"Goodbye, Xin." She said, holding his hand tight. A tear streaked down her face, as the doctors...
Avatar: The Skybender Saga (Avatar Continued)
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"Goodbye, Xin." She said, holding his hand tight. A tear streaked down her face, as the doctors gave her space – the last hours of his mother ticking by on a nearby clock.
"I only wish..." A cough resounded, blotting out her speech. "I only wish you'd had a father to take care of you." The woman reached to her son's face, caressing it gently as his green eyes stared wide – uncomprehending. She couldn't die. She wouldn't.
"Mom?" Xin asked, holding her bedsheets with clenched fists. "You're going to get better, don't say that!" He yelled, to the shushing of his mother. "You have to." He whispered.
"I can't." She frowned, tears flowing. "I want to, my son – more than anything – but some things in life you can't make a choice in. Like yours." She said, smiling at him. Xin's face sagged in devastation – his eyes dulling as realization dawned on him. He would be alone – lost to the wind. No family. No friends. Only him, and the voices nagging at him.
"What do I do, Mom?" Xin asked, holding her hand as she let out another round of coughs.
"You keep fighting." She said, laying her other hand atop Xin's. "I'm done – I can't fight for you anymore – but you can keep struggling." She reached up, rubbing at his hair. "The world's given you a great gift, Xin – you can't squander it."
"But if I can't help you, how can I help anyone?" Xin asked, a tear dripping from his eye.
His mother smiled at him, pinching his cheek gently. "You'll always be able to help someone, Xin. You may not know how – you may not do everything for them – but you can -always- help someone. It's who you are: you're a beautiful boy, born to carry the torch of a woman who touched everyone's lives. I'm just glad you touched mine... before... before." She shook her head, closing her eyes. A hacking cough filled her throat.
"Mom?" Xin said, as the coughing kept happening. His mother shook hard in her bed, the smog in her lungs racking loudly. She was pale – paler than he'd ever seen her – her eyes sunken deep. Xin turned on his heel, crying for a doctor, rushing out of the room. A pair of tired green eyes watched him go. They stared blankly at the ceiling when Xing returned.
He was only nine. His mother had worked in the smelting forges of Omashu, a poor metalbender whose lungs were destroyed in the forges of industry. On that day, Xing's birthday, in fact, she died.
Xin, the boy who could bend four elements, never bent the other three for years. He buried his mother. He worked in shops and peddled on corners, selling metal trinkets to passers by. He made watches, raised money, went to a good school – finding enough coin to attend an engineer's academy. He had few acquaintances, and what friends he had didn't last.
To the rest of the world, the Avatar Cycle ended with Korra. No-one could find a new Avatar, despite their searches. Across the Earth States, people searched and looked – but none could find him. In the United Republic, every claim and rumor was investigated, and even the other nations searched for expatriate earthbenders, hoping to find some trace of the Avatar. All the while, the world didn't need one – the Airbenders kept peace as best they could, even as deep philosophical divides formed in their ranks. In the Earth States, the various powers competed for resources and influence – with the rival cities of Omashu and Zaofu rising above the rest.
But in absence of light, darkness festers – and you may find yourself too busy squabbling to realize that your ship has set sail.
"I only wish..." A cough resounded, blotting out her speech. "I only wish you'd had a father to take care of you." The woman reached to her son's face, caressing it gently as his green eyes stared wide – uncomprehending. She couldn't die. She wouldn't.
"Mom?" Xin asked, holding her bedsheets with clenched fists. "You're going to get better, don't say that!" He yelled, to the shushing of his mother. "You have to." He whispered.
"I can't." She frowned, tears flowing. "I want to, my son – more than anything – but some things in life you can't make a choice in. Like yours." She said, smiling at him. Xin's face sagged in devastation – his eyes dulling as realization dawned on him. He would be alone – lost to the wind. No family. No friends. Only him, and the voices nagging at him.
"What do I do, Mom?" Xin asked, holding her hand as she let out another round of coughs.
"You keep fighting." She said, laying her other hand atop Xin's. "I'm done – I can't fight for you anymore – but you can keep struggling." She reached up, rubbing at his hair. "The world's given you a great gift, Xin – you can't squander it."
