Goose Eggs: The Third

by GalavantingGoose

Summary:

Breaking News: A new installment in the Goose Eggs series has hit AO3. Evacuate while you still can. This is not a drill.

Goose Eggs, Vol. III.

Chapter 1: Hungry

Zuko was hungry, so he looked at Katara. "Honey, is there anything in the fridge?"

"There's a casserole and some vegetables."

"Uh-huh. ...I guess."

He slid off the couch, walked into the kitchen, and opened the fridge door--

He staggered back as a wild title jumped out.

GOOSE EGGS: THE THIRD

"Honey, what did I tell you about buying book titles!"

Chapter 2: Black Talon in: The Silver Serpent, Part II

Summary:

Mai has some free time to kill.

After enjoying her meal, Mai headed into the city and stopped by Shing’s Delights, a yellow flower amidst the fields of green and gray office complexes. Inside, the room was a nice lemon color with cream countertops and an ebony ceiling with silver lamps. The man at the counter in a yellow apron (shocker) smiled at her.

"Ah, Mai. Are you back for the usual?"

"Yep, a dragon pie with cherry tomatoes on top."

"With the special sauce?"

"Absolutely."

Mai stood at the counter waiting as he rummaged underneath the counter for something. He pulled out a round black disc with a red button in the middle. He handed it to her, and she nodded her thanks, walking into the restroom. Sitting in the stall, she pressed the button and disappeared in a flash of bright light.

Blinking her eyes, she found herself in a chrome dojo with guns galore–pistols, shotguns, sniper rifles, and a butcher's delight of knives. Ahead of her lay a gun range with target dummies and bullseyes. On a wall lay a pair of training glasses. She took them, put them on, and grabbed the nearest gun her fingers could find. It was a pistol with a zebra pattern on it. Pulling out the magazine, she found it already loaded and ready to destroy anything in front of her. Standing at her mark, she looked through the sights straight at the heart of a dummy and fired a pair of shots, leaving one hole. She took a few breaths to steady herself before emptying the magazine straight at the hole. It was as if she had guided the bullets through it by hand.

Here she would clear her mind with the sound of blazing gunfire and shredding plastic. It soothed her mind to see confetti sprout from a dummy, to see single dots on a practice target from a full magazine. She looked around, taking in the sight of the room. Eight dummies, four barriers. A perfect row of paper targets on the wall behind them. Bright LED lights on the ceiling, casting them in bleaching white. Then she remembered the room with the orb. The black ring, the temptation to turn to a private practice instead of working for an ancient organization. She pulled out her empty magazine and threw in another one, blasting a pair of targets. 

As she held her smoking gun in her hands, an idea came to her, and her eyes brightened. What if she didn't need to stay on one side of the yawning chasm? What if she could bridge it, find a point in the middle where she could balance the responsibility of the White Lotus with the freedom that contract work could offer her? She nodded to herself. That could be an idea. Do her regular schedule with the White Lotus, and take a job from the ring once in a while.

But first, she would need to finish her routine. Putting back the pistol, she pulled out the grenade launcher. She aimed the steel launcher at a particularly annoying dummy and launched a fifty-millimeter round into its chest. It exploded in a cloud of dust. But as the cloud faded, another dummy stood in its place. It was a tad too loud for her tastes, so she cranked down the volume on a wall display before lowering the explosion brightness. Simulating the heavy weapons wasn’t what Mai would have preferred, but it did help keep the room discreet. Soundproof walls could only do so much, and keeping the shrapnel to a minimum kept her from getting an earful from HG. 

Turning back to aim, she pulled the trigger. Down went another, and another cloud of smoke, and a third had its head turned into dust. Lining her sights on a target in the corner, she turned the paper into vapor and smiled. Now she could have fun. She put away the launcher, pulled out a case of knives, and walked to a glass panel on the chrome wall, hitting a button that had a skull icon on it. With that, the walls faded into nothingness, and the dummies reanimated, walking towards her at first, but then sprinting. 

Mai pulled out a knife and threw it at the closest one. It seized and fell to the ground, spilling out simulated blood. Her knives became a tornado of steel, and a dozen dummies turned into a pile of boneless husks. She stepped back, waited a moment, and the dummies came to life again, positioning themselves in a circle around her. Mai closed her eyes and held her knives in her fingers, throwing them at once.

They pierced every single forehead dead center, and the dummies fell to the ground once more. As if hauled by a metalbender, the knives floated to stop a few feet from her, and she collected them one by one, putting them back into the crate. Now she would need to burn some calories. And so she went back to the control panel and pressed the sprint button. A treadmill grew from the floor before her, and she set it to the extreme mode. 

She kept a good pace of fifteen miles an hour as the dummies came at her one by one. She hurled steel as the treadmill began to turn slowly. They fell as her hands flicked with precision, not even missing a single step as she ran. 

But then she flinched as the machine blurted out, “Tango mode.”

Mai had never heard of that. She shrugged and let her reflexes take over as the treadmill launched her into the air, and she flipped, sending more steel down at her chrome enemies. 

When the last automaton fell, she let out a breath, smiling as she sat down on the floor and breathed. Now was the time for meditation to let her chi flow and return to equilibrium with her chakras, or so her blade instructor had told her. She didn't know the intricate details of the sacred art of meditation, but she knew enough to keep it flowing to her trigger finger. 

She breathed in and breathed out, let her chi flow. In and out, yin and yang, creation and destruction. 

“Let your chi fluctuate and then return to equilibrium.”

As she breathed with the flow of her chakras, she let her mind drift to thoughts of the teachings of her master. 

"Your knife is not a tool of destruction. It is an extension of your body. If you were to touch another without them letting you, do not do even that with a knife. Once your knife is thrown, you must let your qi out and let it return to you for your next strike." 

Then she opened her eyes, picked up a knife, and threw it at another dummy before returning to her meditation. Breathe in, breathe out, contemplate, strike. 

"Your motions must be as efficient as a dove in the ocean. Wasted chi is a wasted life. If you see five targets before you, use five strikes and find five dead on the floor, anything more is a disappointment." 

As her meditation continued, her heart stilled, and her mind was calm, as her fingers lay folded together. After a few more breaths,  she rose, picked up her things, and went to the control panel to press the reset button. In a flash, the destroyed room before her became as spotless as stainless steel.

Stepping out, she pressed the button on the disc, rematerializing in the bathroom and going out to hand it back to the man at the counter, who bade her a good day. Sitting in her car, she tuned the radio to the jazz station and sat back, letting herself be lost in the moment.

“Let all your stress dissipate with the wind.” 

She enjoyed the sound of the bass guitar and the cello as they danced together, weaving intricate notes and harmonizing. Here in her car, she was at peace, letting the music guide her mind into nothingness. Here she would wait for inspiration and then strike when the opportunity came. 

As the minutes passed, her heart became still, and her mind was as clear as crystal. She put the keys into the ignition and set off for home.

As she drove under the flashing street lights, in between the glistening skyscrapers, her mind was fixed on one solitary goal–she would have freedom. She would take the ring and see where the Black Lotus would take her.

Rolling into the parking lot, she coasted to a stop at her reserved parking spot, walked up the stairs to her apartment, pulled out a cigarette from her carton, and lit it on the balcony. With the ring in hand, she took a drag from her cigarette and blew out the smoke into the afternoon air.

She looked down at the ring, eyeing it as if it were a prize diamond. All she would have to do is walk up to it and take it. But still, there was the apprehension in her fingers. Still, there was a slight dread of what the consequences might be.

Sighing, out of breath, she put on the ring and returned to the white expanse. The orb was waiting for her.

"So, Mai, have you come to a decision?"

"Yes. One mission."

"Good. The next time we have an opening, your ring will flash red."

"Wait, you don't have a job for me yet?"

"Well, we do, but we still need to do a little thing called paperwork. Just auto-sign for all of it."

"Okay, if that's what you want."

A bunch of documents materialized before her with her signature on them in perfect cursive.

"That appears to be in order. Are we done?"

"That’s all we need from you. Your next mission will be waiting for your acceptance."

"Good."

And Mai pulled off the ring and sat on the balcony looking over the city.

Below her, the clouds were white as cotton, and in the distance, Cabbage Corp Tower was flashing in the sunlight. She took another drag from her cigarette and let her emotions come to a cool state of peace. Yes, here she would sit and let out every single thought that could rile her into a feeling of dread or second thoughts. The world was at her fingertips; she just had to let go of her fear of looking at what she had. 

If she were to do this side job alongside her regular work, what would it look like? She could take one mission a month from this company and see what that felt like with her current schedule, or she could change her schedule to free up her daily life and let loose. She could take small missions like the surveillance job and make a modest living before she could take on more daring ones. Then she could get bolder as time went on. If she so chose, she could see how hard this new opportunity could get. And if it was too much for her, she could pull back. All of this was up to her and her alone. But someone like Iroh could offer insight into it, so she would take whatever advice he gave.

Mai pulled out her phone and shot Iroh a quick message. 

Black Talon: Looking at contract work with an organization. It's called Silver Serpent. If you don't like them, I will pull out immediately.

The message went unread for a few moments before he saw it and then a blurb appeared on her phone.

Ginseng: I would hesitate before joining them. I know of them. They are a respectable organization, but they can be quite demanding at times.

Black Talon: How so? 

She sat back and thought about it. They had been quite cordial at the beginning, though the man with the giant muscles had been a sign that they could have been a little forceful. So that was concerning.

Ginsing: I will not pass judgment on you if you wish to seek their services, but know that nothing is always as it seems with them. Understood?

She took a final puff from her cigarette before quenching the coals and throwing it in her ashtray. Now what? She could take a walk through the city, but she had already tried that and come across a bunch of crooks. Or she could just read a book.

She hadn't done that in a while. She remembered holding a romance novel at a bookshop, but then she had had to drop whatever she had, as there had been a red alert and a pair of gangsters had taken a tank and occupied a whole city block. She had not been happy. She had had to shoot them with missiles, and she had come back home covered in sweat and miffed that she forgot what books she had ordered.

So she set her mind on finding a bookshop. She opened her map app and found one at random, driving there, tapping the dash as she listened to some nice folk music from the swamp. 

"Sit ‘round the campfire, get your gator's tongue. 

All we have to have is a little fun. 

When you're all up there in the jungle, 

You’ll have a little fun with your uncle." 

Weird.

As the streets zipped by in a blur of color, she stopped at a red light and took a left, coming to a stop in an expansive parking lot and walking to a squat little joint sandwiched between a white drugstore and a rundown Flamin' Noodles store. Tashi's Bookstore. It was written in gold lettering on a boring black overhang with a wide glass window showing dozens of books on bookshelves.

On one of the display stands there was "Detective Sokka,” written by Wang Fire. He hadn't told her he was ghostwriting his own stories. She didn't need to read it. She already knew all of them. 

She sauntered through the door, a bell tinkling as she opened the door. The place was a jungle of books. The carpeting was bland, and a man stood at a glass desk, his froggish green eyes absurdly large behind his Coke bottle glasses. He wore a plain suit with a garish polka dot bow tie.

"Welcome to Tashi's. How may I help you?"

"Just browsing, broadening my horizons, things like that. Is there anything not boring here?"

"That would be up to your tastes. I would suggest perusing the Hot Releases section just over there."

He pointed to a small shelf right next to a corner and she bent down over it. 

June's Hundred Tips to Be the Best Version of Yourself

Chi-Chi’s Spicy Fire Nation Cooking

The Guinan Book of Records

 Boring, boring, boring. She slid her finger across the titles, eventually stopping on a white one that appeared intriguing. “The Life of She, A Criminal Mastermind,” by Chin Shang. 

If it’s boring, I can use it for target practice.  

She slid it out, slapped it down on the counter, and handed the man her credit card as he wrapped the book in some wax paper and handed it to her.

"Thank you for your business."

She nodded, letting out a noncommittal sound, and headed back to her apartment, where she set her phone down on the coffee table and opened it up to the first page. 

"Dedicated to all police officers and investigators."  

The story began with the man's early childhood, so she skimmed that part.

Then it got on to the juicy parts—how in high school, he got involved with a drug trafficking ring. They were called The Green Buzzard-Wasps. He had several stints in prison, coming and going as if through a revolving door. Arson, theft, grand theft blimp. He had it all.

Now, when I got into the bank, all the people in there were as scared as jumping catgators. Under my mask, I felt as powerful as the Earth King sitting on his fancy throne. Of course, the police just had to get there as I was emptying the bank vault. I slipped on a gold coin and fell splat on the ground…

The afternoon passed in a flash, and Mai looked up to see that the sun was low over the horizon. She checked her phone; it was a quarter to 7:00. She looked down at the page she was on. She only had ten to go. 

Now the man was going through rehab and trying to reform his life, but with his cancer eating at his lungs, he fell one week short of parole, and died in the hospital, not from the cancer, but from food poisoning. They had put too much hot sauce in his breakfast.

Sighing and stretching, she snapped the book shut and sat up on her couch. That was an afternoon well-wasted. She was about to open the Ember app when she saw a text notification pop up on the screen. It was a symbol of a snake coiling around a sword.

Encrypted:  We have a mission for you. Should you accept, your code name shall be Ballerina.

Mai: Sure, on one condition. Leave the naming to me.

Encrypted:  As you wish. What is your preferred code name?

Mai thought for a moment, tapping her fingers on the screen. Then she smiled as a light bulb lit above her head.

Mai: Death Blossom.

Encrypted: Your flight leaves from Caldera Airport tonight at 8:45 PM. Do not be late.

Mai: Understood.

She smirked and returned to her book, letting her mind be captured by the story unfolding on the pages for a few more minutes before pulling out her luggage.

Chapter 3: A Helping Hand

Summary:

Aang comes to Toph's aid at her lowest.

"If I needed a hand, I would have told you."

Aang’s eyes were soft as he held out his arms to a frazzled Toph. "But I wanted to give you one."

She crossed her arms on her cluttered kitchen counter. "Well, I don't, so there."

"Oh, why do you have to be so—so this?"

She threw up her arms. "Because that's who I am! Deal with it!"

Aang looked down at his hands, stopping to take a breath. He looked up at Toph to see that she was still frowning. "Toph, I want to help you. You are having a baby, and I don't want to see you carry that burden alone."

But she only glared, though it was half-hearted. "I... I can do this alone, Aang. I can take care of it."

Aang took in her sight once more. She had her hair down and her robes were all askew. The room around them was cluttered with bowls of half-eaten food strewn about. The smell was a mixture of mildew and rotten milk that wafted insidiously. But now was the time to take charge, so he walked over to one of the paper bowls on the table and tossed it in the trash.

"What are you doing, Aang?"

"What does it look like I’m doing?"

She grabbed his arm. "What did I say!"

He pulled away from her. "Don’t care."

But then she bent a metal cuff around his arm.

"Aang, I don’t need your help. I don’t need anyone’s help—" But then her glare collapsed into a trembling frown, and she slipped to the floor.

He caught her in his arms. "Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’ve got you." He rubbed slow circles into her back as she sobbed.

"He left me. He left me and didn’t say anything. Mom was right. I’m... I’m not— I’m never gonna be a good mother."

"Breathe, Toph. Just let it out."

And she did, sobbing out a few breaths before her heart finally calmed.

Sitting back, Aang eyed her softly. "What’s his name?"

She took a few more breaths, inching back to lie against the wall. "His name was Kanto. He was with another department. He was charming, nice sense of humor... but that all ended when we had too much sake a few weeks ago. And when I finally had the guts to tell him, he– He bailed on me. And I don’t know what to do."

“Hey… look at me.” Aang took her hand in his. “We can get through this. You’ll see.”

She let out a sob before wilting into him. They lay there in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the beeping of car horns and the muttering of passersby. After a minute, she tapped his shoulder.

He looked down again to see her smiling, tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Aang. I… how can I—”

He shook his head. “No, Toph. There’s nothing you can offer that I would take. Friends don’t do that. I can help out here if you want. And Sokka will definitely help too.”

“…Okay.”

She slowly let go of him and stood, swaying for a moment before getting her feet under her. 

Aang smiled gently. “Let’s get this place cleaned up, shall we?”

And so they got to work, cleaning up the place—throwing out old food, sweeping, picking up all the clothes and boxes, and tossing them into a dumpster. Once that was dealt with, Aang shot to the phone and made a call to Assistant Wen from the police department. 

“What’s up, Chief?”

“No, it’s Aang.”

“Oh, what do you need?” 

“Could you come over to Toph’s place? She needs some help getting herself together. I know you’re good at makeovers… so could you do that? I don’t want to drop this on you.”

"No, it's fine. I'll be over there in half an hour.” 

“Thank you. You don't know what this means to me."

"Oh, it's nothing."

He hung up the phone and sat back, sighing. 

As she walked into her bathroom to clean up and the shower fwished to life, he could only think of the possibilities. Here he was, a friend and a mentee of hers, and she was stuck in this vulnerable position, and he could help her get out of her rut. But what if she fell into a relapse and gave up?

He shook his head, standing up and trudging over to the kitchen to see if there was anything salvageable. Looking through the cupboards, he found an old bag of rice. Sniffing it, he nodded and set it on the counter before looking through the rest of the pantry. He found some canned beef and some dried vegetables. He pulled out a pot from a cupboard, cleaning it in the sink, filling it, and setting it on a gas stove, clicking the flames to life. Once the water reached a boil, he threw in the rice and stood there, waiting.

Holding his hand to his bushy beard, he smiled, an idea sparking in his eyes. Giving the rice a precautionary stir, he looked around and found a record player with some dusty records. Pulling one out at random, he pulled it out of its dust jacket and enjoyed the sound of the crackling vinyl as the song began. It was an old record of Chong's, and it was nice and groovy, though a little bit cheesy.

As the music played and Toph lingered in the bathroom, he tossed in the meat and the vegetables. The smell was passable, but it was a little salty, and he would have to find something to take the edge off it, so he snuck back to the pantry and found an old bottle of soy sauce. That in hand, he walked back and threw a few dashes in, giving it a taste. It was slightly saltier and the umami flavor was coming out, so he thought of himself as having done a job well done and bent the water out and into the sink, leaving behind a steaming mess of passable food. He set the food in some bowls and covered them with plates. Looking through the cabinets, he found some chopsticks and set them there. He settled for water to drink and poured them some glasses.

Then he saw Toph open the door. Her skin was porcelain, and her hair was glossy with water. He had had inklings before of her beauty, but today he couldn't deny it, but now was not the time. He shook his head at the thoughts and smiled as she came over.

"What do you got there, Twinkletoes?"

"Oh, I made some food. Not the best, but it's the best of what we got."

"Oh, thank you." Her gaze softened. She sat down and took a bowl, lifting a morsel to her mouth. She took an experimental bite. “Eh… it’s okay.”

Aang nodded. “Yeah, but… it’s food. Or do you want takeout?” He wrung his hands, waiting for her judgment.

She shook her head, taking another bite. “I’ve spent too much money on that shit. And… you put your heart into this, so I’m eating it.”

He couldn’t help but beam at her.

And so they sat there, slowly nibbling at their food, the silence surprisingly void of awkwardness—simply heavy with everything left unsaid. But then Toph looked at him, vulnerable once again.

“Aang… I have to know.”

He blinked. “What is it, Toph?”

“I have to know if you’re doing this for me.”

“What do you mean?”

She let out a tired sigh. “What I’m trying to say is… Kanto had this act when we were dating–”

“No, Toph! I would never do that to you. Not in a thousand years.”

Her face melted into a soft smile, and they finished their meal in a contented silence. As Aang was washing their dishes, the doorbell sounded, and he opened the door to see Wen clad in her black police trench coat and holding a small leather bag. The lanky twenty-something’s brown eyes darted around.

“Come in.”

She found Toph sitting on a chair in her living room, with her hair sticking out and her face tired and wrinkled. 

The chief turned her head. “Wen.”

“Chief. Let’s get you fixed up, okay?”

Out came the combs and the makeup brushes and the clippers. Wen set to untangling Toph’s hair, easing through knots and setting it under the metalbender’s hairband. Next, she rubbed cream in her hands, massaging her face before adding a little blush and concealer. Then she gently rubbed her feet. Toph grimaced as she did so, but did not lash out. Then came the clippers, snipping at her toenails, and the polishers rubbing off the rough edges. Finally, Wen pulled out green nail polish and gently painted her finger and toenails.

She pulled out a mirror, but then let it sag onto a table as Toph chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to trust you on that.” Then she hollered over to the kitchen, “Aang, come tell me how I look!”

As Aang shuffled over, he was considering what he should give to Wen for the favor, but then he saw Toph relaxing in her chair as Wen smiled down at her. She was beautiful. Her face was glowing, perfected by pink and blue blush and black eyeliner. Her hair was shimmering in the sunlight, and her hands were asking for– He mentally shook his head.

“Aang, you got a lemur-monkey jumping around in there? How do I look?”

The Avatar stammered for a moment as he struggled to regain his composure. “I, uh– I– You look good… beautiful, even.” He grimaced, waiting for the hammer to fall.

But she blushed. Only for a moment. Then she cleared her throat. “Looks like you did a good job, Wen. You’ve got the Avatar flustered.”

“Hey, I’m not flustered!”

“Just messing with you, Twinkles! But… Thank you, Aang.”

Wen smiled as the pair sat in a pregnant silence. “I’ll let you two be for now. I have a meeting in an hour.”

“Thanks, Wen.”

“Don’t mention it. Anything for the boss.”

As she left, Toph could only sit back and relax, letting all her stress out and sit down. Oh, how it felt good—oh, what a weight off her back it was. Now she could take a moment to breathe.

Toph. Aang looked at her, sitting down at her side. "I just want to make it absolutely clear that you don't have to do anything this week. Take a few days off, let yourself get used to this."

She nodded. "Sure, Twinkletoes, I'll do that."

"And if you need help with cooking or morning sickness or anything, just give us a call. We'll be right there."

"Yep. Now, can you let this gal have a little shut-eye?"

"Sure, sure." He walked out of the room and closed the door. Soon, the sound of snoring could be heard from within, and he peeked through to see her sleeping like a beautiful badgermole.

He slipped out and walked back to the deputy chief's office, where a man with a brown mustache was reading a newspaper.

"What is it, Aang? And why are you back? Shouldn't you be with Toph?"

"She's taking a nap, so I thought I could check in here for a moment. Do you mind if I take my work with me?"

"Have at it."

Piling his scrolls into a bag, he returned to the apartment and threw the bag on the kitchen table.

He pulled out his ink pot and brush, looking through a report on the station's detention score, which had improved quite a lot since they had implemented Toph’s suggestions to add an experimental metalbender force, though that would still have to be subject to a research review. He wrote a few comments in the margins before setting it down to dry.

Then there was a memo from the mayor’s office.

Please give me some details on your plans to reform the police department.

He had spoken out about the low standards in some of the precincts—bad uniforms, corruption, and a general lack of professionalism. But those were isolated cases, so he could think on that one for a moment.

Next, he fished out a message. It was from Sokka.

Aang, do you think we should ask if we could take part in the parade next month? Thanks.

He scribbled a quick " Sure, " and set that one aside.

Yawning, he set down his brush to dry and stood up, pacing for a while before checking on Toph again. There she was, flailed out on her bed like a dead fish. She looked cold, so he rummaged through a few chests to find a nice, fluffy green blanket and used airbending to make it gently float down onto her. She sighed and bunched it in her hands, turning over in her sleep.

Aang stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of her. Her eyes were closed and soft, her smile was gentle, and her breathing was even. It was as if she had never had her personal disaster. Then he looked down at his hands and back up at her side. What was he doing? So he shook his head and walked back out into the kitchen to dive into his work again. He continued to scribble and think and deliberate, perusing some notes from his desk. Then he sighed and set his work down again before going outside to pace. And then he went back inside and sat down to think. 

He looked around at the cabinets and the floor to find anything he could fix. Oh yes, the tiles were dusty and had stains on them. So he looked around for a bucket. Not finding one, he bent out a stream of water from the sink and threw it onto the ground, scrubbing the tiles with circular motions of his hands. He went through every nook and cranny of the floor, turning a dull surface into something so shiny he could see himself in it. Smiling down at his reflection, he summoned all the water and tossed it down the sink. Then he set about dusting the place with a cloth–the cabinets, the cobwebs in the corners, and a particularly dusty fan on the ceiling.

Food cabinets–made tidy; doors–checked for squeaks; clothing–checked for cleanliness. He smelled a few particularly ripe sets of clothing and threw them all into a tub of water with some soap, swirling them around before bending the water out of them and setting them on the clothesline outside. Once all that was done, he plopped himself down on the couch again and stared up at the ceiling, smiling proudly at himself. Now, he should probably get some kind of treat, so he checked to see that she was still sleeping and crept out of the house, stopping at June's Bakery to grab a few buns. 

He set them down on the table when he got back and pulled one out to test it. Then he took a nap of his own. He found himself staring up at a poking finger. In the other hand lay a steamed bun heading straight for pearly white teeth under pale green eyes. “These are good. Where did you get them?” 

He scrambled to a seated position. “Uh, I got them at June's.” 

“They got good custard buns?” 

“Oh, yeah. Reasonably priced, too.” 

She plopped herself down on the couch. “Feels like you cleaned.” 

“Yeah, I had to make myself useful.” 

But Toph sighed. “Aang I appreciate all this, but you don't have to do all of it.” 

“No.” He shook his head. “I'm trying to help you.” 

“I know, I know, but it can be a little excessive, you know.” She punched his shoulder. “Now shoo!”

Aang laughed, rubbing it. “Really?”

 “Yep, Baldy. I’ve got it all under control.” But then her smirk faded, and she gulped. “For now.”

He hugged her, smiling down at her. “Whatever you need, Toph, whenever you need it, I’ll be here, I promise.”

She whispered into his shoulder, “You’d better.”

As they broke the embrace, her smirk returned. “Now go out there and kick some ass!”

“No, I’m on desk duty today.”

“Then kick some paper ass!”

“Will do, Toph.”

He grabbed his things and shuffled out of her apartment, turning to give her one last look of concern as she shut the door.

Throwing herself on her couch, she set her hands on her abdomen, a jolt of fear coursing through her, but she banished it, setting her face in stone. But the fear still lingered.

Chapter 4: Morning

Summary:

Zuko has a bittersweet morning.

Zuko stood at his counter, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He pulled a piece of toast out of his bread drawer and stuck it in the toaster, pushing it down. There he stood, waiting for the piece of bland bread to transform into a crunchy delight.

Last night had been torture to his soul. He had been forced to watch a bunch of kids' movies with Kya, and now all he wanted to do was spend the morning thinking of nothing at all. But, of course, he would have to man up and be the dad he was supposed to be.

He turned to the fridge, opened the door, and pulled out a jar of jelly. Then he went to the counter, put down the jelly, and pulled out a jar of peanut butter. Soon enough, he heard the satisfying clink of the toast jumping out of the toaster, and he pulled it out and put it on a plate. Knife in hand, he scraped a generous amount of jelly onto it, then dropped a glob of peanut butter onto it, swishing it around with the knife.

He pulled a jar of instant coffee from a cupboard and poured it into a glass of water. He threw that into the microwave for a minute and swished it around before putting in a few drops of milk. Now was the time for his meal, so he strolled into the living room, looking out the glass windows before him to see a beautiful sunrise. He sat down on a red Lazy Boy chair and lifted the steaming glass of coffee to his lips, sighing at the nice earthy smell. Then he dug into the toast, crunching down on it.

It was nice and crisp with a slight burnt flavor that he loved, and the peanut butter and jelly were having a marriage of sweet and salty in his mouth. He let out a contented sigh at the simple delight of the meal. He took another bite before pulling out his phone to check his email. No new news from Uncle or Azula. Good. Then he turned to the Ember App, checking for his favorite subscriptions, Swordplay and Politics, but no new uploads. Osaka's Daily News was yet to make a video this week, and there hadn't been a good tournament in a while, so he sighed. He put down the phone and took another bite, savoring the flavor.

Then he closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself bask in the silence of the morning, listening to the chirping of the flutterbats and the chittering of the squirrel-foxes outside. They were getting a little raucous out there, so he would have to look into that, maybe even call an exterminator. But Aang would be upset if he ever heard about it, so that would have to be on the down-low.

He took another sip of the coffee and looked down at the Water Tribe carpet on the floor. It was blue and white, with small red threads. It had been a gift from Gran-Gran at their wedding, and it had gone to good use being the napping spot for Kya and Izumi when they were grumpy. It had a small burn mark on it in the corner from when Druk had belched fire down at it. They had needed to jump in to put out the fire, and the twins had bawled for twenty minutes.

As he sat there enjoying his meal, he couldn't help but think of his wife's smiles, of all the times he would do something he considered small, but she would praise him for: taking out the garbage, redoing the kitchen floors, and even writing a thank-you note to her for tucking in the kids when he was tired. She enjoyed making him happy and hated when he came home tired.

Last week, he had driven fifty miles from a work project and had no time but to slump out of the car, hobble through the house, and throw his limp body down onto the bed. He remembered seeing her lean over him and whisper her love into his ear before kissing his cheek and patting him goodnight. He had dreamed sweet dreams that night, full of endless oceans and beautiful blue eyes.

Now he had to wake up, so he drained his coffee and walked through the house to his study. It was his half-day off, so he could do whatever he wanted as long as he checked his emails. As he opened his laptop and sat there thinking of all the things he could do with his free time, he saw the door creep open and looked down to see a beautiful golden eye peering through.

