@holy-havoc
There was something about the temporary and chaotic beauty of a festival that made her feel intensely alive. In her former life, she had always been drawn to them. The energy contained in a vivid and fleeting moment sparking a current of lightning beneath her skin.
As a child, she was always scolded at similar events. Prone to wandering off, lured in by the overwhelming atmosphere, entranced like it was a siren’s song. Later, she would drag her sister with her, earning more reprimand for being ever incorrigible and setting a poor example. It was always worth it - her sister ever exhilarated by their adventures despite the stern lecture Chiari would receive as a result.
A fair price paid for a moment of freedom. It always appeared that it went in one ear and out the other, even though her mind absorbed every criticism, drinking up the poison like a sponge. Still, she would do it again every time, willingly paying the toll for each transgression.
Even now, she was willing to let the euphoric environment bewitch her, eager to be consumed.
What had begun as a laborious chase, trailing not one but now three targets, having joined together once they realized she was hot on their trail, had ended in a moment of choice. The trio had sprinted into the crowd, dissolving into it with ease, leaving her skidding to a halt at the precipice of decision, dancing at the edge of shadows at the tree line as if pinned there, just outside of the gates of this unfamiliar village.
Where cutting her losses had seemed like the obvious choice, the voice of reason gave way, hurriedly stifled into silence by the mirthful cacophony pouring out of the open gate before her. A vibrant stir of motion writhed beyond the threshold, and the scents of meats and spices tickled her nose, as if something otherworldly had reached out to personally beckon her inside. All of her keen focus on missions had always been simultaneously easy and difficult to deter. It had to be just the right distraction, an irresistible alignment of circumstances to evoke that almost playful curiosity that would dull the killer’s instinct and tear her away from the hunt.
She paced just within the treeline for only a minute before she slipped back out of sight to change into more casual attire and to dump anything unnecessary into a scroll. Unfortunately, that meant her tantō too, leaving her with only a few concealed kunai and her hands as the backup plan. When she emerged once more, she was nobody in particular, her true role these days.
Crisp autumn air bit at her cheeks, tinging them with a subdued peach undertone and summoning goosebumps along the back of her neck where her hair, now braided, had previously shielded it. A single flick, and the braid draped over her shoulder was unceremoniously flung to her back, teal ribbon twisting gently in the wind as she approached the gates.
These kinds of events were always so unsuspecting, welcoming just about anyone in to partake of the merriment, and these festivities seemed no different. She barely stepped through the large gateway before a woman had clapped a hand on her shoulder, as if they had expected to receive her all along, exclaiming an enthusiastic greeting before gently shoving her toward the epicenter of it all.
While she was distracted, something was pressed into her hand, and she looked down just in time to see an older child scamper off, a blur of dark hair that had her doing a double-take at the perceived familiarity.
No. She was mistaken. No ghost of hers. A true corporeal being.
She shook her head in dismay at her own confusion and then turned her attention to the item - a pinwheel, two colors, already whirling in her hand from the fervent motion around her. Momentarily mesmerized by the unintentional implication swirling in front of her, she found her breath catching.
It was an instant, involuntary physical reaction. The bright, cheerful spin was too quick, too focused, and something in the pattern of two colors chasing each other around the center sent a shock through her as though she had been electrocuted. Her vision constricted with that familiar, painful tension that always preceded the involuntary activation when she would struggle to contain it. She felt the sudden, alarming warmth behind her eyes, the familiar flush of blood rushing to a place it couldn’t be allowed to.
It had been months since anything elicited this kind of reaction, and never anything so harmless as a child’s toy. Her lips parted and she took a slow, deep breath, closing her eyes for a few seconds to ground herself, enveloping herself in the noise and smells and sounds.
The moment she opened her eyes, the mask snapped back into place, and she tucked the pinwheel stem into her belt and slipped into the crowd as if nothing had happened.