"But if I can't help you, how can I help anyone?" Xin asked, a tear dripping from his eye.
His mother smiled at him, pinching his cheek gently. "You'll always be able to help someone, Xin. You may not know how – you may not do everything for them – but you can -always- help someone. It's who you are: you're a beautiful boy, born to carry the torch of a woman who touched everyone's lives. I'm just glad you touched mine... before... before." She shook her head, closing her eyes. A hacking cough filled her throat.
"Mom?" Xin said, as the coughing kept happening. His mother shook hard in her bed, the smog in her lungs racking loudly. She was pale – paler than he'd ever seen her – her eyes sunken deep. Xin turned on his heel, crying for a doctor, rushing out of the room. A pair of tired green eyes watched him go. They stared blankly at the ceiling when Xing returned.
He was only nine. His mother had worked in the smelting forges of Omashu, a poor metalbender whose lungs were destroyed in the forges of industry. On that day, Xing's birthday, in fact, she died.
Xin, the boy who could bend four elements, never bent the other three for years. He buried his mother. He worked in shops and peddled on corners, selling metal trinkets to passers by. He made watches, raised money, went to a good school – finding enough coin to attend an engineer's academy. He had few acquaintances, and what friends he had didn't last.
To the rest of the world, the Avatar Cycle ended with Korra. No-one could find a new Avatar, despite their searches. Across the Earth States, people searched and looked – but none could find him. In the United Republic, every claim and rumor was investigated, and even the other nations searched for expatriate earthbenders, hoping to find some trace of the Avatar. All the while, the world didn't need one – the Airbenders kept peace as best they could, even as deep philosophical divides formed in their ranks. In the Earth States, the various powers competed for resources and influence – with the rival cities of Omashu and Zaofu rising above the rest.
But in absence of light, darkness festers – and you may find yourself too busy squabbling to realize that your ship has set sail.
==
Avatar: The Skybender Saga
Book One: Connection
Avatar: The Skybender Saga
Book One: Connection
The winds whistled, the dry chill of a klick high's air currents ripping across the catwalk. A pair of mittens held a watch of burnished brass. With a flick of the wrist, the cover opened – a sepia picture staring back at Xin: a face that haunted his dreams filling the circular frame. "Mom." He whispered, looking out with his goggles across the great desert. "I may be far from home." He said, holding the watch tight, "But I'm never going to forget where I came from – or you. Especially not today – on my twenty-fifth birthday. Ten years ago, I went to school. Five years ago, I graduated, got my first job working here."
He slapped the watch shut, tucking it in his jacket's inner pocket. With a free hand, he zipped it shut – the chill dispersing as he leaned hard on the railing – free air beneath him as he leaned out over the abyss. Idly, Xin pulled up his scarf, shielding himself from the winds. The dull roar of the ship's engines rattled onward.
"I did my best, Mom, with what I had." He said to himself. "I went to a good school. I practiced what I could in secret. I mastered metalbending." His eyes turned down to his hands, folded on the railing. "But I guess I failed, too. I don't want to be Avatar. I'm still not." He mumbled through the fabric.
Standing, he turned away from the dawn sun – just peeking over the horizon. There was a long day ahead. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I did everything I could – but I won't let my life be forced, not like yours was. I'm my own man." He said, strutting off across the catwalk. Clanging feet carried him to the nearest hatch, and he hissed it open with a twist of its wheel.
He slammed it behind him, sealing it shut. The roar of the engines turned to a loud hum – the metal walls of the airship closing around him comfortably as he pulled down his scarf, letting his goggles rest on his forehead. He tucked his hands in his pockets, and stopped – skidding on his feet as a reflection caught his eye. His.
Before he could do more than regard himself, a face whipped around the corner, her hand twisting her around on the overhead piping – and she skidded to a halt, wrapping her legs around his chest with a laugh. "Xin!" She shouted with a giggle. "What're you doing up so early?" She asked, releasing him and twirling to a stop before him.
"Hey, Shao." Xin said. Her hair was auburn, her eyes a brilliant gold – and her stubby nose was as perky as her bangs, hanging out from behind a blue bandana tied in her hair. Fire crackled from her fingers – heating the piping above her as she hung jubilantly, her muscled arms twisting as she gained her balance to hang off two pipes.
