For an hour after he played his shamisen in the garden, Tatsu was contemplating his own personal death. Was he seriously thinking of attending a party? Tatsu? The hermit. Yes, for once, he figured it would be. . .alright to go to an event where he would dress and not be himself for a night. A costume ball, per say, was one of the few things he would accept. In his mind, as he dressed for the event, Tatsu was swearing to himself for even considering going to something like this. Always a homebody and barely taking any more than an hour tops to run errands, he was, to put it point blank, an unsocial butterfly.
The many layers of the costume he chose was in perfect condition, wrapped to his body and placed to the tee. Exact proportions and lengths were watched carefully as the last layer was placed. Taking up his brush, he pulled his hair back, allowing some of the strands to fall down the sides of his face only, and before his ears, tying it back with a silk black tie, and again at the end. For the suaree, he was arriving as Genji, from the Heian period tale in which a princess wrote about a Lord of the court, a womanizer, poet, husband and father to a few children, all wrapped up in one man. It was one of his favorite tales read to him by his mother, and a piece of history from the story itself hung on his livingroom wall.
After a thin line of eyeliner and red color placed on his lips, he made his way to this party, opening the doors in a Heian Period Kimono in which his father procured for him before his move to America. The tatami shoes were of bamboo and silk worn with the two toed socks of the era clicked on the floors as he entered the party, glancing around with both hands in the kimono sleeves and clearing his throat, trying to stay calm in the prospect of having a number of people around him.