"Those categories aren't mutually exclusive," Kisuke points out, starting a little when she reaches out to brush against his chin, the rough, short hair there noisy against the smooth skin of her palm. He laughs, but it's a softer laugh than his normal raucous, noisy one, and he does his best to ignore the way his cheeks color a little. Her intent curiosity is oddly endearing, and incredibly hard to meet with cynicism. No matter how much crow Kisuke's eaten in his time.

"Anything can become kami. I just happen to a dead soul made kami," he explains with amused patience, before looking down at his haori. Most of the mess managed to end up on the center of his chest and on his bare feet, and it feels awful, but at least the jacket is mostly clean. He peels it off to hand it over to her, the silk warm from being worn.

"It's an extremely lifelike automaton," he adds, to settle her curiosity if only a little. "For all intents and purposes, a body, but one that only 'lives' when the psyche is connected to the oma."