A Primal Saturnalia [Open]

The soft lantern light of Kirigakure's market district was conspicuously absent as Asami Miyamoto passed through the shinobi world's greatest bazaar. In its place blazed a harsh torchlight, which sent jagged shadows dancing across the empty stalls as the flames swelled and deflated in no discernable pattern. On any other night, one could find merchants packing up their things and trying to make a last minute sale, but not this night. This night was different, for even before the sun had fallen beneath the horizon each and every merchant—native or otherwise—had closed up shop early.

This was the night of souls.

Every year, for as long as Asami could remember, she—with her parents and the rest of the village—attended the festival. Originally meant to send off the souls of the recently dead to the afterlife, the night of souls had long since evolved into a celebration of the past with an eye to future, a way to let loose and return to one's animal roots one last time before the stormy season of Autumn ensnared the island chain. And yet, though it had indeed changed, a few things remained the same, most prominently the custom and liberal use of face paint stood the test of time far better than the idea of lost souls.

As a testament to such a tradition, the face Asami wore was not her own. Much whiter than normal and with eyes ringed by black paint, the young chuunin's face vaguely resembled a skull. In fact, the illusion would have been nearly perfect had it not been for the blazing red scar that ran across the right side of the girl's face and back to her abbreviated ear. The scar itself had long since faded in a pale line, but Asami had taken the liberty of accenting with blood red paint. Completing the look was a head of hair that looked as if she had woken up on the wrong side of the bed—it seemed to spike in every direction at once.

Tonight she was not a shinobi.

Tonight she was a citizen of Kirigakure and the distant sound of drums by the beach called to her. In a way, she planned for tonight to be different than past years. In the past, she had simply had a good time, danced, and screamed until she went hoarse. This time, however, with the recent loss of her parents, she felt a strange connection to the festival's roots.

Tonight she—like the people of old—would send her parents off into the afterlife; they were waiting somewhere on the distant beach that each small step brought her closer to.

---
TWC: 445

Nero was confident in his fashion sense. Which was why it was a huge disappointment that nobody was approaching him and praising the work on his face paint. The opposite, he saw quite a bit of people sigh, chuckle, or even pretend to be disgusted. (Surely that couldn't have been their sincere reaction, they must have been faking it, perhaps to mock a ninja, or perhaps to get his attention. Nero was definitely not delusional about this.) Nero couldn't tell why his face paint was getting all this positive-or-negative reaction though. After all, he did all of it to blend in. To be more accurate though, there was no "paint", at least not technically. All Nero did was to dress fancy (so, he was in his regular clothes, which were at least clean though), and use his own blood as an overdone eye shadow. The blood had, of course, dripped from his eyes to his cheeks and his jaw on both sides. At least it was not dripping anymore because it had dried on his face, creating an almost paint-like look. His pure white hear was worn as tied in the back as a man-bun.

Why was Nero on the streets, joining the festival, unlike former years? Well, even though he didn't like to admit it, he didn't have as busy a social life as before. Ever since he became a ninja, he had to let go of a lot of his old friends, even his girlfriend (though he had broken up with her when he joined the Academy, not when he graduated from it. So it was close to being unrelated, but not in Nero's mind). Today, he wasn't really looking for new friends or even to socialize though, he just wanted to catch up with the village he had ignored for longer than he should have, at least in his own eyes.

The festival had a... Kiri feeling to it, the best way to put it. Nero wasn't paying attention to every single detail, but one that caught his attention pretty easily was the fact that there were a lot fewer daggers around than he had expected. Nero started walking around. Even though he was meant to be a civilian for the festival (or 'undercover' as he had decided to put it when he explained it to his friend Kite), he kept his headband in his ninja pouch just in case he needed it. When he was walking around, he saw a girl with a huge scar on her face and a blank expression he assumed came from a shock of the pain. Nero approached the girl. He almost recognized her, but just as he was about to, he brushed that thought off and assumed he must have just seen this girl around the village some time.


