Day One of Bast Festival
Sorry for double post, the date was weird cause i posted from a draft. This chapter has three parts, fully drafted. Posted as they're cleaned up. Chapter 8 also has 3 parts >< Something that will be recurring later that im starting to tackle now is T'Chaka's legacy and what Wakanda's isolation would look like in implementation (besides lying to everyone lol, and what the War Dogs would do on a daily basis as part of spying/keeping an eye on things) BP is a disney movie so they wouldn't get into stuff like this (nor would they want to bad mouth the U.S. or other countries i imagine) but this is fic so i can be a little more realistic. YouTube Playlist Spotify Playlist
-:- 2013 -:- Accompaniment: “Bottom of The Deep Blue Sea” by MISSIO T’Challa is called to the mission critical room in the late afternoon. When he arrives, he greets the members in the room before taking a seat. He seems to be the last to arrive. At the room’s center there is a circular projection with the newest updates and cycling slides for the current active mission. The list of War Dogs currently active is small - only three - but the list of local parties involved is long, even for an estimate. One of the attendants present offers him tea; he declines. He waits for his father to call the room to order. As he waits, he reads through the newest mission report. T’Challa recognizes the signature and realizes the War Dog who made it is Nakia. T'Challa skims through the mission details, half an ear on his father's discussion with the General and Ifeye, the division’s Chief Intelligence Officer. The mission briefing revealed a situation that had started simple and then escalated. A Wakandan War Dog assisted local law enforcement for a missing persons’ case during an intel gathering operation and as a result helped free a trafficked worker. By itself such actions were commendable and par for the course for Wakanda’s involvement in the region. The trouble came from lingering involvement with the survivor-turned-activist. War Dogs embedded in the region not only supported Miridi but funded their other endeavors. The situation now involved local government officials and a Belgian embassy. This last part is the most troubling. The trafficking ring Miridi exposed had local officials, including the governor and Belgian officials, in their pocket, hence their uncontested grip in the area. Miridi was placed under house arrest five weeks ago by the governor and the War Dog in contact continued to assist them. Then, two weeks ago, the Belgian Embassy began investigating the issue in favor of the corrupt governor, in an effort to “keep the peace.” The greater concern being that the activist’s movements were only growing in online attention and support. It wouldn’t be long before the situation caught international media attention. Once Wakandan Intelligence noted the Belgians getting involved, they instructed the War Dogs in contact to refrain from further involvement. Unfortunately, assistance already given left a trail of interference to active Wakandan agents in the region, jeopardizing other missions and endangering Wakanda's interests. Ifeye seemed to believe that the best solution would be to remove Miridi and mislead any remaining involved parties. The counter argument from the War Dogs involved was that drastic action would require significant force and create a bigger footprint than allowing the situation to run its course. They were also invested in the survival and success of this activist. His father has yet to speak in favor of either solution. The General likewise seemed to be probing Ifeye for information on some of the unexplained events littering the mission reports. T’Challa himself had found some discrepancies in the reports weeks earlier, but hadn't thought to ask. Not until the situation escalated. Now with foreign intelligence involved, the War Dogs operating were being asked to answer for those discrepancies. "There was money directed to Miridi on these dates that wasn't authorized by you or the division’s foreign finance director." The General sounds unimpressed, her own notes displayed for his father and Ifeye to see. "It was not our money. The funds were requisitioned from the aforementioned trafficking ring." Ifeye sounds less than pleased. "How often did this happen?" His father's eyes are on the General’s notes. Ifeye's tone changes, realizing their blunder. "Such exchanges were left to the active operatives' discretion. Disseminating large amounts of cash would have tipped off local authorities, but the money needed to disappear." "Into local insurgent pockets?" The General sounds skeptical. Amiir,the War Dog on standby and the only one in the room to have come in contact with Miridi, steps forward. "Most of the money was transferred in the form of donations to projects in the area for education and aid-relief." "Who was credited for such donations?" No one answers his father’s