fic: Solar Winds (6/?)
Media: Fic
Title: Solar Winds (Avatar: The Last Airbender Fusion, 6/?)
Rating: PG-13 for innuendo, some swearing.
Spoilers: None for either series.
Warnings: Slight possibility of cursing.
Word Count: 4136
Summary: Kurt Hummel, the current Avatar, finds a Firebending teacher in the young Prince Blaine. Is that all he finds? Or will circumstances conspire to push them into becoming more, to the world and each other?
Author’s Note: I am not fashion-forward in the slightest, and despite my best efforts, any sort of intrinsic understanding of fashion escapes me utterly, so I’m giving the basic building blocks and leaving most of Kurt’s outfit to the imagination. If anyone can explain fashion to me, I’m all ears. Or, well, all eyes, I suppose. :P
This is where the plot really hits. As such, it is the longest and most elaborate chapter yet. I’m quite proud of it, so I hope you enjoy it!
Master Post
CHAPTER 6 - Sickness, Suspicion, and Shopping
~~~
Kurt Hummel is seeing red.
Red, red, red, as far as the eye can reach. Bright red, dark red, regular red, bold red, bland red, faded red, ruby, crimson, scarlet, rosewood, sangria, maybe even maroon if you’re feeling extra spicy… it’s inescapable. At times, it’s so bad that Kurt has to check to make sure he hasn’t sustained a head wound that is causing him to bleed into his eyes unawares. Sure, there’s a little gold here and there, but for the vast majority of the time, Fire Nation fashion is painfully monochromatic.
But then, Earth Kingdom fashion had a similar, if less pronounced problem with green. Not to mention everyone back home and their obsession with blue… do they not understand that they are more than their bending? Really, matching one’s element is not a prerequisite to controlling it. It doesn’t even really make it easier! He can only imagine the nightmare he is going to have if the Airbenders try to dress him in those awful monk outfits. Yellow, he can deal with, but orange? Orange is no one’s color.
Maybe that should be his legacy as Avatar-encouraging the trade of fashion and different colors across borders, so that all people can experience the full glory and wonder of the color spectrum. He would go down in history as ‘Avatar Kurt, Champion of the Rainbow.’
After a minute or so of mulling it over, he decides that he will get right to work on that.
You know, as soon as he takes care of this whole ‘population-threatening pandemic’ thing.
In the meantime, he is faced with a difficult decision. He wants something tight enough to emphasize his figure, but just loose enough to make him seem a little burlier and less shapely than he actually is. Too tight, and people start to make… misjudgments, especially from behind (though the inverse is not unheard of). The awkwardness of flirting with someone only to find out they think you’re a girl is not an experience Kurt wishes to repeat.
These are the thoughts that consume him as he waterbends through his daily skincare routine, cleansing his pores and infusing much-needed moisture with enviable ease. Really, when it comes to looking good, waterbenders just have a natural advantage over others. Moisture is the essence of beauty, after all. He finishes up by bending the remaining moisture on his hair into the shape of his famous coif, and giving the mirror a small smirk.
Hot damn, he is good-looking. Screw angsting over limited color options. So what if red isn’t his best color? He can make it work. He can make anything work. He is the freaking Avatar, master of all elements and colors of the world. Not even an orange outfit could bring him down.
…okay, maybe an orange outfit. But very little else.
~~~
“Councilor Coleman, Chairman of Rail Services.”
“Present.”
“Councilor Keros, Admiral of the Royal Navy.”
“Here.”
Blaine fought hard against the urge to fall asleep. The role call is always the dullest part of these things, mostly because you never quite realize how many Councilors can fit around that giant table until someone with an incredibly monotonous voice reads out the name and full title of everyone in attendance. Slowly.
“Councilor Sylvester, Headmistress of the Chi-Ryu Firebending Academy for Girls.”
“Present at the bare minimum level, against my will, I might add.”
These meetings would be over a lot faster if you’d talk less, Blaine definitely does not say because he’d be an idiot to blow his cover at this point. He does, however, consider sending it as an anonymous letter, but quickly decides it’s not worth risking Pavarotti getting roasted.
“Councilor Ryerson…”
The flat droning continues uninterrupted for what feels like long enough for Blaine to develop a 5 o’clock shadow, though his chin remains stubbornly smooth nonetheless. Then, after Council member and his/her pet iguanamutt (and said iguanamutt’s favorite squeaky toy) is named, accounted for, and complimented on their hair, the meeting finally gets underway.
