Disco Inferno, Night of Legend

Preparations
It was a balmy, midsummer’s evening in late June. The sky was cloudless and the moon, barely past half-full, shone softly upon the Seireitei. Yet the atmosphere behind the white walls was not a quiet one: instead it was lively and bustling with activity. The lawns to the south-east of the Central 46 compound had been converted to an elaborate, outdoor banquet hall. Delicate, billowing sheets of silk fluttered gracefully as awnings above long rows of low tables. The lighting had been planned meticulously with paper lanterns hanging from sweeping strands in soft, pastel-colored halos of light, all in attempt to appear completely natural. The tables themselves had been set with a “garden” theme. The napkins were folded in small triangles atop elegant glassware, the crystal goblets shone in the dancing light, and the tables were adorned with beautiful centerpieces. Of course, the catering had been ordered to match such quality, and only the finest dishes from across both the Soul Society and human world would be presented at tonight’s feast. Still, it was not yet ready, and low-ranked Shinigami from multiple divisions flocked back and forth as they worked to ensure that no detail was overlooked. Nothing less than perfection was expected of them. After all, it was the Captain’s Appreciation Banquet.

The had sponsored the event, and they had spared no expense when it came to such extravagances as roasted duck imported from the human world or the rose centerpieces that had been purchased from, of all places, one of the most powerful crime lords in the Rukongai. (The flowers had been quarantined and de-Kidō-ified before being placed on the tables, of course, as no room would be given to sabotage that night). However, despite funding the dinner, the SWA had, by unanimous vote, decided that the Sixth Division would host the banquet. Because of his credentials as being one of the most over-worked lieutenants in the Gotei 13, they had of course elected the lieutenant of the division—Takashi Sakuma—to be the Master of Ceremonies. Of course, ample notice of two day’s time had been given in order for him to prepare. It was a request he could not deny; not because of a deep, inner sense of selflessness or altruism, but because the SWA happened to hold certain... leverage.

Two weeks earlier, Takashi had stumbled upon the captain of the Thirteenth Division lying face down in the street, apparently having bravely attempting to reach her headquarters in a drunken stupor. As her lieutenant had been nowhere in sight at the time, Takashi had taken it upon himself to help her back to her barracks. Unfortunately, little had he realized that the SWA had been lying in ambush with a horde of hidden cameras, and now he was being blackmailed with “incriminating evidence of sexual harassment in the workplace,” even though it had been the captain who had thrown HIM through the wall. But when he had pleaded his case before her, the captain he had helped refused to defend his claims, instead only fondly stroking the bottle of vintage wine with which she had been paid off with. To make matters worse, his hawk had, for some arbitrary reason, also sided with the SWA, on “account of being a woman herself,” apparently, and Takashi had been left alone. Deprived of two-night’s sleep. In a pink tuxedo. He would never understand how he managed to get himself into situations such as these.

“Lieutenant Sakuma, where should these go?” one of the other workers asked as she held up a tray full of punch glasses.

“On the punch table.” he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice from stating the obvious.

“Oh, right,” she said as she bustled off, moving somewhat difficultly due to the tight black skirt and vest she wore.

“Sakuma-MC, the karaoke machine isn’t working!” another worker yelled excitedly as he ran up to him.

“Calm down. I’m sure it’s only an issue with the wiring. Did you check to make sure that Matsushita-san hasn’t put any more chewing gum between the connectors?”

“I’ll do that now sir!” the man responded as he ran off, also struggling in his constrictive suit, and Takashi sighed. At least it was some consolation that everyone had been required to wear “high class working class western-style, latest style from the human world” garb. Still, he wondered why he was the only one in pink. “It matches the ambiance” one of the representatives of the SWA had assured him. He had been tempted to respond with “having too much of a headache to be concerned about ‘ambiance,” and that the headache was courtesy of the SWA itself. They had, at the last minute, decided to add a disco ball and switch the theme of the party from “garden dance” to “high school prom.” Takashi wasn’t exactly sure what a ‘high school prom’ even was, but allegedly it had been a popular ritual practiced by youth in the human world for some time. He had done some brief research on the subject the previous night, but assumed his sources had been a bit outdated considering the horse-drawn carriages in the background of the photographs.

To be honest, with all of the interferences in the form of changed orders from the SWA, as well as all the unnecessary excesses such as suits and skirts for the waiters and waitresses, Takashi considered it to be a miracle that they had managed to pull of the dinner at all. The schematic he had drawn up for table numbers had probably helped, as well as the other male lieutenants who had been “recruited” to help. He noticed that the female officers, in comparison, had been assigned to “supervise.” Their relative lack of activity was especially obvious now that everyone else was in a frenzy as the hour of the captain’s arrival quickly approached.

Checking the time, Takashi gave a start as he realized there were only two minutes until the guests were scheduled to arrive. “They’ll be here any moment,” he took one last sweep of the tables to ensure everything was in its place, “Everyone you're your positions!” he shouted with as much authority as he would on a battlefield. For indeed, it was a battlefield. One fought not with swords or fists, but with spotless silverware and shining service. The servers rushed to form a line near the entryway: an arbor covered with pink roses, and Takashi nodded towards them as they waited for the first captain to stroll through the entryway.

Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock.

“The champagne!” he exclaimed. They had forgotten it.

But it was too late now.