ATLA_500 #4
Here is the next batch of fics from avatar_500!
Prompt #16 - Mad: Freedom's Stranger:
It was easy to go crazy in prison. Easier, still, when it seemed that the soldiers guarding you seemed to encourage it. They certainly seemed to encourage it for the others, so why would Suki think she was special?
And certainly, they tried. They found it amusing that she, the leader of a group of foreign warriors from the Earth Kingdom, had managed to get herself beaten and captured. They spared no moment mocking her because of it.
"Looks like you're far from home, huh, warrior girl?"
"Your little groupies aren't here to protect you, now."
"What a proud little specimen you are."
And so on. Suki eventually learned to tune them out. That irritated them, but to their credit, they never hurt her for her insolence - she was too valuable to injure. Azula hadn't spared her this, but the soldiers of Boiling Rock apparently were trained to.
In her single cell, she had tried to keep her body and mind fit. She moved through practised forms, swinging imaginary fans and swords, moved and ducked around imaginary enemies. But instead of keeping her energised and giving her purpose, she just felt tired. Dismayed. Disappointed that she hadn't been able to fight for herself and her Warriors.
When exercise failed, she tried meditating. While Kyoshi Island wasn't big on it, Suki and her Warriors had come across it in their travels and found it useful for their training. However, instead of being able to listen to her thoughts and let them go, she found herself dwelling on them, overanalysing them, trying to find answers where they never were.
Pretty soon, she found herself unable to get up from the cot. She found that all she wanted to do was just lie there and think about nothing. She didn't care about her body. She cared even less about her mind. She had no purpose here. She had no reason to fight.
She felt her sanity slipping away, replaced by dangerous and reckless apathy. When others came together and tried to plan their way out, Suki merely sat down in a corner and let herself droop like a wilted flower. She scorned these optimists, found their eagerness for brighter days loathsome.
Sometimes, deep in the night, Suki found herself thinking. Sleep made her vulnerable, and she found herself unable to brainwash herself from the folly of thought.
I wonder if anyone even knows I'm here.
I wonder if the Island has fallen yet.
Are the other girls okay?
What about Sokka? Aang? Everyone else? Were they okay?
I never thought I'd miss the taste of salted fish.
I wish I had found a way to smuggle in a hairbrush.
I would kill to see any other colour than a shade of red.
I miss you, Sokka… Do you miss me, too?
Thoughts like these, these normal and innocent thoughts brought by melancholy, chipped away at her iron will and threatened to make her crumble.
Just like Azula had hoped. She had won.
Prompt #17 - Stir: Facets:
There was something funny in the idea that something so powerful could be used for something so menial.
Katara thought about this as she moved her hand in slow circles, her fingers tugging and pulling on the soup below.
With a slow flick of her wrist, a slow trailing of her fingers over invisible patterns, she could stir a soup into a perfect mixture of thickness and flavour.
And yet, with that same wrist, she could snap it and a wave of ice and sleet could erupt from below her feet, exploding from nothing and cascading over everything.
By waving her arms over her head, she could draw the thick soup up and arc it perfectly into the air and into Appa's waiting and hungry mouth.
Or she could shift her body and hold her hand out, bending the other and sending a sharp whip of icy water towards her enemy and strike them to the ground.
Or she could go even further, and dart out into the battlefield with bright, glowing hands, ready to slide them over gaping wounds to stop the flow of blood as best she could.
Katara sighed, then inhaled the faint meaty smell of the soup. Sometimes she felt like she had ten roles to live all at once: Cook, substitute mother, healer, warrior…
And yet, as she watched the soup boil and bubble, she wondered: Would I ever give up any of these things to be someone else?
Would I still be me?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But there was still some kind of peace in making plain old soup, a comfort in the ease of mediocrity. She decided then to just accept it for what it was, and let the soup be stirred beneath her hand.
Prompt #18 - Cut: Sever:
In all of his years, Iroh would have never guessed that he would have to use a knife in this way - least of all the knife he gave to his beloved and neglected nephew in an attempt to give him courage.
