TLDR: This is just a sort of family bonding, story time thread. Feel free to write out 1K (or less, I'm just taking this as a chance to get the award lol) in the form of your woof telling a story, or just have em hangout amongst the fire eating good food and drinking good drink No posting order, no waiting on others to respond. Post as and when you feel like it! Have em react to the stories, or feel free to chat amongst yerselves.

Like a party, but lazy.

The night was dark, the moon hidden behind overcast clouds, and the air was unusually still. Not even a gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead, the long stalks of bamboo remained statuesque in place, perfectly setting the unsettling mood for the night Hattori had in store. Lighting the paper lanterns one by one, Hattori lit up a path amongst the winding maze to the communal centre where his preparations were just about complete. Tatami mats and cushions lined the floor, circling a steady bonfire that was well tended by Hattori's companions. Bright and blazing, but not overly so to make an already warm night unbearable. Tojo brewed sake vessels, water and a variety of freshly caught seafood was on display. All neatly lined up on a bamboo table, more than enough to go around till everyone was full and sated. A pleasant night all around, if Hattori had his way. And he would.

This night would come as no surprise to anyone, he'd passed on word of his intentions and made it clear that all of Tojo was free to attend. It was not mandatory and he would not blame anyone for keeping to themselves, but he imagined a few would show their faces. Even if only to pass the time with stories, to reminisce and hear tales they'd never heard before. He'd never been one to enforce social times but this felt...good, like the start of a pleasant tradition. Something good and important to keep alive, to spread the word lest the stories be forgotten back home.

Hattori had more than a few up his sleeve. As his clan mates trickled in like a steady stream, familiar faces settling in beside the fire, Hattori too made himself comfortable. He sat amongst the others, not up on a pedestal or throne, just atop a mat with his front legs splayed forward and his hindlimbs tucked into himself. At ease and eager to start, though not before taking a sip or two of sake. Perhaps he'd have some sushi after, sample some of Kuroo's hard work.

But first. Hattori cleared his throat, the glow of his eyes dimmed by the sources of light scattered around. But from between the trees the shadows still crept in, even the distance hiss of the ocean waves seemed like whispers one couldn't make out no matter how hard you strained.  

He didn't believe in gods, but ghosts and yokai? Maybe. It was hard to completely rule them out after the things he'd seen and done in the Long Night. To do otherwise would have been foolish, needlessly stubborn.

"I will tell you a story of the Ghost of Okiku." He began, speaking loud and clear. More than enough to carry over the background conversations, without drowning everything else out. Without making this just about him.  "Long ago, before Iga was even a word there was a samurai named Tessan Aoyama. Proud and arrogant, this man was used to getting whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He did not care for the word no. One day a new maid was brought into service at his manor, named Okiku. It was her duty to clean her master's precious ten plates, to count them and ensure they were always in place. Perfectly ordered, one to ten. " He raised his paw and swept it horizontally, as though motioning to the plates ordered neatly in a line. "One night the lord of the manor approached Okiku and demanded she become his mistress, that he would not take no for an answer. An unsettling feeling fell into the pit of Okiku's stomach but she denied him all the same and to her surprise, Aoyama let her return to her chambers without a single complaint. Perhaps he had learned his lesson, realised he couldn't always get his way? " He scanned the crowd, wondering what they'd think would happen next. He took another sip of his sake and continued, sombre but with a glint in his eyes.

"The next morning Okiku went to count the plates. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine." He didn't need to state the obvious, everyone listening would recall there was a missing plate. That something was terribly wrong. "She counted them again in a panic, again and again. The lord of the manor stormed in, Aoyama in a fiery rage accused her of stealing one of his precious plates and demanded that she return it this very instant. She could not and they both knew it and so she was dragged outside, kicking and screaming, begging for mercy when in her heart she knew there was none."

There were children about and this part was quiet morbid. Oh well.

"The samurais men threw her down the estate's well. A deep and dark pit, where she thrashed and cried...till she drowned. Cursing the Samurai's name with her very last breath, Okiku climbed out of the well the very following night. Crying and sobbing, her words choked with water as she counted. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Each and every night from then on out, she would count and wail. Loud enough to keep the whole estate awake, to have them cowering in terror in their very beds. If Okiku could no longer live in peace, then neither would Aoyama. Never again. The samurai lost his mind to the wailing and unable to go one more night without sleep he cast himself into the well too. Surely the curse would come to an end, the spirt sated. " He shook his head." When the plates were acquired by a new samurai he felt a nagging urge to count them. One to nine. And late at night as he huddled up in his bed...he heard a distant wailing, a woman beside herself as she counted from one to nine. Over and over again."

