Sundance

7. Shibaru (Izuna)

One of my favourite parts about our parties were that we were allowed to dress out, instead of up.

I brushed through my hair, silky after having used a hair mask, then blow-dried and straightened it. I decided to leave it free; I always let our hair artist put it up in a complicated updo for my performances so that you could see my lines but that wasn't necessary now, and a bit less strain on my scalp was always welcome. The stage would be open for people to just go up and perform any time during the party, usually a lot more sexually than we did for the actual show, not having to hold back in front of each other, and I definitely wanted to get up there as the attention-whore I was. But clean lines would not be a requirement; most people would be too drunk to be able to see properly, anyway.

I got into my best suit, a pitch-black non-crushed velvet one without any sequins or crystals but with yellow and orange latex flames sewed on. I also put on my glasses, so unconventional for the occasion, and I thought the effect was staggering, if I was allowed to say so myself. I considered going to Hashirama's trailer; I hadn't seen him for a full day and I missed him terribly. It wasn't like him to be away for this long. Maybe, he needed time alone? I thought I'd go to the party and meet him there.

As soon as I stepped out of the trailer and into the cloudless dusk, I could hear the party warming up in the main circus tent. I couldn't help but increase my pace; I was getting excited. Very excited; I couldn't arrive fast enough. I wondered suddenly if Tobirama would be there already. Or if he would be there at all. I hadn't even dared to dwell on that possibility as I knew it would make me terribly disappointed. I tried to remember if he'd been there during the last party. I didn't have an image of him there, but I also hadn't been looking. This time, I would definitely be looking.

Wait, what?

Where had that thought done from?

It didn't matter. Tobirama didn't seem to be the party type. He was probably in his trailer, reading or something equally clever. If I took a few shots of Smirnoff I might bring up some courage to go visit him afterwards?

Stop it! Don't bother the poor man! He doesn't need someone like you in his life.

I longed for my he familiarity that was Hashirama then.

Suddenly, as I was walking to the party, an excruciating pain shot up from my left knee and radiated out to my upper calf and lower thigh. I screamed and bent forwards, down on my right knee, holding my left. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK! This was bad. This was very, very bad. The effects of my excessive stretching and lack of strength training were showing. I felt like crying. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. I can't take it. I can't take it if I can't perform! I can't-

"Izuna!"

It was the two girls who were clowns, the night in honour having dressed up in a very Harley Quinnesque sort of fashion. I smiled carefully through the pain. Maybe, I could think about and analyse my feelings regarding the pain later.

"Are you okay?" one of them asked.

"I'm fine", I said through gritted teeth.

"You look hot!" the other said, and I was glad they hadn't lingered on the fact that I was down on my knees so I could stand up again and pretend the pain had never happened. They crooked my arm from either side, allowing me to feel more masculine than I was used to. I liked it. 

"I didn't know you wore glasses!"

"One thing about me needs to be but perfect", I said. "Let it be my eyesight and I'll turn it into something hot."

We chatted and laughed as we entered the tent. The smell of popcorn, caramel vape smoke and alcohol hit us in the face, delicious. Heat was thrown out way; the fire performer was in the middle, twirling his Kevlar-covered staff that was lit on fire on both ends. I took a container of buttered popcorn that was handed to me and went to stand with the audience. One of the clowns came and handed me a shot glass full of Apple Sourz.