question. T'Challa wonders just how much was left to active operatives’ discretion. There were rules of engagement for active agents depending on the local situation, particularly in unstable or heavily surveilled areas. It didn't usually matter if active operatives handled situations off the record or in unorthodox manners. That is, as long as such unorthodox manners did not escalate into drawing unwanted attention. Ifeye finally answers, obviously annoyed. "The local governor." T'Challa almost chuckles; no wonder they were in hot water now. Foreign intelligence agencies would either assume the governor was embezzling or that somebody else entirely is pulling the strings. The General asks more questions and T'Challa follows the back and forth, paying particular attention to what his father focuses on, and what he doesn't. The main concern is naturally Wakanda's own safety. Some of the actions taken by local operatives were reckless; it’s obvious those involved went above and beyond in their support of Miridi. Perhaps if less money had been given, Miridi’s activism been less effective, the resulting upheaval had been less disruptive, they wouldn't be here now. "T'Challa." His father finally includes him in the discussion. "When was the last contact between active operatives and Miridi?" T'Challa opens his mouth to answer and then stops. He shifts his gaze from his father to Ifeye and Amiir. Officially, the last contact was two weeks ago when they'd assisted a local group buying groceries and other small items for Miridi. Unofficially, they are keeping Miridi updated even after being directed to stop. T'Challa knows the correct answer, but he realized that by answering truthfully, he could be putting the War Dogs into more hot water. The ones with explicit instructions not to further escalate the situation. "Based on mission reports, two weeks ago." T'Chaka nods, "Is the flow of information included in that time?" T'Challa looks down to his notes. "Miridi is still in contact with one active operative in the area, however our operatives have been unresponsive." Not a lie. Even if the active operative hadn't been communicating the way they used to, Miridi's surveillance revealed someone is keeping them informed. Perhaps not the active operative in question, but their own people certainly. T'Chaka pulls up a recent report from the active operatives not yet recalled. It’s the one T'Challa had just been reading. “The amount exchanged on several dates isn't recorded here. Neither is the reason for such assistance specified." T'Challa noticed the non-answer on cash amounts, but not the other lack of information. T’Chaka continues, "While I commend our agents for their ability to take opportunities as they come, the lack of transparency is now an issue." He turns to T'Challa again. "If Miridi is removed, who will take their place?" T'Challa’s mind races. If not for active operative interference, Miridi would already be dead, or a trafficked worker in the DRC’s mines. However, Wakanda's own interference kept them safe and had now given them the ability to successfully smear and destabilize local governance. While such actions worked in favor of reducing human trafficking in the area. It also brought the attention of those who profited from turning a blind eye to such human rights violations. Like the officials that such rings regularly bribed, among them Belgian officials. "No one. Any other insurgent group would be unable to use their established networks or access the funds given by our operatives." T'Chaka nods, "Our operatives did not put a number amount on what has been exchanged, but given the length of time and frequency of communication, I'm estimating upwards of 30 million Congolese Francs." T'Challa's eyes widened. The numbers that were notated isn’t a third of that amount. For Miridi to receive such support and still insist on fighting the local governance spoke of higher commitment to justice or perhaps they were seeking revenge. T'Challa's own heart falls with the realization of what his father is really saying. Miridi would not go quietly; they would need to make the African activist disappear. "That is a very large amount. I doubt such an amount has been exchanged." Ifeye's sounds shaky. "The lack of clear numbers leads me to assume several unfavorable things about the operation and the actions taken by our operatives." T'Chaka's tone brooks no argument. The General inserts herself gracefully, pulling up new documents at the round table's center. "Removing Miridi comes with its own issues. The foreign intelligence watching them has already noted their 'unusual' support from local sources." T'Challa reads through memos in French. "They want to remove the governor." The General nods and directs T'Chaka to her own notes on a previous mission that overlapped with the situation in the region. "The governor is at the center of several scandals, replacing him with someone more manageable is