| [Dec. 17th, 2017|02:45 am] |
They ran for long enough that Raidou, disconnected from his chakra and blocked from the sun by the thick forest canopy, lost track of time and direction. He was certain they weren’t travelling in a straight line. The tanuki meandered through loops and switchbacks, changing direction at random. Since the landscape periodically stretched and twisted, boiling into strange colors and disturbing shapes, Raidou guessed they were flexing their magic too.
He considered telling them it wasn’t necessary. Even if Team Six could track down the Tanuki— camp? Village? It wasn’t like they knew where anything else in this world was. They didn’t even know what the shape of this world was. Besides, if the effort tired their fluffy little captors out, so much the better.
Except for the elements of uncertain future, missing Genma, and the distant awareness that, at some point, he was going to need to pee, the swaying journey was almost restful. His hands and feet were half-numb, but not bloodless. He’d done worse stress-positions in training exercises.
Without warning, sunlight lanced through a gap in the trees and dazzled him. Raidou blinked rapidly, clearing green blotches out of his vision, and realized the parade had stopped. They were on the edge of a bamboo grove, cool and green and so thick in places it had to be ancient, and in the clearing beyond, there were houses.
Cottages, really. Dotted between fruit trees and tended gardens like little fairy tales, with thatched roofs and curling blue smoke filtering out between the straw. Most of them had shutters and porches. A stream wound like a ribbon down a gentle hill and widened out into a cleverly dammed pond. Raidou could see the flick of bright fins under the surface.
Next to the pond, an open area held a large wooden platform that looked something like a stage, surrounded with carved log-stumps to serve as seats. A knot of tanuki had collected there, some sitting, others standing. Some wore clothes: kimono, yukata, a few dressed in the truncated pants and wrap-shirts of farmers, as if they’d been working in fields or foraging. Others wore only their thick brown fur.
Seated on the edge of the stage, an immensely fat tanuki with pure silver fur presided over them all. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and a bright red triangle of cloth knotted around his neck, and nothing else. In one paw, a long-stemmed pipe trailed purple smoke. He seemed to be balanced on a huge, round, fluffy silver beanbag…
Oh. No. Okay, apparently that part of the stories was true. Scrotum throne.
On the balance of today’s strangeness, that ranked somewhere around the middle.
There was no sign of Genma. Or Harubi and her children. A cold knot of disappointment tightened in Raidou’s stomach.
The pole-bearing tanuki trotted down to the stage and dropped their burden unceremoniously in the dirt. Since most of them were short, it wasn’t a long fall. Raidou caught the pole between his wrists to prevent it from hitting him in the teeth, and realized he now had control of about ten feet of stout wooden staff.
The silver tanuki — Himself? — looked down at them, the dogs, his warriors, the ninja again, and took a draft of his pipe. Smoke wisped between sharp ivory-colored teeth. “This is what those gnaw-eared dogs were up to? Are they finally developing a sense of humor?”
“Can’t say it felt very funny,” Raidou said. He braced himself on one elbow, rising carefully. Tanuki feet did not immediately stamp him down. Shifting the pole across one hip, he managed something like upright and considered his next move.
Addendum II: Standard diplomatic training severely lacking in the proper negotiating techniques for mythical creatures.
Well. When in doubt, stick to basics. |
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