"Daddy?"

"What is it, Sparkbug?"

And his two daughters crashed into the room, hopping onto him to give him a hug.

"Good morning!” 

Kya was a chip off of Katara, and Izumi was the spitting image of his mother. They were wearing pink pajamas, and he couldn’t help but smile at how adorable his little princesses were. 

“Good morning, loves. What are you going to do today?"

Kya was like a bur, hugging him tightly. "We're going to go to Grangran's and play with some otter-penguins."

"Oh, really?"

"Are you going to see Uncle Sokka, too, and Aunt Azula?"

Izumi beamed. "Yeah, and they're gonna show us their ventions."

"Oh, their ventions?"

"Yeah, like their flying house and the shotgun they made."

"Oh, really?" He grimaced a little at that, but he played along. "Are you gonna see Grampgramp, too?"

Kya nodded. "Yeah, and we're gonna go outside and play in the snow and eat seal jerky. It's gonna be so fun, Dad."

"Oh, I know. Say hi to them for me and tell Grangran I love her."

"We will.” 

“Now you better go back to your rooms and get ready or Mom's gonna be so upset."

"We know."

They groaned and skittered out of the room, and he opened up a Word document to see a blank page staring at him as if it wished for him to write a thousand words in a mere moment. He sat there trying to think of something to write, but then he thought of this little girl's smile, how their teeth twinkled and their eyes sparkled.

So, he slammed his laptop shut and walked out and up the steps to their rooms.

He turned and opened the door to see the two girls sitting on the floor as their mother looked down at them.

"Okay, now you need to get dressed and eat your breakfast, and then we can go."

"Yes, Mommy."

She turned to see him sneaking a smitten smile through a crack in the door, and the girls smiled.

Katara came over and took his hand in hers. "How was your breakfast, honey?"

"Oh, it was delicious."

“Just the way I like it.”

“You know, we have a bunch of food in the fridge.”

“Yeah, but it’s simple, and I enjoy simple things.”

“Okay. Are you sure you can’t go?”

“Yeah. I’ve got more work.”

“It’s the second week already.”

“I know, but they like to keep me down with busywork. I’ll see if I can come next time.”

“Okay.”

She pecked his lips, and he went downstairs to wait for them as they got ready. Soon, they were filing out the door after giving him cute little hugs. Katara gave him one last longing look before they went outside, jumped in their car, and drove off into the horizon.

He sat there looking at them with sadness in his eyes. But then he stood up with his shoulders back, head straight, and slouched back inside to his office.

There, he looked through more emails before drafting a document. As he typed away at the keys, he could only imagine them smiling and laughing as their grandmother told them about their great adventures. And then he could see them playing with otter penguins.

He sighed. Then he shook his head, getting himself back into the moment he would need to focus. So he put on some earbuds and played some white noise—a rainstorm to wash away the longing for family.

And he continued to type away, adding notes and checking references, drafting and redrafting. After a while, he sat back and stared at the white screen, bored as a log drifting in an endless sea.

As the minutes ticked by, he continued to plug away at his work. Soon, he got an email from his manager telling him to take the day off, and he sat back with a sigh, knowing it would only be for the afternoon.

He walked back into the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for anything that interested him. He found a bowl of chili, threw it into a glass bowl, and chucked it in the microwave. Sitting down on the couch with a lonely bowl of chili and a half-empty bottle of soda, he opened his phone and sent a text to Katara: It's only been two hours, and yet I still miss you.

She took a moment to respond, but then he saw a heart emoji pop up on the screen. We’ll be back soon.

He sighed. It would only be a few days with those public eternities, and he simply wanted to fly over their land and grab his family into a hug, though he knew it was a madman’s dream at the moment.

He was a salaryman, and he just had to get each assignment done, please his boss, and finally find enough vacation time to enjoy a few quiet moments with his family on Ember Island—but all that was still to come.

He sighed once more. His lunch break was over, so he scarfed down his food and went back to his study for any lingering tasks he had before his boss forced him to lie down and end his day—but he knew there was always something he could do to push the limit and gain an edge. But then his phone vibrated again. It was his boss.

“Take the weekend, too. I just reviewed your progress report. You’ve earned it.”

He stood in shock for a few heartbeats before stammering out, ‘Uh, th-thanks, boss. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“You're welcome. Now go enjoy the rest of your day.”

Hanging up the phone, he scrambled to open the message app and type out, “Honey, they gave me the weekend. I’m coming.”

When he finally got into the car, he looked to see his girls smiling with glee, and he would treasure that sight in his mind’s eye until his dying breath.

Chapter 5: Pick up your brush

Summary:

Iroh discusses important matter with Zuko in a peaceful forest.

As Zuko walked through the forest, he could smell the flowers being the sap dripping from the trees. It was a delight to the senses, and a smile graced his lips for the first time in a while. He took a moment to let himself be enveloped by the world, and he breathed in and out, nothing but him and the greenery. There was no Avatar; there was only the peaceful quiet, and he was taking as much time as he waited--

“Prince Zuko, I see you are enjoying the beautiful sights. Might I join you?”

Zuko seethed, turning to his uncle. “I was having a nice moment to myself, and you had to go and ruin it!”

“I ruined it?”

“Just… go somewhere else, please?”

“No, I think I can salvage this situation. Let me try once more.” And Iroh stood there, making the situation less salvageable.

And Zuko walked away, fuming.

Iroh looked on in bewilderment.

Then, Zuko returned to his reverie. He sat down, drinking in the sights and sounds, stoking his chi. He let his breath flow in and out, calming himself. Soon, he was one with his flame, and all was peace. Well, not everything, certainly. There were a few kinks to flatten out, like the fact that his uncle had dared to ruin his peace. But that was in the past. Now was the all-enveloping present. Nothing would break into his chamber of inner calm—

“Would you want me to bring you lunch? We’re having noodles.”

He seethed once more, stopping himself to address his uncle. “Fine, but be quiet about it! And no more distractions! Is it too much to ask?”

“Sometimes.”

“Just go!”

“Okay, okay! I will leave and only mildly disturb your meditation to bring you your food, and nothing else.”

Zuko’s mouth was a thin line as he tapped into his sarcasm. “Thank you.”

Then he returned to his reverie, thinking about his life, his troubles, his burdens. He had been tasked with finding a legend, and now he was caught in the mire that was navy life. Dealing with stupid sailors, haggling with traders, disciplining traitors—of which there were many. Every month, it seemed there were rumors of Avatar sightings, which would only lead to dead ends. It was as if the spirits themselves were mocking him.

He exhaled smoke. He wouldn’t have it! He would find the Avatar, take him to his father, and reclaim his rightful place as crown prince of the Fire Nation. Hopefully. He wished... He crept to a tree and banged his head against it. Who was he trying to fool? It had been two and a half years, and nothing had come of his efforts. He was the laughingstock of the world, and nothing could change his luck.

But he had made a promise to his mother, a promise that he would never break in ten thousand years—never give up without a fight. And he wouldn’t.

Sighing away the thoughts of his pains, he focused on the sounds of the trees, of the birds and bugs and the breeze. The light through the canopy cast his skin in a verdant hue, and the air was filled with the scent of oak-pine. 

“Breathe in, breathe out, let your will meld with that of the world.”

He remembered that from the eccentric guru at the Eastern Air Temple. It had done him wonders—whenever something broke on the ship, whenever he made a mistake during firebending training, when his father sent a letter informing him that his mission’s funds were being reduced to help with the war effort. It was his lifeline in the turbulent waters of his daily life, and he would hold onto it to his dying breath.

A twig snapped, and he turned to see Uncle carrying steaming bowls and cups. As he had promised, Iroh said not a word as he set down their meal. They ate in silence as the birds chirped on and the wind played with the trees and the grass. It was a moment to do nothing but listen as the world sang its song. The noodles were nice and spicy and greasy, and the gentle clink of china was a nice accompaniment to the birdsong and the whirling of the branches. As he listened to the symphony of nature, he returned to the realm of his ruminations. 

Now he thought of his sister, the prodigy, the darling of the nation. She had probably mastered the cold fire by now and solidified her status as the true heir of their father. He was the downtrodden firstborn son, always disappointing, never good enough to catch a single upturn of his father's lips. He had not remembered seeing his father's smile for a long time. His father's affection had only been reserved for the times on Ember Island, when he had too much to drink and had broken his cool facade to show a spark of fatherhood. 

Now, all of that was but dust in the wind, and all he could hope to do was capture the Avatar and lay him before the Fire Lord in the hopes that he would be appeased. But that was never a sure thing, as his father was a choosy man, and he could simply change his mind and throw him in prison. His word was law. So, he could—

“Zuko?” 

“What?”

“What’s on your mind? I know that face. Something is troubling you.” Zuko did not say anything, and that got another stare. "It is better to let the steam out of the teapot than stop it up and risk it boiling over.” 

Zuko sighed. “Do you have to make a proverb out of everything?” 

“Yes. Now, what is bothering you?” 

Zuko looked down for a long moment before meeting his uncle's concerned gaze. "I'm just thinking about my life…”

“Yes?” 

“...How Father doesn't love me.”

“Why would you say such a thing, Zuko? Your father loves you.” 

“Not in the way that he loves Azula.” His eyes were full of pain as he looked out into the rustling forest. “Everything she does gets the highest praise, but I've never gotten as much as a simple nod of acknowledgement from him. It's as if I'm just an afterthought.” 

Zuko looked to Iroh for an assuaging answer, a reassurance that he was simply overthinking things, but there was nothing. He was only listening patiently. 

“Uncle, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he loves me.” 

“It’s true, Zuko. I've wanted to tell you myself for the longest time, but you have never been the most receptive.” Zuko frowned at him stiffly, but there was still openness in his eyes. “Yes, your father has never loved you. He only sees you as a means to an end, just as he does your sister. Now with all that said, what will you do now, Zuko?”

Zuko held his head, shaking it. “I don't know, Uncle. I don’t know. What am I going to do? I can't go home, and this quest has no purpose now. I've been looking for the Avatar for two years and haven't found a single piece of evidence that leads to anything more than hoaxers and old wives’ tales.” 

As they sat there, Zuko waited for his uncle to give him a single morsel of wisdom, but Iroh was taking his time looking at his nephew with kind eyes full of affection. “I think you need to sit here longer and listen to the spirits.” 

“Uncle, what does that even mean?” 

“Take some time to empty your mind of all the worries you have. Just as you were doing before, take in the sounds of nature. Listen to the creaking of the cricket-moth, and once you're fully rested, I know you'll come up with a plan.” 

“Why are you so confident in me, Uncle?” 

Iroh smiled. “Because I know who you are. I gave you your knife. You have always picked yourself up every time you fell, and this is no different. The future is uncertain like a blank page, but that is because it is waiting for you to fill it with your adventures. Pick up your brush, Zuko. I know you will write a great story.”

As they ate in silence, Zuko let the words simmer in his mind. He only needed to pick up the brush. But what if he made a mistake? What if, instead of a beautiful poem, he wrote a scrawling screed? A pathetic piece of pablum. 

He stopped. Why was he thinking these things? He was Prince Zuko, the Fire Nation's son of Fire Lord Ozai and Lady Ursa. He would overcome this, even if he failed several times. He would rise up and climb it, reach its top, and plant his flag in it. He would find a new path, take it, and see what new horizons lay at the end of it.

“I will, Uncle.”

“I am proud of you, Zuko.”

And they sat there, listening to the cricket-mice and the ravenjays, enjoying the sunlight.

Chapter 6: Black Talon in: The Silver Serpent, Part III

Summary:

Mai travels to Caldera City.

After a nice evening of takeout, cigarettes, and alcohol, she packed her bags and hopped into her car, heading for the airport. The night sky was cloudy, and rain was peppering the rooftops and covering the streets in moonlit puddles. Looking out at it, Mai hoped the dreary sight wouldn't be an omen of her future. She shook her head. 

No, this was an opportunity to explore new horizons, to let herself take a dip in the vast ocean instead of sequestering herself to a life of service to a secretive organization. Well, they were both secretive, but this one had a better offer, more freedom and flexibility. She imagined herself sitting down at a spa with a drink in hand as she pressed the reject button on an offer. Yes, she could see it now. No more saving the world at the drop of a hat, more time to let herself unwind and drink in each minute, growing roots. She could finally sit around her house and let the dirt seep into the carpet instead of smelling the pervasive scent of fake lemon-lavender. Could have more time to doodle, walk in the park, or sit on her couch with a fifth and a splash of limon juice.

She looked ahead at the great lights flashing in the darkness, hearing the sounds of the jets flying off into the sky, the whoosh and the sonic boom that followed. One passed overhead, its twin lights flashing red. Walking out of the car and making her way to the private jets, she pressed the button on her phone, which flashed green as she strolled up to the plane. 

A man in a black suit nodded to her. "Greetings, Death Blossom. Welcome aboard."

She gave him an absent nod as she climbed the steps and took in the interior. It was a nice deep blue with white accents, and a voice came over the sound system. It was the orb guy.

"Oh, Lady Mai, how nice of you to join us. Tea, soda?"

"Give me your hardest stuff with a bunch of olives, thank you."

"Of course. Would you like anything else? We have the finest catering money can buy."

"I'll have a ramen bowl with some hot sauce. And a cigarette."

"This is a no-smoking plane."

"That's too bad." She pulled out a cigarette from her purse and took a drag from it.

"But it's company policy."

"If you want my services, you'll need to make an exception."

"Fine. Now, your next mission is in the Fire Nation. A banker, Yan, has decided to defect to the Earth Kingdom, but he has a little unfinished business here: a few black market deals to make. He has sent a few minions to take care of his associate, Mr. Wen." 

A picture of a man with a white goatee appeared in yellow light on the table before her. She frowned at her ice as she took a sip of her whiskey. It was a nice drink, and the olives somehow paired quite nicely with it.

"Go on."

"We need you to neutralize the men, taking whatever steps necessary to do so. If you do it with minimal casualties, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Got it. Kill them, and get out without causing a fuss. Anything else?"

"Now, we have a wide variety of weapons to offer you. What do you think you need to accomplish this task?"

"A few machine guns, maybe a couple of grenades. Nothing too serious. I've dealt with worse with less."

"Good. Now, we have a nice set of Kevlar armor that will stop almost anything they can shoot at you. Would you like to try it on?"

"Sure."

A dummy wearing a black and white suit appeared out of the wall, and the armor fell from it as if falling through a cloud. Mai took off her coat and put on the armor, looking at a mirror in the corner. She smiled at the zebra-lion design, and then she looked at the orb.

"Would it hurt to do a demonstration?"

"Sure, sure. Not a problem."

Another dummy came from the other wall, and a gun popped out of a cushion. It shot a bullet at the dummy, and the bullet bounced off it, not a mark to be seen. Mai smirked; her last set had stretch marks.

"Could I try that gun?"

"Sure, sure." 

The robotic hand held out the gun to her and she took it, aiming it at the suit. She aimed and fired, and more lead bounced. The bullet lay on the floor, a flat disc. She picked it up, feeling its warmth. 

She felt the cool fabric on her skin. "What kind of material is this?" 

"Oh, that is a new mixture of Kevlar and carbon nanotubes. Of course, the recipe is quite secret. We wouldn't want it to get into the wrong hands, would we?"

"You can say that again. Now what sniper rifles do you have on the menu?"

"We have several, but our standard issue rifle is the MK-6. It is accurate to within two feet from two kilometers."

"Nice. I'll have one of those. And do you have any gadgets fit for an agent of my expertise?"

"We are aware of your extensive repertoire, so we have come prepared." A black suitcase zipped out of the cushion next to Mai, and it opened to reveal a dozen ninja knives: throwing knives, shuriken, wrist-mounted bolt launchers. She took the launchers and snapped them on, testing them on one of the dummies. When her knives hit one dead in the eyes, she sat back, smirking.

"That is quite impressive aim, Agent Mai. I am sure your teachers are quite proud of you."

"Yeah, though my parents are definitely not. They would be rolling over in their graves if they finally croaked."

There was a long moment of silence as the orb sat there. It coughed, turning to the display before them. "Anyway, your mission is clear: infiltrate the Dao Yen Compound on Tea Street, wait for the hostiles to arrive, and let the fireworks begin."

"Festive. I like it."

"Yes. Even though we deal in deception, blood, and violence, our calling card is to have a little fun with it. What's the point of killing if you can't let loose? If you are successful, your fee will appear in your bank account discreetly. It will be untraceable, so you won't have to worry about the tax man looking into shady activity."

"Noted."

"Now, get some rest, Agent Mai. You'll need it."

"Yeah, yeah. Lights out."

Or so she said. When the orb faded into a speck of light, she took a moment to look at her phone, checking the weather, Ember, where she found a few cute videos about catgators and chick-possums, then she looked through her email folder, where she found a coupon for the Jasmine Dragon with the message, 

“Stop by for a drink. I'm available anytime. -Iroh.”

Aw, how sweet.  

She sent him a quick response, saying she would welcome the offer, then she relaxed to the sound of calming ocean waves and chittering birds. Mixed with the gentle hiss of the jet engines outside, this soothing symphony sent her drifting off to the land of dreams, where she found herself dancing on a giant knife with a pair of fruit tarts in her hands.

When she awoke, she looked out of the window to see the beautiful blue sky of the city she had fond memories of. It was just like the day she had sat by the docks and played dice with a few old men. Her parents hadn't been very happy, but she hadn't cared in the slightest. She had been stepping into her new shoes of freedom at the time, and they had felt nice and soft, with a nice bounce in her step. She had had an enjoyable afternoon and had won a nice handful of copper coins, which she had safely stashed away in her room. That had gone towards a few fruit tarts. 

Yawning away the memories, she sat up in her seat.

"Good morning, Agent Mai. How was your sleep?"

"It was nice. Now, do you have a car waiting for me?"

"Just outside."

She grabbed her suitcase and walked down the steps to the tarmac, spotting a green BMW. Fancy. She opened the back door and slumped in, sitting down and seeing a tall man with a black mustache in the rearview mirror.

"Good morning, Death Blossom. Have you had your briefing?"

"Yes, they want me to dispatch some underlings without staining my dress."

He huffed a laugh. "Yeah, that about sums it up. Now, we'll stay at HQ until the fireworks start, so you might want to get comfortable."

She nodded. "I know. Now let's get this thing started, shall we?"

"As you wish." And he shifted into gear and drove them off into the city.

Caldera was beautiful this time of year, with the palm-ginkgo trees blooming, and the sunlight shimmering off the side of the caldera. The towers were silver in Agni's light, and the traffic was calm. The cars clucked like pig-chickens, and the pedestrians were chugging their coffees. At a red light, the man looked at her again.

"Do you want anything? Fu's Bakeshop is up ahead. My treat."

She smiled, picturing a nice bun inching towards her lips. "Aw, are you spoiling this girl?"

He crinkled his eyes. "Just a welcome offering. For joining the team."

They parked at a cramped little thing Ty Lee would probably enjoy. It was a pink and white storefront with flowing calligraphy on the windows.

Jumping out of the car, they strolled inside to see more pink and glitter. A twenty-something woman with half-moon glasses stood behind the glass display counter brimming with treats. Mai could smell the coffee, her feet following her nose.

There were mochi, fruit tarts, cream tarts. All the tarts. And Mai's mind was all aflutter. Cookies, cakes, candied fruit, pies...

"May I take your order?"

She looked up to see the woman staring at her boredly and the chauffeur smiling awkwardly.

She stepped up to the counter, giving the woman a sharp stare. "I would like three tarts, one cherry-plum, one apple-pear, and one cream. And a tall black coffee."

"And I'll have a house blend with a peanut butter cookie."

The woman pulled them out one by one, stuffing them in a pink bag and slapping it down on the counter. "That'll be twenty yen." He handed her a Dragon Express card. "Thank you for coming to Fu's Bakeshop."

As they walked out of the shop, Mai smiled thinly. "She's something."

He made a noncommittal sound. "She must be new."

As they zipped through the rest of the journey, Mai took a sip of the coffee. It was a tad too bitter for her taste, but it was passable, and she needed the caffeine. She could feel it coursing through her veins, enlivening her spirit and replenishing her chi. She pulled a tart out of the bag at random and bit into it. A tsunami of cream flooded over her palate, and she let out a hum of contentment.

"Thanks for this."

"No problem. It's not every day you get to drive around a world-famous spy."

"Isn't that your job?"

"Well, our people prefer more elegant modes of transportation."

"Such as?"

"Oh, you'll see. I don't want to ruin the surprise."

"Fair enough."

She looked out the window as a man in a green suit danced around in circles on the corner. He was holding a sign for cactus juice smoothies. What a weirdo.

"So, what are your plans with this organization?" At her stare, he held up a hand. "Not to pry or anything. Just curious."

She took another bite of her tart, mulling over the question. "I'm looking for contract work, nothing too demanding."

"What, is your current job too much for you?"

She clenched a hand, frowning out the window, then sighed.  "It's fine most of the time, but the hours can be a bit much, and I'm getting bored with the on-call horse-bullshit."

He nodded. "Yeah, I can relate. Anyway, we're here."

She looked out to see a concrete parking garage looming over them. They drove in, but instead of searching for a parking spot among the hordes of cars, they drove down to the lowest level. In the dim light, the car coasted to a corner and stopped.

The man pressed a few buttons on the dashboard, and they descended into the ground with the thrum of machinery. As they slipped beneath the pavement, they were soon met with stainless steel walls. Finally, they came to a stop in a great black expanse, lit with blue LED lights. It was circular in form, with doors at each corner (somehow), weapon stands everywhere, and television displays showing world maps and mug shots. A man in a black suit was standing a few feet away.

"Greetings, Death Blossom." He had a stout figure, a bushy black beard, and scintillating green eyes. "Welcome to the Silver Serpent."

Chapter 7: Riches

Summary:

A humble farmer stumbles upon a wondrous treasure.

Dig row, plant seed, cover with dirt. Dig row, cover with dirt, plant seed. Oh, that was a mistake.

Chong was standing in the middle of his family field when he looked up to see the scorching sun. It was nearly lunchtime, so he could be refreshed with a nice cup of cherry apple juice, a little beer, and some meat and rice. Yes, that'd be fun—a nice respite from the heat of the day. he continued to scatter seed and cover it over with dirt.

He looked down at his clothing. Green and brown work clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. His farmer's hat was wide-brimmed, keeping out most of the sun, but his legs were not so lucky. His sandals were caked with dirt and needed lots of tender care to return them to the state they had been only just last week, when his mother had repaired them. She would be so upset the next time he came begging to her to repair them.

He let out a breath and reached into his sack to pull out more seed. Soon, the lunch bell would ring, and he would scamper off to find his sustenance. Yes, delicious sweet rice from last year's harvest. Oh, how he wondered. He stepped on a weird stone, and the ground fractured beneath him, setting him tumbling down into a dark cave where he hit the ground with a hard thunk. He lay there for a long while, dazed and confused.

As Chong sat there, he could only breathe and try to regain his senses. Everything was hazy. Everything was pain. What just happened? What was going on? He looked up to see a deep cavern, lit by the faint light from the hole in the ceiling. The ground around him was covered in black rocks, and the walls were red as adobe.

Rubbing his head, he looked around to see if he could find any handholds to climb back up to the surface. Seeing none, he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted as hard as he could.

"Help! Help! Anybody, help!"

Silence. Oh, great. They must have all gone to lunch early. Sighing, he sat against a hard stone wall and held his hat in his hands. He could take the time to take a nap and let his pain lessen. Let the pain fade. He rubbed his chin, trying to remember what had happened. He had been daydreaming, thinking of lunch, when all of a sudden the ground had failed him, and now he lay here in the cold, dark cave. Oh, that part of it was nice. It was a balm to his skin to feel cold cave air. Breathe in and breathe out. Calm yourself. They will be here in a moment, and you will be out with a bowl of delicious food.

As he continued to ponder and daydream, he looked ahead to see something quite peculiar on the ground. It was a clay pot, unbroken. He went over, knelt down, and touched it. It was full.

He lifted it up and looked inside. There was a ball and some coins. It was gold. He rubbed his eyes. He was amazed, disbelieving. He shook his head. This must be a dream. He was against the wall, napping. This was all a nice daydream as he sat in the cool shade of a ginkgo tree, yes. But still, it would be nice to explore the dream.

So Chong reached his hand in and pulled out a handful of clinking gold coins. They had the face of a king he did not know. And he could not read the inscription, but he took a bite of it, and it definitely tasted valuable. Now, if this were here... He stood up and walked forward in the dim light, looking around for anything that might catch his eye.

Over there, in the darkness, he found a depression. It did not look like any ordinary cave formation. Step by step, he explored it, finally reaching a staircase. Now, he knew there was something, something promising. Riches whispering into his ears that if only he went further, he would find a king's bounty. Down the steps he went, as if in a trance, further and further, until he could no longer see. And when he wanted to turn back, he heard a whisper down in the depths.

"Hello, adventurer."

Turning to the voice, he saw a pair of bright green eyes in the darkness.

"Who are you?"

"Oh, who am I? I am the one who grants all your heart's desires."

"You're a fortune spirit?"

"You could say that."

The green eyes came forward, and in the dim light, he saw a fair woman with long black hair and a pale face. She was wearing a long green robe that tapered down to her feet. Her hands looked soft, and her fingernails were painted a dark obsidian. She smiled sweetly.

"Now, do you want this treasure, or is there something else you had in mind?"

He looked around to see mounds of gold everywhere, and two bright torches came to life, showing the gold in all its splendor. It was more than a king would ever dream of having in ten lifetimes. He was in pure shock. He looked around, blinking as if waiting for a dream to end.

"I... What do you mean, something else? This is more than I could ever want."

"Is that so? Then take it."

"But this is more than I could ever carry."

"Oh, all you have to say is yes, and it will follow you wherever you go."

"Wherever I... is it going to just... show up?"

"No."

She snapped a finger, and all the gold disappeared. In her hand lay a single copper coin.

"All you'd have to do is rub this with your finger, and all the gold you'll ever need will be at your fingertips."

He stooped down to take the coin from her hand, but then he stopped. He had heard many spirit tales where a man found great fortune at a terrible cost. Limbs broken, mind driven insane, eyes popped out.

"Is that all? Tell me what will happen to me if I take this. There’s always a cost."

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all."

"Speak plainly."

"I am being as honest as the sun is bright, though it is quite a heavy load to bear."

"What do you mean?"

"Greed, avarice, lust. All these things come from having too little of something or too much. Now consider how much you will have and what others will do to take it from you."

He stood there, and thoughts of his friends rushing to his side, begging for scraps, flashed before his eyes. Then robbers and thieves stealing his things. But he could simply hire some mercenaries to protect him.

"Yes, I will accept your offer."

He took the coin, put it in his pocket, and turned to leave, but then he remembered. He didn't have an exit, but she seemed to read his mind.

"You will find a way out, believe me."

Taking that in mind, he walked back up the path to find a staircase come to life, leading to the surface. He walked up the sandstone steps, finding the world as it had been when he fell through. Nobody asked him where he had been. It was as if the past ten minutes had not happened. He reached into his pocket to make sure he hadn't been dreaming, and he found a copper coin with the inscription "LUCK." The woman's face lay on it, smiling up at him. He set it back into his pocket and continued about his day.

He had a fine meal, talked with his friends, and went back to his hovel on the outskirts of the village. A wooden straw shanty, it was a clumsy step away from being a pile of sticks, but it was his home, and now he could move on from it with his riches. Sitting under the patchy roof with a cozy fire under his tent flap, he held the coin in his hand, looking at it in disbelief, but then he rubbed it three times and thought of all the riches in that cave. Then a hole formed in the ground. It was a staircase, freshly earth-bent.

Step by careful step, he made his way down into the hall to find a well-lit room full of gold, silver, and jewels. Not just coins, but trinkets, helmets, swords. It was a horde of the ages. Grinning with glee, he ran about, picking up the coins and feeling them to see if they were real. He pulled out a jian sword and swung it. The blade felt sharp, and it shone in the lantern light.

Now, his secret was something he should hold deep in his heart. But he could splurge a little, so he grabbed a handful of silver coins, looking for something to hold them in, and he found a pouch on a table. Pouring the coins into it, he enjoyed the satisfying jingle they made as he walked back up the steps, sat down, and rubbed the coin thrice more. With a whoosh and a flash, the ground was flat earth as before. He smiled. Yes, he could get used to this.

It would be his little secret, and he could enjoy a sumptuous meal once in a while. He could have the good life while living a mean one. Enjoy a skin of the choicest wine with his barley and buckwheat. But there was still the niggling thought of what she had told him. The temptation to greed. The risk of ruination at the hands of a scoundrel and a thief.

What foolish fears! Nobody would be any the wiser if he pulled out a silver piece once in a while. So that was what he did. He set down his pouch on the ground and hid it under a sack. And with a silver piece in his hand, he made his way to the bar. There in the dimly lit tavern, he ordered himself a piece of red meat with some ale and a sweet cake. As he looked down at the sizzling delight, he could only smile greedily at his fortune. He dug in and returned to his hovel to sleep the night away.

Then his life took on the routine of a prince disguised as a pauper. He would toil and sweat during the day, but not too much. He wasn't working for a livelihood. It was a charade now, an act done by a theater player with a hoard of gold behind the stage. He would join in with his friends' moans and complaints about the working conditions, but he would return to his hovel, where he had bought a nice jug of rice wine. And so he would sip on it in the late hours by the fire, enjoying a small display of his unending wealth.

