Chapter Text
Kabuto’s eyes rested on Takara as she peered out the window of the wagon.
The fabric of her kimono sleeves pulled and shifted in her lap. Was she trying to warm her hands? An autumn chill must have been permeating the glass. The increasing altitude probably wasn’t helping either.
Kabuto sat across from her, warm with his hands in his pockets and clad in the black flak vest of Otogakure. Uncommon attire for him. On most of their missions, blending in was crucial, but the nature of this particular occasion made for a rare deviation.
“The fields full of crops look like a cozy blanket over the land,” Takara observed, her breath creating a small amount of fog on the window. “The way they’re terraced into the stone reminds me of the rice paddies back home. I know the Earth Capital is renowned for agricultural success, but I didn’t expect the landscape to be this beautiful.”
“We’re in the most fertile region the Land of Earth has to offer,” Kabuto explained as he unfolded the blanket next to him and carefully laid it across her lap. With a wavy pattern of brown, orange, and green, it bore a coincidental resemblance to the landscape. “The capital is surrounded by a tall, rocky mountain range. It’s difficult to grow anything there. Iwagakure is its defensive centerpiece, like a buckle on a belt. As a foreigner, it’s something exceedingly special that you get the chance to see what’s past that. A small, but fertile area that is held sacred to the Land of Earth and serves as their central seat of political power.”
Takara looked down and smoothed the blanket over her lap, grateful for its warmth.
“Kabuto. You told me a long time ago, not long after we first met, that you had attended this festival before?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“That’s right. And do you remember the reason attributed to this region’s agricultural success? It was in the book you were reading that day.”
“Concentrated mineral deposits of luminite in the ground,” Takara answered confidently, proud to recall what she had read. “Luminite is central to the festival. People make those beautiful lanterns out of the stuff. I’ve wanted to see them in person ever since.”
Takara fell silent for a moment, debating over spilling a confession.
Kabuto read his comrade’s nervous body language and simply waited for her to speak.
“You know,” she started slowly, “I apologize if I came off as rude that day. I should have said it long before now, really. You’re so well-traveled compared to me. Frankly, I was a little embarrassed.”
Kabuto fidgeted with his glasses, unsticking the pads from the bridge of his nose as he processed her unnecessary apology.
“Well. As someone who’s been put in charge of a rather extensive study of such, I’ve yet to come across a rude bone in your body.”
He laughed, but it was an awkward attempt to hide the discomfort that briefly surfaced. “Also… I wasn’t exactly attending as an honored guest back then, but look at us both now.”
“I guess receiving an invitation from a daimyo is a powerful thing,” Takara mused.
Her eyes drifted back to the window.
This was an exciting opportunity for Takara, Kabuto thought. He was going to do everything in his power to avoid ruining it for her. At least, for as long as he could.
He hastily repainted his face to reflect a better mood. “Well, I have your musical skill to thank for securing us that invitation. Local folk tradition says that a skilled and celebrated musician from afar leads the annual procession. That’s you this year.”
“I do wonder, though. Why not a local musician instead?” Takara asked. “Someone more familiar with the traditions of the region?”
“The people who live in the capital cite that it's in keeping with a local folktale,” Kabuto explained, “but really, I think it’s been kept that way for a more diplomatic reason. It’s why Lord Orochimaru petitioned the Rice Daimyo for your nomination. As small as the Land of Rice Paddies is, you’ll likely become the only thing many of these people know of your homeland. It’s also expected that you’ll return home with good things to say about your visit and the hospitality you’re shown. It’s beneficial to ingratiate ourselves with some of the more powerful nations. We may need their support sooner than you think.”
No pressure, then, Takara thought. She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and found it to be as cold as it was flushed.
“I’ll be sure to show my gratitude by giving the best performance that I’m capable of.”
Kabuto eased into a more natural smile before his pretty traveling companion. He reached out to capture her hands and began to warm them between his own. They were ice cold, as suspected.
“I have no doubts about that.”
***
“Look at the decorations!” Takara gasped, pressing her face to the window as they rode into the city and through the capital streets.
Colorful streamers, yellow, orange, and red floral garlands, and strings of lights crisscrossed overhead. The winding streets were transformed into a series of kaleidoscopic, jewel-toned tunnels. Rows of stalls were already set up on both sides, festooned with colorful banners and lanterns.
“Oh, this is nothing compared to what it looks like at night,” Kabuto remarked, almost sounding as if he were a proud resident of the capital himself. “Nor what you’ll see at the daimyo’s palace. You’ll have plenty of time to explore.”
“The daimyo’s palace! Is that where we’re headed now?”
Kabuto nodded once as he turned to look out his own window. “That’s right. We’re supposed to report there for some kind of welcoming event. But... remember that we’re going to be in close proximity to a lot of important people over the course of our stay. That’s not a coincidence, either. Your hearing acuity is as much an asset to this mission as your musicianship is.”