"Hey!" Nero said to the girl, in as comforting a voice he could speak in (assuming this was a civilian in need, and not his superior Asami), "Are you alright? Do you need help?".

One of the best parts of wandering the world was experiencing the different customs. Takeo was a well travelled man for his age. Having crossed the continent more times than he could remember he had come across numerous different cultures. Hoshigakure had been an interesting one for him to experience. Their focus on religion and a more non-shinobi environment had intrigued him for sometime. Though now he looked back on it with no sense of fondness.

Compared to other villages he knew next to nothing about the ways of Kirigakure. He wasn't raised in the first iteration, unlike his brother, and hadn't been here long enough to truly grow comfortable. He was still a foreigner, a remnant of Tengakure too stubborn to die off like the rest. And Takeo liked it that way. He would rather just remain within his own section of the Tadashi complex until he was needed. His younger sister had other ideas however. With threats in the line of, 'if you don't go out I'll stab you in your sleep' Takeo had no option other than to say no.

"Do you know anything about this festival?" He questioned to his companion as he looked into his bathroom mirror.

No. Came the blunt reply. And your mockery of me is pathetic.

Takeo frowned, looking into the mirror once more. In his opinion he had done a good job. Takeo had done some quick research on this little event of Kiri's. Face paint was one of the more popular of traditions there. So naturally Takeo had to do that. Coming up with a design had taken him around an hour or so. The snide remarks at his suggestions had finally made him snap. Black paint was surrounding his eyes and various dark blue lines ran along his jaw and forehead. "You should be flattered if anything."

There was no response. So naturally Takeo continued with what he was doing. Now Takeo still wasn't quite sure what this entire thing entailed. It was a festival, so that meant a celebration? Takeo wondered how Kirigakure's recent advancements in the world would effect tonight. A wilder celebration than normal perhaps? Or would it be a more sombre occasion? There was no way of knowing for sure. Takeo would just have to dive right in.

And so he did. Takeo had shrugged on his fancy Liontamer jacket, one of two in the world. He was after all the shining beacon of the two brothers. Takeo had to make sure the public perception of the Tadashi's was a good one. While his brother was currently absent it was up to him to make good impressions.

Takeo made his way through the crowd, the LEDs on his jacket switched on, taking in the atmosphere. It seemed like the festival itself was warming up so to speak. Most of the citizens were just beginning to go on the move. Takeo exchanged pleasantries with the few that recognised him, but otherwise just kept to himself as he meandered through the village. Until two chakra signatures caught his attention. Takeo was always intrigued by chakra signatures, high ones always meant that there would be interesting people to meet nine times out of ten. Like a moth to a flame he made his way over toward the sources.

The two individuals were certainly..unique looking. One was a shorter female with spiky hair, the other an adult male with hair similar in colours to Takeo. Both of them had some manner of face...paint..on. That was a plus, it was a sign that his sister hadn't tricked him. The man would make his way on over to the pair. "Good morrow!" He would call over to the pair. A frown appeared immediately on his face as a rumbling chuckle echoed through his thoughts. Did I really just say that? Embarrassing. Takeo shook his head and continued on, "You wouldn't happen to know much about this uh festival thing by chance? In truth I'm a bit confused by it all." He scratched the side of his head, eyes dancing as he kept an eye out for anything interesting.

Loose sand shifted as the backside of a young man took a seat on a beach dune. Hayate hadn't really understood how heavy those ceremonial drums were, nor how big they were up close. But his grandfather, as head of the clan, always insisted that the family kept to the Kiri traditions and assist in such matters, and as Hayate was a genin this year, he was expected to pull his weight helping as well. His grandfather, of course, had no trouble carrying one himself, and smiled down at Hayate as he sat resting, now that they had dropped off their payloads.