"Answer my question!" She shouted, heating the second pipe in her hand as she let the other cool.
"I-" Xin rubbed at the back of his head, glancing back from the mirror on the wall. "It's my birthday." He said.
"And you wake up -early- on your birthday?" Shao asked, giggling. "You're crazy, Xin – but I guess we all knew that just meeting you. How're your clocks?"
"Still ticking." Xin growled. He looked up at the pipes. "What's the problem?"
"Oh, nothing." She replied, fluttering her eyelashes. "I'm trying to check for weak spots. One of the pipes blew in the night, I was scared to spirits!" She said, holding her free hand to her chest. With a flourish of her other hand, she landed silently on the grating below – looking up at Xin as she did so. "Doing anything special for your birthday?" She asked.
Xin rose his hands, spinning around in the hallway. Empty browns, blacks, and grays answered his gesture. "We're a klick high, Shao – I'd love to do something, but something tells me-"
"Oh, whiney hiney." Shao said, slapping him with a backhand to the shoulder. "You know we'd throw you a party! All you've gotta do is ask!"
Xin shook his head, looking over hers and off into the metal distance. She poked him in the chest, drawing his attention back to her. "I don't do parties, Shao." He said, gruffly. "My birthday's never been a happy day."
"Well whose fault is that?" Shao asked, placing her hands on her hips – her rolled sleeves displaying her tattoos in all their glory, red and blue lotuses twirling in vines up her arm, leaves floating off of them. She was a free spirit, like everyone else aboard - and maybe that's what made Xin so different.
Xin shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching. He twisted his mouth into a pout. "Can I go, now?" He asked. "I'll have to check on the ship if a pipe blew."
Shao frowned, watching as he slowly shifted past her. "Y'know, you can play Mr. Dark and Broody all day – it's not like any of us are going to stop you." She said, watching Xin's calm stroll down the hall. She balled a fist, letting out a small grunt as she bent down, disappearing behind a hatch into a maintenance duct.
A ship's work was never done.
Xin rounded a corner, finding a small hall with six doors – two ringed green, the others ringed blue – the two guest rooms, and four crew rooms. For a ship like Xin's, four crew was miniscule – but a ship like theirs didn't need a massive maintenance crew – not when Xin was aboard.
He approached his door, third on the right, and twisted thrice. It opened without delay – swinging wide to reveal a small desk, a bed that folded up to reveal a footlocker, and a miniscule shower/toilet. Various boxes and luggage filled the extra spaces – alongside a full ring of small wooden frames around the room – each ticking in unison with the others.
Clocks.
Xin sighed, feeling the tick and tock of each one in peaceful unison. The light of the large glass window filled the room with warmth, and he gently sat – doffing his hat to reveal a mop of black hair. His desk was empty – the best way to work. He slowly removed his gloves, reaching down and feeling the desk. A chill went up his fingers, and he shut his eyes – the very metal speaking to him. He felt the desk – the whole of it, rivets and all. He felt the pipes, the glass, the room. It grew and grew – the pipes and the servos speaking to him. The engines roared loudly with their vibrations – but in their chaos Xin found rhythm.
All the while, the clocks ticked.
He could feel the pipes – where they were weak, where they were strong, and where a new pipe replaced old – the body not yet accepting its new part. It was still weak, unforged – but Xin could fix that. He twisted his hands, sending vibrations through the hull – resonating lightly. Within moments, the firebent addition looked as if it had come with the rest, perfectly aligned and flush with the other parts.
It took a special kind of concentration to do that. Xin felt the light in his eyes fade, the power passing in a wave of brief fatigue. A normal metalbender could never have the power to see a whole machine. Even a master would have trouble seeing beyond a few rooms – as Toph could.
Xin leaned back in his chair, letting out a small rush of air. He twirled his fingers – a small crackle of fire twisting through them. Fire was his least favorite element – although you couldn't tell Shao that. It was too violent, too passionate. To do it right, you needed to devote yourself to it – and Xin couldn't do that. He hid his flame. It wasn't in his nature.
Still, it was a dalliance – just as water and air were. The elements were toys to Xin – not weapons of war. He'd never been in a real fight since he'd started school – and even on the streets he'd rarely pulled out all the stops.