“All rise for the Fire Lord,” the minuteman says, and Blaine grins as he stretches his head out to watch his Dad walk in.
A still, precise man with an air of simple dignity, Fire Lord Anderson moves with utmost care and control. When looking at him, one gets the distinct impression that his regal robes would not flutter in a breeze if he did not wish it so. His thick, black hair is carefully styled, just a few hints of grey peeking through here and there. The grey was much more obvious in his beard, which is probably why he decided to get rid of it. His father has always favored uniformity, so Blaine suspects that when his hair is finished turning grey, he’ll grow it back, and not one follicle sooner. He wants a grey beard or a black beard. None of this half-and-half nonsense. As always, he assesses the room with a calculating expression before giving a nod. “You may be seated,” he says, taking his place at the head of the table.
“All Councilors are present except for Rosebalm and Ganterson,” the minuteman says, taking his seat. The Fire Lord nods in acknowledgment.
“The Sun is restless, my friends,” he says, after a moment. “A great fear has gripped this Nation and this City. The people struggle beneath its weight.”
Even though there is no one to see it, Blaine nods slightly. He knows what his father is talking about…
~~~
“Is it just me,” Finn whispers to Mercedes as they crest the hill into town, “or are there, like, less people here every time we wake up?”
In front of them, what arguably used to be a small bazaar is now bizarrely barren, only a handful of merchants even bothering to show up to man their stalls.
The Earthbender surveys the strangely empty streets, and something in her gut clenches just a little tighter. “It’s still early,” she says, “I’m sure people’ll be popping out of their holes soon enough.”
“Still,” Finn says, pushing a re-disguised Artie along in his wheelchair. “This is kinda… creepy.” His eyes dart from side to side quickly, and Mercedes can tell he is probably feeling the same thing she is. There are eyes on them. From shuttered windows, peep holes, and mostly-closed doors, she can feel people peering out at them. The air is thick with suspicion and suspense.
“True dat,” Artie comments, softly.
Just ahead, a peal of laughter echoes from an open doorway, as two children run into the street, one of them chasing the other with a large toy dragon head. Their laughter brings a warm grin to Mercedes’s face. But the warmth is stolen just as quickly when a woman hustles out of the house, whispering angrily even as she bodily lifts the two squirming kids and carries them back into the house. She shoots a slightly unnerved look at them before slamming the door.
“Creepy,” Mercedes agrees, “and sad.”
“It’s like everyone is just…” Finn starts.
“Don’t say it,” Kurt interjects, his voice barely above a whisper, but still vehement.
The tall boy clamps his mouth shut, but she can tell that even if he doesn’t say it, he’s still thinking it…
~~~
“Fear is the enemy of Unity,” the Fire Lord says.
“Dragonshit,” Sue coughs in a manner about as subtle as an explosion.
The Fire Lord reacts with little more than a raised eyebrow. “But,” he continues, “Knowledge is the enemy of Fear. Councilor Coleman,” his dad says, turning to the stout man. “You are in charge of the rail system. Tell me; what have you heard spoken about this mysterious plague on the outer islands?”
The Councilor stands, seemingly struggling a bit with his words. “I have heard… many things about the sickness. Some of it is merely strange. The rest is… unbelievable.”
“I would like to hear some examples, if you don’t mind,” the Fire Lord pushes.
The man tilts his head to the side in thought, breathing out through his nose. “Well… some have said that it causes your skin to turn blue, before it sloughs off of you. Others have said that it causes boils that burst open to reveal stinging insects. My assistant once told me…”
~~~
“…it melts your brain, slowly,” Finn overhears as he pushes Artie into the store. ‘Clocks n’ Things’ seemed like as good a place as any to start looking for a replacement cuckoo clock. Plus, the ‘n’ things’ could be all sorts of stuff. “Just before you die,” the voice continues, “it all just squirts out of your ears.”
“Ewww,” a small group of voices choruses, and Finn turns his head to look at them. A few customers have gathered around some girl, and seem to be paying pretty close attention to whatever she is sayi-
“Finn!” Artie whispers vehemently, causing Finn to jerk to a halt just before his friend’s outstretched cast knocks over a table of oil lamps. “Eyes on the road, dude!”