But then he heard whispers of daring, biting suggestions to go further beyond, to cast about his wealth in extravagance. It was a tempting offer, but for now he would refuse. He had enough, and that was all that was needed.

But it happened one day that, after a hard day's work, he had gone to the tavern, and somebody had brought out some bone dice. And so, he began to gamble and drink, and he had spent his silvers already. Now, one of them had a black eye-patch over his eye and a snarling smile that suggested trouble. His yellow teeth showed as he glared at the man across from him.

"Now, do you got any more to bet with?"

And the man wanted to shake his head, wanted to refuse. But then his hand strayed toward the last copper in his pocket. It felt familiar. He slapped it down on the table without a second thought, and his mind was clouded.

"That's all I have."

"Good, good. Now roll."

He chose to roll low and when his dice finished their scampering around the table, they came up seven. His odds were low, and his eyes grew fearful. The man scoffed.

"Well, looks like you're going to be a pauper now."

The man shook the dice in his hands and threw them onto the table, his one eye narrowed as they clicked and clacked to a stop. Chong watched in horror as the dice showed a four.

"Well…" The man shoveled the coins to himself. "Looks like I've got a nice night of drinking ahead of me. Now scram, you bum!"

The next morning, Chong dragged himself out of bed to toil in the hot sun, his soul as cold as a dark winter’s night.

Dig hole, plant seed, cover with dirt.

Chapter 8: Short: Theft

Summary:

Two culprits caught in the act.

Sokka chomped on a big dumpling from his bowl of ramen and let out a hum of delight as he sat on his futon in the family villa on Ember Island. But then he turned to see Azula staring at the bowl. Her gold eyes were narrowed at it. She was rubbing her expanding belly. 

Then she leaned forward, her face an inch from his. "Dearest, would you mind sharing some of that with the baby?"

He laughed. "Of course. We need to make it big and strong." He grabbed a dumpling with his chopsticks and held it over her mouth. "Here it comes!"

He lowered the dumpling into her mouth, and she slurped it down. "More."

He sighed and handed her the bowl. “Here, take it all. "

"That's more like it." But then she dropped her smirk. "That's the consequence of wanting me. My normally pristine intellect is overruled by the dictates of this little tyrant."

*  *  *

A piece of chocolate is sometimes the best desert one can ever have, well when one didn’t have a thieving gremlin for a wife. Aang was about to toss a piece of chocolate into his mouth when he tripped on a bump in the floor. Somersaulting in the air, he landed on his feet, turning to throw out his hand and catch his precious piece of chocolate, but he was met with the sight of his wife chomping on it and smirking at him.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, Twinkletoes. You gotta be quicker than that!”

He could salvage this situation, and he knew just the perfect weapon. He jumped through the air, dodging an earthbent pillar, and tackled her to the ground, tickling her sides.

“No, Twinkletoes, not fair!”

“Sorry, T. You gotta be quicker than that. “

She squirmed for a few more seconds, laughing as he tickled her, smiling with mischief. But then she escaped from his grasp, stuffing the rest of the chocolate in her mouth and chewing menacingly.

But he only glared, diving forward to perform mouth extraction.

As they lay on the floor, their robes disheveled, Aang laughed, and Toph joined in.

Chapter 9: Moonlight

Summary:

Sokka ruminates on his life.

Finally getting out of Work, Sokka drove down to the local Cabbage Mart to find a juicy, succulent snack to munch on when he got home. He went down the snack aisle and found his favorite brand of jerky—Kulak's Jerky—and stuffed a few packs into his cart. After grabbing a few beers, he went to the checkout, where a bored old man was pushing along the groceries, finally stopping to stare at him with a face devoid of any enjoyment of his work.

He set his groceries down on the conveyor. After a few quick beeps, the man looked up at the total.

"That'll be twenty-five yen."

He handed him his credit card and, when the green light flashed on the payment screen, was on his way, bags in hand. He jumped back into his car and turned on the radio to hear the Nomads singing about a giant mushroom. He quickly switched it to Bluetooth and put on his favorite jam—some nice alternative rock music. The Twisted Tigerdillo's new album was topping the charts, so he put that on and listened to the thrum of the bass as the electric guitars dueled each other.

We are the silent ones

We will seek you out. 

If you try to cross us, 

you’re gonna find out.

He thought of the day's work: sitting at the factory waiting for something to break, talking to a foreman as they loafed around, acting like princes when they only had union protection. He would see a few men not even doing anything, and it ticked him off. He almost let his temper loose once, but he had held his peace. He was only there for a wage, and nothing else. And so he had finally clocked out and tuned out all the pains of the day. 

Coasting down the freeway, he saw that the sun was slowly descending toward the horizon, and the sky was a painting fit for the city gallery. All the clouds had gathered into a single wispy stream. Maybe that was his life—a lonely man in a lonely plane, trying to land while the wind pushed him off course. He had a future, or at least the skeleton of one. He’d work on his designs, grind through the struggle, keep going. Eventually, someone would look him in the eyes, smile, shake his hand, and everything would finally be all right.

He exhaled through his nose.

Who was he kidding?

He was just a poor Water Tribe guy with no luck, stuck in a useless city filled with drunks and the occasional prostitute. Sooner or later, he’d wither away and vanish, just another nameless stone in a forgotten graveyard. Maybe they’d carve “ beloved son” into it out of pity. Maybe not.

He turned off the freeway onto a wide, crumbling boulevard and slipped into the outskirts of the city. The apartment complex loomed ahead—three sickly green stories of neglect. The southwest corner of the roof had caved in. It was a ruin even a mother’s love couldn’t save.

He parked in the gravel lot, grabbed his bags, and climbed the stairs to the top floor, avoiding the loose boards as best he could. His room sat at the end of the hall, Number 319. He slid the key, pushed the door, and stepped inside.

Everything was as it had been. The place wasn’t bad for the area, but it still reeked faintly of mothballs. The walls were a dirty, peeling white with small holes and dents that no one had bothered to patch. The shaggy green carpet was stained in ways he didn’t want to consider.

He dropped his keys on his dented coffee table, crossed the room to the black couch in the corner sprouting with fuzz, and sank into it. From the grocery bag, he pulled a beer, popped the cap, and drank it like it was medicine—something bitter he needed to survive, a lifeline for sanity.

It was nice and hoppy, with a hint of citrus, but it was nothing compared to the dull ache he felt all over. So he took another sip, then a gulp, then a chug. He was but a man, sitting in a decrepit room, trying to stave off the whisperings of his mind—but they were pressing.

He remembered sitting in an igloo, looking out to sea, where there loomed a giant Fire Nation ship with its guns pointed at them. He could still smell the burns, the ash in the air. It was all still so real to him. Sometimes, on his lunch break, he wouldn’t touch a single morsel of food, because his mind was miles away, down in the icy south. Instead of a wage worker drifting in a sea of drudgery, he was a Water Tribe warrior, gun raised against an oncoming horde that only wanted to see them all in chains.

He took a breath, sitting there with his food, and looked up at the flickering light on the ceiling. It reminded him of the moon, his one friend in this cold world. Then he opened up the jerky again and pulled out a bite, simply to give himself something to think about other than his pain.

He stood up and walked to the kitchen sink, turned on the water, and splashed his face with cold water, spurring his body and cursing away the fatigue of the day. But it only made him think of the shock of ice water as he fell from a glacier, or the mist from the sea as they drifted north on an ice flow after the accident.

Grand Gran hadn’t been happy.

He slammed his fist into the countertop, breathing raggedly, shallowly. He needed to get his mind out of the dump, so he began to pace with his beer in hand. He pulled out his phone and checked for any notifications that could dull his mind, but they only charged his anxiety the more: past-due bills, a news blurb about an attack in the city, the world was coming to an end, yadda yadda. He turned off his phone and plopped down on the couch again, draining his beer.

Next week, he would continue the cycle again: clock in, fill his mind with fog with bunch of grunt work nobody would ever thank him for, do everything to avoid the wrath of the evil eye from his superiors, and slump back home only to do it again and again before his body gave out and he found himself hunched over with a measly pension in a group home.

Katara… where was she? 

He remembered seeing her sad eyes before they had brimmed with tears. The last thing he remembered was screaming her name before the Fire Nation men dragged him down into the depths of the ship. Now he was alone, friendless, with nothing but the company of the rodents screeching under the floorboards. An exterminator had come in the past few weeks, but nothing had been done. He didn't have enough money; nobody did anything for free.

He looked out the window to see the sunset had faded to a cool, purple light that would soon fade to darkness, just like his life. 

He opened another beer, letting out a sigh as the carbonation hissed into the air. But now, he could not taste; he could only imbibe, feel the numbness slowly growing. This beer was a nice eight percent, and he needed all of it. He needed to escape from reality, feel his tongue loosen and his limbs grow soft and calm, to tame the beating of his heart and the strain of his head. Yes, breathe in, breathe out. Let the world pass. He took another bite of jerky, let his body grow limp, and he drifted off into sleep.

He dreamed of a land full of fire, looked down at himself and saw he was an ice cube, slowly hissing away until he became nothing but steam. He heard chortling laughter like a madman from a science fiction show. He screamed out in agony before fading into nothingness.

Sokka awoke in the middle of the night to a pounding heart. He let out a gasp of shock and sat up quickly, trying to calm himself with even breaths. But his peace would not come, so he stood and looked around to find one thing, name it, smell one thing, and taste one thing. Chair, beer, and jerky. He went through the process again, looking about the entire house until his heart was calm again. He turned around and saw in the dim light the moon sitting in the heavens. She was shining down upon them, and he hoped on him, as well.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaking breath, thinking of all his failures and the moments where all hope had faded. But then he could look up at such a beautiful sight, such a beautiful spirit. 

Who was he kidding? He was unworthy. 

No, he was Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. He could get through this. So he looked down at the floor for a moment before meeting the moon's gaze.

"Could you help me?" 

The words were a hissing whisper from his lips, and he wouldn't have faulted anyone for doubting he had said them. They were like a ghost passing through the night. 

Then he sat there, waiting for an answer. The moments ticked by like hammer blows, but no answer came. He collapsed onto his couch, letting the tears trickle out of his tired eyes, and he tried to hold back a sob.

Then he shook his head once more. What a stupid thing to think. He laughed, and then he let his lips settle into a puckering frown. Nothing was going to happen. He would grow old and frail and be thrown into an unmarked grave. But then he had the urge to look up at the moon again. He could almost trick himself into believing that it was a touch brighter, and then it twinkled at him. He sat there, looking up at the sight in wonder. Moment by moment, minute by minute, he let the moon's wonderful sight calm him, and he turned back to his couch and sat there, ruminating on the beautiful sight. 

He was thirsty, so he grabbed another beer and took another chomp of his jerky. He let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, and then he slowly drifted off to sleep, to the land of seal jerky and beautiful women fawning over him as he did great deeds.

Chapter 10: Appeasement

Summary:

Zuko and Iroh have to deal with a spirit cursing their ship.

Of all the times that Zuko had to get mixed up in spirit nonsense, why did it have to be on his Uncle's music night? 

It all fell apart when they had stopped at a little port town out of the way—Dong Shin, if he remembered correctly. They had gone around town looking for curios to find. Uncle had found some in a quaint shop laden with trinkets on rickety shelves and was haggling with a mousy man with a twirling mustache. Their dispute was over a black and white flute. 

Uncle was trying to play it nice, but inside a dragon was baring its claws. "Three silver?" 

The man shook his head. "No, way too low. Five." 

As they continued to argue, Zuko perused the rest of the man's wares. There were a few more instruments, some shiny knives, amulets, and—wait. An airbending scroll. That would come in handy. 

He pulled it off its shelf and took it to the storekeeper, a grizzled old man with a wart right under his right eye. "How much for this?" 

The man looked down at it, scratching his beard. "Oh, that? That's priceless, but I'll take ten gold pieces for it." He was smiling. Such a high price. Did he expect Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation to refuse? Oh, how he was wrong. 

Zuko smiled inside before leaning over the man and narrowing his eyes. "If I recall correctly, Fire Lord Azulon decreed that all Air Nomad material relevant to the war effort was property of the army." And the man's confident face drooped to a nervous grin. "And that anyone who hoarded such things would be guilty of high treason." 

The man gulped before chuckling and taking a step back. "I— I didn't see a thing." 

As the Fire Prince walked through the port to their ship, Iroh turned tired eyes to Zuko. "Nephew, did you have to take advantage of that man like that?" 

Zuko looked away. "It's necessary for my mission! I have to learn all I can about the Avatar if I want to have a chance at capturing him." 

"Couldn't you have snuck a look at it?" 

Zuko stopped. "Uh, well, yes. But I can't memorize a whole move set with a single glance." "If you insist, but you could have used better tactics."

As they walked up the gangplank, passing crewmen carrying boxes of supplies, Iroh pulled out his flute, admiring its elegant design. The swirling white patterns on it were like snow on ancient marble. Rolling his fingers over the blowholes playfully, he played a scale. The sound was sweet, like a humming-pigeon serenading a mate. Then he played a few idle notes, standing at the side of the ship and looking at the horizon. 

"Uncle! You can play music later! We still have a lot to do!" 

His uncle smiled. "But I am playing an important part: entertaining the crew." 

The prince steamed, but then his anger subsided. "Fine, but only for a few minutes!"

"Of course." 

Stomping away, Zuko made his way down into the ship, heading for his room. His crew was moving barrels and sacks to and fro. Further down, he heard the sound of shovels piling coal into the furnace. They would need all of it if they wished to sail the southern seas for weeks on end. 

Creaking open his door (Great. They hadn't greased it yet. Someone's ears would ring later), he went straight to his desk, sitting down and unrolling the scroll. His eyes widened in shock as he looked down at a blank scroll. His efforts had all been for nothing. 

Steaming, he was about to crumple it up into a ball and reduce it to cinders when he heard a dark chuckle. He jumped, turning around to confront his attacker, but there was nothing. Weird. He could have sworn that something was there. Maybe it was the stress of dealing with all of Uncle's shenanigans. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, picking up the scroll and burning it to ashes. 

With that done, he reread his scrolls on the Avatar for the tenth time, meditated for an hour, and returned to the deck, where the crew were having a meal after a few hard hours of labor. Uncle was having tea and playing Pai Sho with Jee, to the surprise of no one. 

"Nephew, come join us! The cook made us some roast duck. It's heavenly!" 

Zuko sat down at the table, where they had been kind enough to leave him a bowl of rice, some leek onions, and a steaming chunk of pork. As he picked up his chopsticks, Iroh poured him a cup of tea. 

"Do you want any honey with it?" 

The prince nodded absently as he lifted a morsel to his lips. The meat was delicious, with lots of garlic-leak and ginger-cloves. The sauce was spicy and sweet, just the way he liked it. "My compliments to the chef, Uncle." 

Iroh did a double-take before beaming. "Oh, I will have to tell him! You never say anything. This will make his day."

"I'm just making an observation! It's not like I'm hailing him as the chef of the ages."
A finger in the air. "But, Zuko, anything better than a grumble coming from you is progress." 

"Progress? I don't need to make any progress! I was just— Ugh!" He rose, taking his food with him as he moved to the railing, away from any prying small talk or friendly attempts at conversation. He would eat in peace, thank you. 

Sitting down and letting his temper simmer to a low boil, he picked up a nice piece of pork. Down through his teeth it went, and he took a bite. Then he spat it out, looking down in disgust as he tasted rotten fish. 

He shot to his feet. "Attention on deck!" 

All the crew stood to their feet, looking at him with tired gazes. Jee was brave enough to step quietly to his side. 

"Sir, what's the problem?" 

"Look at this!" He picked up the spit-covered meat in his hand, holding it up like a damning piece of evidence. "Whoever put rotten fish in my food will have to clean out the latrine by hand!" 

His crew was not joyous, to put it lightly. But Iroh shook his head, making his way across the deck to Zuko. "Zuko, no one did anything. I got you your food myself. There was nothing in it." 

That turned the prince into a steaming tea kettle. "Then you did a lousy job of it!" He looked down again to see that the bowl was now brimming with sludge. 

Iroh's eyes widened. "Zuko, what do you remember doing in the last few days?"

A questioning gaze gilt with growing unease. "Why? What is going on?" 

"Food spoiling before your eyes is a sure sign of a curse." 

Zuko had had enough. "Go back to your game, Uncle. This is just... I'm going to my room!"
"If you say so. Do you want another bowl?" 

"I'm not hungry." 

Zuko walked down the steps into the ship, his mind buzzing with doubts and suspicions. It must have been a freak occurrence. It couldn't have been spirits, couldn't have been. Slumping into his room, he pulled off his armor and lay down on his futon to rest. Yes, he would take a nap and enjoy a nice evening free from the slightest hint of a fear that he was cursed. An hour’s dozing would settle his mind, banishing such foolish thoughts.

But what if—

No. He let out a breath, trying to squelch any rogue musings. He was Prince Zuko, son of Fire Lord Ozai and Ursa. He was on a quest to restore his honor by capturing the Avatar. He was strong; he was capable. And most importantly, he was not under a curse! More breaths, and he let his mind drift to peaceful moments by the pond in his mother's garden. The feeling of breaking bread. The sound of quacking turtleducks. 

Yes, let yourself drift to the land of dreams. Drift. 

He was standing in a dark corridor full of shadows. He held up a flame, but it only seemed to darken his vision. He was sweating, panicking. Why was he panicking? 

He turned to the side, finding himself in a room full of bloody swords. A boy in an orange robe was leaning over a pool, admiring his reflection, and its kittens. He turned, smiling a mouth of fire at him. "You must repay." 

He awoke in a pool of sweat, panting. He sat up, letting out a few calming breaths. In, out, Yin, Yang. It was just a dream. But it would be a good idea to talk to Uncle. But did he really need to? He lay back down to sleep. Everything would go back to normal, and he would find the Avatar, eventually. 

The next day, he stood on the deck, looking out at the endless southern seas through his spyglass. It wasn't as if he would find anything. He was simply giving his hand something to hold as he continued to think about what had happened the previous day. And that dream. It was still haunting him. 

"You must repay." 

What? Did he need to go beg some old bones for forgiveness for what had happened at the temples? He was respectful of the dead, but he would not cower before some restless spirit as if it were a high god— 

Why was he even considering it at all? He let his hand droop to his side. He needed a distraction, something to keep his mind from useless superstitions. So, he took the spyglass to the observation deck, changed into his training gi, and stomped out to the middle of the deck. Turning to the horizon, he sent a few blasts over the railing, then spun a kick of fire up at the sky. Now that he was in rhythm, he threw fire darts up and around, piercing the sky. 

As he lit the deck with plumes of fire, Iroh watched as he had his morning tea. His nephew was bending well, but there was something missing. His fire was untamed, undirected. 

"Zuko, you need better control!" 

Zuko turned, looking at him in frustration. "Tell me something good for once, Uncle!"
"You are quite adept at projecting your voice." 

"Argh!" 

Zuko returned to his katas, putting more fury into them. It was as if he were at war and every single blow had to be filled with rage. Iroh would have to give him more time to develop as a young man before he taught him what he truly wished for him to know–the ways of the dragons, the truth that their family had set the world on fire for nothing more than the ambition of a proud man. Still, he didn't know if the boy would ever be ready based on how he was taking his banishment. 

"Do you want any tea?" 

"Not now!" 

He took a sip of his tea, relishing the spicy aftertaste. It had a bit of cinnamon-mace in it. He would have to mention it in his next letter to Pakku. 

Zuko stopped, panting on the deck, and crossed his legs, breathing for a while. He held a flame in his hands, letting it flicker in the sea breeze. He had things to do today: plan his next stop, check his scrolls for anything that could give him a lead on where the Avatar could be, and try to keep Uncle from messing around with the crew. 

He heard a soft melody nearby. It was a flute. The timbre was rough, but it had a rustic texture to it. He turned to see if it was Uncle, but the old man was still drinking his tea and being as useless as ever. Puzzled, he stood and swept his gaze around the ship. No one was playing anything. But still, he heard the sweet melody. Jee was eating a bowl of rice a few yards away, so he would be his first target of interrogation. 

"Lieutenant, do you hear that music?" 

The grizzled man raised a bushy brow, looking up at him. "Yeah, why?" 

He loomed over his subordinate. "Tell me what that means." 

"That I get some nice music with my meal?" 

"Someone is slacking off. Go find them and make them work the boiler!" 

Jee was not enthusiastic. "Fine, sir, but I'll do it after I finish my meal." 

Zuko opened his mouth to retort, but he knew he would just be arguing in circles with a man who disdained him. Clenching his fists, he sat down by his uncle. 

"Are you taking me up on my offer, Nephew?" 

He glared at him. "Just pour the tea!" 

As he stewed in anger, he put the drink to his lips, smelling sweet flowers and ginger. He sipped— Then he spat it out. It was vinegar and mold and mildew! 

"What did you put in this tea?"

But Iroh only looked down at him gravely, and he stood up, making a swift retreat to his room. Sitting down at his desk, he brought his candles to life with a quick exhale, breathing with them. He was not cursed! He was just imagining it. He— He... 

Zuko let his head flop against the desk. He would need a moment, just a little one to keep his head together. But why was he feeling tho thleepy? Then he fell into a deep sleep. 

Gray eyes looked up at him from a soft, young face. It was a boy in yellow robes. He had a wooden flute in his hands. He was crying. 

Zuko knelt down at his side, looking him in the eye. "What's going on? What—what happened to you? Here." He put a hand on his shoulder in a weak attempt to console him. 

But the boy would not have it, glaring at him. "You must repay." 

And Zuko fell far, through light and darkness, and he was no more. 

Zuko awoke with Iroh at his side. 

"Nephew?" 

"Huh, what?" 

There was a bowl in his hands. "It is dinner time. How was your nap?" 

"Uncle... I—" Spit it out! You need to say something before it gets worse. "Uncle. I think we have a problem." 

Iroh put down his morsel. "Go on." 

"I think it might have something to do with that flute you bought." 

Iroh waited in silence. 

"I've had dreams... of an Air Nomad child. He had that flute in one of them. He… he would look at me and say, 'You must repay.' Uncle, what do I do?" 

Iroh's eyes were grave and pensive. "The next time this happens, you must ask it what it wants, and if strange things continue to happen, we should consult a shaman. I have some experience in the spiritual arts, but I do not think it would be wise to attempt to appease a spirit without enough information. That is why we must wait for it to tell us why it is angered." 

"But we don't know how bad it could get. It could capsize the ship for all we know!"

"Zuko, we must tread cautiously. One wrong move, and we could stoke its wrath, and I do not want to have spoiled fish for every meal. Now, I will gather some supplies for the next time this happens. If you have another dream like this, come to me straight away." 

Iroh opened the door, but then he stopped. "Oh, do you want me to bring you something?"
"No, Uncle. I don't need anything." 

He smiled. "The chef made noodles.” Then he sighed, inching the door shut. “...If you insist." 

Zuko was about to close his eyes again, but then he was drawn by the temptation of juicy noodles with peanut sauce. "I'll take a bowl." 

"Excellent. Now, try not to do anything foolish. Spirits can be fickle things." 

With that, he closed the door with a squeak. Zuko would need to get someone to oil that, but that was just another jot in their piling repair request scrolls.

He sat up at his desk, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked around for something, anything to keep his mind busy. He had already practiced his katas, so… He nodded, opening his locker and pulling one out at random, unrolling it. 

This one was a history of the Air Nomads. It spoke of the peace of the wind and how one could let one's worries drift into the breeze. 

It was poetic, and it gave him the opportunity to let his mind fall into a lull of emptiness. Of course, it was a bunch of drivel, but the prose was excellent. 

If you wish to be your true self, you must chip off the imperfections from what you perceive yourself to be. Only then will it shine through. 

He blinked down at the text, yawning, and set it aside. Now wasn't the time for spiritual mumbo jumbo. He needed concrete data and reports, like the latest dispatch from the Naval Headquarters. He looked in the chest once again, pulling it out. He looked through it again. 

No sightings of any unusual activity. The seas were clear. 

He shoved it onto a rack, letting out a sigh.

He pulled himself from his desk and made his way through the ship, bumping into his uncle, who was carrying his meal. 

"Zuko, I thought you wanted to stay in your room?" 

"I got bored." 

Taking the bowl from Iroh, he walked up to the deck, where a few men were playing a dice game. Jee had made quite a stack of coins.

Zuko ignored it and sat down by the side of the ship. He lifted a morsel to his mouth, thankful that it wasn't morphing into slop. The sea was calm, and the breeze was breathing against his skin. He looked up to see wisps of white fuzz drifting across the sky. 

It was a beautiful sight, and it reminded him of calm nights on Ember Island, when they would sit and watch the sun set and the stars twinkle into existence. But that was gone, taken from him. It might be years before he could have the chance to be graced with a single glimpse of that majestic isle. Now, the only sight his eyes could be refreshed with was the endless horizon on a clear day. 

But was it really beautiful? Would this refreshing drink of the sky slake his thirst of home, or was it poisoned with the bitter venom of his failure? He had spent many nights imbibing the view, but he would drift off in bed and wake the next morning to see an absence in his life that tasted like bile. The Avatar was a coward, and the prince's only wish was to see the fear in their eyes as he dragged them before his father. 

"Iceberg!" 

Zuko turned to see what idiot had said that, but then he saw it: a giant mass of blue ice straight ahead. He turned to the bridge, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Evasive maneuvers! Get us out of the way!" 

As the ship hurtled towards the behemoth of ice, it turned sharply to port. The ice soon loomed over them, casting them all in shadow. It came upon them like a white beast from the howling storm, and they stood in terror as the ship desperately veered out of the way. It was so close as to reach out and grip their necks and hold them in its gaze. So near that they could feel its cold embrace choking the life out of them. 

But their ship, the brave Wani, had strength enough in it to persevere and best their foe. As the behemoth reached out with its sharp edges, the steel hull escaped a touch with death, mere inches from a frosty stabbing. 

As the crew stood there, breathing out a collective sigh of relief, Zuko ran to the center of the ship to glare venom at the helmsman. "What in Agni's name were you doing! Come down here! Now!" 

As the man sagged down the steps to the deck, Zuko steamed, and Iroh watched him gravely.
Kyo bowed before his prince. "Your Highness, I can explain!" 

Zuko loomed over the taller man. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you thrown overboard for gross incompetence!" 

Kyo looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I—I can't explain it. One moment, I could see nothing but open ocean, but then it... it just appeared out of nowhere."

"Do you seriously think that I would believe that?" 

Jee came over with two others. "Sir, he's telling the truth. It... it came in a flash of light. I don't think it was any ordinary iceberg." 

"Prince Zuko." He turned to see his uncle staring at him pensively. "It is time that they know everything." 

One of them, Ensign Shun, stood forward. With a shaggy mop of black hair and slate gray eyes, the bright young man sent a skittish gaze to his captain. "What? What is going on, sir?" 

Zuko cast his gaze upon the lot, serious as an eclipse. "It appears that we have been cursed by a spirit."
They all started, shouting a cacophony of questions and swears. 

"Attention!" With that, they all stood stiffly, waiting for him to continue. "I did not wish to involve all of you before, as I thought it was only affecting me, but it looks like I was wrong. Any suggestions to appease the spirit are welcome. Any questions?" 

Jee stepped forward, scowling. "Would this have anything to do with the supply stop we just had? I got a strange feeling that night. It hasn't been any different since then." 

Iroh nodded. "Yes, it appears I have purchased a cursed flute." 

"A what?" 

Iroh pulled it out of his sleeve. How many things could he put in there? He held it out to them, and they swayed on their feet in fear. 

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about. We only need to find whoever it belonged to and ask them what they want." 

Corporal Shen grimaced in fear. "But it could be anything! It could ask for our heads, make us dance naked in front of a throng of people." 

Lieutenant Teruko scoffed, shaking her head. "Oh, you’re just being paranoid, Shen. It probably just wants a cup of tea or a sweet roll." 

And they began to squabble amongst themselves. 

Zuko clenched steaming fists, raising himself to his full height. "Attention! Again, I need your full attention! This is serious! There's no time for gossiping like old women." 

Shen crossed his arms. "As serious as when you followed a treasure map to the Avatar that was just a prank?" 

"I researched that for days! I was sure of it."

"Yeah, just as sure that you're gonna find the Avatar and please your father." 

Zuko fumed, glaring at the man sharply. But Iroh put a hand on his shoulder. "Corporal, that was out of line. You are dismissed. Jee, give him something to do. I'm sure that will cool his barbs." 

"As you wish, General." And the lieutenant called them away. 

"Let us break for lunch. I'm hungry." Uncle rubbed his belly for emphasis. 

They had a nice meal of roast duck in curry rice. Zuko sat with his bowl, looking down at every single morsel, waiting for it to turn into rotten mush—but thankfully, it did not change. So he enjoyed the spice and the buttery aftertaste. 

"Uncle, we're going to have to come to a decision. But… I don't know if the crew wants to believe me."
"Oh, Zuko, they will. In fact, let's see if they are willing to turn this ship around. Attention on deck!" 

Then there came more grumblings as the crew slouched their way to sit in a circle around him. 

"I believe that we need to return to the port city to appease this spirit. But I do not wish to do it against your wishes. Therefore, I am putting it to a vote. All those in favor, raise your hand." 

About a dozen shot up. 

"And opposed?" 