an option." "Whoever replaces him would be even more beholden to foreign interests." T’Chaka doesn’t disagree with her assessment. "Removing Miridi could create a martyr situation and increased scrutiny." The General uses the same argument as the War Dogs. "Miridi is already intent on martyrdom; removing the trail left by our own is the priority here." T'Chaka's tone is conversational, as if they were discussing some overzealous children and not seasoned War Dogs. T'Challa pulls up the anecdote he had been reading before saying, "Removing Miridi so abruptly could tip off foreign intelligence to other activity in the region. Removing the governor however could be blamed on scandal and deals gone wrong." "Is that Nakia's report?" His father's tone is odd. T’Challa doesn't answer immediately, growing more hesitant. "Nakia's report is among the most recent." "She is also among those to give the least concrete numbers on operative activities." "She dealt mostly with the governor and his ilk." T'Challa knows he's misstepped when the General shoots him a look. He had obviously read other., but Nakia's included several important anecdotes on the situation between the local activists and the governor’s people. “The local governance should be dealt with by his own people, not ours. Miridi, however, has extended contact with our own operatives and poses a visible threat to current affairs in the region." T'Challa hears what is unsaid and remains quiet. This mess was created by Wakanda's own interference, and thus would be fixed the same way. No one else offers any more solutions and the conversation moves to who would be recalled or deployed, and how best to funnel disseminated funds elsewhere. He looks up at some point and the War Dog that had spoken earlier, Amiir, is staring right back. The man has been quiet for the proceedings, despite being the only one among them to have gone to ground for the situation. It left a bad taste in T'Challa's mouth. He understood his father's judgement, ‘Wakanda first’ always. But after reading some of the reports, Amiir’s included, he’s swayed somewhat by Miridi’s plight. Now he’s just presided over their death sentence for Wakanda's own safety. Hours later, only his father, the General, and T'Challa are left. They're discussing some of the reports from East Asia. T'Challa's heart isn't in the discussion, but he follows dutifully. T'Chaka is concerned about the “Belt and Road” initiative. His father must notice his lack of attention because he says, "It's late. Perhaps it’s time we retire." T'Challa looks at the time on the nearby display. It's past midnight. He stands reluctantly. He's still thinking about the evening's events when his father asks, "Have you talked to her again about marriage?" T'Challa freezes mid-stretch. “Baba, please." He looks from the General's knowing look to his father's serious one. “We are not ready for that." They were also on ‘break.’ “You mean she is not ready. Because surely you know you are." T'Chaka sounds much too confident. T'Challa shoots a betrayed look the General's way, he knew she sometimes discussed him with his father. “Baba." "How long have you two been together?" T'Challa knows where this conversation is going and remains silent. Being off and on as they were, who could say anyway? "It’s been fifteen years, that is longer than you’ve been Damisa Sarki. More than enough time to decide on marriage. You are not getting any younger; soon you will be king. You will need someone by your side." It’s why he was summoned to the intelligence center today. T'Challa is taking on more and more duties as his father prepares him for kingship. He is also under ever increasing scrutiny, chief among them his relationship status. "We've spoken about it, Baba." Nakia did not want to be queen and he did not want to marry anyone else. Couldn't imagine anyone other than her at his side. Though after the evening's events, he wondered if he is just dreaming. Nakia loved him, yes, but not enough to stop being a War Dog and settle down with him. They'd spoken a few times about having children, and that is honestly looking more likely than Nakia ever marrying him. “You wish to serve your heart, and Nakia’s, and Wakanda’s. But you cannot do it all. You will have to make a choice.” -:- 1st Day of Festival -:- Accompaniment: “Trapped” by They Dream by Day Nakia is the one to wake T’Challa early in the morning. There are Dora Milaje at the door. He wakes up feeling more rested than he has in weeks. The simple pleasure of sleeping beside Nakia again, someone he trusted enough to be honest about his troubled affairs. It makes him feel lighter. Things were not well, but he would deal with it as it came. That is all he could do. Nakia doesn’t offer much in words as he prepares to leave, but her hands are never far from his back, his hands, his face. The touch grounds him, helps to keep darker thoughts at bay. The Dora Milaje wait patiently for him to