Why Don't We Dance (Pt. 1)

Why Don't We Dance (Pt. 1):

Draped in his indigo silk robe, Monsoon Uchiha, with the a crumpled missive in his hand, made his way to the arts district, the the theatre who requested a shinobi's aid. As stood at the front of the small, humble theatre, Monsoon recognized the building. It was the same theatre whose supplies he had cleaned some week prior. The Uchiha did not find this odd. Clearly, this local theatre had some arrangement with the Kage. Though his kage did not strike him as a patron of the arts, he was pleased with his current assignment. As opposed to the menial labor that defined missions of this rank, Monsoon was to play the part of a critic, to help aid the troupe in their upcoming performance. His joy could not be hid, and he walked through the double doors of the theatre building with wide smile on his face.

His smile soured as he walked through the lobby. A dingy, cramped, and cluttered space that offered no indication of the art that was housed inside. He was thankful there wasn't a pungent smell, as the place looked like it had not been cleaned in sometime. He shrugged his shoulders and sighed away his waning excitement.

He walked through the door that led the the stage, and was actually surprised. The space was humble, the seats were clean, and the stage itself was immaculate. Black curtains hung on the sides, and from the angle he currently stood in Monsoon could see the wings that led to the backstage. Even from this distance, Monsoon could pick out one of the rollers he hand cleaned, and was dismayed to see it had returned to its ruddy, painted color.

The Uchiha took his attention away from the back stage to the front of the stage, to a gaggle of villagers, each dressed in vibrant colors, talking at, more than to, each other. Various high tones and low growls could be heard as the troupe warmed up for their next rehearsal. Evidently, one of the performers, more than likely the director based on his hat, looked up from the troupe and waved to Monsoon. Monsoon, in kind, offered a cordial nod of his head and walked to the director.

Monsoon found himself admiring the director as they gave their orders to their cast, the gravity, decorum, and respect for art he displayed seemed above the  meager trappings of this local theatre. Indeed, the initial excitement that had waned when Monsoon walked in was revitalized, perhaps art and appearance are not as intertwined as he had originally thought. After musing on this, the director addressed Monsoon and had him sit in the center of the audience. As the Uchiha took his seat, the theatre lights dimmed and the curtains were drawn. In a few moments, the performance would begin.

The troupe performed an ancient love story, with a twist monsoon did not expect. As opposed to having sets and props, the actors created the spaces with their bodies. This created an interesting effect, the energy their presence brought lifted up the story that was being told. The story itself involved two people, a man and a woman, both young and madly in love. Though their parents were unaware,  a wall that divided their estates had a small hole. This hole was where the two young people fell in love, speaking and whispering to each other about their plans. As time passed, their desire to see each other superseded their fear of being caught. So, they planned to meet on a moonlit hill, to embrace each other as lovers.

The woman came to the hill first, draped in a cloak. She was afraid, as she had never left the confines of her estate before. Which is why she fled when a lioness, whose mouth was red from a fresh kill, came up to the hill. In her fear, she dropped her coat, and fled into the night.

The man, after a few moments, came to the hill. His eyes strained to find his love, and a thought came to him: what if something happened to her? At this time, he heard growls coming from a nearby cave and came to investigate. There, to his dismay, lie a lioness, whose mouth was red from a fresh kill and who was chewing on an elegant coat. The man immediatly knew what had happened. In his shame, he slew the lioness and brough the half-eaten coat to the moonlit hill. There, he lamented his ignorance at sending an innocent woman to a dangerous forest by herself. And, he would not leave her alone. With that, he once again drew his blade and slew himself, crumpling to the ground.

At that time, the woman came back, her love superseding her fear. She screamed when she saw her lover, dead, by his own sword and by his own hands. She looked at her half-eaten coat, and knew that her lover thought she had departed. In line with her love, she was determined not to leave him alone in the afterlife. She drew his blade and slew herself.

Together, the cast conveyed the end, that the lovers did in fact join in the afterlife, and their marriage was marked by a beautiful flower that bloomed in the field where they spilled their own blood.

Completely beside himself, Monsoon rose and gave a standing ovation: his critique of the troupe's performance.

[EXIT]
[906 WC]

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