***
The palace was illuminated by strings of lights and lanterns that reflected shifting colors against the high walls of pale stone. Floral wreaths and garlands bedecked with sparkling sugared fruits adorned the ramparts, gables, and heavy, intricately carved doors.
Kabuto watched Takara lower her tengai over her face before accepting his hand and carefully exiting the wagon. A security detail of shinobi from Iwagakure was stationed around the palace’s perimeter, undoubtedly scrutinizing the identity-obscuring traditional attire of the Tengai clan.
One of them promptly approached Kabuto. A middle-aged man wearing a short, red, hooded cloak over his flak vest that visually differentiated him from the rest of the platoon in brown cloaks. “My name is Isamu. I’m the captain of the daimyo’s Guardian Ninja, and I’d like to welcome you to our capital city.”
After exchanging a polite greeting with Kabuto, the captain turned to Takara. “And may I have the privilege of looking upon the face of this year’s honored musician?”
Takara’s hand floated to her tengai, only to be gently stopped by Kabuto’s.
“Thank you, Captain, but I’m afraid not,” he intervened. “The preservation of the traditions of the Tengai clan is important to the Land of Rice Paddies and especially to Otogakure. However, I assure you. Takara’s musicianship will soon speak for itself.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” Takara greeted politely.
“Well then!” An older man’s voice interrupted. “It seems our young guests from afar have arrived!”
An elderly man with a grey beard, long robes, and an elaborate fringed headdress appeared behind Captain Isamu.
The daimyo furrowed his brow in a display of impatience and waved his hands emphatically. “Don’t waste their time now, Isamu! Escort our honored guests inside. Hurry up! It’s getting cold out.”
The captain frowned and grunted irritably.
Kabuto met him with a challenging smirk as he and Takara rose from their bow to the daimyo.
“My lord!” A voice called out, belonging presumably to the young woman who soon after came sprinting out of the palace. She was clad in a Guardian’s uniform and had several strands of hair falling messily from her ponytail on either side of her face. The harried Guardian hastily attempted to smooth her hair and straighten her posture upon sight of Captain Isamu.
She cleared her throat. “You’re late for your evening meal, my lord. We must get you to dinner right away so you can retire to bed early. Tomorrow will be an especially long night with the events of the ceremony!”
The young Guardian tugged the daimyo back inside as he waved goodbye. “Enjoy the show this evening! We’ll reconvene in the morning. Over breakfast!”
Captain Isamu waited as the daimyo was shepherded away, his glare unrelenting. The young Guardian’s appearance hadn’t seemed to improve his mood. “Very well. I’ll escort you both to the theatre. You’ve been invited to view a short production that will familiarize you with the story behind the reason why we celebrate the Fruits of the Earth festival.”
***
After a silent walk through an elaborately decorated hallway, Takara padded into the quiet theatre with Kabuto close behind. It had its own host of ornate decorations in red and bronze, with a variety of pendant lanterns casting an eerie glow in a broad spectrum of hues.
Someone else was already there, waiting in the centermost seat. The best seat acoustically, Takara thought. This person must have had some semblance of an appreciation for the performing arts to know such a thing.
She and Kabuto quietly entered two rows behind. Still close enough to the theatre’s sonic sweet spot, but far enough to allow for a polite social barri–
“Hey! You can sit closer, yeah? I don’t bite, my man.”
The young man had soon seemingly leapt back over two rows of seats and was teetering dangerously over the seat in front of Kabuto, smiling wide, inches from his face.
Kabuto wasn’t convinced by the fellow’s reassurance, nor could he lean back any further in his attempt to remain unbrushed by the long curtain of glossy blond hair that was increasingly encroaching upon his personal space. It seemed inevitable that he would soon need to slide out of his seat and onto the floor, until the eccentric towhead shifted his attention to Takara.
“What’s this on your head here, hm? You sure you’re going to be able to see the show?”
“Oh, hello! Uh… yes, I can see fine, thanks,” Takara answered cautiously, not wanting to offend their inquisitive new friend.
His blue eyes widened. “You must be the musician who’s leading the procession this year, hm? Come to think of it, I did hear it was going to be a strange young woman who wears a basket on her head. But… My name’s Deidara. Pyrotechnics are my area of artistic expertise. Beautiful explosions, you know?”
Kabuto gingerly tugged at Deidara’s sleeve, guiding his curious hand away from the brim of Takara’s tengai– and… what an oddity of a hand it turned out to be. Deidara hardly had the right to call Takara strange.
He simply kept talking.
“Music is good art,” Deidara emphasized. “Captures the imagination just as it dissipates into the atmosphere, hm?” He wiggled his fingers on either side of his head for emphasis. The tongues at the centers of his palms seemed eager to help convey the point as Deidara paused dramatically.
“The louder, the better!” he exclaimed, visibly startling Takara. “We could collaborate, you know?”
She leaned back in her seat, unsure as to how to respond.
“It’s starting,” Kabuto irritably pointed out as the lights dimmed and the curtains opened.