dress before they escort him back to the palace. The further they move away from Nakia’s apartment, the less calm he feels. It's like sinking into frigid water. This is hardly the first time he’s been escorted back to the palace by Dora from Nakia’s apartment. This is the first time he’s truly dreaded his return. When he checks his kimoyo beads, there are five new messages. From the engineering team, his mother, and the council elder whose ceremonial float was affected. There are none from N'Jadaka. Customarily the king and their spouses held separate quarters. His cousin’s first demands after their wedding announcement was that they share the king’s quarters. N'Jadaka expected the assassination attempt and assaulted him before any real negotiation could happen. His cousin is suspicious of him, and his micromanaging reflected that. N'Jadaka made sure to have him escorted everywhere, when they weren’t together. Yet now, when he disappeared for half a day and then spent the night elsewhere, N'Jadaka didn’t care? He must be waiting for T’Challa to come back. He checks the time again, he and Nakia really slept in. The first ceremonies for the festival would begin in less than an hour. He barely has enough time to bathe let alone prepare himself for the day. He still needed to sort the mess with the attendants and the sabotage of the floats. He would be doing that throughout today's events, most likely. As they get closer to the palace proper, he sees more and more people. Some stop to greet him, and he tries to greet them in turn without stopping. The city is alight in the Goddess’ colors. The familiar sights and the new additions for this year's ceremony helps a bit. Whatever today's events, it would be a day for Bast and her people. Once they arrive at the palace, he’s left to walk alone. Unconsciously, his gait falters to a more sedate walk. N'Jadaka assaulted him over his suspicion alone. He wouldn’t take kindly to T’Challa disappearing for hours and spending the night elsewhere. He would do something, something else. Or maybe the same as he did before. He should have asked his Dora to accompany him where the man was. Bast, what would his cousin do? There isn’t enough time; he is already running late for the opening ceremonies. Whatever ‘punishment’ N'Jadaka decided on would happen after the day’s celebration. Or perhaps during? T’Challa stops walking. Then starts again. He’s making himself even more late. When he gets to the long walkway separating the king’s quarters from the rest of the palace, he stops again. The new Kingsguard stand at attention, their gazes sliding to and away from him. He should have asked the Dora Milaje where N’Jadaka was. They would have probably been able to tell him if–it didn’t matter. He is here now. As he enters the antechamber, he listens carefully for any signs of his cousin’s presence. Hearing none, he walks to the main bedroom. When there is still no sign of his cousin, he allows himself to relax. Silently, he thanks Bast before stripping out of his clothing. As he dresses, he considers the day’s agenda. Beyond any damage control he would have to do later, he needed to be present. He remembers in years past, how his father would prepare for the ceremonies of Bast. Even if he isn’t acting in the role of Black Panther, he would do his best to honor their goddess. Today they would give thanks and remember those recently gone to the ancestors. Today, he would be saying one final goodbye to his baba. Once dressed, he rushes to the meeting location for the Panther Tribe, flanked once more by Dora. When he arrives, his mother, sister, and N'Jadaka are already there. As he nears the assembly, he slows his walk to a more leisurely pace. Shuri is the one to see him first; she must be wearing the traditional corset because the wave she gives him is not very enthused. T’Challa waves back, and then steps forward onto the podium to join them. N'Jadaka gives him a look, gaze traveling from his lower body and up to his face. “You overslept?” T’Challa doesn’t respond. After a moment, N'Jadaka turns to address the assembly of Dora Milaje and Kingsguard. T’Challa listens with half an ear and a carefully blank expression as his husband gives the commands his father had given a year prior. When he spares a glance to his mother, her eyes look glassy. Then, without preamble, N'Jadaka moves towards the large float they would be spending most of the morning atop. T’Challa, Ramonda, and Shuri follow. An hour into the procession, he catches the eye of one of the Mining Tribe float members, a young girl. She gives him a wide smile and a wave; he waves back, distracted. Her grandmother, Rajvahi, is the Mining Tribe’s council Elder. When he was younger, he would go by her apartments in the early evening and beg her for stories or sweets depending on how long his classes had gone for. She usually indulged him, along with having a collection of foreign chocolates to rival professional