Sure, there was piracy. Sure, there was war. Those things died down, though – the states squabbled for oases and mining rights, the URN dealt with increasing factionalism in its legislature, and the Water Tribes continued to stay where they were.
Xin looked out the window, wrapping his hands behind his head. "It's a boring time to be Avatar." He said, watching the sands of the desert slowly slide into view – the sun glistening off of Sand Sailors as they slid through the desert.
He glanced up at the clocks, then shut his eyes. "And may it always be."
–
Author's Notes
Not much to say about this one. Trying to gauge interest.
It's a fic idea I had for a continuation after Korra – the Skybender Saga. Unlike Aang or Korra, Xin starts the story as a realized Avatar – but one who's not really interested in being Avatar. He doesn't want to live up to expectations - just to live his life, after digging himself out of poverty and homelessness.
His Metalbending is his primary asset – but unlike Kuvira or the Beifongs, Xin's is more artistic and constructive – and connective. He lives and breathes machinery – making him an unstoppable mechanic. Technology is a proto-atompunk style, with prop aircraft still dominant and computing limited in scope. Spirit powered airships ply the trade lanes between the Earth States - forming a Firefly-esque single ship story, within a context of a much wider world.
He slapped the watch shut, tucking it in his jacket's inner pocket. With a free hand, he zipped it shut – the chill dispersing as he leaned hard on the railing – free air beneath him as he leaned out over the abyss. Idly, Xin pulled up his scarf, shielding himself from the winds. The dull roar of the ship's engines rattled onward.
"I did my best, Mom, with what I had." He said to himself. "I went to a good school. I practiced what I could in secret. I mastered metalbending." His eyes turned down to his hands, folded on the railing. "But I guess I failed, too. I don't want to be Avatar. I'm still not." He mumbled through the fabric.
Standing, he turned away from the dawn sun – just peeking over the horizon. There was a long day ahead. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I did everything I could – but I won't let my life be forced, not like yours was. I'm my own man." He said, strutting off across the catwalk. Clanging feet carried him to the nearest hatch, and he hissed it open with a twist of its wheel.
He slammed it behind him, sealing it shut. The roar of the engines turned to a loud hum – the metal walls of the airship closing around him comfortably as he pulled down his scarf, letting his goggles rest on his forehead. He tucked his hands in his pockets, and stopped – skidding on his feet as a reflection caught his eye. His.
Before he could do more than regard himself, a face whipped around the corner, her hand twisting her around on the overhead piping – and she skidded to a halt, wrapping her legs around his chest with a laugh. "Xin!" She shouted with a giggle. "What're you doing up so early?" She asked, releasing him and twirling to a stop before him.
"Hey, Shao." Xin said. Her hair was auburn, her eyes a brilliant gold – and her stubby nose was as perky as her bangs, hanging out from behind a blue bandana tied in her hair. Fire crackled from her fingers – heating the piping above her as she hung jubilantly, her muscled arms twisting as she gained her balance to hang off two pipes.
"Answer my question!" She shouted, heating the second pipe in her hand as she let the other cool.
"I-" Xin rubbed at the back of his head, glancing back from the mirror on the wall. "It's my birthday." He said.
"And you wake up -early- on your birthday?" Shao asked, giggling. "You're crazy, Xin – but I guess we all knew that just meeting you. How're your clocks?"
"Still ticking." Xin growled. He looked up at the pipes. "What's the problem?"
"Oh, nothing." She replied, fluttering her eyelashes. "I'm trying to check for weak spots. One of the pipes blew in the night, I was scared to spirits!" She said, holding her free hand to her chest. With a flourish of her other hand, she landed silently on the grating below – looking up at Xin as she did so. "Doing anything special for your birthday?" She asked.
Xin rose his hands, spinning around in the hallway. Empty browns, blacks, and grays answered his gesture. "We're a klick high, Shao – I'd love to do something, but something tells me-"
"Oh, whiney hiney." Shao said, slapping him with a backhand to the shoulder. "You know we'd throw you a party! All you've gotta do is ask!"
Xin shook his head, looking over hers and off into the metal distance. She poked him in the chest, drawing his attention back to her. "I don't do parties, Shao." He said, gruffly. "My birthday's never been a happy day."
