[LOG] The calm before the storm
Who: Uchiha Madara, Pain, Konan, Uchiha Itachi, Kisame*, Sasori, Deidara, Yakumo Yukari, Hatake Kakashi
Where/When: Kumogakure, late night, 7/29; occurs four hours after Madara "decapitates" Kakashi on screen.
Status: Closed
Style: Action
Warnings: Brainwashed Kakashi
* Assumed to be present. | SOUNDTRACK: Click here to listen @ Imeem (Account needed; Kannagara has one! Ask mods for details.)
[ No one ever questioned the red and black. Why when they fought, it was steeped in the colors of Uchiha and strained pure and strong like the pride of warriors that could never be jailed down. That was what the villages did: put bars around them and locked them in, tried to tame the spirit of warriors into swords to be fought with instead of carried, stifling pride and dimming glory, containing it within the boundaries of sewn-on loyalty. They were to be loyal to their village above their clan, above their blood, above themselves; and freedom was looking up at clouds with leashes tied around their necks.
(Madara was only loyal to one name, to one clan, to one people that were his own: his blood, his kin, his flesh, his pride; and he would have died for them and did, falling deep in legend in a valley before time began, forgotten in the musty pages of history books, except by name, which continued to rise even as they fell, deeper and deeper into the shadows of leaves.)
So they wear the clouds now, wrap themselves in them, and look down upon the earth. High above the clouds, where their feet do not touch the ground, they live as though they fly when they stand at the edge of the borders of the village. Stand at the borders of their pride. They are fearless and unleashed and strong, and there are lines crossed through those emblems, and their loyalty is not sewn-on.
Here in this place in the sky, Madara waits. It is night and the stars are clearer than he's remembered them in years, the crackle of fire as loud as the scent of smoke is sharp from the bonfire that illuminates the space, flickering red and black against the night, casting rippled reflections in the calm surface of the lake nearby.
Beside him, kneeling quietly on the ground, with his hands braced on his knees, draped in the colors of Uchiha and the clouds of Akatsuki, is a man with silver hair and a stolen Sharingan eye hidden by the thickness of cloth and sewn-on loyalty Madara personally crossed out. His mind is now blank. He might as well not even have a name. ]
Where/When: Kumogakure, late night, 7/29; occurs four hours after Madara "decapitates" Kakashi on screen.
Status: Closed
Style: Action
Warnings: Brainwashed Kakashi
* Assumed to be present. | SOUNDTRACK: Click here to listen @ Imeem (Account needed; Kannagara has one! Ask mods for details.)
[ No one ever questioned the red and black. Why when they fought, it was steeped in the colors of Uchiha and strained pure and strong like the pride of warriors that could never be jailed down. That was what the villages did: put bars around them and locked them in, tried to tame the spirit of warriors into swords to be fought with instead of carried, stifling pride and dimming glory, containing it within the boundaries of sewn-on loyalty. They were to be loyal to their village above their clan, above their blood, above themselves; and freedom was looking up at clouds with leashes tied around their necks.
(Madara was only loyal to one name, to one clan, to one people that were his own: his blood, his kin, his flesh, his pride; and he would have died for them and did, falling deep in legend in a valley before time began, forgotten in the musty pages of history books, except by name, which continued to rise even as they fell, deeper and deeper into the shadows of leaves.)
So they wear the clouds now, wrap themselves in them, and look down upon the earth. High above the clouds, where their feet do not touch the ground, they live as though they fly when they stand at the edge of the borders of the village. Stand at the borders of their pride. They are fearless and unleashed and strong, and there are lines crossed through those emblems, and their loyalty is not sewn-on.
Here in this place in the sky, Madara waits. It is night and the stars are clearer than he's remembered them in years, the crackle of fire as loud as the scent of smoke is sharp from the bonfire that illuminates the space, flickering red and black against the night, casting rippled reflections in the calm surface of the lake nearby.
Beside him, kneeling quietly on the ground, with his hands braced on his knees, draped in the colors of Uchiha and the clouds of Akatsuki, is a man with silver hair and a stolen Sharingan eye hidden by the thickness of cloth and sewn-on loyalty Madara personally crossed out. His mind is now blank. He might as well not even have a name. ]