The three giant drums were set up in a triangle on wooden stands, the shirtless performers just beginning to take their places. The closest bonfires, large teepees of sticks and planks of wood and other materials, were still unlit just a ways off on either side, but the performers had torches just bright enough to see the black and white of the yin and yang like designs on the drums. Slowly, they began a quiet drumbeat that would grow louder and more rapid, its primal rhythm eventually expanding through the city, the sea, the forest, everything that, tied together, made up Kirigakure.



Supposedly, the beat paralleled the black and white yin/yang sign on the drums, and while the music reached up into the air, permeating everything in the world of the living, it also reverberated into the land of the dead, tying both together and calling all together. Once the fires were lit, the beach would become not only the union of the sand and the sea, but the living and the dead.

Hayate never fully understood this festival. To some, it was a primal, wild, happy bacchanalia, and to others, a somber, sad occasion. To many it was both at the same time, which was the weirdest part of all, yet those that knew and understood the traditions the best seemed to thing all those people were right at the same time. When he was younger, it was just about paying homage to the traditions, dancing a bit in the firelight by the sea, and going home before it got too late and anyone got too wild. He was told he'd understand better later on, but it was for the best that he didn't truely get it for as long as possible.

As the beat accelerated to become a call to the open of the festival, the start of the night, small fires were started in the bonfire pit, that would soon be tended and grow larger and larger. Soon more and more villagers would trickle in to the call of the fire and the beat, and the beach would be alive as it rarely ever was.

Hayate sat back on the dune, and idly reached up to his forehead to brush aside strands of unruly blonde hair. He was careful not to disturb the dark blue paint line flat across his forehead, nor the blue kiri waves on either cheek. If felt weird to be without his headband anywhere on him for the first time in a while, but tonight wasn't about shinobi or rank or status. Instead he let the drums echo through his body and stared out over the reflection of the moon on the sea, waiting, but for nothing in particular.

WC 559.

Eek, a wild hipster appeared!

Oh wait, nevermind, false alarm. The familiar chakra signature and voice tipped the young girl off to the fact that the first newcomer was an acquaintance of hers, Nero, and not a man-bun wearing connoisseur of fine craft beverages and avocado clad toast. That said, the man did seem to have a strange attraction to the bleeding EDGE of fashion, so perhaps her initial reaction to the man's appearance was the correct one. She couldn't be sure one way or the other and didn't care enough to put more thought into it. Instead, she elected to dispel the concern so obvious in the older shinobi's voice.

"Nero, it's me, Asami," her face contorted into a wicked grin making the scar all the more horrible. "And I'm fine, though I should be asking you the same thing, is that bloo—"

She would never get the chance to finish the question, for another familiar voice cut in. It was the voice of the other obscenely old genin of the Mist, Takeo Tadashi.

"Good evening, Takeo," her pale face turned to greet the genin. "You must not have grown up in the village...the whole thing is kind of hard to explain..."

She paused, searching for the right words.

"It's probably easier to just see it for yourself," she finally admitted after some thought. "Follow me."

Without another word, she continued on her way. Hopefully, the two genin followed her lead and began on their way closer and closer to the distant drums.

[Filler post op, Ash & Nero, you guys can control where Asami leads y'all within reason. I can't bring myself to write up a festival description just yet.]

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TWC: 699

Interesting. The girl didn't look at Nero with the usual weird look he got from people. It was a different kind of a weird look, though Nero couldn't put When the girl said she was Asami everything made a little bit more sense. Nero should have recognized her from chakra signature, but he was still having trouble getting used to being able to sense chakra. Maybe it was that, maybe it was this festival. For whatever reason, Nero was only able to sense a collective chakra out of the crowd, a single signature that numbed his sense and didn't allow him to make out specific signatures from people around him. He didn't understand why, but wanted to believe that it was the magic of the festival.

