He's not the only one voicing enthusiasm in the audience, most of whom are Legionworld employees on meal breaks. A bunch were already in their audience positions by the time Kubo finished setting up. He's been doing this a while, and a number of the audience have started scheduling their meal breaks routinely enough to be regulars.
Still, Kubo noticed Junkrat, with an eye for reading his audience that was honed very sharp by years of needing to read an audience if he wanted enough money from them to eat, and feed his mother as well.
"Three days, Hanzo and his loyal samurai had braved the raging waves. Three days, the Singing Serpent eluded them, vanished into the depths after destroying seaside towns all along the cliffs of the land. On the fourth day came the hurricane."
The story swept on, Kubo's amplified sound allowing him to control much more paper than before, letting him tell a story that he'd never felt satisfied in his telling before. He made sure to engage his new audience member along the way. As the samurai and his soldiers sailed the rolling blue sea, eventually tracking down the monster responsible for the destruction of many villages, Kubo sent the golden-paper serpent diving sharply at his audience, and orchestrated near misses by soldiers flung from the ship, then caught and pulled back on deck just before hitting someone by their noble leader and his noble grappling hook.
Once the Singing Serpent wound the full length of its nine-foot paper body around Junkrat, Kubo's shamisen searing the air with the haunting echoes of the serpent's song.
The tale ended when the noble Hanzo dove from the wreckage of his smashed ship to singlehandedly spear the serpent through the weak point in the roof of its mouth during crashing thunder and lightning produced by silvered pieces of paper flashing over the mess hall's lighting elements. The story left the samurai team clinging to pieces of their shattered ship, drifting in a sea calming as the hurricane moved on. But as the crew gathered their wits and what supplies were left to them, a single grey fin rose from the paper water. Then another. Then another!
"- but that is a different story," the young storyteller informed his audience, "and this story is at an end. For all stories have an end, but there is no end of stories."
He struck his final notes, and the small pieces of paper that had made up his set flew back into their neat pile atop his silk pack. The butcher paper unfolded and rerolled itself, and everyone's napkins - including Junkrat's sketches - fell where they'd first been at the start of the story.
"So be sure to come back tomorrow!" Kubo said, as he tied up his pack around his pieces of paper, lingering to exchange a few words with his audience.
no subject
Still, Kubo noticed Junkrat, with an eye for reading his audience that was honed very sharp by years of needing to read an audience if he wanted enough money from them to eat, and feed his mother as well.
"Three days, Hanzo and his loyal samurai had braved the raging waves. Three days, the Singing Serpent eluded them, vanished into the depths after destroying seaside towns all along the cliffs of the land. On the fourth day came the hurricane."
The story swept on, Kubo's amplified sound allowing him to control much more paper than before, letting him tell a story that he'd never felt satisfied in his telling before. He made sure to engage his new audience member along the way. As the samurai and his soldiers sailed the rolling blue sea, eventually tracking down the monster responsible for the destruction of many villages, Kubo sent the golden-paper serpent diving sharply at his audience, and orchestrated near misses by soldiers flung from the ship, then caught and pulled back on deck just before hitting someone by their noble leader and his noble grappling hook.
Once the Singing Serpent wound the full length of its nine-foot paper body around Junkrat, Kubo's shamisen searing the air with the haunting echoes of the serpent's song.
The tale ended when the noble Hanzo dove from the wreckage of his smashed ship to singlehandedly spear the serpent through the weak point in the roof of its mouth during crashing thunder and lightning produced by silvered pieces of paper flashing over the mess hall's lighting elements. The story left the samurai team clinging to pieces of their shattered ship, drifting in a sea calming as the hurricane moved on. But as the crew gathered their wits and what supplies were left to them, a single grey fin rose from the paper water. Then another. Then another!
"- but that is a different story," the young storyteller informed his audience, "and this story is at an end. For all stories have an end, but there is no end of stories."
He struck his final notes, and the small pieces of paper that had made up his set flew back into their neat pile atop his silk pack. The butcher paper unfolded and rerolled itself, and everyone's napkins - including Junkrat's sketches - fell where they'd first been at the start of the story.
"So be sure to come back tomorrow!" Kubo said, as he tied up his pack around his pieces of paper, lingering to exchange a few words with his audience.