“Sorry,” Finn says, pulling Artie away from the lamps and turning around to find-
“Can I help you?” a really smiley blonde lady says from, like, two inches away from his face. She’s got one of those smiles that looks kind of like it hurts to hold up, and Finn kind of wants to make her sad so she can, like, rest, or something. But then she’d be sad, and he’d feel like a tool, so…
“We’re looking for a timepiece,” Artie says, taking over for Finn, who seems to have forgotten how to talk.
“Oh,” the lady says, turning to him. She leans down to meet him eye-to-eye, and Finn totally would’ve given her credit for that if she hadn’t suddenly started talking to him in baby-speak. “And what kind of cwocky-wocky can we help you with today?” she coos.
Oh, boy. Now Artie has one of those hurty-smiles. “Preferably,” he coos right back, “one that tells timey-wimey!”
The lady looks a little shocked and not quite sure what to do, which (and Finn knows this from experience) is a normal reaction to talking to Artie sometimes, so he returns his buddy’s favor from earlier.
“Uhhhh, we need, like, a bird clock,” he says. “And it needs to be really, really loud.”
At this, she brightens up again. “Oh, I know just the thing!” she says, scampering off towards the back of the store. “Come, this way! You can bring your friend, too, if you want,” she says as an afterthought, and… really? Was she expecting him to just, like, tie Artie to a post and leave him there?
As he heads deeper into the store, he finds himself a little weirded out by all the creepy clocks with eyes, and the ticking quickly threatens to drive him nuts. Weird Smiley Lady is going on about something, but her voice is kind of grating and fake, so Finn tries to focus on something else.
“…get sicker and sicker. And then, you start sweating this… stuff…” It’s the same voice Finn heard before, when they first walked in. “It’s like marinating yourself in butter and honey sauce. Ants from miles around come and eat you alive. That is, if the fever doesn’t get you first…”
“FINN!” Artie shouts, causing Finn to jump, which in turn causes Finn to hit his head on a low rafter.
“Ow!” Finn groans. “What is it?”
“The nice sales lady is asking you if this is the right clock,” Artie says, a little louder than necessary. “Sorry, my friend here is a little deaf. That’s why we need his wake-up call to be so obnoxious.”
“Ohhhh,” the lady says, and now she’s gone from painful smiling to scrunchy-faced sympathy. “IS THIS THE KIND OF CLOCK YOU HAD IN MIND?” she totally yells, like, right into his face. He’s pretty sure there’s some spit on his cheek, but he can’t reach up and wipe it off, ‘cause that’d be rude. Still, ewwww.
“Ewwww,” another group of voices says, and Finn wonders if there is an echo in his head before he realizes it’s coming from the shop customers again.
“Uhhh, yeah, that’s it,” Finn says distractedly. It looks like pretty much the same clock, but all those clocks look similar to him anyway.
“GREAT,” the lady yells at him again. “IF YOU WILL FOLLOW ME TO THE FRONT, WE CAN CHECK YOU OUT AND GET YOU ON YOUR WAY.”
They head up to the front desk, and the lady checks them out with a minimum of shouting. “THANK YOU,” she says after the transaction is finished, dropping their clock into a little paper bag. “PLEASE COME AGAIN ANYTIME.”
Finn just tries to smile away the ringing in his ears, and… ow. It kind of hurts to smile this hard when you’re not really happy... oh. Oh, shit. Is that what they’ve been doing?
“What is with you, yo?” Artie whispers as they head towards the door.
“Sorry,” Finn says again. “Just… distracted.” He isn’t sure why, but his ears zero in on the voice of the girl talking to the customers, catching one more thing as they exit.
“…with the so-called Fire Lord too worried about his precious son to look out for the rest of us…”
~~~
“…singing at the top of your lungs for hours before you finally collapse of exhaustion. If the rumors are to be believed,” the Councilor finishes, and yikes. If any of that is true, this plague is one of the most terrifying things Blaine has ever heard of. If all of it is true… well, it can’t all be true. He’s pretty sure it’s hard for something to grow uncontrollably before exploding and turn purple and fall off. Unless it does one, and then the other, and oh, Agni. This is a thought process he needs to abandon right now.
“Thank you, Councilor,” the Fire Lord says. “Now, Councilor Keros,” he says, turning to the Admiral. “You and your forces maintain the blockade around the islands and enforce the quarantine. Has any of what Councilor Coleman just said matched with reports from your soldiers?”
