Heads toward the Tavern" chapter.]]
As a child, your father would often invite you to the D&D games he used to GM. Sitting around a table with five drunken, rowdy, beardy nerds as they drank and fucked their way through one of your father's campaigns had been one of the highlights of your childhood, and had taught your young mind a whole new dictionary of colorful language and much about female anatomy.
One thing you remember, your dad always had a fondness for taverns. At the closing of each night's adventuring, he would usually endeavor to get the party back to a tavern, and start the group there the next week. That would be the logical place to start looking for him.
Even in an Asian setting this idea would most likely hold true.
You head towards a large building that seems to be the center of activity for a bunch of merchants and samurai. With great ease you divine body makes its way through the snow and many NPC's stop to stare at you (Many asking themselves how much you would charge a night.).
The smell hits you as you step over the threshold - a combination of different tobaccos, alcohols, food and the smell of spent semen fused with sweat. (The last of which you really didn't want to smell.)
Entering the establishment is enough to stop all of the merry making as everyone decides to look at you instead.
Your dad could be any one of them. Since simulations were being started and shut down all the time, the system automatically placed your mother and father's minds in new bodies completely at random whenever they were transferred to a new simulation. He could be any one of the dozens of samurai or merchants. He could be the rat-faced barkeep watching everyone with a keen eyes, or any number of the various geisha going from custamer to custamer, trying to find out who was willing to pay more and seving drinks to make their customers more likely to agree to pay more.
Many people suddenly realize that you were a deity and clapped twice with their hands before bowing to you.
Clearing your throat awkwardly, you say, "Uhm, hi. Yeah, is there a Mister Kensington here? I'm looking for a Mr Kensington."
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