"Well whose fault is that?" Shao asked, placing her hands on her hips – her rolled sleeves displaying her tattoos in all their glory, red and blue lotuses twirling in vines up her arm, leaves floating off of them. She was a free spirit, like everyone else aboard - and maybe that's what made Xin so different.
Xin shook his head, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching. He twisted his mouth into a pout. "Can I go, now?" He asked. "I'll have to check on the ship if a pipe blew."
Shao frowned, watching as he slowly shifted past her. "Y'know, you can play Mr. Dark and Broody all day – it's not like any of us are going to stop you." She said, watching Xin's calm stroll down the hall. She balled a fist, letting out a small grunt as she bent down, disappearing behind a hatch into a maintenance duct.
A ship's work was never done.
Xin rounded a corner, finding a small hall with six doors – two ringed green, the others ringed blue – the two guest rooms, and four crew rooms. For a ship like Xin's, four crew was miniscule – but a ship like theirs didn't need a massive maintenance crew – not when Xin was aboard.
He approached his door, third on the right, and twisted thrice. It opened without delay – swinging wide to reveal a small desk, a bed that folded up to reveal a footlocker, and a miniscule shower/toilet. Various boxes and luggage filled the extra spaces – alongside a full ring of small wooden frames around the room – each ticking in unison with the others.
Clocks.
Xin sighed, feeling the tick and tock of each one in peaceful unison. The light of the large glass window filled the room with warmth, and he gently sat – doffing his hat to reveal a mop of black hair. His desk was empty – the best way to work. He slowly removed his gloves, reaching down and feeling the desk. A chill went up his fingers, and he shut his eyes – the very metal speaking to him. He felt the desk – the whole of it, rivets and all. He felt the pipes, the glass, the room. It grew and grew – the pipes and the servos speaking to him. The engines roared loudly with their vibrations – but in their chaos Xin found rhythm.
All the while, the clocks ticked.
He could feel the pipes – where they were weak, where they were strong, and where a new pipe replaced old – the body not yet accepting its new part. It was still weak, unforged – but Xin could fix that. He twisted his hands, sending vibrations through the hull – resonating lightly. Within moments, the firebent addition looked as if it had come with the rest, perfectly aligned and flush with the other parts.
It took a special kind of concentration to do that. Xin felt the light in his eyes fade, the power passing in a wave of brief fatigue. A normal metalbender could never have the power to see a whole machine. Even a master would have trouble seeing beyond a few rooms – as Toph could.
Xin leaned back in his chair, letting out a small rush of air. He twirled his fingers – a small crackle of fire twisting through them. Fire was his least favorite element – although you couldn't tell Shao that. It was too violent, too passionate. To do it right, you needed to devote yourself to it – and Xin couldn't do that. He hid his flame. It wasn't in his nature.
Still, it was a dalliance – just as water and air were. The elements were toys to Xin – not weapons of war. He'd never been in a real fight since he'd started school – and even on the streets he'd rarely pulled out all the stops.
Sure, there was piracy. Sure, there was war. Those things died down, though – the states squabbled for oases and mining rights, the URN dealt with increasing factionalism in its legislature, and the Water Tribes continued to stay where they were.
Xin looked out the window, wrapping his hands behind his head. "It's a boring time to be Avatar." He said, watching the sands of the desert slowly slide into view – the sun glistening off of Sand Sailors as they slid through the desert.
He glanced up at the clocks, then shut his eyes. "And may it always be."
–
Author's Notes
Not much to say about this one. Trying to gauge interest.
It's a fic idea I had for a continuation after Korra – the Skybender Saga. Unlike Aang or Korra, Xin starts the story as a realized Avatar – but one who's not really interested in being Avatar. He doesn't want to live up to expectations - just to live his life, after digging himself out of poverty and homelessness.
His Metalbending is his primary asset – but unlike Kuvira or the Beifongs, Xin's is more artistic and constructive – and connective. He lives and breathes machinery – making him an unstoppable mechanic. Technology is a proto-atompunk style, with prop aircraft still dominant and computing limited in scope. Spirit powered airships ply the trade lanes between the Earth States - forming a Firefly-esque single ship story, within a context of a much wider world.