He raised his head, finally finished. What stories would the others have to tell? He perked his ears forward, wondering who would speak next.

Racing ahead of her siblings, down the path of flickering paper lanterns, Rheum let out an excited yip. It wasn't every day that one's parents allowed such young pups to stay up terribly late. But tonight was special and they would all be in attendance if they so wished. Food, pup-appropriate drinks, warm fire, soft pillows, and a grand night out to listen to spooky stories. Normally the last one to show up, she was the first this time. Skidding to a halt as the path widened out in front of her, Rheum panted lightly with her tongue lolling from the side of her mouth. Light danced along the edges and illuminated the Fuschia spots along her body. "Whoa," she whispered softly to herself before her yellow gaze caught sight of her uncle, the Kaicho, none other than himself, Hattori. A smile broke out across her face, eager and excited to get a seat close to the titan of a wolf. Making her way over to the table where food was extravagantly laid out, Rheum picked up a few things with a cup of water before making her way back over to the circle. Picking a cushion close to Hattori, she placed her goodies down and looked up at him intently as his story began. Letting out the appropriate ahhs and gasps, a shiver ran down the pup's spine. How spooky of a story! Glancing around to the others who had gathered, Rheum wondered if anyone else was going to spin a tale. SPEECH

Raijin had been both surprised and delighted when his cousin had set to planning a traditional story-telling event for the pack. It brought him back to his youth, sitting around a fire with the adults and the other yearlings, sneakily sipping stolen Saki and listening to the Samurai tell stories of war and Yokai. He wanted his pups to have similar memories, to know of their heritage, so on the designated night he was quick to gather them all up and herd them to the meeting area.

Hattori had done a fine job with decorating and laying out the food and drink. Everything smelled delightful, and the dim lighting of the moon and the lanterns brought an eerie glow to their surroundings. The Kaicho was the first to begin, telling the time-old story of Okiku which he’d heard thousands of times growing up. It still never failed to send a chill down his spine, imagining the wails echoing through the village, and he eyed his children to make sure they didn’t get too frightened. They were a hearty bunch, so he didn’t expect much trouble, but if need be he would take them back to their hut and tuck them in.

When his cousin was finished, he allowed the silence to stretch for a moment, letting the mood settle, before clearing his own throat.

“It is said by many that, on warm, dark nights such as this, a woman walks the earth, perched between the planes of the living and the dead. She is dressed in a fine, silk kimono of the deepest red in color, and her fur is long and white, floating around her as if suspended in water. Her face, however, is shrouded by a Kitsune mask, with only her bright golden eyes peering out. In life, she was the most beautiful woman in her village, sought after by every man that set their eyes upon her. In the end, however, she was married to a prestigious Samurai who provided her with the finest food, clothing, food and housing one could ask for. Still, she was a greedy woman who lived off of the praise and attention of others. The love of one man was not enough to satiate her, so she sought the attention of others. When her husband found out about her affairs, he flew into a rage. Striking out at her, he slashed her face and split her mouth nearly ear to ear. She wailed in pain, humiliation, and anger at her beauty being taken from her. The Samurai bitterly looked at her, shouting ‘Who will find you beautiful now?’ before leaving. In her grief, the woman took a blade and plunged it into her own heart, preferring to die than to live a life with such an ugly wound.”

The man took a moment to breath, allowing the portion of the story to wash over the crowd while he, much like Hattori, took a drink of the smooth Saki to wash his throat. After a moment, he continued, “After her death, wolves began reporting coming across a woman of the description I initially gave, the ‘Kuchisake-Onna’ or ‘Slit mouthed woman’. She would walk up to them, the air around her pulling them in but also sending a chill up their spine. In her soft, sultry voice, she would ask ‘Am I beautiful?’ If they responded no, she would kill them on the spot, leaving them with a wound on their face similar to the one she was given. If they said yes, she would remove her mask and expose her mutilated face. She would ask again, ‘am I beautiful?’. If they said no, she would kill them the same way as before. If they said yes, she would allow them to leave, only to follow them home without them knowing and kill them in their beds. Some wolves have said that the only way to avoid death when encountering her is to give an ambiguous answer, such as ‘maybe’ or ‘perhaps’. This confuses Kuchisake-Onna and makes her think, giving the victim enough time to run away,” Raijin finished, looking to everyone for their reactions. “Some argue that it is the woman’s fault for not being faithful to her husband, others that it is the fault of the Samurai for mutilating her. Perhaps it is both, but surely the hope of the story is this: that you will never have the displeasure of encountering Kuchisake-onna on a warm, summer night.”

"Speech"