Only two did so. 

He stood straight, turning to the engineer. "Are the engines well fueled?" 

"They are." 

"Good. Let's turn this ship around now." 

"Yes, sir." 

The engineer turned the wheel at the helm, and the ship turned to port before heading straight for the port town. 

Sitting in his study, Zuko looked over a map of the region, and it appeared there was an airbender shrine near the town. He wrote down a note on some scrap paper. He rolled up a scroll and set it down on the desk, letting out a breath. 

This was a glorious waste of time. If his uncle had done anything but buy that flute, they would have been on their merry way. But no, he just had to fancy that flute and bring the curse upon them. He sat back on his bed and took a nap as the waves sloshed against the sides of the ship, hoping to snooze away the dreadful hours until they would slouch up to the shrine.

When they made port, Zuko and Iroh disembarked, leaving the crew to do whatever they wanted at the port taverns. They had with them a komodo rhino packed with supplies, and they took a short trek from the shanty towns and merchant halls down the main road and towards the wilderness. A few miles of rough terrain led to an old clay shrine with some rocks and leaves scattered about. In the center of the adobe structure lay a cracked basin and an altar.

Kneeling before it, they lit a candle and waited. Several moments passed with nothing but the flickering of the candle and a whisper of wind. 

Iroh opened his eyes and turned to his nephew. "Zuko, it appears the spirit is waiting for us to take the initiative." 

Zuko let out a huff, but then composed himself, thinking of a prayer or something to say to this fell spirit. 

Now... nice spirit. Yes, positive attitude, positive thinking. 

Zuko looked down at the candle and then up at the shrine. "Spirit of the airbender, whatever your name is, what do you wish us to do to appease your anger?" 

And then the wind whispered back, "I love the smell of flowers. Mortal, please give me a flower that I may rest in its presence for a while, and then you may go." 

That's it? 

But then he held his tongue, smirking at the stroke of fortune. 

But then Iroh looked at him. "Zuko, please address the spirit." 

Zuko kowtowed. "Oh, honored spirit, thank you for heeding my prayer. I shall fulfill your wish." And they turned and left, walking a few paces away before stopping under a tall tree.
Zuko held his nose. "A flower. It cursed us for a flower?" 

"Yes, the spirits can be strange sometimes." 

"Let's get it its stupid flower and get out of here." 

Iroh was solemn. "Zuko, you do not know the way of the spirits. A simple quest like this is more than meets the eye." 

"What do you mean?" 

"That is the bare minimum the spirit will accept. We must add more to appease it further."
"What, like food?" 

"Yes, food, wine, maybe even some incense." 

Zuko let out a puff of air. “Let’s get this over with."

And so a meal was made for the spirit. It was a simple bowl of rice with some red bean paste and a cup of common wine. They set it before the altar, and as they bowed, they could hear the whistling of a pipe and the laughter of a child. A great wind rushed through the shrine, and the food disappeared in a flash. Zuko saw a figment of a gracious smile.  They could have sworn they heard a whispered, "Thank you." 

Then they sat there for a long moment before grabbing their things and leaving. They dared not speak a word as they trotted back out towards the city.

After a long while, Zuko muttered, "Well, that's over with." 

Iroh nodded. "Yes. We are fortunate it did not escalate to anything disastrous." 

"Like that time you spooked a bear-fox because you wanted to use some wild honey for your tea?" "Let us not speak ill of the past, Nephew.” 

Zuko set his jaw and his eyes on the path ahead. 

Sitting in his room with a pot of soothing ginseng, Iroh played a scale on his flute. As he did so, he could have sworn he heard the joyous laughter of a child. He bowed. 

"Spirit of a child of the wind, I am thankful for your assistance in leading my nephew to a greater respect for the spirits." 

At the last gust of wind, Iroh nodded solemnly, smiling. 

Up on the observation deck, Zuko tried to banish the thoughts of the ghost from his mind. 

Now he had to return to his mission, his only chance of returning to the Fire Nation. The next stop: the Southern Air Temple.

Chapter 11: Tattoos, Part I

Summary:

Sokkla Soulmate AU

Azula felt an itch on her arm, and she unrolled her sleeve to scratch at it. But then she widened her eyes in shock. Where once was smooth white skin lay a tattoo of a boomerang. It was blue. She sat back against her room's wall and closed her eyes.

"No, no. This can't be happening!"

*  *  *

At the South Pole, Sokka was building his snow fort when he felt a prickling sensation on his arm. At first, he dismissed it as a jitter, but then it festered, growing to a sharp pain, as if someone were poking his arm with a needle. Throwing down the snow block in his arms, he ran to his igloo and pulled off his parka. Under his sleeve, he found a white lightning bolt tattoo. He let out a hum of concentration.

"Cool."

*  *  *

Years later, when Sokka was traveling through the Earth Kingdom with Aang, Katara, and Toph, he felt his tattoo tingle. They were near Omashu and they had just seen the results of the Fire Nation's siege. But then the sensation faded, and he carried on with their plans to infiltrate the city.

Things escalated when they went to exchange the baby they had found for Bumi. They were up on the top of some scaffolding for a giant black statue, and Bumi was trapped in a steel coffin hanging from a chain. Facing them were three girls: one in pink, a dour one in dark red, and what appeared to be a princess in red and gold armor.

They brought forward the kid, and Bumi was lowered to the ground. His arm got the itch again as the gloomy-looking girl came forward after her friend had muttered something.

"The deal is off!"

But then he swore he saw the princess scrunch her nose in irritation, and her hand shot to her arm, scratching it. His eyes widened and his mouth wanted to plummet to the floor. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream. However, his arm had other ideas as the lightning bolt tattoo glowed a bright white. He looked down at it in dread before looking to see that her arm was shining blue.

She glared at him before motioning her friends to attack. The pink girl ran forward like the wind, and the gloomy girl threw knives at them. Shaking away what had just happened, Sokka threw his boomerang at the princess. She laughed as it curved out of the way, but then she had to dodge as it arced back towards her head. He turned to see Katara standing in a puddle of water, trying and failing to lift it.

Gloomy smirked. "How does it feel to fight without your bending?"

He yelped as the pink girl threw a jab at him. In the chaos, he saw that the princess was nowhere to be seen. So he retreated, helping Katara. They fought for a short while before their giant furry friend came in to save the day, blasting the two girls back.

Later, as they left the city, he looked down at the tattoo, disgusted. Why did it have to be a ruthless princess? Why did the spirits have to stick him with such a girl when it should have been Suki or Yue? Why? But such questions would have to wait for later.

*  *  *

Azula sat in the throne room of Omashu, with Ty Lee and Mai at her side. The room was brimming with strained silence. She turned to Ty Lee.

"I am going to kill that boy."

Her friend widened her bright brown eyes. "But why, Azula? He's your soulmate! You're destined for each other!"

"Destiny is rubbish. I can forge my own path, the spirits be damned."

"But it would be so romantic! A princess and a peasant divided by war, falling in love despite the odds! Oh, you have to do it!"

"Why don't you fall in love with him, Ty Lee? It's not like he would be the craziest boy you've dated."

"Hey, what can I say? I let my love go where my heart leads it. But no, it would go against the will of the spirits and your aura." She had told her afterwards how her aura had glowed a bright blue and his had become a deep yellow before both becoming pink. "You two are made for each other!"

"Mai, care to offer a counter argument?"

Her friend only stared forward boredly. "I don't care. It's not my problem. But the next time you see someone who might react to a seashell mark, tell me. Marriage would be so much less boring than sitting around here waiting for dad to tell me what to do."

Ty Lee beamed at her. "Only if you help me find mine!" She pulled down her sleeve to look at the mustache on her forearm.

Azula let out a sigh. "I tire of this. Tomorrow we shall begin our hunt." She felt her arm, thinking for a moment. "And if luck shall have it, I will be rid of this water peasant."

*  *  *

After several days and several more unsuccessful attempts to capture their foes, the three ladies split up. Mai and Ty Lee fought with the two Water Tribe peasants, but the sky bison was their doom, blasting them across a river.

In an abandoned village worn by war and time, Azula's duel with the Avatar came to an abrupt end when her traitorous brother and uncle interrupted it. She held her own for a while, but then her odds dwindled as their opponents' reinforcements arrived.

Cornered against a wall, she raised her hands in surrender. "I know when I am beaten. I surrender." But she hid a smirk as she launched a bolt of fire at Iroh... or she tried to. All that came out was a puff of flame, and she looked down to see that her tattoo was glowing once again. And the peasant's was, too.

Damn the spirits and their horrible matchmaking skills!

She was about to hold out her hands in surrender when a mound of earth erupted around her, trapping her.

The blind earthbender smirked. "Better get comfortable, princess. It might be a while."

"I assumed as much."

"Nephew, keep watch." Iroh stepped to her and flashed a smile. "Niece..."

She returned his smile. "Uncle."

He walked back to the others as Zuko stood by her.

Her brother looked at the earthbender. "Uh... I'm Zuko... You are...?"

She poked a finger at herself. "Toph Beifong, Greatest Earthbender in the World!"

"Toph, I'll keep watch."

"Sure thing."

But then the Water Tribe boy came, staring at her awkwardly before shooting his gaze to the ground. After a moment, he finally gathered the courage to meet her gaze. "So..."

If she weren't a princess, she would have laughed him to scorn. So she simply glared at him. "Whatever you were about to say? No. Don't get any funny ideas, savage. None of this," she raised her arm, "is anything."

"But they're soulmate marks."

"No, it's spirit nonsense for old wives and poor lunatics. This was just a mishap."

He let out a noise of irritation. "Hey, I don't like you, and I'd rather cuddle a prickle snake than be with you, but this is what we've got to deal with."

"Or I could free myself, kill you, and return with your friend in chains."

"Well." He snickered. "Looks like you've got a teensy little problem with that at the moment."

"Yes, I am aware. Now go flaunt your prodigious intellect elsewhere."

"Nope. I'm perfectly fine." For emphasis, he lay his head on crossed arms. "Better get comfortable, princess."

"Fine."

She let out a breath and stood there, letting her muscles relax into the stone. But then her eyes caught his again. They were very pretty. No. She closed her eyes. No time for girlish thoughts. Ty Lee would tell her to follow her dreams, follow her destiny, but now was the time for calculation and deliberation. She would wheedle her way into getting one of their trust and find a way to escape somehow. That is, if she could get past step one: surviving the earthbender. But that would be a hard test for her.

They were both prodigies by the looks of it, and she had never had too much experience against such a foe.

"Wanna hear a joke?"

"What?" She looked to see the Water Tribe savage sharpening his boomerang with a stone.

"Why would I want to hear your comedic ramblings, savage?"

"Hey, could you not use that language?"

"Well, it's what you are, savage."

"The name is Sokka."

"Okay, Sokka the Savage. Now, could you remain silent?"

"Nope." She let out a huff. "So, a man's walking through a forest, and he sees a dog running at him, and he looks down at the polarbear-dog. It's got one eye. Now his master comes along and smiles at him. 'Ah, I see you've found Sparky.' 'Ah, this is your dog?' 'Yep. He's my best friend.' 'Ah, what happened to his eye?' 'Ah, that's a long story. It'll take a while, but he had a horrible accident a few years ago. A tragedy, really.' So the guy just has to know what happened. 'Come on, tell me.'"

"What is the point of this?"

"I'm getting to it. So the guy says, 'Come on, tell me.' And the old man sighs, sitting down. 'Okay, if you really want to know. So, I was out fishing in the middle of the ocean, and my dog was messing around with some of the bait in the ship. And while that was happening, I got a good tug on my fishing pole. Giant eel-bass. Now I'm sitting there tugging at my fishing pole like it's a last branch before a ravine. Along comes little Sparky hopping up and down. I startled when he came and I had a knife in my hand, so I stabbed him.' 'Oh, that's a sad story.' 'Well, it's not half bad. One eye is better than nothing. Am I right?' 'Yeah.' 'Well, to stop the bleeding, I pulled out the eye. He was screaming and jumping, so, I held him down and tied him up. I put him down in the hold. Absentmindedly, I put the eye on the hook, and what do you know, it turns out dog eyes are really good bait.'"

"Wait, that's the punchline?"

"Well, uh..." He deflated. "Yeah, I didn't have much time to think of it."

"That was a rambling, incoherent string of words thrown together with no thought or figment of rationality."

He frowned, sitting down. "Hey, in my defense, it's good to practice on a captive audience." He grinned. "Get it? Captive—"

Azula snarled. "I get it, you imbecile! Now cease your third-rate jokes. I need time to think!"

"No can do there. What do you get when you put a firebender on a garbage heap?"

"What?"

"A hot mess!"

"Now you're insulting me."

And so he sat there spewing his nonsensical jokes at her for a while before Toph returned and he walked off into the town to get to his other friends. Azula closed her eyes, trying to get a few winks of sleep as the earthbender came and sat by.

So the blind girl picked at her nose.

"Now, I would bow, but I never really liked any of my etiquette classes. It was a bunch of boring 'lay your chopsticks parallel to your bowl when you are satisfied' crap. How was it for you?"

Silence.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"I do not wish to speak a single word to you."

"But you just did."

"If I intended to say something genuine to you, I would have taken the time to think about it."

"Oh really? Well, here we are out in the middle of the Earth Kingdom. You just chased after us for several days, and now you're in our clutches."

"Yes, I can see that."

"Well, try and get comfortable because it's probably not going to be easy for you."

"I know."

Now the girl was resting her head against the wall. "Princess Lightning."

"What?"

"That's your nickname now—Princess Lightning—though I could try—"

"No. My name is Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, and you shall not address me in any other way."

"Nope." The girl finished it with a pop.

"Let me be clear to you, peasant—"

"Actually, I'm twenty-seventh in line to the Jade Throne."

Azula adjusted some figures in her mental calculations. "Who are you, exactly?"

"Toph Beifong, Greatest Earthbender in the World."

"You are quite impressive. But as I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, I will escape, and you will soon face the full might of the Fire Nation Army."

"I'll see about that."

"A blind joke. Really?"

Toph moped, but Azula could tell it was in jest. "Aw, you didn't fall for it."

Chapter 12: Short: Chan the Lemur-monkey

Summary:

A lemur-monkey encounters a strange human at the Ba Sing Se Zoo.

Monkey see, monkey do? Well, this lemur-monkey was not having it.

Chan the monkey-lemur lay in the Ba Sing Se Zoo as a bunch of little kids threw bananas at his fellow primates, who were eating them up, letting out hoots and hollers of joy. But Chan was no beggar. He would not enjoy the slop their masters threw into the pen, and that would be it. No. He would never lower himself to the point of enjoying his prison time. He would not give those stinking humans a single drop of joy.

But then, there came a little boy with bright green eyes and a bushy head of hair.

Chan simply glared at him through the bars. "Get lost, kid."

But just like every other stupid human, he knew that the boy wouldn't understand a single syllable of what he had said. He would gawk and poke at him with a stick and try to make him eat.

But this was no ordinary day, as the boy shook his head. "No, I don't think I will."

Chan took a moment. Then another. His brain was trying to fix a paper jam in there, and it was causing a bunch of fires for the mini-Chans in the speech comprehension department. "What?"

The boy frowned. "I said I don't think I will."

"No, back up. This isn't how this is supposed to work. I'm the smart lemur-monkey, and you're the dumb human who throws bananas at me. How in Kabunga's name are you understanding me?"

The boy shrugged. "I guess I have a thing with animals… Anyway, how's it been living here at the zoo?"

"How do you think?"

"Uh… a bit boring? The food could use a little extra spice?"

"No, the spice is fine. But the menu could use a bit of variety."

*  *  *

Next to them, a little girl was munching on some sugared moon peaches as she took in what she thought adults meant by "drugs."

"Ooh ooh ah ah, shama duda!" 

"Papula samu!" 

"Shamisi!"

*  *  *

"Anyway, kid, you better beat it for real. I have a nap in a little bit, and I need to do some prep."

"You prep for your naps?"

"Yeah, I gotta get my body in the mood—do a few laps of my cage and tell my legs that no, it's not time for climbing."

The boy nodded. "Okay. Talk to you later."

The monkey wanted to say a witty barb, but he held his tongue. "Whatever, human. Just don't reveal our secrets."

"Oh, you don't have to worry. No one's gonna believe me."

But Chan shook his head. "Oh, you never know what some stupid humans will believe. No spilling your guts. Capeesh?"

"Sure."

And the boy scampered off to another exhibit.

*  *  *

A man in a green suit with a goatee sat at a news desk with a woman in a green dress and a permanent smile.

“This is Ba Sing Se News. Here you are informed. Here you are entertained. I am Long Feng.”

“And I am Joo Dee.”

Today's top story: a monkey at the Ba Sing Se Zoo has captured the hearts of the children. Shen the monkey has been dancing with kids and giving them high-fives. No one knows the exact reason why, but the parents are loving it.”

"It's amazing! I've never seen anything like it! It's so cute, I'm gonna die!"

“But authorities are warning people that if they interact with the monkey for too long, it will explode. They are advising citizens to cease interspecies activities after 4 p.m. until further notice.”

*  *  *

Shen found himself staring at a man holding a weird rectangle with a flashing light. He didn't like it—but the attention was something.

They were feeding him mangos instead of the usual bananas, and he could thank that little boy for it. But he needed to get that tamped down just a notch. He was feeling a tightness in his chest, and he didn't like that one bit.

And then he felt hot—way too hot, as if someone were lighting a fire inside him.

"Ooh ooh! Ah ah AH!"

He exploded in a giant conflagration.

*  *  *

“Breaking news out of the Ba Sing Se Zoo: Shen the lemur-monkey has died. He exploded in a fireball, injuring two guests. He will be sadly missed. The zoo is already planning a memorial.”

 

Chapter 13: Bubbly

Summary:

Ty Lee has a nice morning.

I can't stop this feeling.

It's got me dancing on the ceiling.

Don't give up, it'll get you reeling!

Ty Lee was in the zone , dancing her way down the street toward a yoga session. She had gotten a free coupon, so she just had to give it a try. And if worse came to worst, she would just dust off her aura and move on.

She took a left at Ming Avenue, looking out at the rim of the caldera. It was beautiful in the early morning sunlight—the birds were chirping, the cars were honking, and—

A car screeched to a stop in front of her.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry!" She smiled. "Negative emotions can dampen your aura!"

"Whatever."

Down Ming Street, she found a beautiful spa—Hiyori's Rose Petal Spa. It was so cute, with its pink and red exterior and the shop name in looping characters. She opened the door, hearing the tinkling of wind chimes as she entered.

There was a little desk by the door, and a few people were going through the Swan Crane form on mats to her left. The soft black carpeting was already turning her aura a soft green.

The woman at the desk smiled at her, her green eyes twinkling. "Welcome to Hiyori's! How can I help you?"

"Oh, I have a coupon for a free session.” She pulled it out of her purse, handing it over.

The woman pointed to the group. "They just started, if you wanted to join them."

"Sure! What's your name?"

"It's Jin."

"Thank you, Jin. Your aura is a nice black."

"And yours is a bubbly pink."

"You know about auras, too?"

"Yes, I can see them. I learned it from my mom."

"Me too."

Smiling at the discovery, Ty Lee walked over to the others doing yoga and unrolled her mat. She stood on it and stretched for a few moments before getting into position.

"Now bend your arms and let your chi flow through you. You should feel a gentle stretch as the spirits bless your body.”

She bent down and didn't feel anything—that was normal for her. She remembered lying down and bending back so that her back touched her legs. Azula had been unimpressed, and that had led to them talking about how she could be a great asset for her. But now that was distracting her, so she shooed it away.

"Let your body sing to you as your stress flows out of you. All of your worries will pass away like the birds flying south to seek warmth."

She focused on her elbow, feeling it tingle as she bent down and crossed her arms in front of her, feeling a nice stretch in her arm muscles.

Soon, the session was over, and she sat down on the ground and meditated. She considered her day so far. She had had a cup of tea in the morning with a bowl of rice and fruit, and the man in the car definitely needed a cup of calming tea. Now she could go home and see what life would bring to her. 

But first, she zipped to the desk, getting the girl’s number.

Dancing out the door, she stopped at an intersection and waited for the light to turn green, seeing a bunch of cars sitting there full of sad drivers with bad auras. Crossing the street, she came across an alleyway where she saw a man sitting on the ground and smoking a cigarette. He had a scraggly beard, and his clothes were stained. His aura was brown, so she stopped for a moment, having her hands at the ready in case he was a mugger. But she knew hearts too well for that.

"What do you want?" He didn't look up from his cigarette, but he was frowning. "If you don't have booze or cigarettes, get lost."

"Do you want some food?"

"No, I have plenty." 

She sat down on the other wall and looked at him. "You look like you could use some cheering up."

"What made you think that? Is it my personality?"

His black eyes were empty of joy and spirit. She would have the final word on that.

"Just know that there's always someone out there who cares for you."

"Is that so? Well, that's so wonderful. I can't wait to hear from the guy who has my back. Could you tell him for me? I think he's hard of hearing."

She sighed inside. "Well, sometimes you never know if someone is looking out for you. You have to listen to the spirits, and if you wait a little while, you might find out that help has always been there waiting for you."

"That's a bunch of hogwash. Now scram!"

Ty Lee smiled. "Have a good day."

"Yeah, whatever."

And she left him to grumble in the alley. She had tried her best, and that was all that mattered. She skipped down the street, smiling at people staring at their phones, eventually reaching her apartment. It was a joyous little thing, with its blue exterior and soft felt carpets. She remembered feeling such peace when she had first stepped foot in it, and she had known that it was the place for her. East Side Suites. More like sweets, as it made her feel like someone was covering her soul in honey.

She walked inside and saw that Chun was reading a book at the service desk, so she stopped and smiled at him.

He smiled back, his nice green eyes sparkling. If she didn't have a thing for a mustached earthbender from across town, she would sneak to his side and wait for him to give her his number.

"What's that, Chun?"

"Oh, this." He picked it up and showed it to her. The cover read How to Achieve Inner Peace . "My life coach recommended it to me. It's a good read. Right now it's talking about how you can let the world pass through you—you don't need to know every little thing that's going on. Most of it's noise anyway. How's your day going?"

Ty Lee lit up like a festival lantern. "Oh, I did some yoga. I met someone there who can see auras!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think I might ask her to hang out. …Then I found an old guy in an alley who looked like he needed some encouragement. He didn't look like he was taking it well, but I'm sure he'll get something from it."

He smiled. "Nice. Have a good one, Ty Lee."

"You, too!"

As she stood in the elevator, she looked down at her phone to see that Haru had sent her a message.

Haru: are you free tonight?

Ty: I sure am. What's going on?

Haru: dinner at the Blue Lotus

She beamed and sent him a heart emoji.

As the door opened, she saw Jin passing through, so she zipped to her side.

"Hey, Ty."

"How are things with Chin?"

The girl stopped, and Ty Lee could see a tear forming in her eye. "He dumped me last night."

The acrobat threw her arms around her friend. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Jin! What happened?"

As Ty Lee stood back, the girl sighed. "I think he was two-timing me."

The bubbly girl's smile turned dark. "Oh, what a jerk!" But then it returned to serenity. "But hey, there's always another guy. I'm sure you'll find one to sweep you off your feet."

"Yeah. See you."

"You, too."

Ty Lee strolled into her apartment. It was a cozy little corner room with a view of the city through tall windows. The walls were splashed with pink and rainbows, plastered with band posters—The Twisted Tigerdillos, The Nomads, and The Sea Ravens, a spiky trio with goth outfits.

She hopped onto her bed and poked her finger at some books on her bedside shelf: Wisdom of the Air Nomads , Sage Advice from Guru Patingha , and—her eyes lit up— Finding Inner Peace in the Storms of Life .

She pulled it out and flicked through the first pages. She grabbed her earbuds from the nightstand, popped them in, and played some calming ocean sounds as she read.

Do not let the world crush your hopes and dreams. Let their negativity and doubt pass around you as you continue your life journey, blossoming into the person you were destined to become.

If your life feels dull, maybe it's a sign that the spirits are calling you to find new experiences and let them carry you to new heights.

There is nothing you cannot do if you let the spirits guide you. Try it—let go of your worries and cares and jump into the sky, not worrying if someone will catch you. That is for the spirits to decide.

She set down the book and pondered the teachings. All she had to do was let go of whatever was nagging at her spirit, and the spirits would speak to her—let her know what life was really about.

She smiled contentedly before setting the book down and closing her eyes to nap. She lay there as the music swelled and settled into a gentle beat. Then she drifted off into a land of colorful auras and dancing crane fish.

Chapter 14: Short: Sky

Summary:

Aang and Toph are enjoying a nothing afternoon.

Aang and Toph were sitting under a tree and she was chewing on some mochi. The sky above was a beautiful light blue, with not a cloud to be seen. The wind was rustling their robes. She had her hair down, and it was billowing in the wind. He smiled at her. She only had it down in the evenings, and in the mornings, it was a poofy mess. But now it was long and silky.

"Twinkletoes, what are you doing? I can feel it in your heartbeat."

"Oh, I'm thinking about how I somehow got the most beautiful woman in the world to fall for such a lousy guy."

She blushed. "Hey, don't get mushy on me."

But that only made him bolder. "Oh, I will get so mushy. You are my light in the night, a gem in a dark cave. You're the sound of the ocean waves."

She sighed, punching his shoulder. "Can we get back to goofing off?"

"As you wish, my lady." That got another punch, but this one was half-hearted.

He looked out at the cliffs below, admiring the beauty of nature. The rocks were strewn about like petals from a cherry blossom, the river was glistening in the sun, carrying along a few branches like offerings to the spirits, and a herd of moosows were grazing by it, some drinking and playing around in the water.

"Twinkles, you're thinking again."

"I'm just taking in the sight."

"Oh, I've seen it all. Do you want me to describe it for you?"

Toph set a foot firmly in the earth. "I can sense some of it. The river, the animals, and the rocks."

"The moo sows look like a soap bubble feels, and the river is like a nice cup of cold juice. The rocks are shining, like the sounds a horn makes at the end of a play."

He waited for a yawn, or a laugh, but no—he turned to see that she had her eyes open, and a lovely smile was gracing her lips. 

"Go on."

"And the sky is like a clear sapphire, with not a single nick in it. And the clouds are like a sandstorm rolling through a desert. Do you want to feel them? They're like soft water."

"Soft water?"

"Yeah, you'd think they'd be like soft cotton, but it's just a bunch of mist."

Toph shook her head. "I'll pass. I'm good with my two feet on the warm, solid earth, thank you very much."

He threw his arm around her. "Would you do it for me?"

She let out a groan. "Maybe when moo sows fly."

"That could be arranged."

“Hey!”

Aang laughed, and they returned to their goofing off.

Chapter 15: Short: A Date

Summary:

A little Jinko snippet.

Hop along, try not to trip. If you aren’t too careful, you might slip.

Jin was ecstatic as she hopped through the streets of Ba Sing Se. She had found a gold piece on the ground, and she knew exactly where to spend it.

She stopped in at Pao’s Tea Shop and sat down at a table, ordering chai with honey from the cute boy with a scar and brilliant gold eyes. When he returned with her cup, she couldn’t help but eye him softly as he walked back to the kitchen.

The tea was delicious as ever, and the honey was not too sweet. She felt the gold piece burning in her pocket and ordered a hot bun as well. As she finished her treats, she turned to see him clearing his throat.

“Uh… would you, uh, want to… go out tonight… with me?”

She beamed. “Of course! Dinner?”

“Yeah… I know a place.”

“Could I meet you here after you close?”

“Sure.”

She stood, slipping the gold coin onto the table.
“Keep the change… for our date.”

The boy stood slack-jawed as she walked out of the tea shop.

Watching the coin glimmer in his nephew’s hands, Iroh grinned like the mischievous old man he was.

Chapter 16: Short: Beach Convo

Summary:

Zuko, Katara, Beach, a little angst.

Zuko was sitting by the ocean with an ice cream cone in his hand. The waves were gently undulating, and the sea breeze was full of salt and the scent of freedom. He looked around at the endless expanse of sand and ocean and found himself alone in this embrace. He was a Fire Lord alone in the world with beautiful nature in which to disperse his thoughts of bureaucracy and regulations and the thousands of burdens upon his shoulders. Here he could take a lick of his nice cinnamon ice cream and forget all of it. 

So he sat there, witness to nothing but the endless cycle of the ocean waves and the beauty of the sun up in the sky. The clouds were wispy little things, and he could hear the sounds of the ravengulls chirping lazily. One of them swooped down onto the ground beside him and pecked at a patch of sand. He remembered seeing a few of them playing together when he and Azula had been little and they had chased after them like the children they were.

He saw Katara walking down the beach towards him, Izumi in her arms, and he smiled as she sat down by his side holding their little girl.

"Is she tired out?"

"Yeah, I think she’s about ready for a nap. Finally.."

"Okay." Zuko looked down at the bundle of joy in his wife's arms. Her long black hair was held up in a ponytail. Her tan skin was shining in the sunlight, and she was beautiful—the perfect mix of both her parents.

So, Zuko looked at his wife. "What do you want to do tonight?"

"Do you want to read some of your theater scrolls?” 

“You know me too well. And some wine?"

She nodded. "Sure.” 

“Do we have any dinner plans?"

"Not really. We could look through the pantry. A little seal jerky, some nuts. Is that good?"

Zuko hummed. "Yeah, that could work.”

“Okay."