He had been so careful - so careful - while in the public eye; he knew his brother's cunning better than anyone else in the world, and knew that he would look for any kind of slip to incriminate him. And so Iroh played the eccentric, the fool, the well-meaning former general who had lost most of his mind in the loss of his son.
Truths. But only half-truths. And even then, they shouldn't have been enough to damn him. No, all it took was his presence at the biggest failure the Fire Nation navy had seen in decades. Not his direct command, or his own orders. Just his simple being there.
Well, Ozai had finally found the means. He had found the perfect way to be rid of his troublesome brother as well as his only son.
They knelt side-by-side, official exiles together. From the corner of his eye, Iroh could see the torment and frustration on Zuko's face, see the yearning to change the unchangeable in a single moment. But it was Zuko who pulled the knife from beneath his shirt, and it was Zuko who unsheathed it and held it to the base of his phoenix tail.
Iroh remembered the fight over that. He had pleaded with Zuko to shave the rest of his head, to just let the hair grow back naturally, and that bald-headed phoenix tails weren't that fashionable anymore, and would just call more attention to him. But Zuko had fought him on it: "If I can't wear my phoenix tail in some way, I'm just admitting my own defeat!"
Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth, before slicing the knife through that last remnant of his heritage. He held it in his hand, his eyes blank, before holding the knife out to Iroh. He took it, and made less work of it. For Iroh, the moment his niece had thrown fire at him, it was done - his exile was already complete.
Wordlessly, as if orchestrated, the two tossed the remains of their loyalty to the Fire Nation into the Earth Kingdom river, watching in silence as the rush of water took both topknot and phoenix tail away.
That part of their lives was done. There was no going back, now. Iroh was actually somewhat buoyed by this thought, for his first real speculation on realising this was, quite simply, What will come next? What will it bring, and how will it change us?
Deep down, Iroh hoped for good things. In this moment, it was all he could do.
Prompt #19 - Light: Helpful Advice:
All anyone saw was the glowing bright white that shone from the eyes and - in a master airbender's case - the tattoos. Anyone who saw the glow knew what it meant: that the Avatar was accessing information from their previous incarnations in order to previously inaccessible power.
That was all they needed to see.
Once, though, Katara asked Aang about it. "I know what it means generally," she said, her chin on her hand, her eyes on Aang's, "but what happens when your eyes and tattoos start to glow?"
He started with the well-known explanation, but she cut him off. "No, I already know that. What do you feel? What do you see? Is it special? Do you pick and choose? Or is it just a flash of light with you, too?"
Aang hesitated, and Katara knew it wasn't her imagination that he went visibly paler than usual. "I... it just..."
She could see that he needed a bit of nudging. "Do you just abandon any thought and hope that the solution comes to mind? Or does it just pop into your head?"
He smiled uneasily. "Sorta..." he trailed off. How could he word it? How could it be worded in a way that made it sound far more mystical and interesting than it actually was?
She smiled. "So tell me!"
Aang tried, but ended up wording it badly, especially since, as he spoke, he grew frustrated. "Okay, so, in that moment, I look inward, I just sort of reach - and then it's like dozens of hands grab hold of me and drag me to a safe place. In that split second, that moment, it feels like hours and hours, and most of the time I just want to ignore everything..." He looked up and blushed; Katara's head was tilted to the side in confusion.
He tried again. "The thing is, when I ask for help like that, I get it. Only I get it from everyone, in one big audience of adults and sometimes kids who really want to help, but who don't want to listen. So it's like being in a room of politicians arguing with each other about something that they want solved, but are too excited to bother listening to themselves and others…"
Katara held up a hand. "Wait. So you're telling me that in that split second, that moment of light, you have to listen to a bunch of dead people tell you what they think is the best solution? And you have to pick just one?"
He nodded, glad that she had worded it far better than he could.