Is that bloo-. "What?" Nero thought for a second, "What's blugh?". "Oh." he then said, pointing to his face, "No it's not... That. It's just blood.". He nodded. At that point he realised, just like himself, Asami could have probably made that scar from excess blood. He then watched Asami greet another person. He turned around. There was an eerie feeling for some reason. When Nero looked at the man, he didn't pick up on it first. But after watching him and focusing for a few more seconds, it slowly became clear to him. The chakra signature he was picking up, the one that numbed Nero's senses, it was this man. A wave of discomfort washed Nero's thoughts away.

"Hi." Nero would greet the man, "To what do we owe the chak- I mean to chak- I mean chakra. Hi.". This was... Weird. Nero being the ever self-confident god (in his mind, again, he was sel-confident), was not used to this feeling. It had thrown him off his game. "Yeah. let's follow not-chak- I mean Asami."... He followed Asami, as she led them through the muddy grounds. Nero would have used Surface Walking Technique, if he was not completely distracted by and in awe of the man and his unusually large reserve of chakra. "I... I'm Nero by the way. Nice to meet you, Mr. Chakra- I mean. What's your name?".

Takeo was mildly surprised when he was greeted by the female of the two. Despite his family there were few in the village that knew of him by name. There were even fewer people who he had met personally since coming here. It was the chakra that seemed vaguely familiar to him. One that he had sensed before. As she continued to speak his expression changed as he remembered the face. The proctor from his exam. What a handy coincidence that was. Thankfully the two seemed to pay no heed to his way of greeting.

The pale faced girl made an observation about his origins. Takeo gave a slight nod, stuffing his hands into his flashing jacket pockets. "A correct assessment, I'm from Tengakure." Takeo replied. He briefly wondered if the natives even knew of the village. It had been a major shinobi village during it's existence, however if the islands had always been this cut off from the rest of the world for a long time..then who knows what knowledge these people possessed.

I'm also from Hoshigakure I guess. Takeo thought to himself with a slight frown. I need to go back there at some point. Remind me will ya?

No.

Thanks, knew I could count on you.

Takeo nodded over toward the man with white hair. "Nice face paint." He commented lightly before Asami spoke once more. The little tour guide set off after no objection from either party. It was as the trio set off that Takeo picked up the sound of the drums. Only now had they caught his attention. The man blinked. The sudden noise had thrown him off slightly. It was almost hypnotic in a way. They were distant, but it seemed Asami was heading over toward the direction of the noise. That must be where the main festival was to take place then.

Trekking around the place was no easy feat. The crowd has certainly began to pick up as more people congregated. Takeo looked around at the crowd of people. He recognised none in the immediate area. Each person seemed to have a unique fashion. Some had chosen to wear more colourful garments, others had gone with more uniform plain clothing. The face paints were different as well, some even having forgone it for more exotic masks. Even the moods were varying. Some remained quiet, perhaps mourning recent losses. Others were in a jovial mood, chatting and flitting about as if it were their first time being let out so late.

Takeo took it all in before turning his attention to one of his companions for the time being. The man, Nero, had introduced himself. "Takeo." He replied to the question. There was some thought on if he should do a proper introduction. Though given the occasion that seemed a tad unnecessary. "So, is this your first time at this festival as well?" He queried to both of them. While they seemed to have a more firm grasp of the idea than him, he wanted to get some more information about the pair while they walked. "My sister told me of the vague concept..or maybe she was messing with me. Something to do with the dead?"

Sounds right up your alley honestly.

Be quiet boy.

Takeo rolled his eyes. Shukaku was no fun at all.

As the first song died down, a few small wisps of light flickered into existence along the shadowy beach.  These wisps lasted for only a moment or two before the figures holding them bent down and used them to ignite the bases of the large bonfires.  The fire spread quickly among the dry kindling around the base, forming a low ring of fire, but in Kiri nothing was ever truely safe from the damp, and the larger pieces took longer to light, giving off extra smoke as the fire slowly spread.