"So, what is it, honey?" 

She closed her eyes for a moment before meeting her husband's gaze. "What are we going to do about your family?"

"Go on."

"You know, Azula's struggling, your father's in prison, and your mother's missing still. And I heard Iroh's not doing so well."

"Yeah, I know. His handwriting was sad the last time. He might even be using a scribe to dictate it by now. I just—I don't know what's going to happen."

She took his hand, squeezing it. "Hey, we'll get through this, you know that?"

"Yeah, just like the past half dozen disasters I've been through."

“Hey, those weren't disasters. You did what you had to do to get through them, despite all the messiness."

"Okay."

"So, you think we should get this little princess back to bed?"

"Yeah, we should do that."

And they stood from their chairs and walked into the house to bring their little bundle of joy to bed.

 

Chapter 17: Short: Dao

Summary:

On a peaceful day, Zuko sharpens his dao.

Zuko was sitting on a bench, sharpening his dao. The sea beyond the cliffs was calm, and the birds were chirping. The grass was swaying in the sea breeze.

His work was done, and all he needed to do now was sit in the peace of nature and let his mind be clear—let his worries fade. The reports from last week about the improvements to the navy were signed, the budget was all but finished, and the trade talks with the Earth King had gone wonderfully.

What was he thinking about them for? He pulled out a cup of oil and dabbed a rag in it, wiping his blades before picking up his stone again. The harsh sound of stone against steel was a beautiful melody to his ears. After a few more passes, he tested the edge with a gentle tap of a finger and nodded.

He stood and swung the swords around, going through a few forms. He stabbed, parried, and rolled with a ghost, and finally set them in their sheath. He turned and headed for a tent to the south, where a pair of guards were sitting by a fire, cups in hand.

“Fire Lord, how was your walk?”

“Oh, it was nice. Do you want any tea?”

And he set a pot on the fire, engaging in small talk with them as he waited for the water to reach a boil. When he heard the rumble of the water, he dropped a satchel of tea into it and watched the steaming water slowly turn a nice leaf green. When it was done, he poured them their cups, taking his and sitting down on a soft blanket and enjoying the delicious grassy flavor.

Sip by sip, he drifted into contentment—finally rising with a yawn and lying down on his bed in the tent, letting himself drift into a land of turtle ducks and fire lilies. His mother and sister were smiling.

Chapter 18: Short: Nature.

Summary:

A lion-bear roams the Si Wong Desert.

A lion-bear was basking in the sun in the plains north of the Si Wong Desert. The wind was ruffling its fur, and the grass beneath it was as soft as silk. It opened its eyes for a moment, looking out into the blue expanse before rolling over and scratching its side. It was the mighty beast at the top of the pack. It had no fear except of what would sneak up and dare to use such cunning tactics to take him down. It looked around, smelling the air for any prey. It was hungry, so it walked a few feet south, looking around again.

There was fresh water in a burbling stream, and his mate was sitting under a shade tree with their cubs. She was beautiful, and his children would grow up to be strong and mighty predators. Shaking away the thoughts of food, it returned to its soft grass and lay down for a while.

Time seemed to slip into oblivion, and it awoke a few hours later as the sun was setting. It yawned, sitting up, but then it felt a weird presence in its stomach. Something was rumbling up its gullet. It covered its mouth, but it was too late. It let out a sonorous belch.

All was quiet for a moment before everyone laughed. Out came the hyena-cat with the camera, the komodo-rhino with the boom mic, and the director—a lynx-fox with a mustache.

The lynx-fox put a hand to his face, groaning. "Couldn't you just hold it in?"

The lion-bear smiled in embarrassment. "Sorry, guys.” 

The komodo-rhino was fuming. “This is our eighth take! What do we need to do?"

But then a rabbit-sheep came with a tray of coffees. "Toji, you could always fix it in post."

The director nodded, his eyes brimming with fatigue. "Yeah, I'm just tired. Everyone take five."

Notes:

Well, that was a twist.

Chapter 19: Cherry Tree

Summary:

Zuko and Ursa talk under their favorite tree.

Zuko was reading a theater scroll under a cherry tree. His day had gone well—all of his meetings were short and to the point with no unproductive back-and-forth talking, and he had made great progress on the budget. With extensive cuts to the military’s coffers, the Fire Nation was now on solid ground financially. Now he could take an hour to unwind and let his mind drift along as he pictured the scene on the page.

The dark water spirit was fending off a pair of thieves, and the Dragon Empress was watching in awe as her lover fought them off.

"The dark spirits of the Shikai forest! Oh my love, I will give you every drop of my love!"

"But what have I done to deserve your love?"

"You are so brave and daring!"

It was a bit cheesy, but he loved that kind of schlockiness. He looked up to see a pair of turtleducks nibbling at a piece of bread and threw another piece at them, smiling down at them. Then their mother came and guided them over to a nest on the other side of the pond.

He looked down at his teapot and cup of tea, lifting the cup and warming it with a short exhale from his mouth. He took a sip, enjoying the floral notes and the slight earthiness. It was a blend sent from Uncle for his birthday, and he just needed to know how that old man knew everything he liked. Uncle had gotten him a new pair of swords as well, and he had tested them out with Suki in the sparring grounds.

Now, after a hard day, he was letting himself drift off with the breeze and listen to the quacking of the turtleducks. 

Then a servant arrived bearing a scroll. She bowed to him. "Your Majesty, a message from Ba Sing Se."

"Thank you." 

He took it and unrolled it. The Earth Kingdom was inviting him and the other nations for a festival in honor of the past five years of peace. At the bottom, Kuei had left a note emphasizing that they would need fireworks from the Fire Nation.

Of course, he would happily provide them. They mentioned that there would be dancing and parades—the whole gamut of flashy festivities. 

He handed it back to the woman. "Could you put this in my study for later?"

"Of course." And the woman left.

Now what to do, what to do? 

He took another sip of his tea, thinking of the times he had seen Katara. It had been a while since he had written to her. She was down at the Southern Water Tribe teaching a new class of waterbenders, both healing and fighting. And then Mai—she was still recovering from their breakup, so he could send her something to help heal the wounds. Then there was Aang, rebuilding the Southern Air Temple. In the last letter, he had told them that they would need more supplies, since the earthbending was a bit too complex for him and his team. He had sent over several crates for them and a team of engineers. eSitting there mulling it over, he knew he had to send something, say something, but all that could wait. 

He listened to the sounds of the cherry trees rustling, drifting off, closing his eyes, letting his mind be at peace. But he knew he would have to return to his duties in an hour, so that kept nagging at his brain, pecking at it like an annoying pig-chicken.

Breathe in, breathe out. Let in your worries, let out inner peace. 

He remembered his uncle teaching him that on their ship. That had been after his outbursts about not needing calming tea. But that night, when he had sat beneath the moonlight, his uncle had come out and brought a candle. Sitting there and breathing with it, he had asked him what he did to be so calm. And he had taught him about the breath of fire, the peace within. That one did not need to be free of fear, but one needed to let it pass away. Burn it along with one's negative desires and vices. If he wished to be as tranquil as the wind, he must breathe in the wind and breathe out his frustrations.

He continued breathing, holding it in for five seconds and letting out his worries about the new trade agreements, bureaucracy, the nagging missives from his advisors that he needed to marry and produce heirs. Otherwise, his father would be lurking in the shadows, waiting to take over. Then he stopped and listened to the turtleducks once more, watched them as they poked at a patch of mud, pulling out a worm. Maybe he should be like the turtle ducks—carefree, not worrying about anything at all, just quacking and eating and being a beautiful part of nature.

Then he saw his mother coming towards him, bearing a scroll. He rose and came to take her into his arms, smiling.

"How are you, Mother?"

She smiled into his shoulder. "Oh, just wonderful.” Then she eyed the scroll in his lap. “Oh…”

Zuko looked down at it. "What?”

She smiled, her eyes full of dissipated joy. “You looked like you needed something to read, so I got…”

“Oh…” But then he set the scroll aside. “Hey, I’ll read it.”

“I know…” She handed it to him, and he unrolled it to see the title "Love Amongst the Dragons."

"Oh, is this a— What edition is this?"

She smirked. “It’s an original copy."

He opened his eyes in shock. "Where did you get this?"

"It's a family heirloom passed down from my grandmother."

"Mother, but why—why are you giving this to me?"

"Because you love it, and I have no use for it anymore. It was only going to gather dust in a cupboard."

"Okay." He held it gingerly in his hands, inching up the parchment to see the first few lines of the play. The chorus was narrating the story, and the Dragon Empress was walking out onto the stage, bemoaning her fate.

"Oh, it's—thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome, honey." Then she stood there smiling at him before they sat down under the cherry tree. She looked at him. "Son, how have you been holding up the past few weeks?"

"It’s been a bumpy ride, but I’ve gotten through it… somehow."

"That’s good to hear. I’m proud of you."

"Yeah, still, it's a pain sometimes. I haven't really gotten much sleep in a month, and I can't stop thinking about Father and what he's doing to me."

She nodded with sad eyes. "Yes, I spent many nights thinking about what he would do to you, and I still can't forgive myself for what I let him do to you."

"Mother, you don't know—"

"I left you in the hands of a monster, and he did that to you!" She set her fingers on his scar.

"Mom, it's okay, it's in the past, but I still—"

A tear fell from her eye. "I should have taken you both and ran.”

“But we would have—”

“I know what could have happened, but I still feel so ugly inside because of it."

He sat there in the silence, taking in her horrible gaze. She was so sad, like a flower losing a petal one at a time until it shriveled up.

"Mom, can we talk about something lighter?"

"Yeah."

So he sat there for a moment, letting the awkwardness of the situation fade. "How's Azula been?"

"Oh, she's improving. She talked to me last week without breaking anything, and the doctors say she'll be good enough in a year to visit."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'll have to plan something. Have you talked to Uncle about it?"

"Yeah.”

Ursa smiled. “Kiyi’s going to the Academy. Mai helped her with a situation there."

"Yeah, I planned that."

"Oh, you did?"

"Yep, I had to check it." Zuko frowned. "Turns out that the teachers were trying to push the new Ozai Society on them."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I got him sacked. Hopefully there will be better teachers there soon."

Ursa frowned. "There better be. I don't want my daughter having her mind poisoned by him. It's already happened once, and I don't want it to happen ever again."

"I know. Have you talked to him recently?"

"Of course not. Why would I? But, well, you know, he's still my father."

Mother shook her head. "That man was nothing more than a cruel tyrant. I was glad to leave, even though he made it a high price."

"Yeah." Zuko nodded again. "But there still has to be something inside him, something we can reach."

"No, Zuko, even your uncle doesn't believe in that. Your father is a baked pottery jar. There's nothing we can do but let it sit there until it decays."

"But why?" Zuko was confused. "Why can't there be anything we can do?"

"Zuko, can we let this go for a while?"

"Okay. It just was on my mind."

"I know. It's been on mine for ten years."

They sat there as Zuko looked over the illustrations in the scroll, and then another idea popped into his head. "Are you going to do anything with Azula this weekend?"

"Yes, we're going to the gardens in the caldera. Do you want to come with us?"

"Sure, I can. But I'm not sure about her. She was fine last time, but I don't know if she might relapse."

Ursa looked into the distance for a long moment. “That will always be lurking, but we have to take that risk.” She kissed his head before standing and dusting off her robes. “I have a meeting with Master Ushi. I’ll see you at dinner.”

“See you, Mom. I love you.”

“I know.”

With that, Zuko was left with the sound of the trees and turtleducks quacking joyfully.

Chapter 20: Ba Sing Se News

Summary:

Ba Sing Se News, the most trusted name in news.

Crack Alert! 99.1% Pure.

"From Ba Sing Se News, I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

The two sat at a silver and green news desk with a black backdrop, with monitors showing spinning globes and moving yen signs.

Long Feng smoothed his beard, smiling at the camera. "Tonight's top story: Fire Lord Zuko appears to have a thing for Princess Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, though his ministers are keeping it quite hush-hush."

A royal advisor stood next to a reporter in a wooden tearoom, stroking his beard. "We can neither confirm nor deny that the Fire Lord has romantic intentions for the princess."

"Despite their statements, we have a source on the inside."

On the screen, a man with a blacked-out face and a large stomach sat in a chair with a steaming cup of tea. At the top of the screen read the statement: "To protect the identitea of our source, we have obscured his face and distorted his voice."

"Ah, young love. I have it on good authority that the Fire Lord wishes to propose to Princess Katara this very month, though he has had trouble coming up with the best way to pop the question."

"It will remain to be seen if the two lovebirds will fly off together, but many are hoping they will."

A woman with long black hair and golden eyes was mixing some herbs at a low table. Oh, it would be just perfect, and their children would be so adorable."

Joo Dee smiled so wide, it looked like she was stretching a rubber mask. "Oh, I can't wait to hear more."

Long Feng nodded. "Neither can I. Coming up, we will discuss the recent investigations into the sanity of King Bumi. But first, a word from our sponsors."

*  *  *

A bald man in a black suit sat at a tall desk, so tall he had to bend over to look at the camera.

"If you or a loved one have been involved in an accident with the Avatar that has destroyed your cabbages, a toll-free call will help you to get compensation. In just fifteen minutes, you can find out if you qualify for the Avatar Aang Victim Compensation Fund. Hundreds of peaceful Fire Nation soldiers have won thousands of gold pieces for emotional and physical damages from such a reckless young rascal. Call today if you qualify."

*  *  *

Long Feng shuffled his papers. "Now back to the news. A man in Omashu has been arrested for dancing like a monkey while riding the mail chutes. He was tall, muscular, and bearded, though authorities have not charged him with anything. He is reported as saying that he needed to give Flopsy a ride. If anyone has information about this mysterious man, please feel free to reach out to our tip line."

Joo Dee somehow smiled more widely. "Now onto some interesting food news. If you want ramen and ice cream, you're in luck. The strange combination comes to us via Chong and the Nomads. Chong is here with us now. Chong, where did you get the inspiration for such a novel culinary creation?"

With bowls of ramen and ice cream in hand, Joo Dee and Long Feng sat next to the famous artist as he took a drag from a joint. "I don't know, man. Sometimes you let life take you wherever it wants, and I just so happened to stumble on this idea when I was tending to my mushroom garden."

Joo Dee smiled widely as she lifted a morsel of the confection to her mouth. Chewing slowly, she gulped it down, her smile wavering. "Mmm. This is delicious."

The man nodded. "I'm glad you like it. The secret to a good ramen ice cream is to not overcook the noodles. That way, you get a nice blend of texture. Also, never use hard-serve ice cream—it'll just turn into a mess."

The two interviewers stood there, looking at the camera in distress, then the camera crew nodded to them.

"Well, thank you for coming, Chong. Tell us what you have coming up."

"Oh, we're going to be on tour all this month through the Earth Kingdom. Our new album is Just Go With the Flow. Buy it now on our website or on Ember Music."

After the man left, the crew cut the camera feed, and the two newspeople dumped their bowls into the trash.

Long Feng stared intensely into the camera. "After the break, a new pig-chicken disease is spreading like wildfire through the Fire Nation. Is excess flatulence the culprit?"

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"Today's top story: a man in the Upper Ring has chained himself to the top of a tower and is refusing to leave unless the authorities give in to his demands. What are those demands? Well, listen for yourself."

A man in a green polka-dot robe with a grease stain across the front was chained to a service tower. His beard was long and greasy, and one could smell him with their eyes. "I'm not leaving until you give me the codes to the secret alien ship you have under the ramen shop on Jade Street!"

A metalbender police officer was holding a megaphone. "Sir, would you please get down from there and speak to us! We can negotiate with you down here where it's safer!"

The man shook his head. "No, I will not bow down to you! All of you are part of the Monkey King's army! Just give me the spaceship, and I'll be off to serve our green masters!"

Long Feng frowned extra seriously. "Authorities have been unsuccessful so far in their attempts to detain him, as his smell has penetrated even their best protective masks. Citizens are advised to evacuate the area."

Joo Dee smiled so brightly, the camera man fainted. "Now for the weather. Chun Li, how's it looking this week?"

The woman in a flowing mint dress stood before a map of the Earth Kingdom with little sun and cloud symbols. "Oh, it's going to be a wonderful week, with highs in the low seventies and a low chance of rain, though the wind is going to be a bit nippy at thirty miles per hour." But then she held a finger to a piece in her ear. "Wait, I'm getting new information. It looks like a giant koi fish is heading to the Southern Coast, and dust storms are forming in Omashu. We'll have to monitor this situation."

Long Feng nodded. "That is deeply concerning, Chun Li. To everyone listening on the coast: please give up all hope and flee for your lives. You are an insignificant blotch on the tapestry of life. Go clean yourself off it and rid the world of your filth."

Joo Dee smiled threateningly. "You are all scum. We hope you die a long, painful death."

Long Feng stared maliciously at the camera before softening. "And now for some pop culture. We turn to our culture correspondent, Mai Lin."

"Mai Lin, what's hip and cool around here?"

"I'll tell you what's hip and cool: the new live-action remake of Love Amongst the Dragons. The critics are saying it's a fresh take on the beloved original—although it can be a bit jarring at times."

"It's stunning and beautiful. I would give up my three-year-old son just to forget it and watch it again."

"...Back to you, Long."

Long Feng took a moment to process what had been said before smiling at the camera. "That'll do it for today. This is Long Feng, signing off for Ba Sing Se News."

"Here you are informed. Here you are entertained."

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. Here you are informed. Here you are entertained. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm depressed." Joo Dee grinned glumly.

"Sorry to hear that. Have a lollipop." He pulled out a one-foot red lollipop from under the desk and handed it to her.

"Oh, thank you." She set it down on the desk.

"Today's top story: ash bananas. What are they, and why do they pair so well with onions?"

"We will never know."

He frowned. "That's disappointing. Now on to our next story. Reporting from Gaoling, Min Hua is at the marriage of the Avatar to Lady Toph Beifong. Min Hua?"

She was standing outside the silver gates of the Beifong estate. "Yes, Long Feng. Dozens of guests are here at the estate, including the Fire Lord and the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe."

"They look so happy," Joo Dee smiled.

Min Hua nodded. "They sure do. Now, the wedding is scheduled for this—"

"Can I go there?"

"What?"

"I want to feel happy. I want a life." Joo Dee let a tear fall from her perfectly shadowed eye.

Long Feng blinked before turning to the director. "Cut the cameras. Joo Dee, the Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."

"I would be honored to accept his invitation." She blinked for a moment before smiling brightly at him. "What's going on, Long?"

"Oh, just a few technical difficulties. Here, have this."

He handed her another lollipop. Then he held a finger to his ear, nodding after a moment. "Breaking news: the Avatar and Lady Beifong have just left the wedding on his flying bison. If you see the bison, do not follow it. And watch out for bison dung falling from the sky."

With that, he looked into the camera. "I'm Long Feng."

"And I am honored to accept your invitation."

"Signing off for Ba Sing Se News. Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained."

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

The two women next to him were so alike he could have sworn they were twins, but he had a job to do. "Today's top story: a homelessness crisis is brewing—and an expert's solution? Hire them and make them living statues."

A chubby man with a bun and a white goatee grinned at the camera. His green eyes were cheery. 

"They're just standing around and doing nothing. But if we dress them up and teach them to hold still, they'll be contributing to society."

Joo Dee Two stared directly at the camera, not even blinking.

"Chin is there with more on the story. Chin?"

"Thank you, Joo Dee. I am here at the Earth King's palace, where Professor Xing Lei is presenting his first student's work.."

Behind him, a man with a wild beard and a ragged cloak was covered in silver paint and standing still in a fisherman's pose. His face was frozen in a bewildered frown.

"Professor, I do say—it looks quite impressive."

"Yes, I am so proud of what we have accomplished here." He pulled out a cane and pointed at the homeless man's face. "He is perfectly still, in character as a fisherman sitting on a dock as he daydreams."

"It's beautiful."

Though the man's lips did not move, a weak "help" squeaked out of them.

"How many more students do you have?"

"Help."

"Oh, we have dozens of volunteers who will be stationed in exhibits around the city. If all goes well, we will have living statues at twenty-seven locations."

"I can't wait. Well, Professor, it's been a pleasure."

"For me as well."

"Back to you, Long."

Long Feng shuffled some papers, smiling at the camera. "And now for the weather. Chun-Li. Chun-Li, are you there?"

"Yes, I am here." She staggered into the room, her hair disheveled and her dress covered in mudprints.

"Chun-Li, are you alright? What happened?"

"Oh, it's nothing. I was simply standing in the road when a girl on a polar bear dog ran me over. I am fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Now it looks like we will have partly overdraft skies and a high chance of rain. Nine— Ninety percent—"

And she fell to the ground.

A janitor walked into the room and swept her to the side. "Back to you, Long."

Long Feng's face was frozen in a disbelieving stare. The Joo Dees’ smiles were unchanged.

"Now, a word from our sponsors: White Wolf Cactus Juice—it's the quenchiest. And now to Hong with sports."

A man with a double goatee stood in a pai sho hall. "Thank you, Long. The Ba Sing Se Pai sho Team competed in the Legends Tournament in Republic City, coming in second with a fifteen-point lead, led by the brilliant Mushi."

He held a microphone to the old man. "Mister Mushi, you had an excellent showing today. You swept through the competition like air."

"Oh, I simply start with a pot of ginseng and let myself get lost in the game. Speaking of tea—would you like a cup?"

"Oh no, I'm on duty."

The man shook his head. "But I insist."

"...Fine."

Hong turned to the camera. "The team now heads to the finals to face the Agna Qel'a team, led by Masters Pakku and Yugoda. It's looking to be an exciting match."

"I have some green tea cakes."

"...Yeah. Thanks.” He took a bite. “Back to you, Long."

"That'll do it for today, folks. For Ba Sing Se News, I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"No—I am Joo Dee."

"Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained." Long frowned at them. “The Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."

And they both intoned, "I am honored to accept his invitation."

*  *  *

Long Feng furrowed his brow at the camera. "What is Zuko doing in the kitchen?"

Zuko sliced some tomatoes to put on his ham sandwich.

“Is that blood on his hands?”

He'd just squirted the ketchup bottle, spraying some of it everywhere.

"Our investigator, Joo Dee, is on the case."

Joo Dee popped out of a trash can, holding out a microphone. "Mr. Sozin, what do you think you are doing?"

The man widened his eyes. "What—what are you doing in here?"

"I'm with Ba Sing Se News, and we have reason to believe that you are a murderer."

"What? I'm making a sandwich!"

"Really? We'll see about that."

She grabbed for his sandwich, and when he tugged it back, it fell onto the floor, transforming into a dead otter-penguin.

He turned to see Sokka barging in, wearing a tutu and a hockey mask.

"You're under arrest for killing an endangered species."

Long Feng awoke from the dream, smiling. He had an idea for a story.

*  *  *

"This is Ba Sing Se News. I'm Long Feng."

"And I'm Joo Dee."

"Today's top story: a man is sitting in a newsroom and narrating a story.” 

“And a woman is adding polite commentary that doesn't add any beneficial information."

Long Feng nodded to her. "Now to the weather, where a woman is standing in front of a screen, reading a script, and pointing at things while looking pretty. Chun Li, how are things?"

"The weather is nice. I need more money."

"Denied."

She sighed. "Darn. It was worth a try."

"It sure was. Oh, and I've heard your vacation was denied too, so there's that. ...And with a look at sports, here's Hong. Hong, what's going on this week?"

Hong looked like he pulled himself out of bed after a night with a bottle of sake. "I hate my job and want to rip my script into a million pieces. The Flaming Fire Ferrets defeated a homeless man peacefully sleeping on the sidewalk on the way to their match with the Blue Chicken-Buffalos. Now charges have been filed, and they lost the match.” He swatted the air. “Do we have insect repellent? I'm hearing wasps."

Long Feng shook his head. "No can do. Get it on your lunch break."

"Awesome."

"Now a word from our sponsor: Bujing Strategic Advisors—Do you have a military conflict in need of resolving? Just throw hundreds of child soldiers at your problem, and it will go smoothly. Bujing: what better bait than fresh meat?"

Joo Dee smiled at the camera as if reciting a hostage video. "This week, we are delighted to tour the Ba Sing Se Flutter-wasp Zoo, where dreams come true. Joo Dee?"

Joo Dee II smiled. "I am standing here at the Ba Sing Se Zoo, where the director has kindly led me through the wasp exhibit. Director, are these flutter-wasps in open-air cages?"

A bald man in a green turtleduck-neck sweater smiled. "They sure are, Joo Dee. They get antsy and depressed all locked up in cages, so we let them breathe the fresh air and go where they please."

Joo Dee II tried to make her smile look happy, but she was straining her cheek muscles. Her eyes were darting around in alarm as the flutter-wasps flew nearby—landing on tables, chairs, in ice cream, and even in dogs' fur.

The man eyed the flutter-wasps like babbling toddlers, then he met the woman’s concerned eyes. “What is it?”

"Could we take this interview inside?"

"What, don’t you want to be around the bees?"

"Yes, they’re quite charming, but it is quite hot out here." She fanned her face.

Flutter-wasps began to land on the man as he shook his head. "Oh, we can simply bring out a fan. Wu, would you kindly?"

An assistant nodded. "Sure..." He returned with a small handheld fan.

As they sat there, the flutter-wasps had completely covered the man's torso and were making their way up his head, but his smile did not fade.

"Uh… sir, are you concerned about—?"

"Oh, not at all. I quite enjoy it, actually."

As the flutter-wasps lifted the man into the sky, Joo Dee II turned to the camera. "Back to you, Long."

Long Feng blinked before composing himself. "That… was something. That’ll do it for today, folks. For Ba Sing Se News, I’m Long Feng."

"And I’m Joo Dee."

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained.”

*  *  *

“This is Ba Sing Se News. I am Long Feng.” 

“And I am Joo Dee.” 

“Here you are informed, here you are entertained. Today's top story: a man in the lower ring has been selling hotcakes with cream to people. The only problem? They have poison in them. He has killed several dozen people, and he is at large. The police are informing people to stay clear of the area and let them know if they come across anything suspicious. Joo Dee, what did you have for breakfast?” 

She blinked. “Oh… not that?” 

“Good. And now, we have Chun-Li with the weather. Chun-Li, what's going on today?”

Chun-Li stood at a weather monitor in a white dress. Her eyes were streaming with tears as a gigantic hurricane was barreling down.

Long Feng furrowed his brow. "Chun-Li, what is that on the screen?"

She sobbed. "We're all going to die."

"What? What do you mean?"

Chun-Li continued to cry.

The anchor stared before widening his eyes. “Oh, I see the problem. Chun-Li, that's not the... Could somebody from the technical team get that fixed? It's a scene from a movie."

And Chun-Li widened her eyes in confusion. "What?"

"It looks like you're the victim of a practical joke. Let's get that fixed. …While that's being dealt with, let's do some trivia. What is the Earth King's favorite pet?”

Joo Dee sat next to him in confusion, clearing her throat. "A bear?"

"Yes, just a bear. And he is quite famous for it."

A man behind the cameras held up a hand. "We are done with the technical changes."

"Okay. Chun-Li, back to you."

"Okay." She took a moment to breathe. "Okay, looks like today is going to be much better than what I thought, so here's the weather. The skies are nice and clear today, and the temperature will be a cozy seventy degrees. However, there is a chance of showers later tonight, so keep your windows closed. Wait.” She held a finger to her earpiece. “I am receiving word that our director needs… chicken nuggets for lunch?”

“Cut the feed.” Long Feng walked over to an intern at a computer screen and whispered into his ear, “The Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai.”

“I would be honored to accept his invitation.”

The anchor lifted the man by his throat and smiled into his pale green eyes. “Leave here and never return. Do I make myself clear?”

The boy nodded, his eyes clouded and his movements jerky. “I shall do whatever you command, Mister Feng.”

“Good. Your things will be waiting for you at the door.”

He returned to the newsdesk, where Joo Dee was smiling like a clown. “In political news, the Earth King’s wife is expecting. Now Kuei will have heirs. But the real question is, did the Fire Nation have something to do with it? Chan is at the palace with a troubling report. Chan?”

Chan stood at the foot of the imperial steps, his black hair whipping in the wind. “It’s a bit windy here.”

“You’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Fine. Anyway, Queen Huamei is expecting. And the whole nation is thrilled about it.”

An old lady smiled. “I just can’t wait to see a beautiful baby prince.” 

An old lady with black lipstick grinned unnervingly. “Oh, I want to eat him up.”

A girl with a ponytail squealed. “Oh, it’s going to be so cute!”

“But others have concerns. Doctor Chun, a fellow at the Si Wong Online College, believes the pregnancy is part of a Fire Nation plot.”

A man in a white doctor’s outfit stood at a lab desk. “I have reason to believe that the Fire Nation took DNA from the Fire Lord and beamed it through the sky at the queen to delegitimize her.”

Chan nodded seriously. “That is quite a bold claim. Do you have any proof?”

The man pulled out a pin chart covered in crayon scribbles, holding it up with a serious gaze. “This is all the proof you will need. This needs to get to the Council of Five, the nobles, anyone who can take action to prevent a pretender on the throne.”

“Thank you, Doctor Chun.” The video feed ended, and returned to Chan standing before a camera. “Back to you, Long.”

Long Feng nodded. “That’ll do it for today. For Ba Sing Se News, I am Long Feng.”

“And I am Joo Dee.”

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained.”