She looked at him sympathetically. "No wonder you meditate so often. " She then blinked. "Hey, have you ever thought about telling them all to just shut up?"
He sighed. "Once, I did."
"And?"
"And then no one said anything. And I lost." He made a face. "'For my own good.'"
"Wow."
He nodded, looking queasy. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"
Prompt #20 - Spontaneous: Strange Tactics:
Azula sat motionless, her face carefully blank. Her hands remained in her lap, folded neatly, and she kept her back straight and still. Her breath, though, went hot, and when she exhaled, she exhaled a puff of steam.
Ty Lee stood calmly, her robe pooled at her feet, her arms at her sides and her head held high. Her face was almost angry, definitely haughty, and held a hint of defiance, as well.
With exception to her slippers, she was completely naked.
"Well?" she said hotly, her face bright red and her eyes brighter still. "What do you think?"
Azula slowly swallowed, her mouth parched. Slowly, she answered: "What are you trying to do?"
"I'm trying to get you to remember the good things," was the terse reply. "I know you used me. I know you did. But when we were together, I'd like to think I was seeing the real you."
Azula felt something painful deep in her breast. Barely above a whisper, she said, "You were." She said with her eyes on the other girl's, and no where else.
"Well then," Ty Lee squared her shoulders and clenched her hands into fists.
"But you betrayed me."
"And you betrayed me," Ty Lee answered. "We're even."
Azula opened her mouth to demand how that made any sense, but then she realised, really realised, that by turning against Mai - one of their own - in addition to using Ty Lee and demanding absolute loyalty no matter what was, in fact, a betrayal - especially when things got emotional between them.
"So?" Ty Lee's voice was sharp, and Azula looked up again to find the other girl's gaze hard, but also vulnerable. "What are you going to do? Mope in here forever? Or get up and live and burn and deal with it?"
Azula stared at her. Then, wordlessly, she got to her feet, closed the distance, and cupped Ty Lee's face into her hands. Her touch was firm, but it wouldn't bruise - and her kiss was the same.
Prompt #16 - Mad: Freedom's Stranger:
It was easy to go crazy in prison. Easier, still, when it seemed that the soldiers guarding you seemed to encourage it. They certainly seemed to encourage it for the others, so why would Suki think she was special?
And certainly, they tried. They found it amusing that she, the leader of a group of foreign warriors from the Earth Kingdom, had managed to get herself beaten and captured. They spared no moment mocking her because of it.
"Looks like you're far from home, huh, warrior girl?"
"Your little groupies aren't here to protect you, now."
"What a proud little specimen you are."
And so on. Suki eventually learned to tune them out. That irritated them, but to their credit, they never hurt her for her insolence - she was too valuable to injure. Azula hadn't spared her this, but the soldiers of Boiling Rock apparently were trained to.
In her single cell, she had tried to keep her body and mind fit. She moved through practised forms, swinging imaginary fans and swords, moved and ducked around imaginary enemies. But instead of keeping her energised and giving her purpose, she just felt tired. Dismayed. Disappointed that she hadn't been able to fight for herself and her Warriors.
When exercise failed, she tried meditating. While Kyoshi Island wasn't big on it, Suki and her Warriors had come across it in their travels and found it useful for their training. However, instead of being able to listen to her thoughts and let them go, she found herself dwelling on them, overanalysing them, trying to find answers where they never were.
Pretty soon, she found herself unable to get up from the cot. She found that all she wanted to do was just lie there and think about nothing. She didn't care about her body. She cared even less about her mind. She had no purpose here. She had no reason to fight.
She felt her sanity slipping away, replaced by dangerous and reckless apathy. When others came together and tried to plan their way out, Suki merely sat down in a corner and let herself droop like a wilted flower. She scorned these optimists, found their eagerness for brighter days loathsome.
Sometimes, deep in the night, Suki found herself thinking. Sleep made her vulnerable, and she found herself unable to brainwash herself from the folly of thought.
I wonder if anyone even knows I'm here.
