The Great and Wonderful Escape

[3ho]

Lanterns sway overhead as the evening sun fades beyond the shrine gates, painting the festival grounds in gold and crimson. The scent of grilled yakitori and sweet teriyaki drifts through crowded streets while laughter, music, and the rhythm of taiko drums echo through the night.

Stalls line the pathways with masks, charms, games, and prizes, while performers gather beneath strings of glowing lights to celebrate another unforgettable summer festival. Whether you’ve come for the food, the fireworks, the dancing, or simply the atmosphere, tonight promises memories worth carrying home. Both nationals and internationals were all partaking in the festival to experience Japan in its fullest.

Atsuta Festival was here in Japan.

There were somethings that were just special and to Morgan this had to have been one of the most.

At one of the breakaways from the main festival grounds was a staged set up of musicians and dancers performing some traditional song and dance, heavily based around the thrum of a large drum centered in the tower. Yet the drummer was a special guest, apparent by her long blonde hair.

Morgan, as a special guest performer, was given the honor to whack away at the large percussion instrument as the night wound down. The crowd had gathered observing and dancing along with the music. Yet there was a little surprise in store for the grand finale. Something to end the night and the festival with a bit of shock and awe...

[CyanDimitrik]

It was with much hesitation and reluctance that Camille found herself leaving the apartment this evening. She didn't like the idea of leaving Nana Lola behind with Diego and Marisol, but it was at the grandmother's firm insistence. And as much as she was grudging to admit it, there was a point behind it.

Go out, get a feel for the people you're supposed to amaze.

A performer is only as good as they can connect with their audience.

Whether it was a showcase of whip skills, dancing, or even professional wrestling, it's true. And coming from a family of entertainers, Lola wasn't the first one to put that to her. But the people of México were easier - those were her people. She understood them. Literally! Here in Japan, it's all different. And that has never been more evident to her than the moment they had stepped off the plane.

So it's true. She needs to get a sense of the people. At least watch them. Maybe try to practice linguistics - or at least even understand what they're saying. That's an uphill battle, too. So with a heavy sigh and an assurance that she's just a phonecall away, Camille ventured out into the golden rays of the setting sun.

Night had already fallen by the time she found the festival. Her phone was out, periodically scanning signs and flyers around her for her translation app to make sense of the mysterious moon etchings of the far east, and it eventually lead her here. But what a sight it turned out to be. The glowing lanterns hung by string, the people, the outfits, it was all so magical and beautifully alien to her. She'd pause to stare with openly excited interest and admiration for the displays, she'd inspect from a (safe) distance the curious and extremely local cuisine, and found herself drifting along with the throngs of bodies.

She definitely stood out as a foreign girl. But people weren't paying her any mind. Camille had a way of vanishing into crowds; something about her minimal, edging on mousy demeanor. And finally, she found her way to the very back reaches of an audience watching a combination of exotic music and dance. Hands clasped together beneath her chin, unabashedly enthralled smile worn on her unblemished face, hazel-green eyes wide with fascination.

The girl with the long blonde hair is noticed, but it's difficult to see too much of her from this distance. She clearly stands out as foreign, too! But no doubt she's fully assimilated, given she's up there and doing the thing in this obviously important gig!

[3ho]

DOOOM! DOOOOM! DOOOOOM!

The great percussion thundered with life as Morgan smacked away at the large drum reverberated through the small plaza. She loved it. It wasn't very often for Morgan to find herself smacking away at instruments like this, surprisingly. Sure, she often saw a few things like giant gongs and drums backstage on some of her performances but other than a playful tapping at some of them, she had never played them. Not like this.

Okay, yeah, this wasn't exactly playing an instrument. She wasn't a musician, but this was easy as she had been taught a little bit to play to the rhythm of the whole show. The dancers surrounding the side of the stage were chanting and Morgan knew Japanese enough to know when in their melodic tale that they were chanting to provide the 'oomph' of bass. It was simple but it was rather beautiful. All the more reason that she'd appreciate such an opportunity as an obvious foreigner. As the show continued it seemed to pick up in pace in a foreboding sense. This was, after all, a story about death!