vendors. It has been months since he’d visited her. He feels their float begin to descend and grabs absentmindedly for the railing. He still needed to speak with the engineering team for the River Tribe float. There were issues in its procession speed. Once on the ground, they disboard, although some of the Dora Milaje remain standing atop the float. The crowds at the procession’s destination divide into groups to go about the day's events. Okoye is standing at the landing area and greets them before leading them to the next portion of the day. Now that they’re on the ground, the sound of the nearby festival goers is much louder. The lines of Dora Milaje flanking them and the following processions from each tribe carve a space for them through the crowds. The broadcast devices following their progress through the day pan over all of them as they walk. At some point, Shuri comes up to walk beside him. Her eyes are uncharacteristically serious, so T’Challa pokes her in her side. Her reaction is an equal jab to his side, which he cuts off casually with a side hug. She squawks at the action, but doesn’t fight the hug. He momentarily sets his chin atop her head, then pulls away. His mother, walking a few steps behind him and to their left, watches the altercation but makes no move to reprimand either of them. Eventually, they come to a stop at their new location. The opening ceremony isn’t long this year and when it ends, it ends with a roar from the gathered crowds. The noise and the music causes T’Challa’s heart to fly as a priest of Bast leads the thousands in song. T’Challa joins them, as does his mother and sister. N'Jadaka does not, watching the spectacle. The song is an old one, something young children were taught at home. They have a late lunch in the assembled tent area, a change implemented for this year’s festival. It's one change T’Challa finds he doesn’t mind. Youth from each tribe approach the Panther Tribe area to offer their blessings. T’Challa recognizes some of the faces, but not all. They were younger than they would have been in past years, too. Pretty faces, sons and daughters instead of uncles and aunties. T’Challa slips away to a less crowded area and is soon joined by his sister. “T’Challa, I need a moment.” Shuri sends him a pleading look and T’Challa raises an eyebrow in response. “Why?” In truth, this is probably the first time since Shuri was a small child that she stayed for the duration of the opening ceremonies. T’Challa doubts she would have come if given much of a choice. N'Jadaka wanted her present, and, while T’Challa agreed with his cousin on very little, it is nice to have the usually missing princess here for once. “Efi sent me a message, and if I respond in front of mother, she will disable my kimoyo beads.” Shuri’s voice is almost a whine by the end. T’Challa sighs. Shuri has already been using her kimoyo beads discreetly on the float, but she is right to hide it. Even if at this point it wouldn’t faze the people who knew her. “Don’t be long.” Shuri gifts him a vibrant smile and makes a beeline for the tent’s exit. “Five minutes, Shuri!” It would probably be longer. Hopefully their mother would be too occupied with greeting the important families present to notice Shuri’s absence. T’Challa has only met Shuri’s ‘Efi’ in passing, but the girl was very charming. She reminded him of Nakia, if T’Challa thought about it. Minutes later, N'Jadaka joins him by the refreshment area and T’Challa’s smile fades. He walked this far out to be alone. The crowds congregate farther into the expansive tent with their respective clans or tribe. N'Jadaka has his kimoyo display open, and he appears to be talking to someone, before he turns to T’Challa. “The lead engineer for the River Tribe float said you approved his changes.” N'Jadaka’s tone is all business. “The procession speed was off.” As were some other minor things, thankfully they should be fixed by the next day after some adjustment. The hologram for whoever N'Jadaka was talking to blinks out and N'Jadaka pulls up another document. “We’ll be doing a swap once the festival is over, some of my staff for yours.” N'Jadaka’s gaze dares him to refuse, and T’Challa puzzles over his cousin’s thought process. Last night he was screaming about sabotage and now he wanted the two of them to ‘swap’ attendants? His cousin offers no further information on his odd “request” and T’Challa doesn’t ask. Eventually, he chooses a beverage, then walks back to his seat. -:- Nakia -:- Accompaniment: Trouvez-la moi by Dadju Once T’Challa leaves with the Dora Milaje, she hops into the shower. Nakia has less than an hour to arrive at the River Tribe assembly area for the festival events. While she gets dressed, she scrolls through her kimoyo messages. There’s the expected messages from her superior Asaani, her uncle, some friends, her fathers… and her den mother. She doesn’t read the last message, instead pulling up the message from her