I wonder if the Island has fallen yet.
Are the other girls okay?
What about Sokka? Aang? Everyone else? Were they okay?
I never thought I'd miss the taste of salted fish.
I wish I had found a way to smuggle in a hairbrush.
I would kill to see any other colour than a shade of red.
I miss you, Sokka… Do you miss me, too?
Thoughts like these, these normal and innocent thoughts brought by melancholy, chipped away at her iron will and threatened to make her crumble.
Just like Azula had hoped. She had won.
Prompt #17 - Stir: Facets:
There was something funny in the idea that something so powerful could be used for something so menial.
Katara thought about this as she moved her hand in slow circles, her fingers tugging and pulling on the soup below.
With a slow flick of her wrist, a slow trailing of her fingers over invisible patterns, she could stir a soup into a perfect mixture of thickness and flavour.
And yet, with that same wrist, she could snap it and a wave of ice and sleet could erupt from below her feet, exploding from nothing and cascading over everything.
By waving her arms over her head, she could draw the thick soup up and arc it perfectly into the air and into Appa's waiting and hungry mouth.
Or she could shift her body and hold her hand out, bending the other and sending a sharp whip of icy water towards her enemy and strike them to the ground.
Or she could go even further, and dart out into the battlefield with bright, glowing hands, ready to slide them over gaping wounds to stop the flow of blood as best she could.
Katara sighed, then inhaled the faint meaty smell of the soup. Sometimes she felt like she had ten roles to live all at once: Cook, substitute mother, healer, warrior…
And yet, as she watched the soup boil and bubble, she wondered: Would I ever give up any of these things to be someone else?
Would I still be me?
Maybe. Maybe not.
But there was still some kind of peace in making plain old soup, a comfort in the ease of mediocrity. She decided then to just accept it for what it was, and let the soup be stirred beneath her hand.
Prompt #18 - Cut: Sever:
In all of his years, Iroh would have never guessed that he would have to use a knife in this way - least of all the knife he gave to his beloved and neglected nephew in an attempt to give him courage.
He had been so careful - so careful - while in the public eye; he knew his brother's cunning better than anyone else in the world, and knew that he would look for any kind of slip to incriminate him. And so Iroh played the eccentric, the fool, the well-meaning former general who had lost most of his mind in the loss of his son.
Truths. But only half-truths. And even then, they shouldn't have been enough to damn him. No, all it took was his presence at the biggest failure the Fire Nation navy had seen in decades. Not his direct command, or his own orders. Just his simple being there.
Well, Ozai had finally found the means. He had found the perfect way to be rid of his troublesome brother as well as his only son.
They knelt side-by-side, official exiles together. From the corner of his eye, Iroh could see the torment and frustration on Zuko's face, see the yearning to change the unchangeable in a single moment. But it was Zuko who pulled the knife from beneath his shirt, and it was Zuko who unsheathed it and held it to the base of his phoenix tail.
Iroh remembered the fight over that. He had pleaded with Zuko to shave the rest of his head, to just let the hair grow back naturally, and that bald-headed phoenix tails weren't that fashionable anymore, and would just call more attention to him. But Zuko had fought him on it: "If I can't wear my phoenix tail in some way, I'm just admitting my own defeat!"
Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his teeth, before slicing the knife through that last remnant of his heritage. He held it in his hand, his eyes blank, before holding the knife out to Iroh. He took it, and made less work of it. For Iroh, the moment his niece had thrown fire at him, it was done - his exile was already complete.
Wordlessly, as if orchestrated, the two tossed the remains of their loyalty to the Fire Nation into the Earth Kingdom river, watching in silence as the rush of water took both topknot and phoenix tail away.
That part of their lives was done. There was no going back, now. Iroh was actually somewhat buoyed by this thought, for his first real speculation on realising this was, quite simply, What will come next? What will it bring, and how will it change us?
Deep down, Iroh hoped for good things. In this moment, it was all he could do.