Keros is a little taller than Coleman, and much thinner, but with a strangely deep voice. “Well, Lord Anderson, my men occasionally spin wild tales, as well. I distinctly remember the part about your eyes liquefying and running down through your nose being mentioned, as well as…”
~~~
“…sneezing so hard, pieces of your lungs start flying out!”
Kurt’s careful fingers pause in their progress of picking through the produce for a moment, so that Kurt’s brain has more power to properly process the expression of disgust appropriate for that strange little outburst. What is that woman talking about?
Taking a second to lean over and look past the fruit bin he was just absorbed in, he notices a young woman with a decent sized crowd gathered around her, seemingly salivating and snapping up every word she utters. “Sun’s sake!” a male voice exclaims loudly. “What a horrible fate!”
“I know, right?” the young woman’s voice replies. “And get this-the Fire Lord doesn’t even care…”
“Getting in on the town gossip?” Mercedes says as she walks up, causing Kurt to jump just a little. “Salacious. Any good scandals you wanna share with me, boo?”
“Oh, Mercedes,” he says. “I was just…”
He starts to gesture to the crowd behind him, but upon turning, he sees the crowd already dispersing, pinched, grumpy expressions on their faces as they grumble to each other in low voices. The young woman is nowhere to be found.
“…nevermind. What’d you pick out?” he asks, changing the subject.
The Earthbender holds up the basket in her arms proudly. “Ash Bananas are in season now, so I got a good batch of those. No more of that unripe bull,” she says proudly. “There’s a good price on Ocean Kumquats, too, for buying them together. Apparently, there’s a sale on today.”
“You always know how to sniff out a sale,” Kurt grins. “Have you tried any of these?” he asks, gesturing to a bushel of berries.
“Oooh,” Mercedes says. “Purple berries! These things cost a ton back home, probably because they get imported from here. They’re good, as long as you don’t mind having a violet riot in your mouth for a few days after you eat them. They make a killer pie.”
“You’ve sold me,” he says, picking up a small basket of his own and filling it with the plump, juicy little orbs.
They bring their haul to the front and pay the man, and the entire time, Kurt can’t help but notice how strangely on-edge he looks. Kurt would almost say he seemed sick, if he wasn’t so very, very careful about using that word nowadays. “Thanks,” the man says distractedly after they pay, glancing around for a few seconds before walking into the backroom of his store.
“Wow. Service with a smile, much?” Mercedes jokes, only slightly offended at the man’s off-putting behavior.
“Some people just don’t understand the importance of repeat business and customer referrals,” Kurt replies. He starts to say more, but out of the corner of his eyes, he catches sight of something…
It’s the woman who was in the grocer’s. Now she’s sitting in front of a tea house, another crowd gathered around her, their faces split evenly between horrified disgust and outraged indignation. A little extra effort, and Kurt manages to catch a snippet of her speech to the passersby.
“…couldn’t believe it myself, but it’s true-the sickness is being spread by the Avatar! He wants to remove the unworthy-”
“You okay, Kurt?” Mercedes asks.
Kurt suddenly realizes that she has been talking this entire time. He tries to mask the instinctive surge of hurt that swells up whenever one hears a lie about themselves. They’re only rumors, after all. “I’m fine, Mercedes. Got a little caught up in the gossip ring again, but it’s nothing worth hearing.”
“Addictive, isn’t it?” Mercedes grins, as they head back to meet with Finn and Artie.
As they turn the corner, Kurt notices the nervous little grocery store owner taking down his SALE sign and replacing it with something else. He tries very hard not to think about what the new sign might mean, even as the words pass out of sight.
INVENTORY LIQUIDATION - EVERYTHING MUST GO!
~~~
“…vomiting copious amounts of slugs before finally passing away due to internal bleeding.” Keros sits down, and Blaine fights a truly epic battle against the urge to puke his guts out. True or not, these are some of the worst things Blaine has ever heard described in such morbidly vivid detail, and his imagination is having a field day at the expense of his stomach. With a pinched expression, he leans back and focuses on his breathing exercises as he listens and tries not to pass out.
“Thank you, Councilor Keros,” the Fire Lord says. “Now, I’m sure many of you have heard similar stories, have you not?”
A murmur of agreement echoes from those seated at the table.
“I thought so. Now, having taken this into consideration, I would like to ask everyone at this table a question. Please, answer honestly-have any of you actually spoken with someone who has been in contact with or close to a diseased person?”
