Yuri Worlds
[73] Dance
Yuka was furious, even though she had no idea who or what to actually be mad at. Being mad at the old lady seemed like a good start. She asked her clear and pointed questions, and all they got were distractions. Misaki fumed quietly in her own way, stewing and wondering.
Glancing over as Yuka squeezed her fingers into nervous fists, she swiftly set a hand on Yuka’s shoulder. Turning from her tempest of feelings, Yuka raised her colorful eyebrows and wondered what was wrong. Misaki gestured down, and Yuka followed the path of her gaze.
Dirt on her hand, was what Yuka concluded at first glance. Lines of grime and dirt along her wrist and tracing her fingers. They’d opened up the space behind the wall, manipulated it, pulled the folder out, and restored it, never mind the violent things she had to do to the door and climb the toilet seat.
Very reasonable that her hand got dirty. But rubbing at it and trying to get rid of the grime had no positive effect. In fact, as she pressed at her flesh more and more, it actually got darker and scarier. Black lines laced beside her veins as though her fingers had pools of ink, leaving broad traces everywhere she tried to rub and clean. Yuka whimpered in confusion as she struggled to do anything that helped.
Misaki guided her over to a faucet jutting from the ground by one of the side buildings. The round, spiral knob was awkward to turn, but the nozzle swiftly shifted from dripping to a blasting, sputtering wave of pale blue water. Yuka carefully stood to the side and away from the new rivers being carved along the dirt.
She scrubbed her fingers and rubbed them until fresh waves of blistering pink flourished, still tainted by the inky darkness beneath. No amount of force seemed to help as her hands quivered and shook from the icy cold, lancing her joints like spikes. It was fruitless.
Before she could break down in tears, Misaki shut off the water and squeezed Yuka’s icy hands in hers. The warmth was breath-stealing and excruciating as swarms of tingles flooded her flesh. They shut their eyes and clung together, as though their hands held something infinitely precious that they just couldn’t let escape.
Their hearts raced even as the moment slowed. The worst of the tingling finally abated. Yuka looked down at her fingers cradled by Misaki‘s and saw that the normal artistic color had returned with a subtle punctuation of the journey from frigid water to her loved one’s warm embrace. The dark taint was gone without a trace it had ever been there.
Relief washed over them, but not without the lingering fear of reality. Softly, holding back as many of her tears as possible, Yuka realized, “Something’s happening to me. Is it a monster? Did they put one of those wristband things inside me?”
Saying those words summoned waves of nausea that Yuka had to stifle with enough hard, dense swallows of saliva to just about choke her. Misaki wished she had something in her back pocket to pull out for reassurance. A truth or a detail that would wipe away all the uncertainty, but she didn’t have any. She did have hugs, and she gladly wrapped Yuka up in as many as she could offer.
Beyond that shallow comfort, some possibilities emerged. The original rounds of discoloration seemed to occur in proximity to the wristbands. It was a broad postulation, but Misaki resisted poking holes or offering counters. Yuka traced the earlier incidents and even mulled over the potential of water as a trigger.
For remedies, Yuka immediately leapt to instances of them kissing as the perfect healing tonic. Misaki had no complaints about this speculation and provided more scientific smooch samples. Between them, Yuka cautiously asked if her touch felt weird, corrupted, or disgusting. Confidently, Misaki assured her that everything about her felt as wonderful and beautiful as always.
As another round of support, Misaki invoked Ayame’s deep-dive perceptions that paired beautiful things with the both of them. She did so without really thinking about how much she revealed about Ayame’s skirting of doctor-patient confidentiality. Yuka’s mind was more on the flaws and missteps her nurse friend had made lately, but she couldn’t denounce those notes of beauty without also diminishing Misaki.
She gave Misaki a look but had to accept that maybe she wasn’t a rotten apple. It could be something external. But that also begged the question of what was happening to the others with their levels of interaction and separation from the wristbands. Especially, Misaki’s friend and little sister.
They hadn’t pried into what side effects the others might be experiencing. Misaki just assumed that separating themselves from the wristbands had to be wholly beneficial. No matter what they contained, not having them on could be detrimental in unexpected ways. None of them knew the plans and machinations of the company. Maybe that so-called landmine was related?