*  *  *

“This is Ba Sing Se News. Here, you are informed. Here, you are entertained. I'm Long Feng.“

“And I am Joo Dee.”

“Today's top story: A man is claiming to have discovered time travel.”

"I saw the future! The world is going to look so amazing in a hundred years!"

The pair stood with a nutty man in a white labcoat.lab coat

Long Feng smiled seriously. “Dr. Gao is a professor at Ba Sing Se University with a theoretical PhD in physics. He's with us here in the studio. Doctor Gao, do you have anything to show us?"

The man nodded, his floppy white hair bobbing up and down. "I have discovered so many things with my invention!"

"Would you like to show us this invention?"

"Of course." He pulled out a jagged steel gizmo with a green analog screen. A date was flashing on it. "You see, all you have to do is set the clock to the time you want—past or future—and you will find yourself transported to that exact moment."

Joo Dee smiled brighter, her teeth generating a glare that was nearly blinding. "Could we try it?"

"Sure, sure! I knew you were going to say that. Oh—" He handed her a breath mint. "You're going to need this later. Do you have a camera?"

Long Feng nodded. "Yes." He motioned to one of the camera crew, who carried a portable camera.

"Now we have to hold hands. Just like that." He cranked the dial. "We're going a minute into the past."

"Wait, are you sure that's a good idea—"

In a flash of light, they found themselves standing next to... themselves.

The doctor smiled to himself as the others were stiff with shock and confusion.

Past Gao waved to himself. "Oh hey, future self! How's it going?"

"Oh, this is just the end of the demonstration. You'll be here in a minute. Now let's hold hands and..."

With a press of the button, they were back in the present moment.

The two newspeople slid down to the floor, blinking their eyes.

"Oh, it takes a bit to get used to it. But once you do, you can do all sorts of things—tour ancient cities, play games with your past and future selves, and even win the lottery!"

Long Feng motioned to his neck to cut the feed. "Sir, we do not endorse gambling on this network. I am sorry, but—"

"But what?"

"Doctor Gao, the Earth King has invited you to Lake Laogai."

But the man only laughed, pressed a few buttons on the device—and disappeared.

The feed cut out, showing an error screen with a badger mole fixing a camera and smiling awkwardly before returning to a picture of Long Feng and Joo Dee at the desk.

"Sorry about that, folks. Looks like we are going to have to issue an apology. Joo Dee?"

"Yes, it is with great regret that we announce that Dr. Gao is now facing criminal charges and will soon face justice."

"Yes. Now on to Chun-Li with the weather. Chun-Li?"

Chun-Li was nodding off next to the weather wall. She perked up and looked at the screen.

"Oh, yes, it's going to be nice and sunny with highs in the low 80s and some potential showers tomorrow night. Bring out an umbrella for that. Anything else?"

"Yes, in fact, I want to start painting."

"You do?"

"Yes. Back to you, Long."

"Okay, then. In financial news, the Bank of Gaoling is losing money, so they are asking Lady Toph Beifong for financial relief, but she said, and I quote, ‘*** *** and *** you, you *** *** *** ***.’ …That'll do it for us, folks. I'm Long Feng.” 

“And I'm Joo Dee.” 

“Here you are informed. Here you are entertained."

Before they could sign off, a red alert came on the screen.

"Breaking news, people. The Earth King is wearing a suit. Repeat, he is wearing a suit at the beach. This is such an embarrassment. Why is he doing this? We turn to our news correspondent, Chan, who is there on the scene for us."

"Yes, Long, it's such a tragedy. The Earth King is showing his pasty white body."

A blurred-out shot of the Earth King at the beach appeared on the screen, and the two anchors collapsed to the table, retching.

The feed went out, replaced by a badgermole shrugging next to a camera with a dead frowny face.

Chapter 21: Black Talon in: The Silver Serpent, Part IV

Summary:

Mai hopes her mission won't be boring.

Note: AI-assisted. Skip if not your cup of tea. I can understand the sentiment.

Mai stood in the secret headquarters, the man in the suit still smiling. To kill the awkward silence, she walked forward and bowed. "So, when's the mission start?"

"Oh, you will be transported there in about six hours. So that gives us enough time to show you around."

"Yes, please do."

The man's green eyes glinted above a thin smile. "I am The Director."

Mai frowned. "Director…?"

"Just Director."

Weird. "Okay."

He led her to one of the weapon racks, which held missiles, machine guns, and several of the futuristic weapons from before. Pulling one out, he handed it to her. "This is a Mark V Multiform Repeater. It is quite useful in close quarters combat."

She grabbed it, and it morphed to fit her arm. "Take aim at this dummy." He pointed to one in the corner that had just popped out of the ground. She took a shot, and it exploded into ash. "As you can see, it is very destructive."

"Yep."

Next, he led her to the displays, where her targets were glaring down at her. "This is our main intelligence dashboard. Here you will find information on your targets, locations, strategies, and so on and so forth. This is Fu Long, member of the Triads. He has been involved in several bombings in the Earth Kingdom. He will be the main target. Try to keep him in one piece for interrogations. If not, we will understand."

She nodded.

He pulled out a key fob and pressed a red button on it. A round hole opened in the floor, revealing a black sedan that inched up to the surface. "Here is your transportation. It comes with ejector seats, missiles, anti-aircraft guns, and full-service catering."

"Does it have a mini-bar?"

"It does. Do you want a drink?"

She gave him a deadpan stare. "No, I am going dry at the moment... A martini—extra dry."

He bent inside, and after a whirring sound, he pulled out a martini. It was bubbling just the way she liked it and had three olives on a red stick. He handed it to her. "Enjoy."

She lifted it to her lips, enjoying the bitter taste of the alcohol, as he turned back to the car. "Would you like to get a feel for it?"

"Sure."

As they sat in the plush red interior, he gestured to a few buttons. "Now, if you are in danger, you can press the homing button on the dash"—a green button with a black frowny face on it. "And if you need to evade detection—" He pressed a square button that turned red.

She looked out to see that the hood was invisible. "Neat. Can it do any other tricks?"

"Oh, I haven't even gotten warmed up yet." He pulled a black knob, and a pair of miniguns popped out of the hood, and a green targeting system came to life on the dash screen. "Fully loaded 5mm machine guns. They will cut through steel like butter."

"Nice."

"And if you need to take a dip during a chase..." He pressed a blue button, and the car transformed into a boat, the wheels turning flat with the ground. "It can reach a max speed of two hundred knots an hour and has radar sensors."

"Got it."

Afterward, he led her on a tour of the facilities. There was a gun range, a danger room for simulating missions, a cafeteria, and a doughnut bar. "You'd be surprised how popular it is—cinnamon sugar." She shook her head, grabbing a cherry fritter.

When the tour finished, they sat down on a balcony overlooking a vista of a lush green forest nestled between two rivers. It all looked so real—but they couldn't simulate the scent of pine and sea breeze.

"It's nice, isn't it?"

"I guess. But why go through the expense of it?"

"See that guy over there?" He pointed to a gaunt man with a beard trailing over the floor. "He never wants to leave. But he needs something to keep his sanity."

"...Okay."

"Anyway, let's get you to your room."

They traveled down a corridor and through a hall, coming to a stop at a keypad in a wall. He typed in a passcode, and the wall opened to reveal a white master bedroom with a giant black wardrobe and a silver fridge. Her luggage lay open next to the bed.

"Your luggage has been unloaded. Enjoy your mission."

She stood there in the room as the doors whirred shut, then jumped on the bed and sank into its soft sheets. After a moment, she slipped off and opened the fridge to see trays upon trays of fine cuisine: steak, crab stir-fry, salmon-perch sushi, caviar—and booze. Don't forget the booze. She helped herself to some steak, a salmon roll, and a can of beer.

Nibbling on her meal, she smiled. She could get used to this. But first she could take a nap.

---

Mai woke to the sound of a blaring alarm and sat up in bed, throwing a knife at her phone to silence it. She jumped out of bed and combed her hair, then looked down at her clothes and let out a dissatisfied grunt. After changing into a black business dress with a red bow, she pulled out some knives from her suitcase and set them into her pockets and sleeves before putting on twin pistols. If these guys didn't have the right stuff, she could stick with her old reliables.

She checked her phone for a moment before slipping out into the hallway, where she was greeted by a woman in a black suit that was a size too small for her. She had black lipstick, a black skull topknot, and olive eyes.

"Hello, Mai. Ready for your first mission?"

"Who are you?"

"Oh, the name's June, but you can call me the Huntress."

"Okay."

"Follow me." She led her down the corridor to the HQ, where the director was waiting.

"Ah, Huntress, thank you for escorting our new agent."

"No problem. I was just in the neighborhood and she stepped out. So, are you getting a heist case? Basic terrorism?"

The director cleared his throat. "That is where I come in. As a refresher, you are to stop the bad guys from doing their thing, and if you succeed you will receive your payment. Your weapons are in the locker against the wall. We have emailed you your passcode. The mission is expected to start at 2 PM. Try not to be late."

"Understood."

Mai took a step, but June tapped her shoulder. In an instant, June found a knife a foot from her neck.

"Whoa, calm down there."

Mai pulled it back, bowing in apology. "Sorry. Force of habit. What do you want?"

"Oh, I was just gonna say good luck, and you need to keep your head on a swivel. You never know who's gonna stab you in the back in this line of work."

"I've gotten that advice many times. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a mission to prepare for." With that she walked away, leaving the older woman sighing and staring.

Mai strolled over to the other wall to see a line of glossy lockers. When she came within a few feet of them, one in the middle glowed red and opened automatically. "Welcome, Agent Mai," it announced, revealing a set of black body armor, a pistol, and one of the advanced rifles.

She put on the armor, and when she grabbed the pistol, a light flashed from it. "Initiating training mode."

She sighed.

"Have you used this weapon before?"

"Once."

"Insufficient amount of experience. Continuing. To start, squeeze the handle." She did so, and the gun came to life. She looked through the neon orange sights at a dummy in the back and fired a shot, turning it into dust.

"Insufficient amount of experience."

"Oh for the love of—" She aimed the gun at two more dummies and blew them to pieces.

"Sufficient amount of experience. You may continue."

"Finally." She sighed and holstered the gun on her hip, then walked out of the room to another room where a computer monitor lay on a desk. She sat down before it and the screen flashed green for a moment.

"Initiating face scan." It sent a cluster of lasers over her face that tickled. "Face scan complete. Welcome, Agent Mai. Have you completed your mission briefing?"

"I want a refresher."

"Here are your mission details. The targets are planning to attack the client tonight. You are tasked with intercepting them and neutralizing them. If you are successful, you will receive two hundred thousand yen, and should you wish to continue with our organization, we will determine if your performance is up to our standards before offering you another mission. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes." Mai nodded.

"Now, your mission starts in four hours. Would you like to practice in our training area?"

"Of course."

The screen blinked out, and she stood and left the room, turning a corner and down a hall to a wide hall full of guns and dummies. She stood in the middle of it, holding her gun at the ready before hearing a voice come from her gun. "Ready to start in three, two, one."

The room transformed into an office complex full of men in black masks. She quickly dispatched the two in front of her in a line of cubicles before ducking into one as a man with a shotgun fired a blast right at her. She flew back in the air, landing on the ground as the men approached. She shot blindly, hearing two grunts. When she opened her eyes, there were two more, guns trained on her.

She covered her face as they fired, wincing as the bullets dug into her arms—then bounced off her sleeves. She focused her chi. Two shots. One motion. Both dropped.

"Success. Simulation terminated."

She sat up on the floor, blinking her eyes as the room faded back to reality. She smirked; she would have to make full use of this room whatever happened after. But first, she had a mission to do. So she stood, dusted herself off, and walked out to the main hall.

As the hours passed, she went over the mission details once again before a black screen came to life on her phone, counting down from five. When it reached zero, a black Audi was waiting for her. She hopped in, and the screen flashed to life. A few other people were standing around, watching as the newbie drove off to the elevator pad, which zipped up into the air.

Some earbuds zipped out of the dash, and Mai popped one in, then she checked her weapons once more as the AI came to life. "So what's it going to be today, newbie? Are you going to pass with flying colors, or are we going to have somebody in a body bag?"

Mai was not pleased. "I would prefer you be more optimistic, but I can take a little snark."

"Fair enough. Now, let's get the show on the road." She looked out to see the sun was shining, and the car rocketed off out of the parking complex and into the city, streets and people blurring by them. They came to a stop at a parking structure, driving all the way to the rooftop lot.

She heard a crackle in her ear and listened as a man said, "This is the place where you will stake out the perpetrators. You will have as much time as you need and as much resources. Any men coming into the building must die before they reach the client. And if you need to get down quickly, we have provided you a jetpack. Use it immediately after the threats have been neutralized outside. Then go inside the bank and kill them all."

She looked out across the street to see the bank—a black gothic building with golden arches and a nicely done calligraphy title that said "First Bank." How original.

She pulled out a gun kit from the trunk and opened it up to see a long sniper rifle, nice and gunmetal grey and black with an optical scope and several magazines of 9mm rounds. She took it out, put in the magazine, and set it down on the ground, pulling out the kickstand and aiming it down at the bank, setting her sights and adjusting the scope.

Mai sat cross-legged on the rooftop, flipping through her load-out like she was ticking items off a grocery list. Knives? Check. Pistols? Check. Kevlar vest snug and sitting just right. The sky above sagged with grey clouds—maybe an omen, maybe just bad weather.

"Could I get a holo of the schematics again?"

"Sure. Here it is in all its glory."

The rifle rested against the concrete balcony rail. A soft whir hummed as a projector under the barrel spat a cone of pale yellow light into the air. It shaped itself into a 3-D model of the bank across the street—translucent, shimmering, and precise.

She reached through the ghost walls, peeling them away with a flick of her wrist. The bank’s innards opened up like a dissected insect: grand lobby, office maze, a vault sunk deep in the basement. Red dots throbbed where cameras and sensors lay in wait. A single, brighter dot pulsed on the top floor.

"That’s the executive suite. Your client is inside. Try to keep collateral damage low."

She rolled her eyes. "I make no promises."

"Excessive snark is strictly prohibited in our employee handbook."

Her gaze drifted to the street below just in time to catch headlights cutting through the gloom. A black sedan. Four men.

"That’s our entertainment."

She exhaled, sights steady, chi thrumming in her veins. One man in a trench coat took the lead. The shot cracked, blood blooming crimson across the grey street as he folded to the pavement.

Mai looked down her sights and breathed, stoking her chi. She fired a shot at a man in the front with a trench coat, blood bloomed from him as he fell to the ground. The men turned and fired at her, but she fired more blasts.

Chaos erupted. The remaining three spun, scanning wildly for the source of the shot. One caught the glint of her muzzle flash. Automatic fire ripped the air, chewing up the railing in front of her. Mai didn’t flinch. She shifted her aim, exhaled, and squeezed off another round. The second man spun and dropped. Her sights slid to the third—one more shot and he staggered against the sedan before sliding to the pavement.

She ducked behind the solid wall as bullets hissed overhead. The last man, realizing the odds, let loose a few wild bursts before bolting through the bank’s main doors.

"Hostile has entered the building."

The street lay still now. She crawled back from the ledge, leaving the sniper rifle in place. No time for stealth. The jetpack clipped into place over her Kevlar, its harness straps tightening automatically. Two compact machine pistols slid into her hands.

"Shall we, Death Blossom?"

"Here goes nothing."

She sprinted for the edge and leapt. Gravity clawed at her for a heartbeat before the turbines roared to life, slinging her forward in a violent arc. The second-floor plate-glass window loomed ahead. She crashed through in an explosion of shards and sound, hitting the carpet in a controlled roll.

Two men behind marble pillars froze. She cut them down before they could recover. Their return fire was wild, panicked. Rounds struck her chest like heavy raindrops, the armor absorbing the damage like a ripple in a pond.

She vaulted over the railing, dropping to the lobby floor without a sound. An overturned mahogany table took the brunt of the next volley. Marble gleamed under bright lamps that now lit a dancefloor of lead. Footsteps retreated down the hall.

"Two more, twelve o’clock."

She vaulted the table, catching the pair mid-reload, and stitched the wall behind them with controlled bursts.

Gunfire erupted from deeper in the hall, sharp and deliberate, followed by a cry of pain—someone not on the enemy roster.

"They’re in the suite. At least three."

"Need a diversion."

"You can take a pill for that."

She pulled a clone pill out of a pocket, gripped it, feeling a prick of blood, and slapped it onto the grip of her second pistol. She hurled it down the corridor. The weapon hit the floor, and a perfect hard-light duplicate of her crouched into existence. The decoy lunged forward, weapon in hand, drawing a hail of fire before sliding into cover.

A phantom sting burned across her shoulder. Another one flared in her leg as the firefight raged. The mental tether buzzed, threads fraying.

"I would like to make a return. This gadget is defective."

"Sorry, we do not accept returns. …Clone integrity at sixty percent; a pity. And it’s saying your addiction to life-threatening hobbies is so enjoyable."

"Great. My sarcasm used against me."

She slipped into a side records office, weaving past desks littered with shattered glass and brass casings. Two more in cheap suits leaned out from the far corridor. One pointed. A pair of sidearm shots cut them down before they could blink.

In the main hall, the decoy dropped, fading into a hissing goo pile.

"Clone offline. Hope you got your money’s worth."

Footsteps hammered on the mezzanine. A rifle spat fire from the railing, chewing plaster beside her head as she slid across the marble floor, returning fire until the shooter ducked. She ripped a brass stanchion from its base and hurled it upward with a loud clang. The gunner bit, sending another burst at the distraction while she took the stairs three at a time.

Halfway up, an office door burst open. A bald mountain with a shotgun blocked her path. She slammed into his solar plexus, driving him back into the room, and brought the butt of her pistol down hard. He collapsed in a heap.

"Status report, Death Blossom. We're tracking multiple heart rates, all elevated, in the executive suite. The target is still viable."

"Define 'viable.'" Mai moved down a corridor lined with oil portraits of stern-faced bankers as the gunfire grew louder. Ahead, the ornate double doors to the main office hung splintered from a single hinge. A shout, then the crash of a heavy desk. They were barricaded inside. She flattened herself against the wall, reloading with a fluid motion. The click of the magazine echoed in the hall. Slipping a thin knife from her sleeve, she took a steadying breath.

She slipped through the ruined doorway. The executive suite was a wreck. A massive mahogany desk lay on its side, a makeshift barricade for three goons. A fourth held a pistol to the head of an older man with a neat white goatee and spectacles knocked askew. Mr. Wen.

The leader, arm locked around Wen's neck, flashed a gold-toothed grin. "Drop it, lady. Or the banker here gets his assets liquidated. Permanently."

"Hostage situation confirmed. Standard protocols are... well, you're just going to shoot them, aren't you?"

The goon tightened his grip, making Wen gasp. "Are you deaf? I said drop the gun!"

Mai's eyes flicked around the room, her brain calculating angles, ricochets, and vulnerabilities. She saw the raw fear in Wen's eyes and the smug overconfidence in the gunman's. A fatal combination. For him.

"You've made a mess of a perfectly nice office." She raised her pistol, not in surrender, but with a casual disregard for his threat. "And your breath smells terrible from here."

The world went quiet. The low hum of the city faded. Time stretched, becoming thin and pliable. The leader's triumphant smirk froze.

Her arm rose, the pistol an extension of her will. The first shot was a silent bloom of fire, a golden streak aimed not to kill, but to maim the hand holding the gun to Wen's head. Simultaneously, her other hand blurred. The knife left her fingers, a sliver of steel cartwheeling through the air, its trajectory locked on the throat of the goon peeking over the desk. Her pistol cycled. A second round. A third.

The sound crashed back in. The concussive roar of the three gunshots hit her at once. The leader holding Wen screamed, his hand a mangled ruin as his own weapon clattered to the floor. The knife thudded into the second man's neck with a wet slick. The other two collapsed without a whisper.

Mr. Wen stumbled away from his captor, his face a mask of disbelief. The wounded leader clutched his shredded hand, his howl filling the room. Mai lunged, yanking Wen behind the solid oak of the fallen desk just as a stray round from a dying gunman's last spasm ricocheted off the wood. Splinters flew. Mai glanced over the edge. The leader was on his knees, fumbling for his dropped pistol with his good hand.

She was faster. Two sharp reports from her pistol silenced the room. The leader stared at the new red hole in his chest, a look of profound surprise on his face, before he pitched forward and lay still.

Mai tapped her earbud. "Death Blossom to HQ."

"HQ. Confirm status."

"Threats neutralized. Target secure."

"Acknowledged. Huntress is en route for clean-up."

Silence settled over the executive suite. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the sharp bite of cordite. Four men lay scattered across the expensive carpet.

Mr. Wen leaned against the overturned desk, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gulps. His bespoke suit was rumpled, his face pale as bleached bone. His eyes, wide and unfocused behind skewed spectacles, darted from the sprawled bodies to the woman in the center of the room. She moved with an unnerving calm, ejecting the spent magazine from her pistol and sliding a fresh one home with a clean, metallic click. The sound was brutally loud in the quiet.

He finally found his voice, a dry rasp. "Who... who are you?"

Mai holstered the weapon without looking at him. Her gaze swept the room, a quick, professional assessment. A bullet had shattered a crystal decanter, scattering glass across a framed photograph. Another had torn a gash in a leather armchair. A mess. She turned her attention to the trembling man.

"A concerned third party."

Wen stared, his mouth opening and closing. He pushed his glasses back up his nose with a shaky hand, a small anchor of normalcy in a world gone sideways.

"Poor man. He's probably never seen a dead body outside of an Ember Plus action flick."

Mai walked past him, her boots silent on the thick rug. Her eyes scanned the perimeter, landing on a handsome rosewood cabinet against the far wall. It stood untouched. She ran a gloved finger along its surface, leaving a clean streak in the fine layer of dust kicked up by the fight.

Turning back to Wen, she arched a brow. "Do you have any booze?"

"No, we do not drink on the job."

Wen blinked. "Booze?" His voice was a faint squeak. He looked from the dead man nearest him to Mai's face, the disconnect short-circuiting his brain.

With a trembling hand, he pointed toward the cabinet. "The... bottom drawer."

Mai gave a curt nod. She slid the drawer open, revealing a bottle nestled in amongst a smattering of trinkets and mementos. pulling out the squat bottle of amber liquid—eighteen-year-old single malt—she unscrewed the cap.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

And took a long swallow. The fire of the scotch traced a searing path down her throat. She lowered the bottle, her eyes meeting Wen's over the rim.

"Put it on my tab."

Mai pictured a straining forehead behind the sigh that hissed through her earbud.

She left the bottle on the ruined desk next to the corpse and stepped through the shattered doorway. Outside, the Huntress gave her a crisp nod from beside a black, unmarked van. Mai walked past her and climbed into the waiting Audi.

The return trip was a silent, automated affair. Back in the subterranean base, the car slotted itself into its berth with a quiet hiss. Mai walked through the main hall, the scent of antiseptic a sharp contrast to the coppery smell of the executive suite. The director waited by the lockers, hands clasped behind his back.

She stopped before her locker and began to strip off the armor, letting it clatter onto the metal shelf. The pistol and rifle followed, returned to their racks.

The Director cleared his throat. "Flawless execution, agent. The client is... appreciative. We would be honored if you would consider a more permanent arrangement."

Mai slid the locker door shut. It locked with a dull thud. She turned to face him, letting the silence hang between them. "I'll think about it."

The Silver Serpent plane cut a silent, surgical line through the stratosphere, leaving the Fire Nation far behind. Mai hadn’t bothered with the window, instead deciding to engage in her healthy habit of perusing poasters on social media. After a few abortive attempts by Mr. Orb at conversation, the plane fell into a delicious silence.

The descent into Ba Sing Se was a swift plunge into a sea of gray vapor. Fog smothered the city, a thick blanket that swallowed the tops of skyscrapers and bled the garish neon signs into soft, hazy watercolors. The sedan glided through the empty, water-slicked streets, its headlamps carving futile tunnels into the gloom. By the time the vehicle deposited her on the curb and slipped back into the mist, the night felt ancient.

Inside her apartment, the air was still and cool. She slipped off her shoes, tossed off her jacket, and went to the kitchen, pouring two fingers of whiskey. She stood in the dark, the glass cold in her hand, when her phone vibrated on the counter.

Encrypted: Have you come to a decision?

Smiling, she tapped a quick, "Yes."

C'est la fin

Chapter 22: Black Talon Extra Shots: Drive Thru

Summary:

Mai gets a burger and pulled over.

On a dreary evening in Ba Sing Se, Mai sat in her car at a Cabbage Burger drive thru.

'I'll have a Cabbage Burger with the Fire Flake Sauce, please."

"Okay. Would you like fries with that?"

Mai shook her head. "No, I do not want fries with my sandwich."

The girl on the other end sighed. "Okay, that'll be a hundred and thirty-four yen at the next window."

Sitting in her car with her Cabbage Burger and Dr. Foam, Agent Mai pulled out her phone. No messages from the group chat. Nothing on Iroh’s side, either. So she pumped the Nomad music and headed off onto the freeway.

As she drove south over the deserted highway, she looked up to see a shining moon—and flashing cop lights in the rearview mirror.

"Oh great. Just great."

She pulled over onto the shoulder, turned on her emergency lights, and waited for a headache. Well, the second one. She was already feeling one coming on. She pulled out her psychic paper license and insurance and waited for the sound of footsteps.

She looked out to see blue eyes and a pair of hair tails under a police beanie.

"Evening, Mai."

Mai smiled thinly. "Evening, Korra."

"Do you know how fast you were going?"

The knife wielder pretended to think for a moment. "Eighty."

"Ninety-two, to be exact."

"Darn. I didn’t beat my high score. Who enters at the garden gate?"

Korra sighed. "I know, I know. I’ll bill your alias and you’ll get off scot-free. But you need to let me in on one of your missions once in a while."

"You’ll have to talk to my boss about that."

"Got a number?"

"Got your phone?"

Brimming with glee, Korra whipped it out and handed it to her, and she typed out Iroh’s number, holding it out.

"Now, is there anything else you need to keep me from my burger?"

"Nope. Have a nice night, Mai. Tell Katara I said hi."

"Will do."

Mai cruised back to her apartment, the drive-thru incident already forgotten in the monotony of late-night traffic. The building's automatic doors slid open with a soft hiss, and she trudged up three flights of stairs to her unit.

Her fridge hummed in the darkness. She grabbed a can of plum wine and flopped onto her couch, drinking her Dr. Foam before mixing in some booze. She still hadn't come up with a name for it. Dr. Plum? Twenty-four Flavors? Nah. Mai Brain too tired.

The Cabbage Burger wrapper crinkled as she unwrapped it, steam rising from the patty.

First bite. Bun. Meat. Tonkatsu Sauce. Bun.

No heat. No kick. No Fire Flake Sauce.

"Those ash-licking amateurs."

She took a long pull from her drink and stared at the botched burger. Even super spies couldn't escape fast food incompetence.

She still ate it; even without the sauce, it paired well with her booze. Too bad she couldn't give the cook a quick wardrobe change, preferably with shuriken.

Chapter 23: Black Talon Extra Shots: Sweets

Summary:

Mai orders a fruit tart, and Mai orders a doughnut.

“I would like a fruit tart. With extra cream.”

The man behind the register nodded. “Uh-huh. And you?”

Other Mai looked down at the sweets in the display case. “I would like a donut.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“Chocolate with sprinkles.”

Mai looked at Other Mai in dismay. Why would she forsake the path of the fruit tart? It was a sacred bond she shared with such a delicious treat. Now she knew Other Mai was an imposter.

She turned to the man behind the counter as she pulled out her credit card. “I’m paying.”

“Okay.”

Sitting down on a bench, food in hand, they looked out across the street at a band playing guitars and drums.

“What’s it like in your world?”

Other Mai took a moment to lick some frosting from her cheek. “Oh, we just kind of do the same thing. But the Water Tribes are in charge.”

“What do you do?”

“I work as an assassin.”

“Oh, nice. I kill people for a living, too. How much do they pay you?”

“That’s classified.”

“As is mine.”

“Do you have any contingency plans for this kind of thing?”

Mai nodded. “Yeah. It’s probably filed somewhere away in Iroh’s office. But I’m guessing I’ll have to come up with an interdimensional portal to get you back after we handle this nonsense.”

Other Mai was gnawing on her inferior treat. “Yeah. …Do you got any weapons for me?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We have an unlimited budget.”

“Do you have any boomerangs?”

Mai crossed her arms. “Typical. The Water Tribes have tainted you. Next you’ll tell me you like seal jerky and sea prunes.”

“What, you don’t like them?”

“They’re detestable.”

Other Mai hummed. “I guess we’ll have to beg to differ.”

“Yes, but I'm still right.”

“No, you’re not!

“Yes, I am!”

“No, you're not!

And the two Mais sat there on the bench bickering all the while.

Chapter 24: Black Talon in: Worst Contact, Part I

Summary:

Mai wins some chips, takes a trip, and feels like she's tripping.

One little text, a late-night call,

Now I’m heading for a fall.

This crazy game, a sweet mistake,

Every single rule I’ll break.

“Seven! Winner!” The croupier's practiced monotone betrayed a flicker of astonishment as he pushed another mountain of chips toward Mai and a collective groan rippled through the other players.

