Iga no Sanchou

by Catchandelier

The older the clan, the crazier the amount of bullshit you can do. There were ninjas before the Sage, after all. A drabble-fic in twenty-five chapter arcs, thirteen arcs total. Hold on to your burn cream, kiddies. (We're going straight to hell!)

45. Plead

So Hana-chan has just begged Itachi and me to go to a dinner party with her because, and I quote "it'll just be my mom and a bunch of other old people there you both have to come you're literally my only friends pleaaaaaaaaahahahaaaaaaeeeeese".

So now I'm going to a dinner party.

What in the fuck is a dinner party.

Oh. Apparently it's just a dinner with a bunch of people. Well if I'm going to a boring dinner, so are my sisters. Solidarity.

Solidarity!

So after headbutting my sisters into submission, ignoring their weak pleas for mercy- MERCY IS FOR WHEN YOU'RE DEAD- we've taken measurements and carefully picked out nice formal clothing to wear. Each of us is wearing a nice yukata- except for Kirara, who will wear no overcoat other than the one she's made. We've gotten invitations for Shisui and Sasuke. Obito-ji was already going to attend.

The sheep have been fed and told in explicit and very violent terms what will happen if anyone tries any shit with our Fort. The ANBU's annual winter clothing has been set out. This year they're getting hats.

There are is no emotion left in me but resignation. And possibly some apprehension. I'm going to a dinner party and so are my sisters. And all the Uchiha's are going too.

Goddesses help us all.