Prompt #19 - Light: Helpful Advice:
All anyone saw was the glowing bright white that shone from the eyes and - in a master airbender's case - the tattoos. Anyone who saw the glow knew what it meant: that the Avatar was accessing information from their previous incarnations in order to previously inaccessible power.
That was all they needed to see.
Once, though, Katara asked Aang about it. "I know what it means generally," she said, her chin on her hand, her eyes on Aang's, "but what happens when your eyes and tattoos start to glow?"
He started with the well-known explanation, but she cut him off. "No, I already know that. What do you feel? What do you see? Is it special? Do you pick and choose? Or is it just a flash of light with you, too?"
Aang hesitated, and Katara knew it wasn't her imagination that he went visibly paler than usual. "I... it just..."
She could see that he needed a bit of nudging. "Do you just abandon any thought and hope that the solution comes to mind? Or does it just pop into your head?"
He smiled uneasily. "Sorta..." he trailed off. How could he word it? How could it be worded in a way that made it sound far more mystical and interesting than it actually was?
She smiled. "So tell me!"
Aang tried, but ended up wording it badly, especially since, as he spoke, he grew frustrated. "Okay, so, in that moment, I look inward, I just sort of reach - and then it's like dozens of hands grab hold of me and drag me to a safe place. In that split second, that moment, it feels like hours and hours, and most of the time I just want to ignore everything..." He looked up and blushed; Katara's head was tilted to the side in confusion.
He tried again. "The thing is, when I ask for help like that, I get it. Only I get it from everyone, in one big audience of adults and sometimes kids who really want to help, but who don't want to listen. So it's like being in a room of politicians arguing with each other about something that they want solved, but are too excited to bother listening to themselves and others…"
Katara held up a hand. "Wait. So you're telling me that in that split second, that moment of light, you have to listen to a bunch of dead people tell you what they think is the best solution? And you have to pick just one?"
He nodded, glad that she had worded it far better than he could.
She looked at him sympathetically. "No wonder you meditate so often. " She then blinked. "Hey, have you ever thought about telling them all to just shut up?"
He sighed. "Once, I did."
"And?"
"And then no one said anything. And I lost." He made a face. "'For my own good.'"
"Wow."
He nodded, looking queasy. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"
Prompt #20 - Spontaneous: Strange Tactics:
Azula sat motionless, her face carefully blank. Her hands remained in her lap, folded neatly, and she kept her back straight and still. Her breath, though, went hot, and when she exhaled, she exhaled a puff of steam.
Ty Lee stood calmly, her robe pooled at her feet, her arms at her sides and her head held high. Her face was almost angry, definitely haughty, and held a hint of defiance, as well.
With exception to her slippers, she was completely naked.
"Well?" she said hotly, her face bright red and her eyes brighter still. "What do you think?"
Azula slowly swallowed, her mouth parched. Slowly, she answered: "What are you trying to do?"
"I'm trying to get you to remember the good things," was the terse reply. "I know you used me. I know you did. But when we were together, I'd like to think I was seeing the real you."
Azula felt something painful deep in her breast. Barely above a whisper, she said, "You were." She said with her eyes on the other girl's, and no where else.
"Well then," Ty Lee squared her shoulders and clenched her hands into fists.
"But you betrayed me."
"And you betrayed me," Ty Lee answered. "We're even."
Azula opened her mouth to demand how that made any sense, but then she realised, really realised, that by turning against Mai - one of their own - in addition to using Ty Lee and demanding absolute loyalty no matter what was, in fact, a betrayal - especially when things got emotional between them.
"So?" Ty Lee's voice was sharp, and Azula looked up again to find the other girl's gaze hard, but also vulnerable. "What are you going to do? Mope in here forever? Or get up and live and burn and deal with it?"
Azula stared at her. Then, wordlessly, she got to her feet, closed the distance, and cupped Ty Lee's face into her hands. Her touch was firm, but it wouldn't bruise - and her kiss was the same.