Uzume (dancethedawn) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2020-08-10 20:37:00 |
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Uzume shook out her hair from its ponytail, rolled her head from side to side and began to work through some loose stretches. The studio was quiet now, the stragglers from her last class of the day having trailed out a few minutes before, leaving her the place to herself. Uzume came alive among others. Whether it was performing or teaching or letting herself be swept along on the tide of the masses, she never felt more vital than when she was dancing with a gathered crowd, drawing in their energy and returning it eightfold. But she’d learned to value these moments, too, at the end of the day, when she could let fall her mortal guise and dance only for herself, as herself, the kami unmasked. She rolled on the balls of her feet, drew in a breath— —and then released it in an annoyed huff as the sound of nearby thumping and clattering ripped her attention away. There was a small kitchenette and office area tucked away off the main studio, and it was from behind that door that the noises were coming. Uzume narrowed her eyes. Then came a thump that rattled the door on its hinges. She turned towards it and squared her shoulders. BANG. BANG. BANG. The door burst open, and through it came galloping a tattered old futon mattress, yellowed and trailing bits of stuffing. Riding atop it was a peculiar figure, only a few inches tall, with a porcelain sake bottle for a head and mismatched armour made of broken crockery. It raised a table knife above its head and howled in a tinny voice, “Now, brothers! For freedom! CHAAAAAARGE!” A motley bunch of figures scampered in his wake, with varying degrees of enthusiasm: an old paper umbrella, hopping along on a single foot; a pair of straw zōri sandals whooping loudly as they pattered behind on spindly legs; and a snakelike little dragon whose body seemed to be shaped from a threadbare, mildew-stained dishtowel. Uzume groaned. “Come on, dudes. Seriously? Again with this?” Yeah, so there was a reason this place had come so cheap, and it was because it was haunted. Japanese folklore held that under certain circumstances – sometimes neglect, sometimes upon reaching a great age – inanimate objects could awaken, gaining spirits and lives of their own as a form of yōkai called tsukumogami. Uzume wasn’t sure how these tsukumogami had come to take up residence in this building because she’d never been able to get a straight answer out of any of them. Boro just shrugged his lumpy bulk when asked; the General swore up and down that he’d been born on this land and by the gods he’d die on it as well; and the Zōri, well, those little gremlins lied about everything. As far as yōkai went, they were all pretty harmless, mischievous rather than murderous. But things like the sounds of mysterious clattering and mocking chanting from supposedly empty rooms tended not to go down well with mortals, and so the building had gone through a fairly rapid string of tenants before it landed in Uzume's hands. Uzume didn’t mind sharing, and she’d pretty quickly come to an arrangement with the tsukumogami: they kept quiet and out of sight during her classes, and for the rest of the time they had the run of the place. And most of the time it worked well… except when General Seto got antsy for some action and decided to declare war again. Then he’d start revving up Uneri, and the Zōri were always on for any kind of hijinks, and pretty soon the whole gang was, well, kicking down doors. Seto flourished his kitchen knife and fixed Uzume with a painted scowl. “Your reign of terror ends now, villain!” “Seto, buddy, we’ve talked about this.” “The time for talk is over! Stand and fight me, you tyrant!” The crockery man sprang from the futon spirit’s back to land lightly on the floorboards and began slashing at Uzume’s ankles. “Heyheyheyhey!” Uzume took the knife between thumb and forefinger and flicked it away from him. Seto flailed in outrage, shedding stray bits of porcelain, but Uzume only jabbed a stern finger at him. “What’d we agree? Do I gotta take your cutlery away again?” The General closed one hand into a fist, snarling. “You…” A clatter and a thump by the entrance stole both their attentions, and then Uneri’s voice rose in crowing victory cry. “I got one! I got one!” Uzume, already in motion, felt a jolt of alarm that was confirmed when she saw the mortal sprawled on the floor, the little rag-dragon tangled around her legs. Uzume snapped at it, her voice losing its humour. “Hey! Off her, right now! Now, I said! Bad yōkai!” Ah, fuck. This one was gonna be fun to explain. |