The company didn’t want them to ever take the wristbands off. And, paradoxically, they were alleged to be for identification purposes even though they had a strange perception filter. Misaki didn’t know for sure, but she assumed early on that they had something to do with keeping them protected from Melting.
Clearly, she had assumed too much. And equating closeness or distance to the wristbands with whatever was going on was another assumption. But Yuka needed this, so Misaki proposed a series of questions for Chika and Namiko, like a proper investigation. Her ears and eyes perked up, and she latched onto this prospect with renewed energy.
Just straight up asking the two of them if they had experienced anything weird or uncomfortable recently didn’t seem like the best idea. Rather, the two of them worked out that it would be better to prime the situation. Urge the two of them not to dismiss even the most minor irritations and oddities. Considering it sneaky was probably the nicest way that Misaki could refer to it, but it was a necessary subterfuge.
They could apologize later for any deception, so long as it helped them get to the bottom of what was actually going on. Secrets were hiding everywhere, and they needed to pursue them.
Before heading back to the group after this unexpectedly protracted restroom break, they camped out around the community center to see if the owner of the footsteps might make an appearance. Unfortunately, the building had multiple exits, and none of the ones they watched revealed even a suspect.
They were welcomed back exuberantly with a flurry of questions and concerns, especially from Chika. In the walk-up, Yuka opted to cradle her stomach and hunch dramatically. Misaki developed a wave of bloating, so she didn’t need to act. Yuka was really good at her role.
She’d soon unfurled a laundry list of uncertainties, leading with the worst of the skin grayness presented as possible deep tissue bruising. Some of the fragments were already known, but the pressure they put on them was that these signs were breaking out everywhere, and surely others were experiencing a range of nuisances, strange pains, and other things they didn’t want to talk about… but they could totally talk about it.
The presence of sympathetic discomfort traced along Chika’s features, and Nami prepared all the means of soothing at her disposal. But neither had even the faintest suggestion or hint that anything was happening to them that required mention. A big bust. Speaking of such, Namiko reiterated that her whole business felt blissfully comfortable in her practically distended clothes, and Chika was awash with the most relaxed energy. Even intentionally pressing the point as a last resort didn’t turn up anything they could work with. Disappointing.
They eased off the gas, even though they kept their plans and motivations hidden. The only real plan that remained was to scarf down a bunch of food while waiting for Maharu‘s surely glorious performance. The rest of the group noticed the suspicious shift in social winds but didn’t say anything about it.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The steaming bounty of octopus balls finally seemed to have left the range of fresh lava. Still, Misaki blew hard, inviting the mild wind around her to do half the work. It was practically cold by the time she chanced a bite. The spot in her mouth, despite healing with only phantom grooves, tensed when chewing. Decapitating the pastry fish, then giving them innards squirts, was a fun time for everyone.
When it finally came time to be ushered over to the cobbled-together bleachers surrounding the beautiful stage, night had finished weaving its overwhelming tapestry across the land with the help of the piercing trees as the punctuation of lanterns drove back the darkness. The wind pressed persistently, but not with bitter cruelty. It provided a shifting, dramatic backdrop.
Maharu soon stepped towards the stage, flanked by other girls that Misaki didn’t recognize dressed the same way as her. The setup was basic in some respects but also had large theatrical stage lights with multiple colored gels. Behind the main performance area, several older ladies in heavy outfits joined the group with large and small drums, cymbals, and a long flute.
One of the administration representatives introduced the performance, leaning towards the fact that some guests present came from far away and might not be aware of their local and national traditions. So, they would be introducing certain elements and providing history between.
They broadly elaborated that this traditional dance originated as a plea to the goddesses to drive away misfortune and illness and bring bountiful harvests. It was literally intended to entertain the goddesses and invite them to join in.
Since this was out of season and less formal, they had given carte blanche to many of the more creative girls involved to follow in the traditional mold but also put their own spin on different elements, so the goddesses may be both entertained and pleasantly surprised. Misaki could see a sneaky smile on Maharu’s face, even though she tried to hide it with one of her voluminous sleeves. She was sure this was going to be interesting.
The performance started slowly, with gently building music and soft chanting. They spoke of stories and myths, legends and imagination. There were important figures: the goddesses that inspired and the women who inspired them. Thoughts and dreams have the power to transform.