Morgan pounded away until finally she had her cue and she leapt up onto the railing of her tower. She held a hand over her chest and seemed to weaken, acting her heart out which was internally funny to her so she played it up. She appeared as if she were going to faint. Several of the other performers marched over with a casket, opening it for her just underneath and then...

She fell.

Plummeted right into the open casket with a dull thud as the pallbearers dipped it down upon impact. The crowd gasped, recoiling verbally as if they were the ones to fall.

The casket snapped closed and the pallbearers marched around the lower platform as they continued to chant and sing only without the drum, it seemed something was missing. There was still a melody but it felt almost silent without the thundering booms to carry the performance along.

Of course, that was the point and while the crowd watched the casket and the performers, there was a blonde stirring just not in the place you'd expect.

The casket made another lap and then they set it down, sullen faces and expressing sorrow as if the blonde had her funeral right then and there. Yet mere seconds later...

DOOOM! DOOOOM! DOOOOOM!

Morgan was up in the tower pounding away at the drum again. Exclaims came from both the performers and the crowd and the show entered its final song, a cheerful end!

[CyanDimitrik]

The whole thing was met with the open fascination of an extra-terrestrial observing alien culture. Of course, Camille's inability to speak Japanese was part of the reason she was being pushed (and pushing herself!) to get out there and try to absorb. But it comes with some complications. Namely, in this moment, that she doesn't comprehend what the heck she's witnessing within any kind of context. She just thought this was a musical diddy!

The blonde hops up, and Camille's eyes widen in surprise. Then.. oh no. Oh no! Is she having a heart attack? Why is there a casket!?

The blonde falls right into it, and Camile quacks out a startled, "Ua!"

Maybe whatever they're saying in Japanese would make this turn of events make sense? She has to believe it would. Everyone else seems thrilled and not missing a beat! Aside from the beat clearly missing from the stage now, anyway! Quick, ponytail-flopping checks to her right and left confirm that this is totally a normal thing and not at all a bizarre public sacrifice with music and dancing. So, she turns her focus onto the stage again, a touch more nonplussed.

And suddenly, as if God were correcting a glitch, the blonde was back in place again! Pounding away! How did that happen? She was in the coffin earlier!

The teen laughs, despite herself, and offers cheerful applause. It's a show, whatever it is! And she'll have to find out what the heck it's all about! But after the performance! Who knows if the singers might all 'die' dramatically like dominoes? No way she's going to miss that!

[3ho]

The rest of the performance concluded with that last song. The crowd applauded and began to file away leaving the performers to mill about and start cleaning up. The festival for the evening was about to conclude, after all, and by sunrise it'd all be packed away and cleaned up.

Morgan thanked each performer immensely for the opportunity, managing to stumble her way through the Japanese she knew. She wasn't fluent but she was getting there, capable of maintaining conversations or at least in this case, thanking the others. Despite how grateful she really was, Morgan did have intentions to at least experience some of the festival and found herself hurrying through the motions a little before finally having gotten to everyone. Then she thanked the organizer again for the opportunity and explained she wanted to try some of the festival food before she was off.

Morgan hurried on, stepping beneath a canopy of glowing paper lanterns, their warm orange light swaying gently overhead as the evening breeze carries the scent of grilled food through the crowded street. The distant thump of taiko drums echoes between rows of colorful stalls, blending with laughter, chatter, and the occasional excited shout from children playing festival games.

Yet is the food that Morgan wants and the first thing that catches her attention is the smell. Savory smoke drifts from a yakitori stand where skewers of chicken sizzle over glowing charcoal. The cook fans the grill, sending sparks dancing into the air while brushing the meat with a glossy soy glaze that crackles as it cooks. A few steps farther, the aroma changes. Sweet batter and octopus fill the air around a takoyaki stall. Round golden balls tumble across a cast-iron griddle as the vendor expertly flips them with metal picks. Customers watch eagerly as the finished takoyaki are topped with dark sauce, mayonnaise, seaweed flakes, and bonito shavings that seem to dance from the heat.

The crowd thickens around a row of food vendors. Though the food stalls would likely be open a little while longer, the festival was ending and people wanted the last bit of festival food before departing. Morgan was, naturally, one of them as she eyed a particularly yummy looking yakitori stand, queuing up to order.