This made the immediate area around each fire vastly brighter, and could no doubt soon be clearly seen from the village and all the way out to the stormwall, but seemed to throw the rest of the beach into even darker shadow.

As the second tune started, joined by a few stringed instruments of some description, Hayate kicked off his sandals and rolled up his pant legs.  He normally stayed right by the warm fire, but this year...  He saw his grandfather standing where the light just started to fade a bit, around some other respected members of his generation, the man's tall and broad frame setting him slightly apart.  The were passing a bottle of something and sharing old stories.  He'd be busy for quite some time.

Instead, Hayate walked down the beach to stand in the shallow water.  It was as cold as the dead - definitely bracing, but it cleared his head and make sure he was very awake and here in the moment.  Very gentle rolling waves made the water crash from ankle high, to mid shin, and back again.  The long streak of the moons reflection rippled with shadows of waves and the occasional fish or sea creature - or perhaps departed spirit arriving.

Very few others were down at the beachline - two kids playing at the surfs edge, a woman reaching her fingertips wistfully into the water while on the verge of tears, a pair of people too far away to make out in the low light.  Most of the sparse early crowd that had already arrived were (and would keep) around the fires, and more would trickle in soon.

wc 251 twc 810

Tengakure?

Nero being, well, Nero, did not distract the girl from Takeo's comment; she had heard of Tengakure. Well, not heard of it but rather read about it. Since returning from Konohagakure she'd cloistered herself in Kirigakure's extensive library. As a result, she now found a bunch of useless facts about the shinobi world floating around in her head: trading routes, weather patterns, and terrain maps. Tengakure, if her memory served, once sat atop a plain of brilliant green and utilized the latest technology to create buildings that stretched into the clouds themselves. Then, inexplicably, the village fell out of recorded time and into obscurity. Honestly, the whole thing seemed to confuse even the professional historians of Kirigakure—perhaps Takeo could shed some light on the circumstances of the village's demise at a later date?

Now, however, was certainly was not the time for a history lesson.

Oh.

Nevermind, the more flamboyant of the two males didn't seem to grasp festivals meaning, history lesson it was...

"Nah, I've been going since I was a kid," Continuing to walk as she talked, the thought that she still might be a kid never occurred to her. "It's called the night of souls, so it's kind of about the dead and kind of about the living. My dad says—"

She paused for less than a heartbeat before correcting herself.

"My dad used to say it was a time for the living to celebrate the lives of the dead and send them into the next world while also looking to the future of the living," she furrowed her brow. "I don't really understand it all that well, to be honest..."

She glanced over at Nero silently hoping he had a better explanation than her. Her age was definitely showing and if she wasn't wearing facepaint both Takeo and Nero would have been able to see her cheeks flush red. No, she didn't understand it now but she hoped sometime during the night she would. She had to, for her parents.

Trying to keep her mind from her own shortcomings and personal tragedies, the chuunin led the small group through the ever-thickening crowds. She tried her best to avoid being pulled along by the masses of people but at times it was impossible and she allowed the currents of humanity to take her where they willed. Soon the sound of drums came to mingle with the smell of smoke and incoherent babble of a crowd making the whole scene resonate in some strange almost primal way. It seemed the closer they drew to the monstrous bonfires the louder the noise and heavier the smoke became.

Asami did not, however, intend to get too close to the fires just yet. Rather, she made her way to where the sea kissed the land and where only a few lone figures had yet to venture. It was here, with the buzz of the festival at her back and the calmness of the sea before her, that Asami stopped. She had momentarily forgotten about companions and failed to recognize the familiar figure of Hayate closer to the water. Her eyes were on the horizon where a sliver of the moon had just begun its ascent into the night sky.

It was a beautiful night.

