Bunraku in the Great Hall ((Open RP))
On a stage was where they belonged, performing, whether for a large crowd in a formal performance or for a small group on the side of the street during festival. Performance gave them purpose, direction; it was their life.
With some help from the ever willing house elves, a stage was set up at the end of the Great Hall. The only advertising was a sign outside the Hall that explained what would be happening within and the hours marked. The house elves also procured a recording of the chant for a particular play that appealed to both Sakon and Ukon-it was enough of a challenge to be suitable practice for one who would, someday, take the place of a national treasure and was flamboyant enough to satisfy a need for attention.
Sakon dressed traditionally, a kimono and hakuma in dark sober colors. He was part of the background, the setting, nothing more. His hands rested on his knees, gathering himself, preparing himself for what was to come, to channel the character through his hands, through Ukon.
Ukon waited on a stand beside Sakon's knee. His clothing, in stark contrast to Sakon's, was bright orange and red with shibori maple leaves falling over his shoulders and the hemline. His obi was a vivid red, matching his hair. On the stand, he was limp, lifeless, merely a puppet, though exquisitely made. Just behind him, in a hole in the stand, a spear, bright metal head, a red tassel hanging from the rope that bound the head to the staff.
Sakon took a deep breath, his head coming up, his expression passively neutral as he reached for Ukon. As he touched the puppet, life flowed into Ukon. Ukon looked out onto his audience as Sakon moved the stand behind them, removing the staff. He set it on the ground near his legs.
A drum began with a slow rhythm, a flute in a high warbling over it. A male voice, rich and round, began the chant, a story that Ukon acted out even as the voice told of it in verse.
It was an old story, a familiar one that was timeless. A warrior, far from home after a battle, after a war, his side victorious, but there was no parade, no honour guard for him. He was a lowly soldier, even though he fought as nobly, as strongly, as fiercly as any samurai. He had been wounded and it was healing badly, but love waited for him at home and he was determined to reach home, to return to her arms.
He walked, having no other form of transportation available to him. He slept nights within the forest, clinging to his weapon, a spear his love tied her obijime to to tie him to her. The nights in the forest were long, the ground thick with leaves that had fallen from the trees in anticipation of the winter that would soon cover them with snow.
One night, a defeated enemy happened upon the warrior as he slept, waking him suddenly. He fought bravely, but his journey had weakened him severely. He was wounded, bringing him that much closer to death. He sent his enemy before him, but knew it wouldn't be long before he traveled the same road.
The next day, he stumbled into his home village, falling on the road just within the town. His beloved came to him and he pleaded with her not to weep and apologized for soiling her obijime and not having time to clean it before his life drained from him at her feet.
The silence at the end of the recording was so deep that it seemed that Sakon held his breath until the moment passed. Ukon rose, his hands free of the spear, and they both bowed to those who had decided to watch.
Rather than returning Ukon to the stand, as would be traditional, Sakon kept the puppet with him.
((OOC: Feel free to have your pups speak to each other or to Sakon and Ukon. I'll reply to tags that are obviously directed to the duo.))
With some help from the ever willing house elves, a stage was set up at the end of the Great Hall. The only advertising was a sign outside the Hall that explained what would be happening within and the hours marked. The house elves also procured a recording of the chant for a particular play that appealed to both Sakon and Ukon-it was enough of a challenge to be suitable practice for one who would, someday, take the place of a national treasure and was flamboyant enough to satisfy a need for attention.
Sakon dressed traditionally, a kimono and hakuma in dark sober colors. He was part of the background, the setting, nothing more. His hands rested on his knees, gathering himself, preparing himself for what was to come, to channel the character through his hands, through Ukon.
Ukon waited on a stand beside Sakon's knee. His clothing, in stark contrast to Sakon's, was bright orange and red with shibori maple leaves falling over his shoulders and the hemline. His obi was a vivid red, matching his hair. On the stand, he was limp, lifeless, merely a puppet, though exquisitely made. Just behind him, in a hole in the stand, a spear, bright metal head, a red tassel hanging from the rope that bound the head to the staff.
Sakon took a deep breath, his head coming up, his expression passively neutral as he reached for Ukon. As he touched the puppet, life flowed into Ukon. Ukon looked out onto his audience as Sakon moved the stand behind them, removing the staff. He set it on the ground near his legs.
A drum began with a slow rhythm, a flute in a high warbling over it. A male voice, rich and round, began the chant, a story that Ukon acted out even as the voice told of it in verse.
It was an old story, a familiar one that was timeless. A warrior, far from home after a battle, after a war, his side victorious, but there was no parade, no honour guard for him. He was a lowly soldier, even though he fought as nobly, as strongly, as fiercly as any samurai. He had been wounded and it was healing badly, but love waited for him at home and he was determined to reach home, to return to her arms.
He walked, having no other form of transportation available to him. He slept nights within the forest, clinging to his weapon, a spear his love tied her obijime to to tie him to her. The nights in the forest were long, the ground thick with leaves that had fallen from the trees in anticipation of the winter that would soon cover them with snow.
One night, a defeated enemy happened upon the warrior as he slept, waking him suddenly. He fought bravely, but his journey had weakened him severely. He was wounded, bringing him that much closer to death. He sent his enemy before him, but knew it wouldn't be long before he traveled the same road.
The next day, he stumbled into his home village, falling on the road just within the town. His beloved came to him and he pleaded with her not to weep and apologized for soiling her obijime and not having time to clean it before his life drained from him at her feet.
The silence at the end of the recording was so deep that it seemed that Sakon held his breath until the moment passed. Ukon rose, his hands free of the spear, and they both bowed to those who had decided to watch.
Rather than returning Ukon to the stand, as would be traditional, Sakon kept the puppet with him.
((OOC: Feel free to have your pups speak to each other or to Sakon and Ukon. I'll reply to tags that are obviously directed to the duo.))