** stuff to note:
this is in the future after like, six world wars or smth. the world is covered in neverending clouds and its always absolutely fucking frigid out. main man here is the leader in technological advancements for humanity and is working his way to dominating his field
because of the state of the world there is almost no foliage at *all.* like flowers are things of myth and up to interpretation, most records and keepings of them have been destroyed, and the ones remaining are being harbored like gold during a depression
**
"Once upon a time, a man decided to travel to a... home far away from his own. He was too stressed, too burdened where he belonged, so he decided a vacation was what he needed. He packed his things in a hurry and left without much of a second thought halfway through August, leaving his responsibilities behind for just a moment so he could be free somewhere else. Just for a change, only for a moment."
"So he took his bag and he left. When he landed, he realized he'd arrived at a particular time of year. The Autumnal Festival- more of a tradition than a reality. The lovely houses, traditionally built in the small town he was staying in, were decorated in oranges and greens and browns and reads to simulate a season that had become myth. People wore outfits made to represent their heritage; Kimonos neatly tied, decorative obis. Everyone wore their favorite one, some more seasonal than others; Some of the richer families wore what were relics, refusing to eat or drink out of fear of ruining, staining, or so much as wetting their diamonds-worth outfits. Everyone wore one."
"The outfit being worn was so entirely common in that town in that time that the man decided, well, he ought to buy one. Taking his sub-par language skills in his hand, he walked to a store, run by a petit old woman, and he had her pick a kimono out for him. It was red, mostly; But more importantly, it was made to represent myth."
"Silver strings lined the blue river at the bottom hem of the kimono. The same strings decorated the sleeves, coloring hundreds of flowers. A bird only seen and told about in stories, a crane, was designed at the bottom, curling its neck down into the water. As one looked from the top to the bottom of the kimono, it went from red to pink. The stitches went from black to silver. The underdress of the kimono, showing timidly through the collar, was black."
"The man adored the outfit. So much so that he bought the entire mens stock of kimono and obi that the woman sold, making her one of those rich families in her old age. He loved it so much that he paid her more to design him more kimono and send them to him throughout the years. Any color, any design. If he didn't wear them, he'd find someone who would. If no one would, he'd find somewhere to display it proudly."
"He decided to buy a room with one of the families of the town. The town, largely being run by traditionalists-- it was hundreds of miles outside of the city-- didn't recognize his famous face. It was relief to him to be allowed into a home and treated like he once was. It was a haven. He loved it; He helped one of the mothers to cook, and the other to clean. The two women helped him with his kimono daily since he didn't know how to put it on himself."
"One day they told him VIA his translator app- his skills too weak to fully understand-- that the dance of the festival was that night. The epitome; The peak of fall, they said it represented. They begged him to go, so he did."
"But the man was never much for parties. He was on vacation, and parties to him meant stress. Amongst everyone in the town square, he was the only one not sipping sake; Amongst everyone, he seemed to be the only one solemn. To a degree, he didn't understand. Why celebrate a festival with no continuing meaning? Why not just make a new festival?"