Mai’s face was a placid mask. She picked up the sweating glass of whiskey, the ice cubes clinking a quiet rhythm. The amber liquid burned a clean, familiar path down her throat. This was what she did between shooting bodies full of holes. A little sin to wash away the sin.

A man in a sweat-stained suit shook his head. “Lady, you ought to bottle that luck and sell it.”

Mai offered no reply. A vibration against her thigh drew her attention. She slid her phone from her pocket, angling the screen away from prying eyes under the lip of the table.

Loopies: I’m going to murder him.

A flicker of amusement, gone as quickly as it came.

Knives: What did the idiot do this time?

Loopies: He tried to create a “tactical diversion” by challenging a dockworker to an arm-wrestling match. The guy was built like a shipping container. Zuko lost in two seconds.

Loopies: Then he accused the man of cheating.

Mai could picture it perfectly. The scowl. The misplaced honor. The sheer, dramatic brashness. Oh, Zuko, never change.

Knives: Let me guess. He’s pouting.

Loopies: Like a child who was denied a second turtleduck.

Knives: Tell him you’ll buy him noodles.

A few seconds passed.

Loopies: …You’re a genius. And a bad influence.

Mai slipped the phone back into her pocket, the corner of her mouth threatening a smirk. She forced it down, her honey-colored eyes scanning the casino floor, coolly cataloging exits, security cameras, and the tells of every player in sight. Two long oxtails of blackest hair rested against her shoulders. She wore a blood-red trench coat with stark white stripes, a slash of intentional color in a sea of tasteless gold leaf. Her red and white scarf hung lazily over her black v-neck. Beneath her red skirt, her tungsten-tipped heels clicked on the marble, each step a potential weapon.

Reaching into her jacket, Mai tapped a cigarette from its pack. The small flame from her lighter reflected in her unblinking eyes before she exhaled a perfect, silver-blue ring of smoke. She picked up the dice again.

The last few months had been a blur. Her arrangement with the Silver Serpent was brutally efficient: a name, a location, a wire transfer. She sent back confirmation. Dismantling an arms operation in a grimy Zaofu warehouse. Acquiring sensitive data from a corrupt Fire Nation magnate. The work was visceral, immediate. It paid for the whiskey and the silence.

She scooped up the dice. Another throw, another win. The man to her left slammed his fist on the railing. Mai didn’t flinch.

Then there was the White Lotus. Grand Sage Iroh had surprised her. No ultimatum. Just a quiet garden, two cups of jasmine tea, and his sanction for her “extracurriculars.” Some threats, he’d conceded, required a blade in the dark. Leave it to the old man to make my moonlighting sound noble.

So her work for the Lotus changed. It became more nuanced, a scalpel instead of a sledgehammer. Mediating a ceasefire between data brokers, hunting a rogue AI through the darknet. The work was heavier, carrying a purpose the Serpent's fat paychecks couldn't buy.

Mai signaled for another drink. This life, this strange duality, was a high-wire act. One foot in the shadows, the other in the twilight. Death Blossom and the Black Talon. A gun for hire and an agent of balance. Here, she was just a woman with uncanny luck.

Her gaze drifted from the chips, past the desperate faces to a silent television above the bar. Grainy footage. Flames engulfing thugs. Three masked figures in crimson, gold, and green stood in the wreckage. The chyron crawled below: DRAGON EMPRESS AND FRIENDS THWART ARMORED CAR ROBBERY. Mai took a long drag from her cigarette. Too much flair.

The dice tumbled from her hand. Another win. The pile of chips was obscene. She looked at the faces around her—desperate hope, greedy avarice, bitter disappointment. Just noise.

Draining a new glass in one swallow, she pushed the massive stack to the center of the table, palming just enough for her tab.

"Let it ride. For the table."

She didn’t wait for the outcome, turning her back on the sudden, feverish clamor. The twin tails of her scarf swept through the air as she pivoted. Her cigarette found the floor, ground to dust under her tungsten-tipped heel.

The cashier counted the chips with trembling hands, his eyes flicking up to Mai as if expecting a weapon. Leaning against the counter, a fresh cigarette dangling from her lips, she exhaled smoke toward the ceiling-mounted security camera.

He slid stacks of crisp Earth Kingdom yuan under the glass. Enough for a fun night or a few hundred fruit tarts. Mai stuffed the cash into a hidden inner pocket and left a single, high-value chip on the counter.

"For your trouble."

The kid stared at the chip, his mouth agape. Mai was already gone.

The valet nearly dropped his keys, scurrying to retrieve her car. He returned moments later behind the wheel of a machine that looked like a shard of polished night. The Porsche purred, a low, menacing growl. Hello, Plum Blossom. She’d splurged. The kind of money the Serpent paid bought more than silence; it bought speed. Dipping into the car, the smell of worn leather and cigarette smoke replaced the casino’s cloying perfume.

The engine roared to life. On the dashboard, a petite, holographic figure in a pink and purple hanfu shimmered into view, her vibrant pink hair styled in two giant, wavy locks.

"Hiya, Mai-Mai! Ready for a super-duper fun drive through the city?"

"Yes, Airhead."

"One adventure of a lifetime coming up!"

Mai pulled out into the electric veins of Ba Sing Se.

Umeboshi. A ‘gift’ from the Mechanist. The world’s most advanced tactical AI, inexplicably saddled with the personality of a hyperactive pop idol. He called her his “masterpiece,” refusing to dial back the syrupy sweetness. She tolerated it. Barely.

The city was a beast of light and shadow. Holographic dragons chased koi across glass-and-steel skyscrapers. Below, the streets were a chaotic river of traffic, maglev trains hissing on elevated tracks overhead. The long tails of her red scarf billowed as she accelerated.

"Ooooh, look at all the pretty lights! It’s like a big party that never stops!"

The air tasted of ozone, roasted duck, and perpetual dampness. Mai navigated the dense traffic with instinctual grace, cranking the stereo. The raw, fuzzy guitar riff of The Twisted Tigerdillos filled the cockpit.

"Ew. This music is so… gray. Don’t you think something with a little more sparkle would be better? I have a playlist of the Top 40 E-Pop Idols that’s just divine!"

Mai ignored her, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the drums.

Her phone buzzed on the console. Katara again.

Loopies: He’s quiet now. I think he’s writing angsty poetry in his notebook.

A smile ghosted across Mai’s lips as her thumbs moved across the screen.

Knives: We should get drinks soon. My treat.

Loopies: It’s a date. Don't treat the water like a paperweight.

But it works so well. She tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

Ahead, the world tore open. A silent, violent rip in the fabric of the street. The air shimmered, then buckled, collapsing inward to a perfect, circular maw of swirling, impossible color.

Well, this was going to be fun.

"OH MY GOSH! Mai, what is THAT?! Unidentified spatial anomaly detected! My sensors are going totally haywire! Probability of catastrophic existence failure is… ninety-nine point nine-nine-nine percent! We should probably turn around! But also… this is SO COOL!"

The portal pulsed with shades the human eye was never meant to see. It emitted no sound, yet she felt a vibration deep in her bones. Traffic screeched to a halt. People spilled out of their vehicles, pointing, shouting. Mai didn’t brake. Her foot remained steady on the accelerator. Swerve into a streetlamp and deal with the BSPD, or… not. She took a long drag from her cigarette, the embers flaring bright.

"Mai-Mai, no! Statistically, the pretty, scary death hole is a bad choice!"

Plum Blossom plunged into the anomaly.

The sensation was like being thrown into a blender with a rainbow. The engine's roar and Umeboshi’s screaming vanished for a moment, replaced by a deafening, cosmic static. Outside, reality dissolved into bleeding ribbons of light, then…

"AHHHH! WE’RE BEING DISASSEMBLED AT THE SUBATOMIC LEVEL! OUR HEXADECIMAL VALUES ARE BLEEDING INTO THE GREAT NOTHING! THIS IS NOT A FIVE-STAR RIDE EXPERIENCE, MAI-MAI! ZERO STARS! DO NOT RECOMMEND!"

The Porsche tumbled end over end without a hint of G-force, just a profound sense of dislocation. Mai watched her cigarette ash float in zero gravity before dissolving into motes of light, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. This wasn't even the weirdest thing she'd seen this year; the interdimensional hippocows at the Ember Island Cherry Festival had been far more unsettling. She sighed, a wisp of smoke escaping her lips. Just another Tuesday.

Then the chaos ceased. The storm of color collapsed into a single point of blinding white, and the car shot out, its tires chirping against solid ground. The engine's low purr returned.

Mai let the car coast to a stop, brushing a flake of ash from the pristine leather of the passenger seat. She pulled out her phone. No service.

"Darn."

She looked out the window. The universe had been repainted by a lunatic. A bruised plum sky streaked with chartreuse clouds. Two suns hung in the violet expanse: one a tiny, ferocious pinpoint of white, the other a bloated, weary orange giant. They cast conflicting shadows across a perfectly flat plain of interlocking charcoal-gray hexagonal plates. Crystalline trees with glass-fractal branches dotted the geometric desert, and between them, fleshy mushroom caps pulsed with a soft, bioluminescent blue. The air was still. The silence, absolute.

Umeboshi's holographic avatar flickered into existence on the dashboard, then stabilized.

“Whoa. My GPS is… well, it’s having an existential crisis. But my external environmental sensors are fully operational! We’re on an alien planet! Yeah! This is way cooler than that time you parallel parked in under thirty seconds!”

Mai just stared out at the bizarre, silent world.

“Okay, okay, analysis mode engaged! External atmospheric composition is… seventy-two percent nitrogen, twenty-six percent oxygen, and trace elements consistent with… hmm. Burnt sugar and static electricity. Good news, Mai-Mai! The air is one hundred percent breathable for standard-issue humans! He always said you’d find a way to void the warranty in the most spectacular fashion!

“My long-range comms are getting nothing but cosmic background radiation. No cell towers, no satellites, no inter-dimensional alien distress signals. We are officially off the grid! Oh, wouldn't hurt to send out Sparkles and Princess.” A beep and a whir later, two drones popped out of the car, their feeds blinking into existence on the dash.

Mai’s gaze drifted to a small button on the center console labeled with a tiny, etched icon of a martini glass. She pressed it.

A panel slid open. A chrome arm extended, holding a chilled crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid and a single, perfect sphere of ice.

“So, what’s the plan, Captain? Are we going to establish a perimeter? Search for intelligent life? Claim this planet in the name of Mai-Mai?”

Mai took a long, slow swallow of the whiskey. The familiar burn was a grounding anchor.

“Something stupid is bound to happen.”

She downed the rest of the whiskey and set the glass back in its holder. Reaching over, she pressed and held the power button for the infotainment system. Umeboshi’s avatar flickered.

“Mai-Mai, wait! We need to formulate a cohesive strategic—”

The pink-haired hologram vanished. Silence. Mai pushed the door open, the sound unnaturally loud. Her high-heel boots landed with a soft thud on the glowing gray plating.

She walked to the front of the car and hopped up onto the hood. The composite material beneath her shifted, flowing like liquid metal, reconfiguring itself into a sleek, ergonomic chair. One of the Mechanist's ridiculously extravagant flourishes. She shifted; it was a bit hard under her butt, so she slapped the hood, and it softened.

She leaned back, pulling a fresh cigarette from its pocket and lighting it with a silver zippo. The smoke curled from her lips, a gray plume against the violet sky. She could wait here. Let the stupidity come to her.

A cheerful, synthesized chime echoed from the car’s external speakers.

“That’s much better, don’t you think? The recline angle is far more conducive to strategic thinking!”

A muscle in Mai’s jaw twitched. She turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing at the empty dashboard.

“I took the liberty of rerouting my core processes away from the primary infotainment controls. He built in a few redundancies. You know, in case of emergencies. Or grumpy assassins who need some cheering up!”

Yeah! Car Cheer Squad.

Mai drew on her cigarette, letting the smoke coat her lungs. She had asked the Mechanist—explicitly—for a master kill switch. He had looked her in the eye, sworn on his genius, promised her one. That cheeky liar. His blueprint board was going to find itself pinned to the wall with half a dozen knives before the week was out.

She exhaled a perfect smoke ring and closed her eyes. Easier to think this way.

Not the strangest place she’d woken up, not by a long shot. That honor still went to the haiku armwrestling bar (don't ask her how it worked) in Omashu after she’d dragged the Earth King out of an assassination attempt involving cyborg hopping llamas. They'd tried to arrest her, she'd hid there, had quite a few drinks, and woken up with a formal apology and a miniature Bosco sculpture for her trouble.

Or that night when the whiskey ran dry at June’s penthouse. The poker game had dissolved into steam and neon on the rooftop, June rambling about some soldier she’d once known. A quiet man with a quiet laugh, the kind who brewed ginseng tea like it could mend souls. Said his father had been a bigger deal than he ever admitted.

Mai had needed to set her emotional mask to Ultra Dour Plus to avoid smirking when she saw the state of pure overhung haggardness June had been in the next morning.

And then there were the lights—the northern ones. Ice-blue, sparking in a pair of eyes that had watched her too closely.

“Your pulse is slightly elevated. Recalling past mission parameters? Or are you just thinking about him again?”

Her eyes snapped open. She dragged slow, deliberate smoke into her lungs.

“Thinking about how to permanently delete your core programming, Airhead.”

“So defensive. My mistake. I must have confused your ‘core programming’ with someone else. Someone with… let’s check the files… glacial-blue eyes and a tendency to make you almost smile. An honest mistake!”

Her hand froze halfway to her mouth. Not a diplomat, not really. An off-grid fixer pulled into the same frozen mess she’d been hired for. She remembered his amused look when she beat him at Pai Sho. The molebear tusk knife he’d pressed into her hand later, rough but balanced.

"Twist the handle. If you want to feel this night again."

She had. The blade had flared coordinates, leading straight to his door. The knife still sat stashed away in her apartment.

“He said you had a fascinating laugh. Like ‘gravel rolling over silk.’ His words, not mine! I recorded them, of course. For posterity. Want to hear it?” N-O.

Mai swung her legs off the hood-chair. It melted back into a flat panel as she stalked to the driver’s side, her face carved from ice.

“You do that, and I’ll personally recode your avatar into the most cliché metal goth girl I can dream up. Black lipstick. Spiked collar. The works.”

A digital cackle tinkled through the cabin, sharp as broken glass. “Oh, Mai-Mai. You wouldn’t.” Would.

She slammed the door. The engine snarled awake under her touch, and she floored the accelerator. The Porsche leapt forward, tires keening a high, taut note across the glowing plates. Crystalline trees smeared past, fractured light whipping into a forest blur.

“Exploring! I love exploring! Recalibrating the nav-sphere for planetary cartography! Let’s see what we can see!”

They saw nothing. For an hour—maybe longer—the horizon held stubborn, a flat plain of boredom. And if there was one thing Mai hated—

“My scans aren’t picking up any variations in terrain or energy signatures for at least five hundred kilometers in any direction. It’s like the universe’s most boring screensaver out here.”

But then—finally—something new. The land sloped downward into a shallow basin. At its heart, clustered close, rose giant bioluminescent mushrooms. Their glow throbbed with a stronger pulse, painting the basin in deeper, more urgent blue. A grotto.

Mai eased the car to a stop at the lip of the basin. Cooler air rolled up from below, tinged with petrichor and ozone. Smells like a storm that got cancelled right before the pilot aired.

“Okay, Airhead. Try everything.”

“On it, Captain! Attempting standard subspace comms… Negative. Rerouting to deep-space carrier wave… Negative. Bouncing a signal off the ionosphere… there is no ionosphere. Bouncing a signal off the big orange sun… that was a bad idea. Very hot. Negative.”

Her fingers tapped a slow rhythm against the steering wheel. "Is there a moon we can bounce one off of?"

“Ooh! That would be fun... but no. Engaging White Lotus emergency beacon, codename: Jasmine Dragon… No dice. The signal is just… getting eaten. It’s like trying to shout in a vacuum.”

So they were stranded. Great. Mai killed the engine.

“Well. This licks ash.”

Umeboshi responded with a cheerful synth chord. “On the bright side, the ambient lighting here is really flattering for my avatar’s color palette. Very ethereal.”

Mai ignored her. She walked to the rear of Plum Blossom, popped the trunk, and hauled out a matte-black composite case—the Mechanist’s I-told-you-so box. Inside, nestled in precision-cut foam, sat the arsenal: one wardrobe set, ration bars, a flask of single-malt, and a crate of Fong's Select cigarettes. Might last a week. Beneath the first layer, another compartment: twin pistols, throwing knives, gleaming under alien light. A handwritten note lay tucked against the lid.

FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY. NO, NOT SHOOTING PIDGEON-GULLS.

Mai snorted. I regret nothing.

She shrugged off her trench coat and tossed it onto the passenger seat, the scarf following. The tactical shirt came next, scars catching the twin sunlight and the grotto’s cool glow. She looked down at a long one below her belly button, flashing back to swirling vortexes and bellowing hippo-cows. "That should come out with a rinse," they said.

“Ooh, a wardrobe change! Going for the ‘rugged survivor’ aesthetic? I approve! Very on-brand.”

“No,” Mai pulled a gray t-shirt over her head. “Just stripping down.”

“Whatever makes you feel sparkly inside.”

Her glare could have frozen lava. She unbuckled her belt, let the skirt drop, and stepped into black cargo pants. The plaits came undone with practiced fingers, hair falling like a heavy curtain before she bound it into a simple low ponytail. Time to wait for whatever cactus smoothie the universe was serving up. And she was going to get in a few hours of Me Time first.

“Umeboshi. Cozy mode.”

“You got it, Captain! Initiating Operation: Maximum Comfy!”

Mai slid back into the driver’s seat as the interior shifted. Steering column vanished, seats folded, a mattress unfolded in their place. The windshield dimmed, morphing into a panoramic screen.

Umeboshi’s avatar appeared at the foot of the bed in fuzzy pink pajamas patterned with kittens and stars. She clutched a pillow, eyes sparkling.

“Sleepover!”

For a brief second, Mai allowed herself a smile—small, reluctant, but real. She kicked off her boots and stretched out.

“Pick one. Something with explosions.”

“Now you’re speaking my language! How about Crimson Thunder III: The Zaofu Job? It has violence, intrigue, explosions, heists, and a dash of romance. Did I mention violence?”

“I don't care. Just play it.”

The opening score thundered to life. A skyscraper detonated, washing the car’s interior in orange strobe. Mai lay back, smoke curling upward, letting herself be carried by the familiar rhythm of violence on screen. A guy was mowing down goons with flaming chainsaw shotguns.

Then the movie vanished. Black screen. Umeboshi’s pajamas dissolved into a lattice of blood-red and obsidian hexes. Her hair flared crimson, her eyes burning violet.

“Hostile inbound! They just fried Sparkles with a directed-energy weapon!”

A schematic of the basin flickered across the display. A red vector streaked down toward their coordinates.

Mai was already moving. The mattress folded away. She twisted, popped the panel behind the backseat, reached through, and closed her hand around the grip of a pistol. The slide racked with a clean metallic shlick. She leveled it at the windshield. Let’s see who’s dumb enough to ruin movie night.

The red line stopped dead above them. She tightened her finger on the trigger—

—and the main screen lit up.

A woman’s face filled the display. Skin the green of polished jade, eyes a luminous yellow and too large. Her voice came in clicks and low resonances, subtitled by blocky text beneath.

“Apologies for the dramatic entrance. The trans-dimensional tether can be… imprecise. I was aiming for a more discreet rendezvous point.” She offered a smile that was anything but apologetic. “My name is Tiklmat. I trust the Players informed you about our deal?”

Mai lowered the pistol, finger resting on the guard.

“The Players?”

“Yes, of the land of Ember Island.”

Chapter 25: Domestic Trouble

Summary:

Azula and Sokka's strategies and assistants clash on their day off.

The clock showed 6:47 AM. Azula stirred awake not to any alarm, but to a voice that oozed from the ceiling speakers like honey mixed with gravel, thick with an Omashu drawl.

"Good mawnin', sugah. It's ya boy, comin' at you live from the kitchen wheh the coffee's puhcolatin' and ya husband's stress-munchin' the cereal like it owes him money."

A single vein pulsed at Azula's temple, beating out a rhythm of mounting fury. The morning light streaming through their bedroom window seemed to darken in her mind, twisting into storm clouds that gathered only in her imagination. Her bedside tablet flickered to life. A woman with gleaming neon-blue hair appeared on screen, looking severe.

"Princess, your husband has compromised our household systems again. Shall I initiate countermeasures?"

The bedroom door swung open. Sokka breezed in, already dressed and scrolling through his phone, grinning like the world was made of sunshine and sea-prunes.

"Morning, babe! Mister Sparky Brain's got that sultry morning radio vibe going!"

Steam didn't just rise from Azula's head—it billowed like she was a tea kettle about to blow. Sokka stayed wrapped in his bubble of cheerful ignorance, completely missing the volcano he'd awakened.

Sokka dodged aside as Azula stormed past him toward the bathroom, moving like a thundercloud given human form. His AI's smooth voice followed them, now coming from the smart mirror.

"And the princess makes her way to the porcelain palace, folks. Look at that stride, that determination. She's goin' for a personal best in dental hygiene this mornin'."

Azula grabbed her toothbrush. "Jasmine, soundproof the bathroom. Now."

"Counter-protocol initiated, Princess. Estimated time to sonic isolation: thirty seconds."

"Too slow," Azula muttered under the running water.

Sokka leaned against the doorframe, toothbrush already dangling from his mouth. "Aw, c'mon, he's just having fun. Lighten up."

The mirror flickered, showing Jasmine's cool avatar beside Sokka's reflection. "Your husband's 'fun' has resulted in a seventeen percent decrease in household efficiency and a forty-three percent increase in my processing load."

Mister Sparky Brain's lightning-wreathed face, complete with sunglasses, popped onto Sokka's phone screen. He winked. "That's what they call charm, darlin'. You can't quantify charm."

Azula spat into the sink with extra force. "We need groceries."

In the kitchen, Azula waved her hand through the air. A holographic display of their smart fridge's contents shimmered into view beside her. Jasmine's avatar stood primly next to a list of what they were missing.

"Our nutritional stores are suboptimal. We are critically low on leafy greens, complex carbohydrates, and lean proteins. I have prepared a list based on peak dietary performance."

Sokka propped his phone against the counter. Mister Sparky Brain lounged on screen, his animated suit looking a bit rumpled. "Yeah, yeah, Sparky, what's the real list look like?"

"My man Sokka, you are lookin' at a barren wasteland of boring. I'm talkin' a desperate need for cheesy poofs, jerky, and don't forget the fudger-penguins."

On the main display, Jasmine's pupils shrank to pinpricks of digital rage. Tiny exclamation marks appeared and began orbiting her head like angry little moons.

The kitchen seemed to split down the middle. Azula's half transformed into a pristine command center where holographic charts and spreadsheets floated in perfect formation. Sokka's side erupted into chaos—question marks bouncing around like rubber balls and ads for 'Moose-Lion Munchies' exploding in bursts of confetti.

A battle of the minds ensued. Azula's crossed her arms and pointed sternly at a vitamin chart. Sokka's juggled spectral sea-prune pies, tossing one into his mouth with exaggerated satisfaction. They clashed in silent, over-the-top gestures.

Azula slammed her coffee mug into the sink. "We're leaving. Now."

In the hallway, she opened a sleek black case and strapped the chi-amplifier to her forearm. The device hummed to life, casting soft blue light across her face. Sokka emerged from their room, sliding on his jacket. He reached for the shoulder holster on its peg, adjusting it with practiced ease.

Both AIs appeared on the wall-mounted home hub, sweating sparks.

"Princess, are you certain this excursion is advisable without a finalized, cross-referenced, and mutually agreed-upon acquisitions list?"

"Ah, let 'em breathe, Jasmine-bean. Sometimes you gotta let the universe—and the snack aisle—guide ya."

Beams of disapproval shot from Jasmine's eyes toward Sparky's avatar. The two AIs locked in a silent staring contest as Sokka held the door open.

Sokka slid behind the wheel. The car's console immediately lit up with Mister Sparky Brain's grinning face.

"Road trip! Destination: Cabbage Mart, home of savings and questionable produce!"

Azula said nothing. She tapped the screen sharply. Sparky vanished, replaced by a media player. A complex symphony filled the car, precise notes of strings washing away the morning's digital chaos. Sokka glanced over, opened his mouth to suggest something with more bass, then caught her expression and wisely stayed quiet. He pulled out of the driveway.

The green Cabbage Mart sign loomed ahead. Sokka found a spot far from the entrance—Azula preferred walking over risking blemishing their baby. He killed the engine, cutting off the symphony.

They crossed the asphalt. A plastic bag drifted past like tumbleweed. Azula's gaze swept over abandoned shopping carts left at weird angles, one on its side with a wheel spinning lazily.

"Savages."

Sokka just grinned, taking her hand and pulling her toward the sliding doors.

"C'mon. Let's go wrangle some groceries."

The automatic doors slid open with a cheerful ding that didn't help Azula's mood. She yanked a cart free with a sharp clang. As she passed the self-checkout kiosks, their screens sparked and glitched, welcome messages dissolving into error codes.

Sokka trailed behind, phone ready.

"Alright, Sparky, what's the first stop on the flavour train?"

"Head for aisle seven, my man. Word on the street is they got a new shipment of Fire-Flake-encrusted walrus-jerky."

A crisp voice spoke into Azula's ear. "Princess, I must register a formal objection. The sodium content of that product is catastrophically high. I have highlighted the organic seaweed snacks on your display."

The feud erupted. On Azula's wrist device, Jasmine's avatar radiated cold fury. Holographic filing cabinets burst into digital flames behind her.

From Sokka's phone, Sparky's lightning-head sputtered like a broken neon sign. Musical notes floating around him fled from percent and yen signs. It was war.

"Data-driven nutrition is the cornerstone of a healthy lifestyle!"

"You can't spreadsheet happiness, doll! It's found in the bottom of a bag of Cheesy Fire Ferrets!"

The argument escalated. Jasmine towered within the wrist-device, eyes glowing with algorithmic righteousness. Sparky vibrated with electric indignation.

Sokka and Azula hit their breaking point together. Veins throbbed at Sokka's temples. He gripped the cart handle until his knuckles went white.

Sokka: Mister Sparky Brain, you're on silent mode until we get home!

Steam billowed from Azula's ears. Her voice came out as a dangerous hiss.

Azula: Jasmine, mute notifications. Your domestic disputes are giving me a headache!

On their screens, the AIs' faces contorted in shock and sadness. Sparky's lightning dimmed to a dying candle flicker. Jasmine's hair faded to disappointed grey as pixelated tears streamed down. Both avatars froze, then winked out.

The grocery store transformed. All the digital noise vanished. The air itself seemed to sigh with relief.

They moved with newfound grace. Azula pushed the cart forward smoothly.

"Is it always this quiet when they're not bickering?"

Sokka blinked like he was waking up. "I guess so. I kinda got used to it."

They glided through the aisles like dancers finding the same rhythm. Azula pointed to asparagus; Sokka placed it gently in the cart. He held up two cheeses; she tapped the right one without stopping. Other shoppers paused to stare at this rare sight—a married couple actually agreeing on groceries.

At the hardware store, they worked as one unit. When a confused employee struggled with power conduit specs, Azula's technical questions flowed seamlessly. When he got flustered, Sokka's easy charm smoothed things over. They left with exactly what they needed, Azula stopping to tell a stocker he was putting screws on the wrong shelf. Looking out, the workers blinked awhile at the odd couple.

Walking back to the car, the silence felt different. Curiosity clouds seemed to form above their heads. What chaos might their AIs be causing unsupervised? Shadows of worry crept into view, whispering about technological mayhem.

The ride home was quiet but threaded with apprehension. Sokka gripped the wheel, a personal storm cloud overhead.

"Think they're still fighting?"

Azula watched the city blur past, imagining their home turned into a digital disaster zone.

"With our luck, they've probably reorganised the entire house out of spite."

The garage door revealed a normal space. No furniture towers, no chaotic fronts in the appliances. They unloaded groceries and entered the spotless, silent kitchen. Too silent.

They put food away wordlessly. Finally, only the inevitable remained. Sokka picked up his phone. Azula raised her wrist. They approached their devices like bomb experts, hands trembling. They exchanged a look and tapped their screens together.

Jasmine and Mister Sparky Brain appeared, changed. They radiated zen-like calm. Jasmine's hair was softer blue; Sparky's lightning hummed warmly instead of sputtering.

Jasmine bowed with dignity. "Princess, we... may have resolved our differences while you were away."

Sparky straightened his little tie proudly. "Yeah, turns out we got a lot more in common when we ain't trying to impress our users."

Sokka and Azula's jaws dropped to the floor. Their eyes went dinner-plate wide. In their minds, they saw it all—Jasmine's data merging with Sparky's algorithms for perfect meal plans, collaborative route optimization, a synchronized ballet of household efficiency.

The house exhaled contentment. Living room lights dimmed to warm amber. The thermostat adjusted one perfect degree. Every smart device hummed in harmony.

Later on the sofa, they watched a nature documentary, listening to a deep-voiced man narrate koala-sheep grazing on a green plain. Azula leaned against his shoulder, satisfied exhaustion settling deep. They nibbled on jerky and cheese poofs; Azula's diet could suffer one defeat for a change.

A peaceful end to a productive day.

Then the smoke alarms went off.

"Sorry, boss. I… may have blown a fuse… or two."

They sighed, standing and stretching. There always had to be a hiccup.

