Chapter Text
And thou shalt offer peace offerings, and shalt eat there, and rejoice before the LORD thy God, and the Susano’o Eternal. - Deuteronomy 27:7
Madara rocked back on his heels and surveyed the congregation with something reasonably close to a warm smile. The chill winds of autumn rattled the glass in the church windows; the crowds milling in and out of the church were waiting, staring up at the pulpit with rapt attention.
It wasn’t Christmas, so most of the congregation was feeling very out-of-place in the overcrowded sanctuary. Most of the congregation, that is, aside from the small group of people, all dressed in black, sitting attentively in the front row.
Madara caught Hashirama’s eye and his smile broadened. “Cousins,” he began, and the dull murmurs in the back of the church quieted. “This is a special occasion. We are here… to have a funeral.”
A couple of people cheered in the back of the sanctuary.
Tobirama narrowed his eyes.
“We are here to celebrate the lives of our fallen – Teuchi Uchiha –” More cheers, and applause. “– Kuro Uchiha –” Cheers again, punctuated by a piercing whistle from Nezumi. “– and, of course, my own cousin, beloved by all – Hikaku Uchiha!” The crowd roared. On the church lawn, casks were broken open; bottles popped; a fiddle began to shriek out a lively tune.
Tobirama sucked in a deep breath and stood, brushing non-existent dust off his suit as he said, “Well, that was respectful and somber while it lasted. Time to go. Hashirama?”
But Hashirama was already gone. Mito laughed at Tobirama’s confused expression, and dragged him towards the long buffet – only to be ambushed by Nezumi halfway. Tobirama’s suit would never be the same.
Yards away, behind the thick velvet curtains that hid the entrance to Zechariah Small’s quarters, Hashirama Senju pressed Madara up against the wall. His right hand tangled in Madara’s hair; his left wrapped around the back of his throat – Hashirama tasted pipe smoke and corn liquor, and laughed.