uncle. Yetunde’s message is short, there were some issues with the River Tribe ceremonial floats, adjustments were being made. The message confirms what T’Challa already told her. Yetunde’s thinly veiled anger points her to the real culprit behind such sabotage. She reads her fathers’ messages last before she leaves her apartment. The compound is mostly deserted but for the few not celebrating with friends or family. She wonders how many saw T’Challa leave her apartments this morning. When she arrives at the assembly area for the River Tribe procession, she’s greeted with new sounds and sights. The gathering of many of River Tribe’s most distinguished now stood or sat around the assembly area. Her arrival prompts some response and she makes an effort to greet aunties and uncles and cousins before finally making her way over to where her maternal uncle, Yetunde, is standing. She greets him and then he explains the new procession array. The issues with the main ceremonial float would not be fixed in time, so they would improvise, per the king consort’s instruction. The performers, main families and other additions were already being instructed on the new arrangement. When he stops to ask her opinion, she tells him the new design would look much better than the traditional ceremonial float. He agrees with her, but she can tell he is not happy with the situation. They were the only tribe who were sabotaged in such a way. She has no doubt; the culprit of this sabotage also sabotaged the rest of the tribes. But all her people would see is an attack on the River Tribe which made them look different. One of the main family matriarchs, Isra, comes to speak with Yetunde and she excuses herself. In the short lull before the procession would move towards the main ceremonial line, she sends a response to her fathers. She has only visited a few times since being recalled from Sambisa; she knows her fathers were not pleased. Now with the Bast festival, she would be spending most of the day acting as champion of River Tribe and unable to attend her family's private gathering until late in the evening. She receives an immediate response from Hayat, affectionately nicknamed ‘den father.’ Then Junibe, his partner, chimes in. She can’t confirm the exact time she would be joining them, but she promises to come see them tonight. Soon the procession enters formation, and they move towards the main ceremonial grounds. Being back in Wakanda, especially during festivals or celebrations, never fails to move her. The culmination of centuries of tradition, history, and technology displayed in a formation of over 30 prominent figures of River Tribe. Not counting the dancers, children and special additions. It centers her, as much as it pains her. This is home. Smooth rolling valleys and small bodies of water give way to paved streets and taller architecture. Visitors and locals alike line the streets waving flags and signs, streamers and trumpets. The River Tribe announces their arrival with the sound of drums; the performers arrayed in front moving like their tribes namesake. Nakia watches it all alongside her uncle. Weeks ago, she danced amongst such performers for T’Challa’s coronation. Their procession, as expected, stands apart from the other tribes, all on similar large ceremonial floats. Yet their new formation commands attention. As the largest tribe in Wakanda, the River Tribe bowed to no one. The drumline chosen reverberates such sentiments as do their performers weaving around their formation. Already, she can see how others of the River Tribe watching from home or the streets or Birnin Zana and across Wakanda would receive such distinction. Quietly, she salutes the queen dowager and T’Challa. Once at the ceremonial grounds, the formation disperses to intermingle with the other tribes and celebrants. Her role as champion dictated that she remained at her uncle’s side. Privy to all those who came to greet him. When some ask as to River Tribe’s break in tradition, her uncle makes no mention of sabotage. As her uncle talks with different celebrants, she notes a similar scene not too far from where they’d settled. The Panther Tribe arrayed at the center of the ceremonial grounds held court among Wakanda’s most prominent officials and families. T’Challa looks resplendent in the goddess’ own colors, black and vivid purple. Besides him, his cousin contrasts with a white and gold ensemble. His breakdown the night before is hard for her to shake. She’s never been a good bystander. Her actions the days following N’Jadaka’s coronation proves it. She watches the tail end of a conversation between the queen dowager and her nephew. He flashes his teeth and even from a distance she can see the disdain in Ramonda’s expression. Time crawls and then it doesn’t. In the afternoon, Hamadi, Mining Tribe’s champion, comes by. His elder has absconded for more comfortable seating in wait for the evening’s events. Yetunde showed