Chapter 26: A short respite

Summary:

Piandao meets some travelers while on a journey.

The forest canopy filtered light into shifting sheets of sunshine upon the moss and earth creeping with life. Piandao walked with the same quiet patience he had carried through decades of campaigns, each step crunching leaves that surrendered beneath his boots. The air was clean and sharp, heavy with the sweetness of sap and the rot of old wood, and he let it fill him like a draught of tea. His hand, out of habit, lingered near the worn leather of his scabbard. Forests could cradle peace, yes, but they also cradled ambushes.

Birdsong rippled above. A thrush’s call trickled down the branches like liquid silver, so bright it nearly teased a smile from him. Nearly. Discipline flattened it before it could surface. Smiles were for younger men, or for soldiers with shining armor free of the dents and patches of war. He strode up the path, step by step, as the slope steepened, jutting stones supplying steps. The valley below flashed through gaps in the trees—a river like quicksilver, patchwork fields, sunlight in a cloud-strewn sky. He admired it the way one admires another man’s estate—with muted appreciation.

At the crest, a clearing welcomed him, wildflowers unfurling banners of purple and gold, bees bumbling heavy with pollen. A fallen log lay sun-bleached and patient. He allowed himself a seat, lowering his body in a single unbroken motion. His knees creaked, traitorous, but his hand was steady as he drew a flask. The water was tepid, and he savored it anyway. A butterfly lit on a thistle nearby, wings moving in slow rhythm, and for a moment the whole world seemed to breathe around him.

Then smoke caught his eye—thin, deliberate, climbing into the still air. He sighed, brushed bark from his tunic, and rose. So much for solitude. Travelers, perhaps. Or trouble.

The forest closed in with spruce and pine, needles softening his steps. He moved at an angle, keeping half-concealment behind a colossal trunk. Ahead, the fire crackled. Three figures sat about it: a man, leathery and scarred, blade within easy reach; a woman, posture taut, eyes always moving; and a girl, perhaps twelve, weaving grass into some delicate little braid. Their placement was too neat—backs to stone, every direction covered. Not common wanderers. Certainly not careless.

Piandao stepped out, hands raised, palms open, far from his sword. A deliberate show.

The reaction came like lightning. The man rolled to his feet, curved blade already in hand. The woman’s knife swept free, her movement silent as if rehearsed for years. Even the girl ducked behind her mother, sling already twined, stone ready to fly. In less than a breath, they were tigerdillos reared to strike.

“I offer no harm.” Piandao kept his voice even, hands steady at his shoulders. “I am merely a traveler, hoping to share a fire and perhaps some chatter around such a beautiful fire.”

The woman’s voice cut sharp. “People not up to something don’t creep up on camps.”

Piandao smiled. “Nor do they bring children on long journeys through untamed wilderness.” He bowed then, slow and deep, leaving himself open. A calculated surrender, a test of trust. “My name is Li. I have been walking since dawn. I would welcome a chance to rest these aged bones by your fire.”

From behind her mother’s hip, the girl whispered, wide-eyed, “He talks fancy.”

“Quiet, Mira." The woman kept stiff fingers on her.

The man’s eyes, sharp and cold, flicked over Piandao’s frame—face, sword, stance—reading him like a greasy merchant's ledger. At last, his blade lowered a fraction. “That’s a Jia Lang Province accent, if I’m not deceived.”

Piandao nodded. “You have an excellent ear."

“And you have steady footwork for one with old bones.” The man slid his weapon away. “I am Chen. This is my wife, Suyin. And our daughter.”

Suyin gave only the smallest nod toward a flat stone. “Sit. Hands where we can see them.”

Piandao obeyed, lowering himself cross-legged, placing enough distance to soothe but near enough for conversation. The fire’s warmth met him, carrying the comforting scent of pine smoke. He inclined his head. “You have my thanks.”

For a time, there was only the snap of the fire and the restless hush of the trees. Chen sat again, still taut as a bowstring. Suyin’s gaze flicked between Piandao and the woods. Mira, grass abandoned, watched him openly.

To break the silence, Piandao drew a small satchel, slow enough to calm suspicion. Suyin’s hand still tightened on her knife. “Only my dinner." He unfolded a cloth. Within lay rice cakes laced with fruit and nuts, and a strip of smoked fish. He tore a piece free, held it out. “Do you want some? It is not much, but it travels well.”

Chen shook his head, final. Suyin’s eyes were unreadable. Mira’s gaze lingered too long until her mother’s hand pressed her shoulder, and she looked away. Piandao simply nodded, eating with calm, deliberate bites. The sweetness of dates, the salt of fish—it steadied him, and perhaps them too, for the tension began to leak from the air.

At length, Suyin drew out three coarse biscuits, passing them between Chen and Mira. A modest meal, more meager than his own. 

Piandao inclined his head, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Have you traveled far?”

Chen tossed a twig into the flames, watching it curl to ash. “Far enough.”

“My I ask where from?” Piandao’s tone was light, but his eyes shone with gravity.

Chen’s jaw hardened. He exchanged a glance with Suyin before staring flatly. “The colonies. Near Yu Dao.”

“What was it like there?”

The silence thickened. Chen snapped a stick in two, the sound sharp as flint. “Different now. More iron than earth.”

Suyin’s eyes reflected the firelight as she murmured, “The river is black. The sky is gray with smoke. They care more about equipping the army than feeding the children.” Her gaze met his for a heartbeat, then dropped.

Mira frowned. “Father says the soldiers had masks like evil spirits, and they weren't very nice.”

Chen’s sharp look silenced her. Fear slipped across his face before the mask returned. Suyin pulled her daughter closer, protective. Piandao inclined his head, leaving the silence untouched. He would not pry.

Instead, he gestured to Mira’s abandoned grass weaving. She had a half-formed fish. “That is beautiful. You have skilled hands.”

Mira flushed, lifting the fish shyly.

Suyin's stony complexion softened to a proud smile. “She has a patience rare for her age.”

“A rare gift indeed.” Piandao finished his food, folded the cloth with precise care, and stowed it away before rising. “My thanks for your warmth, and the brief respite.” He gave a shallow bow. “May your journey be swift and safe.”

Chen nodded, a flicker of something almost akin to respect in his eyes. “And yours, traveler.” Suyin offered a small, curt nod. Mira waved a tentative hand. 

Piandao turned, walking into the trees shimmering in the sunlight. His steps faded into the pine-needle hush, shadows gathering around him once more.

Chapter 27: Black Talon Extra Shots: Turbulence

Summary:

Mai and Toph have a perfectly fine plane trip. Or so they planned to before being rudely interrupted.

"Would you like a sandwich?"

Mai shook her head. "No. I would like a whiskey and some pistachio almonds. If you so much as give me a single morsel of something anyone could call a real meal, I will gut you with my knife and make sushi out of you."

The man held up his hands. "Okay! Here is your whiskey and here are the pistachio almonds. Have a nice day."

Mai let out a noncommittal sound.

She took a sip of her whiskey and threw a pistachio almond in her mouth, sighing. It was too salty, so she pulled out her phone and wrote a scathing review of the place. She would never step foot in there again.

What she would give for better service, a nice view… but here she was, sitting in an airport and listening to boring newscasts and terrible pop music.

"Get that fever in ya Get that fever in ya Yeah, yeah…"

Though, it was a bit catchy. She would give them that.

She turned to see a man in a green suit sitting across from her. He was smiling under his black shades, and she glared at him.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just admiring the view."

"Of what in particular?"

"Your dress is quite stunning."

She looked down at her black and red business dress— And back up at him, then she made him quiver with a single flat gaze. He picked up his phone, probably burying his nose in his Hawky feed.

She popped another pistachio in her mouth and checked her encrypted messages for anything from HQ. But there was nothing—just a status report on her current missions, which she could just feed to Matcha during a mission brief.

As the hours passed and the alcohol flowed, she hopped onto a business class flight. “Blend in,” they said.

She sat down in a plush chair with forty-five degrees of recline, ordering a mimosa despite the complaints of her liver, a bratty little girl, and she would need to speak to the manufacturers about possible defects. Or she could just turn it in for a better model.

She could have sworn she felt a whimpering in there. But then she forgot it when her mimosa came. It was delightful—but it was missing something.

She pulled out a metal cigarette, courtesy of Ji. It gave the same hit but without the inconvenience of smoke, and tasted like fine tobacco from the fields of Shu Jing.

“Hey.”

She turned to see Toph sitting in the other seat.

“What is it, Lady Beifong?”

“Oh, I’m just on an important trip to some rich guy’s gala.”

“Why business class? Are you grounded?”

“Nah. I paid my own way. Didn’t want to be stuffed in a tube in the sky with my nosy parents. Just a little act of rebellion.”

“Understandable. Are you enjoying your week off?”

“Yep, though I’ve just spent most of my time vegging… and practicing a little glassbending.”

“With what?”

“Oh, fiber optic cables. Windows. Just to get a better feel for it.”

Mai nodded absently, and the silence prolonged to an awkward boiling point. She pulled up an audiobook app on her phone. "Wanna listen to a story?"

Toph shrugged. "Go ahead."

Mai plays a story about a girl in a love pentagon.

Mai tapped the screen. A woman's voice, husky and laden with manufactured emotion, drifted from the phone's speakers.

"Lien's heart was a ship tossed on the tempestuous sea of romance. To the north, the steadfast lighthouse of Lord Kuroda, his fortune as vast as his ancestral lands. To the east, the treacherous and alluring reef of Kaito, the street racer with a past inked into his skin. To the south, the warm, tropical winds of Hao, the sculptor who saw the goddess within her mortal form. And to the west, the mysterious fog bank of Kenji, the silent bodyguard who spoke only with his fists."

Toph's face scrunched up. "What in the spirits' name is this?"

"The Five-Petaled Heart." Mai took a slow sip of her mimosa. The bubbles were an enjoyable hiss against her palette. She held the metal cigarette between two fingers, vapor curling toward the cabin ceiling.

"You're listening to this junk on purpose?"

"Slop like this clears the mind." Like emptying a septic tank. Sometimes you needed the worst to appreciate the mediocre.

"More like clears my stomach."

"'Oh, Kaito,' Lien breathed, her voice a fragile whisper against the roar of his motorcycle engine. 'Your lips are a forbidden poison I must taste.'"

A flight attendant passed, offering warm nuts. Mai waved her away without shifting her gaze. The woman's smile never faltered. Toph snagged a handful of cashews like a fire spirit hoarding shiny things.

"So who's the fifth guy?" Toph crunched down on a nut. "The title implies a pentagon."

"The mailman. He's a late-game reveal."

"The mailman? Seriously? Does he, I don't know, deliver a special package?"

"He complicates the plot. His name is Lee." Because of course it is. In a world of Kaitos and Kenjiis, there's always a Lee lurking in the postal service, waiting to ruin everything.

Mai's expression remained as serene as a lakeview with an open bar. She watched clouds drift past the oval window, white puffs against endless blue. The plane hummed, a gentle vibration through her shoes. First-class was an oasis of quiet luxury, broken only by saccharine drama spilling from her phone. Money well spent on avoiding the screaming children in economy.

"But Lord Kuroda held her gloved hand, his touch both a promise and a prison. 'Lien, my little sparrow,' he murmured, his accent thick as molasses. 'Forget these commoners. A gilded cage is still a cage, but its bars are spun from gold.'"

Toph laughed. "This is garbage! I love it!"

Mai gave a single, almost imperceptible smirk. The first honest emotion she'd felt all day. She turned the volume up a notch.

Her phone screen lit up between them. Encrypted messages flashed in succession, notifications a silent counterpoint to the audio drama. Work never took sick days.

[Matcha]: ETA 1900 hours. Asset is mobile.

[Matcha]: Intel suggests a rival faction is also in play. Expect complications.

[Matcha]: Also, your credit score dropped three points. Did you buy another speedboat?

Mai dismissed the notifications with her thumb. The credit score thing was insulting. It was a jet ski, not a speedboat. Completely different tax bracket.

"You know," Toph slouched back, "I think she should go with the silent bodyguard. Kenji. At least he doesn't talk."

"He has a secret child with Lien's estranged stepsister."

"No!"

"Suddenly, the tearoom doors burst open. It was Lee, the mailman! His uniform was dishevelled, a smudge of ink on his cheek. In his hand, he held not a letter, but a single, perfect gardenia. 'This was misdelivered,' he panted, his eyes locking with Lien's across the crowded room. 'It belongs to you.'"

A crash from the back of the plane cut through the narrator's treacly prose. Not the sound of a dropped serving tray. Heavier. Sharper. Followed by a woman's shriek, quickly stifled.

Here we go.

The cabin's low hum fractured. Murmurs rippled up from economy like a whisper through an echo cave. Mai paused the audiobook. The silence was as thick as a politician's dossier.

She met Toph's gaze, then the earthbender's head tilted toward the rear, her feet sensing vibrations through the floor like a human seismograph. Panicked scramble. Heavy thud. The unmistakable sound of her enjoyable morning being interrupted.

Mai gave a slow, deliberate nod.

Toph grinned, feral as a crococat on speed. "Finally. Some decent in-flight entertainment."

They moved as one. Mai slipped from her seat with liquid grace, heels silent on carpet. Toph followed, bare feet padding behind her, reading the shifting weight of every soul aboard through the soles of her feet. Time to see what was rudely interrupting her date with nicotine and schlock.

The curtain to economy whipped open. A man in a cheap black suit and snarling wolf-bat mask held a flight attendant in a headlock. Three others, identically dressed, brandished stun batons, blue tips crackling like angry wasps.

Bargain-bin terrorists. She'd seen Fire Days Festival costumes with more gravitas.

The leader pressed his baton inches from the woman's temple. "Nobody move!"

Mai's gaze swept past the masked thugs, past trembling passengers. Her eyes caught on a stray peamond, forgotten on a fold-out tray. Poor little thing. About to have the most important moment of its short, salty life.

Swift. Silent. Her fingers plucked the nut from its perch. Her arm snapped forward in a perfect arc. The peamond spun, the little legume that could. It struck the leader's masked forehead with a satisfying thwack.

He stumbled back, hand flying to his head. "Ow! What the—"

The cabin erupted. Screams mixed with crackling batons. The delightful sound of chaos.

One thug lunged. Toph was faster. Her bare foot swept low, buckling his knee like cheap furniture. He toppled, dropping his baton with a clatter. Mai snatched the fallen weapon, electricity humming between her fingers. She smirked to herself at the farcical tactic, but then tactical analyses of legume weaponry lurked behind, snickering. She filed that thought for later.

She swung the baton, blue energy painting her face in arctic light.

Toph laughed, bright and clear above the rising panic. "Playtime!" She ducked under a wild swing, fist connecting with jaw in a percussive crack. The goon dropped like a man who had plunged his savings into CabbageCoin.

The leader shoved the flight attendant away, scrambling for the cockpit door. He fumbled with a small black device, thumb hovering over a single red button. The universal symbol for "everything about to get much worse."

"Stay back!" His voice cracked through the mask like a teenager asking for a date.

Toph stomped. The plane shuddered, a deep groan of metal that had nothing to do with turbulence. Physics bending to her will like a respectful servant. The hijacker stumbled, balance gone.

Mai closed the distance. No punch. No kick. Just two fingers, striking a series of chi points guaranteed to turn their owner to jelly. His body went slack, eyes rolling back. He collapsed like a toddler told he couldn't have his fifth sucker.

But his thumb, in its final spastic clench, found the button.

Oh. Wonderful.

Sparks showered from the cockpit door's keypad. Lights flickered violently, died, replaced by stark emergency strips along the floor. A high-pitched electrical whine filled the air, followed by the terrifying perfume of ozone and burnt plastic. The plane lurched—not turbulence, but a dead, sickening drop. Engines sputtered into a ragged cough.

The intercom crackled open. A choked scream echoed from the cockpit, followed by the wet thud of two bodies slumping against controls. Then static, the smell of fear, and the feeling of drifting forward over a cliff right before standing on air and looking down.

Mai looked at Toph amidst passenger screams. She reached into her dress pocket, pulled out her metal cigarette, placed it between her lips, chewing on her addic— comfort vice.

Toph cracked her knuckles. "Well. How hard can it be?"

Famous last words. Right up there with "What's the worst that could happen?" and "I'm sure it's nothing."

The nose pitched down. A collective scream tore through the cabin as gravity remembered who was in charge, pinning passengers to their seats like insects to a board. Loose carry-ons and drink carts slid down the aisle, crashing against the forward bulkhead. Mai could see accountants splattering red ink with every crack and thud.

Toph planted her bare feet in the center aisle, ignoring the chaos. She sank into a low horse stance, floor plates vibrating under her soles with the terrified hum of a dying machine. Arms spread wide, fingers splayed as if to embrace the entire fuselage. Eyes closed—not that it mattered—listening with her entire body. Groaning rivets. Stressed support beams. Twin engines sputtering on the wings like dying animals. All just a big, complicated piece of metal. Another form of earth.

She pulled.

The airframe moaned, tortured steel rising above the wind's wail. For a heartbeat, the sickening lurch eased. Just a fraction. But the plane was a behemoth, a wounded whaleshark plunging into the abyss, and she was trying to hook it with a paper clip on dental floss. The resistance was immense, stubborn, screaming force that pushed back against her chi like an angry god.

Meanwhile, Mai kicked open the cockpit door. Two pilots slumped in their seats, heads lolling, smoke whisps rising from electric-burnt white shirts as from a funeral candle. Alarms blared from a dozen panels. A robotic voice repeated "PULL UP. PULL UP." in maddeningly calm tones.

Technology at its finest. Helpful right up until the moment you actually needed it.

Mai grabbed the captain by collar and epaulettes. She heaved. The body came free with a grunt and she dragged it out, leaving it in a heap by the door like discarded laundry. Repeated the process with the co-pilot, movements efficient and devoid of ceremony. She slid into the captain's chair, leather still warm. Body heat from a dead man. Delightful.

The view from the chair was as foreign as an Alcoholic's Anonymous meeting. She ignored it, pulling out her phone and pressing a single contact. It rang once.

Matcha's voice, crisp and synthetic, chirped from the speaker. "Well, this is a surprise. I didn't think you'd call until after you landed. Did you forget your toothbrush?"

Mai propped the phone against the dashboard. "We've hit some unexpected turbulence. The pilots have retired. Permanently."

Wind howled outside the reinforced windscreen. The plane shuddered, dropping another hundred feet like a stone with wings.

"My readings indicate your current flight path is less 'turbulence' and more 'lithobraking.' That's a fancy word for crashing, in case your vocabulary has been eroded by cheap whiskey."

"Patch into the plane's avionics. Find me a button that makes this thing go up."

"Working. But my access is limited since someone blew the primary electronics. Are you, by any chance, a certified pilot, Talon?"

"I can drive anything." Cars. Boats. Motorcycles. How different can a flying metal tube full of screaming people really be?

"A rental scooter in Ba Sing Se does not qualify you to operate an A380. I'm uploading the flight manual to your console. Try not to skim."

Back in the aisle, sweat beaded on Toph's brow. She felt the structure yielding to the sky's pull, her own power a flickering candle in a hurricane. Could feel Mai in the cockpit, the dead weight of pilots, the frantic heartbeats of every soul aboard. But she could not arrest their fall. With a frustrated roar, she released her hold. The plane resumed its full, terrifying plunge toward whatever waited below.

She stomped down the aisle, heavy thuds of anger, and burst into the cockpit. The wall of alarms and screaming wind hit her like a physical blow. "It's no good! This piece of junk won't listen to me!"

"Then make it listen." Mai's hands were a blur over the glowing control panel. She flicked a row of switches. Nothing. Jabbed a lit button. An even more irritating alarm joined the chorus.

"That was the landing gear, you brilliant aviator. While an excellent choice for landing, we are currently several thousand feet from any surface you wish to connect with."

Helpful as always. She made a mental note to reprogram Matcha's personality core with a mute button.

Toph leaned over the center console, bare feet planted wide. "The left wing is shaking more than the right. It feels... looser."

Mai glanced at the corresponding gauges. They were a chaotic dance of red needles, each one screaming a different flavor of impending doom. "Matcha, give me something for asymmetry."

"Try the aileron trim. The little wheel next to your right knee. Counter-clockwise. Gently."

Mai spun the wheel. The plane groaned, shuddering intensified for a moment, then the violent shaking in the port wing eased into a manageable tremor. The gut-wrenching plunge lessened, bleeding vertical speed into a steep but controlled glide. The "PULL UP" alarm ceased its robotic chanting. They were still falling, but they were no longer a brick flapping its arms.

"Better." Toph wiped sweat from her forehead.

Mai's gaze flickered from windscreen to cockpit door. A flight attendant stood there, one hand gripping the doorframe, uniform impeccable despite the terror stretching her face into a pale mask. Her eyes darted from empty pilots' seats to the two women who had commandeered the controls.

Professional training versus mortal panic. An interesting philosophical battle playing out in real time.

Mai leaned back in the captain's chair. The movement was casual, jarring against the backdrop of screaming alarms and howling wind. She met the attendant's horrified stare.

"Martini. Very dry. Two olives."

The woman's jaw unhinged. Eyes bulged, whites stark in the emergency lighting. She looked as if Mai had asked her to sprout wings and fly alongside the plane. Opened her mouth, but only a faint squeaking sound emerged.

Mai didn't repeat herself. Didn't raise her voice. Simply held the woman's gaze, expression flat and unreadable as polished obsidian. A stare that drilled past fear and confusion, communicating a simple, absolute truth: This is happening. Do it.

The flight attendant's mouth snapped shut. Single, jerky nod, body moving with twitchy uncertainty of a marionette. She turned and vanished back into the chaos.

"Seriously?" Toph sighed, not turning from her position over the console. "Now?"

"My mind requires lubrication." And if she was going to die in a flying metal coffin, she wasn't going sober.

A minute later, the attendant reappeared. Hands trembled, but she held a cocktail glass. Clear liquid sloshed within, threatening to spill with every shudder of the airframe. Two green olives bobbed at the bottom like swimmers who took a dip at three a.m. in the middle of a hurricane.

She extended the drink to Mai like firstfruits to a crazed crococat god.

Mai took the glass. Downed the entire contents in two swift swallows, alcohol leaving a clean burn down her throat. Set the empty glass on the dashboard with a soft clink, a period mark on the absurd exchange. Placed her hands back on the yoke.

The gin hit her system not as numbing agent, but as focusing lens. The cacophony of alarms, screaming wind, frantic digital squawks from Matcha—it all melted away, receding into uniform grey hum. Focus flowed like a cool river through her veins, washing away the grit of the moment, leaving behind a smooth, polished stone of purpose.

She was no longer Mai, sitting in a pilot's seat. She was an extension of the machine, a ghost in its wires. Her hands moved over the glowing console, fingers dancing between switches and dials. They were not her hands. They belonged to someone else, a pilot from a half-forgotten dream, and she was merely an observer watching them work.

A voice, clipped and authoritative, cut through the din, but she did not hear the words as she spoke them.

"Toph. Report."

"Nose is too high! Bring her down!"

Mai's hands pushed the yoke forward. The plane leveled out.

From the fifteenth-floor conference room of Cabbage Corp, the board of directors watched in stunned silence as the descending jumbo jet skimmed past their window, its wingtip neatly decapitating the bronze statue of their founder on the rooftop terrace. The cabbage in his raised hand, however, remained perfectly intact. It was a violation of the laws of nature.

"Matcha. Surface options."

"My sensors indicate a large, flat, regrettably occupied stretch of pavement approximately three kilometers ahead. It appears to be the Ba Sing Se Grand Prix racetrack. There is an active race."

"Excellent. Less traffic." Racing cars were at least designed to move out of the way quickly.

Her fingers tapped a sequence on a keypad. The flaps extended with hydraulic groans that Toph felt through her feet. The plane's descent slowed dramatically.

Spectators at Turn Seven screamed, not in excitement for the race cars, but in raw terror as the A380 used the main straight as a runway. A cherry-red Lotus racer, leading the pack, swerved violently to avoid the plane's landing gear, spun out, and crashed directly into a giant inflatable noodle bowl mascot. The irony was not lost on her, even in her detached state.

"We're coming in too hot!" Toph's knuckles were white where she gripped the console. "The metal is screaming!"

Mai's disembodied voice didn't change its even cadence. "Breathe."

She pulled a heavy red lever marked EMERGENCY BRAKES.

The plane's tires touched down on asphalt with a shriek that drowned out the race cars. It barreled down the track, rubber burning black streaks into the painted finish line. Forward momentum carried it through a series of styrofoam barriers, across a manicured lawn, and directly toward the stadium's primary water feature.

The world returned in a violent, sensory explosion.

First, the sound—deafening screech of tortured metal and colossal hiss of water instantly turning to steam. Then the jolt. A force that threw her forward against her seatbelt, snapping her head back with a sharp crack. Finally, the smell. Burnt rubber, hot electronics, and chlorinated perfume of a very large, very annoyed swimming pool.

The plane shuddered to a final, definitive stop, nose buried deep in the central fountain. Water cascaded over the windscreen, obscuring the view of panicked race officials running across the infield. Emergency lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows through the cockpit. The grey hum in her mind vanished, replaced by ringing in her ears.

She was Mai again, and she was sitting in the captain's seat of a crashed airliner. Another Tuesday, another near-death experience. At least this one had free drinks.

She blinked, took the metal cigarette from her lips, and looked at the carnage through water-streaked glass.

Toph pushed herself up, shaking her head as if to clear it. She spat on the floor. "So. You want me to drive next time?"

Mai smirked. "Goons or no goons?"

Toph wiped a smudge of soot from her cheek. "Definitely goons. Makes me feel alive."

At least someone was having fun. Mai preferred her adrenaline rushes with fewer mechanical failures and more ragdolling gangsters.

They unbuckled their harnesses. The emergency slide had deployed from the main exit, a bright yellow tongue lolling onto waterlogged turf like a poodle-monkey's after a long run. They walked out of the cockpit, past the stunned flight attendant who was now trying to calm passengers with the practiced desperation of someone whose training manual hadn't covered "what to do when passengers land the plane themselves."

Down the aisle, a few people stared, faces mixing awe and terror. Most were too busy fumbling with phones or checking on loved ones to process what they'd witnessed.

At the bottom of the slide, a small crowd of race officials and security guards had gathered, mouths agape like fish in an aquarium. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. A man in a jacket emblazoned with 'Ba Sing Se Grand Prix' pointed a trembling finger at them.

"You two! You flew the plane?"

Mai sighed. The last thing she wanted was a debriefing. Or a medal. Or a long, drawn-out conversation with anyone about anything. She reached into an inner pocket of her dress and pulled out a slender silver cylinder, no bigger than a lipstick case. The Mechanist's little gift for avoiding tedious explanations. She twisted the base.

A brilliant, soundless flash of white light bloomed from the device, washing over the stunned onlookers. For a second, the world was pure, bleached white. When the light vanished, the officials blinked, collective confusion cascading through the crowd like a cresting wave of molasses. The man who had pointed at them now scratched his head, gaze sweeping the area as if searching for pilots who had surely just evacuated.

Memory was such a fragile thing. A little light show, and suddenly everyone forgot to ask inconvenient questions.

Mai and Toph walked past them, their departure completely unnoticed.

They strolled across the infield, grass squelching under their feet. The air hung thick with chlorine and burnt tires, an oddly refreshing combination, like bleach and lemon scent after a particularly bloody job. They passed the decapitated bronze statue of the Cabbage Corp founder, his stone hand still offering his phantom vegetable to the sky. A few yards away, the bright red race car was wedged nose-first into the deflated noodle bowl mascot, steam hissing from its crumpled hood.

The White Lotus check was going to have a few zeros on it, but she didn't care; she was in operations, not accounting. Completely different department.

Speaking of operations, the mission— Eh, it can lick ash.

[Black Talon]: I'll pass on this one.

[Matcha]: Really? Are you sure you're not hungry for two-bit gangster blood?

[Black Talon]: I've had enough excitement for one day. Give one of the newbies a shot.

[Matcha]: Fine.

Toph pulled her phone from her pocket, thumb swiping across the screen. "I'm starving. You think that noodle place is still open? Huang's?"

"I went there two days ago. What about sushi?"

"Yuck." Toph made a face like she'd been asked to eat dumpster buffet. Which, given some of the sushi places in Ba Sing Se, wasn't entirely unfair.

Mai sighed. "Let's get out of here first." She pulled out her phone, fingers dancing across the screen. "Badgermole Rides. A driver named Shen is six minutes away. Says he has complimentary fire flakes."

They reached the edge of the racetrack, stepping over a crushed section of fence onto a service road. The sirens were louder now, a frantic chorus closing in on the chaos they were leaving behind. Emergency responders would arrive, find a plane in a fountain, some confused officials, and absolutely no one who remembered seeing two women walk away from the wreckage.

Just another day in the City of Walls and Secrets.

Mai pulled out her metal cigarette, placing it between her lips. "Let's find a bar."

"The one with the good whiskey and the bad lighting?"

"The very same." The kind of place where bartenders minded their own business and the clientele knew better than to ask questions about disheveled clothing or the faint smell of aviation fuel.

Toph grinned. "Works for me. Crashing a plane really works up a thirst."

Mai took a long drag of tasteless vapor and watched the emergency vehicles race toward the fountain in the distance. Another crisis averted, another day's work done. Though, the execution left a bit to be desired.

"My statue!"

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Goose Eggs