Silence. Despite lingering traces of nausea, Blaine smiles. He loves it when his dad does this.
“I thought not,” he says, simply. “The quarantine is strong and capably managed by the Admiral and all who serve under him. None on the contaminated islands has been allowed to leave them for even a moment. Which is why I would like to thank him for his excellent work… even as I announce that I am ending the quarantine.”
A much louder mingling of shocked noises echoes through the room, and now Blaine is sitting on the edge of his perch, stomach troubles completely forgotten.
“WHAT?” Sue shouts, rising from her seat. “I’m sorry, my ears must be playing tricks on me, I could’ve sworn I just heard you announce that you were extending an open invitation to a bunch of shambling semi-corpses to come and leak their stinking, diseased ichor all over our collective faces. Surely you didn’t say something so outrageously stupid-so egregiously idiotic that I would be required by the laws of common sense to commit ritual seppuku upon hearing them and not doin-”
“That will do, Sue,” the Fire Lord cuts her off. “You have unwittingly made my point for me: even if the rumors are gravely exaggerated, which seems likely, the most common threads among all the rumors describe incredibly obvious and plainly visible symptoms among the diseased. At last report, Keros confirmed with me that even after months of quarantine, the Islands still have some inhabitants. Many of these were caught off guard by the quarantine and are eager to get back to their friends and loved ones after months with not even a word of communication. I suppose a better way to put it would be that I am ‘relaxing’ the quarantine. Those who do not display signs of illness may be disinfected and brought back here.”
“Why? They’re fine where they are!” Sue says. “Tropical paradise! I mean, sure, tropical paradise with a mild chance of slow, agonizing, fluid-filled demise, but…”
“Because, Councilor Sylvester,” the Fire Lord says, “the atmosphere of Fear in this city is slowly tearing it apart. Knowledge is the enemy of Fear-with the people who have survived encounters with the diseased allowed to return home, we will not only reunite families, but have solid, verifiable information on the true symptoms of this outbreak, so that we may put these rumors to rest. Fear is the enemy of Unity-”
“Nonsense!” Sue counters. “Fear is Unity’s soulmate. They go together like dynamite and explosions-one following right after the other, as natural and beautiful as boarcupine mating season is painful. An environment of fear keeps people sharp, makes ‘em think on their toes, forces them to work together against overwhelming opposition and encourages a healthy attitude of mutual hatred even while they do it. Fear is the only way to get Unity off its fat, sagging, wrinkled, jiggling geriatric buttcheeks and into action.”
“Enough,” his dad says, still relatively calm, but with a measure of refined metal in his voice. “The decision has been made. I have weighed the options, and this is unquestionably the best course of action. The Sun is restless. I worry that our people are becoming the same. With the proper precautions, we can put many minds at ease.”
Sue glares at him from across the table. “Fine,” she seethes. “But don’t come crying to me when Junior winds up leaking out of every orifice, dying a slow, painful death just like momm-”
“ENOUGH,” the Fire Lord shouts, as every torch in the room suddenly flares to incredible heights, flames briefly licking the high ceiling before the fires return to their normal levels. Blaine’s own rising anger sputters and dies in the face of his father’s sudden fury. This is the first time he has ever heard his father raise his voice like that.
Sue seems largely unperturbed, and Blaine wants to wipe that smug look off her face himself. “Hit a nerve, did I?” she says. “Well, my apologies, Fire Lord. Good luck with your murder-suicide plot.”
She strolls casually out of the room, leaving the rest of the Councilors in stunned silence. “If any of you have any objections,” the Fire Lord says after a moment, his voice quiet, “I will hear them later. There will be three days before the plan is made official. Keros, I will discuss the specifics with you later. In the meantime, I must ask you all to leave me in peace, for a moment.”
One by one, the Councilors file out of the room, casting furtive glances back at the Fire Lord as they leave. When the last one is out, Blaine watches his father get up from his seat, move to the door, and quietly close it. Walking back over to the table, he places his hands on it and works to calm himself for a few seconds. Eventually, his breathing evens out, and the shadow over his face passes. Blaine smiles as he watches his father’s mastery of the very Firebending technique he taught to his son.
His smile vanishes when his father suddenly adopts a secret grin of his own, and looks right at him.
“You can come down now, Blaine.”
~~~
To Be Continued!
A/N 2: If you missed it the first time, take a closer look at the name of Sue’s firebending academy. ;) Reviews are love!
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