no signs of following, continuing to talk with other River Tribe attendees and the occasional celebrant from other tribes. He asks about their ceremonial float. Apparently, he, like everyone else, heard Yetunde’s reimagining of events. She doesn’t correct the assumption, instead inquiring about the Mining Tribe’s Shield of Sekhmet. There’s a moment then she catches the recognition in his eyes. He admits there have been issues with its use. Then he changes topics. She wonders at how each tribe would perceive such manipulation. The Mining Tribe is much smaller than the River Tribe. Their ancestral hold on vibranium manipulations is their main platform. Their ongoing negotiations with Panther Tribe is something that’s always caused discontent. But even with the sabotage, all N’Jadaka would have to do is agree to a few of their terms. The thought brings her back to T’Challa’s words on who his cousin has been meeting with this past week. Somehow, their conversation lands on the topic of families, and she tells Hamadi she would be spending the night in her father’s house. Hamadi, in contrast, would end the night in his clan mother’s house, as is proper. Which leads to a spirited list of complaints on which is worse. Hamadi comes out ahead simply because, as a prominent tribe family, their clan mother would be hosting several large families, and no one would be sleeping much that night. Not when cousins and aunties from Birnin Mena Ngai were visiting, as were their children and partners. In comparison, Nakia would have only her fathers, their lovers, friends and a few children to deal with tonight. The difference is something Hamadi claims to envy. Nakia smiles and thinks of having to assimilate as a young girl growing up in a very non-traditional River Tribe family. She hadn’t felt very lucky then. Most River Tribe children were raised in groups by “den mothers” from their birth mother’s house. She was raised by her father in a separate house, the product of a short fling between her father and her birth mother. Her birth mother carried her to term with the agreement that her father would raise her, something her den mother probably regretted allowing her birth mother, leave to do. Nakia has learned not to mind, she owes a lot of her own character to her unusual family. Once the evening hour rolls in, the different tribes assemble once more for the last procession. Most celebrants not part of an official formation have already left for the last portion of the day. The celebratory mood from earlier is now contemplative. Tonight is for the dead. The new formation walking towards the memorial grounds is less segregated. Children that hadn't already been bundled off for the evening run in between tribe processions. Friends and family walk or ride beside each other. She is no longer standing beside her uncle, instead walking alongside the other tribe champions. Hamadi is now carrying a child whose face is pressed determinedly into his shoulder. Closer inspection confirms what she already guessed from the style of the child's clothing and paint on their shoulders. She could see the blessed marks on their back and arms. The lack of pigment is intentionally displayed by artful circles in the clothing design. The child raises their head and she makes a point to smile back, ignoring what many others focused on all day. If she is so inclined to look above sleepy eyes to their forelock, she would see where dark skin turned white in the shape of a droplet. “Hi, auntie.” They sound tired. “Hello, little one.” Hamadi sends a look her way, but doesn’t stop them from talking. The child is probably on some sort of “time out” from their clan mother. A day like this would be especially taxing with visitors from all over Wakanda and offerings at local temples. Which this child, along with others like them, would be expected to attend. Their mere presence being a blessing and mark of Bast herself. Her fathers no doubt made such offerings at the temple this morning. As did visitors from other cities. She bought her memorial offering days ago at a vendor in the city’s main shopping district. If this child were with their clan mother, she might have offered a gift to whoever is tasked with collecting such offerings. Now all she can do is talk quietly with them, make one tired face smile. They tell Nakia their name: Zahrah, and their age: seven. Halfway through their conversation, they ask if she has any sweets. Nakia tells them “No” and apologizes. The average worshipper probably wouldn’t have thought to offer a blessed child sweets, but she’s done so in the past. She reassures them they would eat after this last memorial was done. She didn't think the child is hungry, just smarting from whatever happened earlier. Even the most well-behaved child had their limits. When they bury their face once more on Hamadi’s shoulder, Nakia turns her attention to the rest of the procession. This last event would not take very