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"Hey, you little punk!" Someone shouted. Little green eyes peered out from the small rock alcove – the earth surrounding him. Two large men rushed through the alleyway – eyes darting around – only to stop in front of the sealed alcove. "Where'd he go?" The man asked, slamming his fist into his palm. "I'll beat him good for what he did."
Xin's hands clutched the bag tightly, his stomach rumbling slightly. Bags beneath his eyes and sunken skin said it all – Xin was in no place to take the moral high ground. He'd tried as long as he could – he'd begged, he'd tried to work – only to be rejected for his youth. The orphanages of Omashu had been long filled, and he'd done his best to stay within the bounds – but some things went too far.
A hand slammed into Xin's small shelter, his eyes snapping open in fear. A small gust of wind whistled from his fingers – and he clenched them, fear in his beating heart. "How does a kid that scrawny run so far?"
"They're all beggars." The other spat. "They'll take it from you nicely, then they'll steal it illegally. It's how those rats live on our streets." He looked around – searching through a nearby trash can. "He ain't here. Flameo."
"Flam-e-o." The other said, running his hands along the wall. "Unless..." He said, perking up his ears. Xin held his breath tight, watching through the narrow slit as the man's figure wreathed it in shadow. "Doesn't the wall look funny here, Shan?" The man asked, rubbing the wall. "I'd almost think someone earthbent it."
The other man scoffed, his footsteps closing in. "Earthbent, huh? Let me guess – you hear breathing? We're in the iron district! Everything's earthbending and ventilation shafts!" The closer man's fist punched against the earth, a growl escaping his lips.
Xin gasped, curling up inside. The man was suddenly silent, and he placed his hands against the earth. "Shan!" He shouted. "I heard a gasp from inside! He's in here, I'm sure of it!" The rock began to ring out as Xin felt punches resound against it. The other man approached, and Xin felt two feet crack against the earth. The alcove tore open – and the two men stared down at Xin.
"You, boy!" 'Shan' shouted. "You're in trouble now!" He yelled, reaching down. Xin's eyes snapped wide, and he swung an arm up defensively – a gust of hard wind sending both men sprawling against the far wall. Both took up fighting stances – and one kicked hard against the earth, a large rock ripping out of a nearby wall.
"You think you can steal from us and use your bending to get away?!" The first man shouted. "I'll show you what we do to thieves here in Omashu, slumrat!" He roared, kicking hard. The rock sailed towards Xin, and he planted his feet, cracking it down the middle. The halves slid by him – only for a second rock to ram him against the wall.
With as startled gasp, he awoke – his chair slipping out from beneath him. With a twist of his arms, Xin felt wind beneath him – saving his skull from a hasty impact. His chair clattered hard to the floor, and Xin flipped it back up with a tired glove. "Dang." He said, rubbing at his eyes. A growl resounded from his stomach, and he pivoted on his heels, approaching the door. Before he could even reach the handle, a rhythmic rap resounded on the door.
"Oh Xin~!" A flamboyant voice called. "I hear someone's has a special day today!" The man behind the door shouted. "How about you head down to the galley? Kysha's cooking up her famous soup you love!"
Xin's head rested against the door, and he idly fished in his pocket for his cap, pulling it taut around his ears. "I'll be out in a minute, Hiroshi." He groaned, crinking his neck. He had many regrets in his life – and none hurt him so much as things he did in his youth. Crime. Violence. He stole, cheated, begged, and prostrated himself before others to get by. He saved, he skimped. His skin still sagged under his eyes, where hungry nights cut deep.
As he opened the door to see Hiroshi's smiling face. Bronze skinned like a Water Nation man, with brilliant green eyes like an Earth Kingdom citizen, Hiroshi was a mixture of everything in the world, and it showed in his attitude. He laid his arm happily around Xin's shoulders, looking up at him with a smile. "Y'know, today's a good day. You know what happened on today in history?"
"What?" Xin asked, rolling his eyes. "Did someone famous build something cool?" His legs carried him down the hall as Hiroshi spoke.
"No, no!" He said, laughing. "Today's Avatar Korra's festival!" Xin rolled his eyes, looking away. "We're going to be touching down at Misty Palms today – I've got a few packages that need offloading for several sandbenders – mostly engine parts for their Sandskiffs and a few fireguns to fend off the buzzards out there. I'm gonna need you running interference -" Hiroshi jabbed a finger in his chest. "We've got a big day ahead of us, so happy birthday, sport – we'll have a big day ahead of us!"
