Avatar: Old Dogs, New Chances
Title: Old Dogs, New Chances
Author: Katharos
Word Count: 299
Warning: none
Challenge: 37 Second chances
So my first drabble was Gyatsu. My second was Iroh. And this one, well…
Count the second chances!
Sliding past an empty, deserted scrap of Earth Nation land, as discreet as a ton weight fire nation ship can be, they are hailed by a tall, gangly old man with a ragged sack slung over his shoulder and fire bender scars on his hands.
And Iroh lights up in a way that would be disturbing on any old man, but is especially so on his Uncle.
“My old Pai-sho partner, Kyomu” Iroh introduces him. “Has the sneakiest endgame. Master of Wukon’s manouever. Haven’t seen him for years. Plays a mean Yuunda flute. Oh, and he’s an exile.”
Only later Zuko finds out that the charge was desertion, and by that time it’s far too late. His crew have become infatuated with the things the old man can do with the galley fires and some sugar, and to kick the geezer off the ship would incite mutiny.
But that’s still not enough to risk his search on.
He corners the two old men in the raft of the ship, where they are sunning themselves like a pair of geriatric lizards and playing a game of pai-sho.
His uncle glances mildly. “Prince Zuko,” he begins.
Zuko cuts across him, focused intently on the other annoying old man who is considering his move. “What are you doing here?” He demands flatly. “Why are you travelling with us?”
Glowering, he absently picks up a piece of Kyomu’s fan cake, and only realises what he’s done when his uncle smirks at him.
Kyomu places his tile before he looks up, and Zuko has to stop himself from taking a step back. The Exile’s smile is an echo of Zuko’s heart on the dark mornings, kneeling before his banner, when regret and loss threaten to swallow him whole.
“To finish a game of Pai-sho.”
Author: Katharos
Word Count: 299
Warning: none
Challenge: 37 Second chances
So my first drabble was Gyatsu. My second was Iroh. And this one, well…
Count the second chances!
Sliding past an empty, deserted scrap of Earth Nation land, as discreet as a ton weight fire nation ship can be, they are hailed by a tall, gangly old man with a ragged sack slung over his shoulder and fire bender scars on his hands.
And Iroh lights up in a way that would be disturbing on any old man, but is especially so on his Uncle.
“My old Pai-sho partner, Kyomu” Iroh introduces him. “Has the sneakiest endgame. Master of Wukon’s manouever. Haven’t seen him for years. Plays a mean Yuunda flute. Oh, and he’s an exile.”
Only later Zuko finds out that the charge was desertion, and by that time it’s far too late. His crew have become infatuated with the things the old man can do with the galley fires and some sugar, and to kick the geezer off the ship would incite mutiny.
But that’s still not enough to risk his search on.
He corners the two old men in the raft of the ship, where they are sunning themselves like a pair of geriatric lizards and playing a game of pai-sho.
His uncle glances mildly. “Prince Zuko,” he begins.
Zuko cuts across him, focused intently on the other annoying old man who is considering his move. “What are you doing here?” He demands flatly. “Why are you travelling with us?”
Glowering, he absently picks up a piece of Kyomu’s fan cake, and only realises what he’s done when his uncle smirks at him.
Kyomu places his tile before he looks up, and Zuko has to stop himself from taking a step back. The Exile’s smile is an echo of Zuko’s heart on the dark mornings, kneeling before his banner, when regret and loss threaten to swallow him whole.
“To finish a game of Pai-sho.”