Drifting deeper into the throng, she let the wave of noise and movement crash over her, a chaotic baptism that she found a desperate comfort in. Her self-imposed isolation had been what she deemed a necessary evil, a secure boundary that left a aching hollow growing within her, as much as she tried to ignore it. Here, amid the accidental bumps and brushes of bodies moving around her, the overlapping shouts and laughter, did she feel safe and inconspicuous. Some part of her craved this setting, ate it up with a hunger that she couldn’t quite pin solely on nostalgia.
She paused where a group had gathered, peering ahead at a low wooden dias to see what had drawn their attention. The jingle of tiny bells, sharp and rhythmic, cut through the ambient noise, demanding her own attention. Dark eyes immediately locked onto the dancers, clad in bright, shimmery fabrics, their movements so fluid and vibrantly alive that she momentarily forgot where she was.
When the dance ended, she allowed the shifting crowd to steer her further, past a small stage where a group of actors were enthusiastically reenacting some sort of history. She listened in for a few minutes, only catching pieces of the story - something about a pact and fifty years, a convergence of two communities into one. The theme of the event. An observance, a celebration. The entire thing crafted in honor of two rival communities choosing unity for the sake of something better.
She found herself scanning the audience as the performers continued, shinobi habits ingrained into her but layered with the predatory gaze of a hunter. Her eye caught the distinct flash of someone turning away from her, one of the targets from earlier, an abrupt motion as they disappeared back into the crowd.
A skirmish here was unthinkable, at least for her. She wouldn’t disrupt this kind of frivolity. In her role now, there were no true rules, only the ones she formed for herself. Ruining this revelry would be a sin. Now, if they drifted off toward some back alley, she would not shy away from an ideal opportunity. Lowering her head slightly, she returned her attention to the vendor, making a mental note of the direction they had taken off in, just in case.
She didn’t linger for long, drawn away by the scent of roasted meat. It led her straight to a stall where smoke curled lazily upward in a spiral, like an aromatic incense just for her. The vendor nodded at her, and she drew a few coins from her inner pocket, exchanging them for a skewer thick with chunks of soy-glazed pork. She took her snack and moved away from the vendor, seeking a quieter place to stand on the periphery of the crowd.
As she paid, she felt that familiar prickle at the back of her neck, the awareness of eyes on her from somewhere unseen. She glanced back over her shoulder. Two faces, the remaining two of the trio she had trailed in here, keeping an eye on her. The moment her eyes met theirs, they glanced at one another and slipped away, clearly eager as she was to avoid making a scene here.
The glaze had begun to seep down the skewer onto her fingers, and she busied herself, swapping hands to lick her fingertips with a delighted greed to waste not. Her attention was quickly drawn away by a raised, fervent voice from one of the less crowded areas.
His voice boisterous, it rose over the revelry, taking shape in the space it was confined to. Proclaiming things that aligned with the little play she had observed - similar words of convergence, and fifty years, but he was delving into criticism.
“We speak of the unification of two villages, yes, but do not be blind to the history of it. Our founders did not merely unite, but formed an act of suppression. We have ended a feud, but the forced slumber of the conflict will not remain so. You cannot erase generations of division with a scrap of paper!” She tilted her head, listening with mild interest, content to tear the meat from the skewer and chew thoughtfully as some of the crowd began to thin at the transformation of his tone. His proclamation was burdened with conviction, resonating in the small space he had carved out.
“The convergence is contaminated! Like an eclipse, the villages will violently diverge. We stand not at the anniversary of a pact but at the first crack in the ice, a sign of inevitable shattering.” His words were intriguing if not fanatical, but he lost her with his conclusion of zealous chanting.
“Repent! Cast away your shared harvest. Woe to the complacent! When the villages split, we will all burn.”
“Well, okay then,” she murmured, raising her eyebrows with incredulity at the sudden twist. Biting into another one of the savory pork chunks, she sharply turned on her heel, immediately colliding with someone who must have been lingering just behind her.