"Something to do with the dead?" Nero repeated. "It more has to do with death itself, to be accurate.". The drums became louder and louder as the moon ascended. Da-da-da-da. Da-da-da-da. Da-da-da-da. Da-da-da-da. There was no particular stage where a certain group of people were hitting drums, they were all around, scattered across Kirigakure, all following the same simple pattern. Nero smiled, "You know... If you ever happen to be outside in the ocean during the festival, you hear all of the drums as one collective voice. It sounds as if Kirigakure, the village itself, is shouting to the night sky. It's a wonderful sight. Not that it's any better than right here, in the middle of it all.".

Nero was not the most thoughtful of people, but even he realized there was a story behind Asami correcting herself. Is, and was were to different things, and this night was all about it. He just looked at Asami, with a glance he hoped would give away that he understood, at least a little bit. He nodded, discreetly, though both his glance and nod might have escaped Asami, who didn't seem to be the biggest fan of eye contact, or paying attention to people's faces; as far as Nero had noticed anyway. “It’s a day for mourning, consoling, and letting go. A day of washing the blood away from the mist.”. Near the bonfire, a group of shirtless people appeared, men and women, carrying many knives in different shapes and sizes. Nero turned back to the man named Takeo. "It will be much easier to show you." he shouted, otherwise Takeo might not have heard him over the sound of the drums, which were getting louder. Nero realized Asami strayed further away from the bonfire, to choose the sight of the ocean instead, but he didn't follow her. This was the part of the festival he had decided to join from the very start. He added to Takeo, "Don't watch if you get squeamish.".

One of the women went in front of the fire first. She was an old woman with a built, heavy body, dark skin, long black hair. She used the knife in her hand to draw on her body with shallow scars. A long line from her left shoulder to her right, then seven X's on that line, scattered throughout. When she was done, she put the knife on her belt, opened up her arms against the bonfire, and shouted "SYRGJA AIDAN!". People waiting on the line, and many others watching this scene around the bonfire shouted together, "MUNA!". Nero sighed, and undressed his upper half. He left his jacket and shirt on the ground. "You can wait with Asami if you don't wanna watch." he said to Takeo, "She's a great tour guide. Or ask around for Hayate, he's alright. Otherwise I'll be back in a few minutes. Or if you’re over 18 and interested, you can take part in it. No shame on not participating in your first festival though.". He joined the line behind the first woman, who had fallen down to her knees. She was greeting the fire, seemingly.

A few others went ahead and followed in the woman's lead. "SYRGJA HITOMI!". "MUNA!". "SYRGJA GUUL!". "MUNA!". After about 8 people (some people gave their place in the line to Nero, after seeing his headband, which he had tied to his arm after leaving his jacket behind), it was Nero's turn. He walked towards the fire. "Yuki are not built for this." he mumbled, wiping some sweat away off his now-drenched body. He took out his Character Development from his pouch, and first, cut off his stupid man-bun, and threw the hair in his hand into the fire. The crowd was as enthusiastic as any other second of the ritual, shouting, clapping, making noises in general. Then, with the knife, Nero did as the others had done before him, and opened scars in front of his chest. A straight line from left shoulder to right shoulder, and 7 X's between the ends. "SYRGJA SERANINE!". "MUNA!". He too, kneeled before the fire, and waited for others to join.

When everyone interested seemed to have finished their part, they all rose from the ground together, and collectively shouted at the top of their lungs, some howled, some said certain names, and some (including Nero) just went “AAAAAA!”. Alcohol was carried over by nearby citizens, as the people who took part in the ritual clanged their glasses against each other, took a single sip each, and then poured it over themselves. Nero sighed. He was slightly smiling, an expression that in his opinion fit him well, but he couldn’t be sure now, after his poorly cut hair.

He walked over to grab the clothes he had left on the ground, wore his shirt again, choosing to carry his jacket now instead, as he walked over to Takeo and Asami, if they weren’t already there. (If only Takeo was there, he’d lead him to Asami after saying “Come on, let’s find Asami again.”.) If they were there together, or when they were all together again, Nero would simply ask, “Where do you guys want to head to next?”.