Long ago was the story of Himiko. No historian could agree on where she sat in their history. Largely influenced by the cultures of other tribes and nations, she was still intrinsically linked with theirs. The first ruler, although more of a shaman and religious figure than a swordswoman.
All that came later, when they moved from a culture of farming to one of conquest. They left Himiko all but forgotten. By mind and spirit, she commanded so many devoted. Yes, she was small and quiet, yet big of voice and bold of heart. And as her legend became myth, many believed she was the true inspiration for Amaterasu, the sun goddess at the center of all other goddesses, with her precious little sister Susanara always by her side.
What came next blended bits of what Misaki was familiar with in traditional dances from shrine maiden performances posted on YouTube and translated into anime and movies. The slow, methodical, and precise cadence of dance with swings and shakes. But it soon started to build, whirling and whipping, but still with a smooth and practiced motion.
Maharu wasn’t so much a spry top in a dress but rather a prancing spirit stretching forth and pulling in with her mysterious arms and uncertain shape. Like a cloud brought to human shape. All the frantic energy she usually blasted out with was still unleashed but also shaped and contained in a practiced order that was beautiful and breathtaking.
The primal exuberance and winsome delight of this barely known historical figure were passed on to the audience. Misaki was processing a lot. She didn’t know that the goddesses had preludes. It made sense given what she knew of Shintoism and how divinity and humanity were linked. Assuming that the local version of Shintoism compared closely to her world’s version of it.
In careful whispers, Misaki arrived at a silly analogy that she opted not to share with anyone else. It made her think of the Phantom Menace to the previous films. The later lore contained a translation of what was reestablished, rewritten as coming first.
The original story and the first episodes were otherwise missing to understand the real inspiration. She knew her analogy was dumb. History didn’t flow as a kink with preludes and prequels inserted at a later point, but it was her pop cultural perspective.
The elaborate performance did jump in time though, forward and back, picking up little snippets of goddess lore and celebrating the full extent of their history without judgment or efforts to bind and shape narratives.
As a tangible translation of the metaphor, Maharu actually brought out lengths of rope, which Misaki recognized as Yasha’s creations. However, they had been dyed blood red to more closely resemble the muscles and tendons binding the shrine maidens to the ethereal and each other while they danced together.
Misaki noticed that the reaction of the other women in the audience was more subdued than that of their little group on the corner, which exuberantly clapped at every opportunity. She supposed that some of this was probably controversial for the older women, drawing together otherwise disconnected elements. At least Miss Okura didn’t seem upset.
Fortunately, the final section of dancing swung into that quiet, precise traditional format of appeasing and entertaining the goddesses, but with the variable of bright lights and colors shining across the stage.
This part did pick up some applause, and there was a polite culmination at the concluding, traditional flourish. Maharu looked positively radiant, as though her skin had acquired a glorious glow to augment the bright, beautiful tones of her outfit. She also looked totally exhausted, with a sheen of sweat threatening to trickle across her face as she waved and was deliriously supported by the other girls.
The rest of the evening was to include traditional music and other local performers further remixing the ancient styles. At least she didn’t see anyone storming off or throwing a fit.
Later, once things had cooled down and Maharu had practically inhaled several bottles of water to recover, she probed them each for feedback and explained that some of the administrators were wary of her plans, but she truly wanted to celebrate their full and illustrious history with all her energy and heart.
"History shouldn’t be so stiff and boring, just going through the motions. It’s a fantastic story. It needs to be alive, loved, and celebrated! Himiko is our forgotten princess. It was such fun to make sure she is remembered and celebrated as much as anyone else, but I’m so glad it’s over, and I hope you all liked it. I have some stuff stashed in the shacks that I need to get for the choreography director for the next part and a change of clothes. I can’t wait to show you all the super secret stuff they have in the booths you've gotta know about and all the tricks for getting prizes. I’m gonna be right back!"
Before leaving, Maharu turned and gave Yuka a daughterly peck on the cheek before blasting off towards the tree line. Yuka looked like she wanted to say something either kind or irritated, but she instead took a deep breath and dipped her eyes with a pink blush across her cheeks.