long, and most would leave after giving final offerings and prayers. The Panther Tribe would be giving a memorial for the late king tonight. Had things been different she would be standing beside the queen dowager. This new distance is not as difficult as it should be -:- T’Challa -:- Accompaniment: Saturn Hours later, Shuri’s kimoyo beads have long since been disabled by their mother and they’re at the last event of the day. As the procession moves deeper into the memorial space, it breaks off into smaller groups. At some point, the Dora Milaje attending for most of the day fall back, so that it is just T’Challa, his mother, his sister and N’Jadaka. The accompanying priests raise a new song and his mother moves ahead to lead their procession of four. Shuri leans in closer to him and he intertwines their hands together. It’s evening now, and the special lanterns prepared that morning are being released one by one into the sky. The Panther Tribe has their own separate burial space, but the memorial space is communal and holy ground. This is a place to remember their loved ones. A place to honor them and a place to say goodbye. His mother goes first. She doesn’t speak at all, choosing to sit beside the memorial stone. She closes her eyes, as if in prayer. T’Challa can’t quite make out her offering, small as it is. The choral song fades and intermingles with the noises of the late evening. People’s steps, people’s prayers, people’s mourning. Eventually, she stands and steps away. Then Shuri steps forward, hesitant. T’Challa lets her hand go reluctantly. When she sets her offering down by the memorial stone, T’Challa feels a rush of fresh tears. Shuri built that prototype with their father, it was one of her first. She doesn’t speak long, and when her voice struggles towards the end of her goodbye, they wait. Then it is his turn. T’Challa has no special offering, having purchased his offering from street vendors earlier in the afternoon. He walks up to the memorial stone mostly clear-eyed. He stands before his father's memorial and allows himself to remember. Grief mixes with something that might be joy. He had spoken with his father, after all. He hadn’t had much time to grieve his father’s untimely passing. Bringing justice to the man responsible was the least he could do. Now, he allows himself to feel the wealth of emotion he has so long held at bay. He loved his father. His vision after his coronation brought him a level of peace he hadn't felt in months. Knowing that his father considered him a worthy heir, a worthy king. It meant so much. Speaking with Zuri after his first vision, reflecting on the names and faces he had seen briefly besides his father’s, he had felt… connected. In a way he’s never felt before. To Bast, to those that led Wakanda before him. When T’Challa finally steps away from the memorial, to join his mother and sister, he feels lighter. Once more, he is cognizant of his surroundings and the low hum of song and mourning. He is also aware, if a bit distantly, of his cousin, standing behind them, watching. Unbidden, T’Challa walks to the man. Later, months later, T’Challa will wonder why he does what he does, but at the moment it feels right. “If you wish to honor a loved one, this is how.” N’Jadaka doesn’t respond at first and T’Challa wonders how he must look to his cousin. His eyes red and wet with tears, his voice still shaky. The silence stretches and T’Challa adds uncertainly, “There are special rites for fathers. I can show you.” N’Jadaka gives him a jerky nod, and T’Challa turns towards the central portion of the memorial grounds. Together, they form makeshift memorial lanterns for N’Jobu and … “Lisa.” N’Jadaka murmurs his mother’s name reverently. It’s the first time he’s spoken about the woman who N’Jobu loved. T’Challa explains the process and turns away when N’Jadaka stares intently at the beautiful lanterns awaiting release. When he clears his throat, T’Challa turns back, then watches as N’Jadaka carefully releases them. His mother and Shuri leave together with some Dora, then T’Challa and N’Jadaka, following some final rites. The walk back to the king’s quarters is silent. The song of mourning is stuck in his head, but it is not a bad thing. He and N’Jadaka had not talked beyond their interaction at the memorial grounds. His mother and sister watched their cousin release his memorial lanterns after T’Challa showed him how, neither commented. N’Jadaka, in turn, has been almost unobtrusive while T’Challa and his family performed final rites for his father. The nightly routine of preparing for bed feels different this time. T’Challa expects his cousin to bring up his absence the night before, but N’Jadaka doesn’t. N’Jadaka had not cried for his parents, while giving memorial, but then he lost them more than a decade ago. T’Challa lost his father less than two months ago. The pain is still fresh, it’s possible for children to forget even if N’Jadaka did not.