[CyanDimitrik]

The performance has wrapped, and Camille thoroughly enjoyed it. Really, what more could be said? She was enraptured by the display of a very foreign culture, having no idea what any of it meant. But despite that - or perhaps enhanced because of it - she couldn't look away. Her applause added to the crowd, and as it dispersed, she found herself suddenly needing to find something to do next. After all, she stands out plenty as it is by being so.. well, different. Her Latin looks weren't exactly blending with the local fare, much less her Latin wardrobe choices of the evening; the denim shorts, canvas shoes, high cropped top with 'chain' shoulders. She likes to think it shows off her slender figure and breathes well, and would be perfectly at home in Cancún, but in the middle of a traditional Japanese festival?

Well. She's starting to get looks now that the show's over.

Her arms fold against her midsection, and the teen hurriedly moves along.

Simply walking puts her mind a little more at ease, distracting herself with immersing in the gorgeous displays of unfamiliar trappings. The myriad voices around her may as well be television static, a soft hum of alien phonetics weaving together into a quilt wrapping around her. It's a dream-like state, surreal and fascinating, having not even the faintest notion of what she's going to find at the next turn.

Her slim frame weaves neatly between bodies with tilts and careful bobs, never brushing up against or bumping into anyone. She finds her trajectory evolving in a foodwards direction, the sound of grills sizzling and the scent of cooked meat with tangy sauces hitting her senses just so. She hadn't realized she was hungry before the smells really permeated around her. Maybe she wasn't. Maybe that's the magic of festival food. Either way, she finds herself mentally repeating the same phrase:

'Please don't be expensive, please don't be expensive, please don't be expensive...'

She finds herself in line for a food she isn't familiar with, can't pronounce, much less even read. The curvy etchings of Japanese earn a squint as she peers past the blonde crown in front of her. Quickly, she fishes out a cellphone from her pocket and she thumbs over to her translator app before angling it high.

YAKITORI

What the Hell is even that?

She tries pronouncing it first.

"Yack-uh-tor-ay? Yack-uh-tor-ee?," she fumbles aloud. It's atrocious.

The phone lowers again, preparing to pre-type her Spanish into it for later translation into Japanese. As she does so, she finally takes in the fact that it's blonde hair in front of her, cresting a slightly shorter girl. The streak of aqua is what really seals the deal for her: "Ah! It's you!," she says suddenly. "You're 'de girl who was playing drums!" Her English is richly accented with Spanish, leaning heavily on the consonants and giving her youthfully bright voice a honeyed texture.

Oh. Right. They're in Japan. She tries swapping to Japanese, and the accent becomes instantly abysmal.

"Hello! Do you speak English?"

Of all the Japanese she's attempted so far in the archipelago of a country, that's a phrase she got down very well, even if the tonal delivery is very off-beat.

[3ho]

"I would like that one and that one and that one." Morgan pointed and spoke in Japanese to the food stall vendor, choosing the most delicious looking ones. Honestly just pointing and saying "and that one" in the native tongue could get you very far as a consumer in any country. You might know what you're getting but it was fine. It was chicken, at least, Morgan was reasonably sure. The man behind the stand was bundling them into a handful just as Morgan's attention was captured by a sudden exclamation in English of all things.

Morgan blinked, expression blank, until she cracked a wide grin at the revelation, she was seen at the performance. There would have been a confirmation by the blonde but then the Latina went and did something adorably silly. Morgan nodded along as if encouraging the other woman to keep going.

"Hello! Do you speak English?"

Of course she did, but Morgan could never let the tease pass her up. She shook her head, blonde hair whipping around with the motion. "Only Japanese." Morgan spoke in Japanese, slowly, as if she were trying to convey that to someone who didn't speak her language.

Morgan raised a finger, motioning for a minute as she turned to the Yakitori vendor. "Two more, please. Thank you!" She had a total of five and bundled them in one hand. It was just enough time for Latina to sweat about how she was going to communicate further in Japanese, possibly. Unless she saw through that ruse, but Morgan thought she was pretty convincing.

She turned back to the Latina and smiled. "Want one?" Morgan spoke in Japanese still, taking one stick of sizzling chicken and extended it to the other woman as the blonde shuffled out of line from the stall.

[CyanDimitrik]

Now, Camille has only been in the country a couple days. Maybe even less than that, technically. Jet-lag is a hell of a thing. But she's been around enough to recognize those words together and put not require her translator app's intervention. She looks positively crestfallen at the revelation, her shoulders sagging in disappointment. She was so sure the blonde hair and foreign look meant she'd found someone who spoke her language! And a performer, too! What would've been the odds there?

A finger is raised, and Camille blinks innocently. Of course, where else would she go? She's in line, after all! But when Morgan turns around again, Camille exhales a disappointed sigh and lowers her gaze, sullen. She can still try to say nice things to her in Japanese. It can still be practice. So she puts her attention on the cellphone and begins thumbing at the screen to prepare a message.

She'd just finished when Morgan has exited the line and spoken up again. Camille's gaze lifts, notes the offered skewer, and didn't quite understand the words. But the body language seems to be understandable! She hopes! Because the smell is heavenly, and if she was hungry before, being this close to it and thinking it's being offered is simply too much for the Latina to resist. She sidles out of the line with a sheepish smile and gingerly lifts a hand to take it from her, very slowly, very cautiously, affording plenty of time for a foux-pas to reveal itself.

Spoiler

Once taken, she offers a quick, "Thank you!," in Japanese. That's a phrase she knows! And then quite stiffly, she fidgets into a bow-but-not-quite, as if remembering that's meant to be a cultural thing here but not really knowing when or where it's appropriate. But once she begins, she's committed.

It gets a few looks. In part because it's silly. Another part because she's a girl in denim short shorts.

When she lifts again, she quickly flits her gaze to the phone and bumbles out in Japanese, "You did good! Great drum! Great music! Very beautiful! Why dead carriage?" Her head tilts in an almost feline way, as if to emphasize the last part is meant to be a question.

[3ho]

Morgan fished out a chunk of chicken from one of the skewers as she watched the Latina exclaim thanks and bowed. Morgan smiled at that. It was cute but definitely funny to see her struggle through the understanding. Cruel some might say but that's what they'd say if they had no sense of humor! Where was the fun and memorability if this had been a simple greeting??

The blonde nodded along to the Latina stumbling her way through the Japanese explanation of the performance and the praise. Morgan did like the praise, any performer did, but it was sauced by the funny way the other woman read out her translator app. Dead carriage? Now how did she get that one wrong?

Playing the part a little longer, Morgan blinked and tilted her head with a plain stare as if not getting the meaning at first. She fished another piece of chicken out of the skewer with her mouth and chewed for a moment before swallowing.

"Oh, you mean the coffin?" Morgan spoke pure American English as if she weren't just speaking Japanese. As if the whole conversation had been in English so far. She didn't even give a hint of a cheeky smile or wink, instead opting to act like nothing changed. "That was my touch in the performance. I like to think I'm pretty good at illusions, but I might be my own hype."

Morgan bit into a chunk of chicken again and pulled it from the skewer, taking her time to watch the Latina's reaction to the English revelation.

[CyanDimitrik]

The Latina's face is as hopeful as it is insecure, afflicted with doubts on her own ability to use the translator well. And that tilt of Morgan's head is practically a stake through the heart. The girl winces, lets out a flustered little, "aaahh!," as she tries to juggle the skewer and frantically tap at her screen again, hoping to unearth some obscure, perfect way for her to get across what she's trying to say. She must sound and look so stupid, she thinks!

The English comes in like a fastball straight down the center, hitting Camille with such velocity that it practically includes it's own glass-shattering sound effect. Everything stops. Everything. Camille's tapping. Her heart. The world. Or at least, that's how it feels. Very, very slowly, those hazel-green eyes peek back up at Morgan through her lashes.

And then she's bombastic motion and passionate energy, not outraged, but theatrically huffy. And her accent is all the richer for it. "Of course you're good at illusions, 'chu just made me look so estúpida! Ayy, Madre María preserve me, is 'dis how is going to be!? Just picking on 'de poor foreign girls, ah!?"

Camille issues Morgan an omega-level pout, her bottom lip poking out. And then the skewer is raised, and she nips off a hunk of chicken. Chew, chew. Swallow.

"But it's good food, so I forgive you."

Finally, a very meekly playful smile creeps onto her expression. "Hi. Eheh. I'm Camille. What is this, chicken?"