Hiroshi beamed. "Yeah, I guess so." Xin said, rolling his eyes. "How long do we have? Are we staying for the whole festival?"
"Oh, are we!" Hiroshi said. "My gran-gran's festival is something I always stop the ship for – of course, you weren't around this time last year, what with the leave you took in Omashu. Sorry I couldn't get that in for you, sport – sometimes we're on a deadline."
"Great." Xin said, turning the corner towards the galley hatch. Hiroshi hurried himself forward, leaving Xin's shoulders to a long-needed rest. With a flourish of the arm, Hiroshi snapped the door open – his long, stringy beard hanging sheepishly over the corners of his smiling mouth. Xin huffed, stepping inside.
His expression warmed as a smiling face stared back – her blaze orange and sunlit yellow robes welcoming him as she stirred a pot in the kitchen. "Kysha." He said. "How's the stew coming?" He asked her – the gray in her tired eyes shooting back happily. Despite her age, Kysha looked a picture of health. She stood, balancing calmly as the hull buffeted amidst the heat drafts below. She reached out with happy arms, hugging Xin tight.
"You never tell us when anything important happens!" She shouted at once. She held his shoulders, glancing him over. "Here I am, old skinny Kysha – everyone's grandma, and you're twenty-five and hiding it!" She pinched at his cheek, and Xin chuckled a bit, his eyes regarding her wrinkled face. "But don't you worry about that." Kysha said, reaching into a belt pocket. She held up a small golden fan, folded taut. "This belonged to my grandmother – I've been holding onto it for the longest time, never sure what to do with it. They say it helps with airbending, but... my children have never taken to anything other than their staves."
Xin held out his palm as Kysha tugged it into place, pressing the fan into it. "Now you have a happy birthday, hmm? It's too bad we have to work today." Staring at it, Xin flipped it open and shut, stuffing it in a pocket. It'd help more than Kysha knew – but he wasn't about to start playing at Avatar today.
"Work's never bad!" Hiroshi replied, chuckling as he stepped in the room. He happily put his hands on their shoulders. "Especially not when the -real- Gran-Gran's celebration is today!" He clapped. "How's the stew coming, Kysh?"
"Fine." She said, shooting Hiroshi a look. He bared his teeth in a dejected smile, slinking away at the woman's piercing gaze. Kysha tugged on Xin's scarf, giving him a bit of breathing room, and tilted his cap up. "You always have yourself so closed off, y'know?" She asked, giving him a look. "Twenty-five, that's a big number."
"So's a hundred fifteen, but nobody ever told Avatar Korra that." Xin said, shrugging his scarf back flush with his neck. Kysha put her hands on her hips beneath her robe, shaking her head. "Aren't you airbenders supposed to live a long time, too?"
"Maybe if you shave your head, get arrows, and stuff yourself up in temples all your life." Kysha retorted, scoffing at the thought. "The ones that run away from the temple, have a bunch of kids, and sail off into the wind? We're not quite the same sort."
"Some would call that a punishment for running from duty." Xin said, looking down at the deck. Kysha picked up his chin with an idle hand.
She smiled at him. "Don't think like that." A happy aroma filled the cabin, a few bubbles forming in the stew. With a twist and an open palm, wind swirled from Kysha's palm – putting out a simple coal fire beneath the pot. Xin cocked his head, smiling sheepishly as she spooned out a small bowlful for him, handing it over. Xin's gloves kept out the heat as he blew on the first spoonful – smiling as he ate it.
"Wonderful, Kysh." Xin said.
Kysha had her own spoonful, leaning happily against the wall and shutting her eyes with a contented moan of enjoyment. "If I can't make good food, what kind of old lady am I?"
"A dangerous one." Xin deadpanned, shooting her a grinning look.
Kysha stared at him with narrowed eyes, before a bellowing laugh filled the compartment. Hiroshi snuck past her, shifting his hands to acquire his own bowlful, and stalked back to the cockpit, giving them both a wide berth. It was never wise to mess with Kysha – and she only accepted age jokes from her side of the conversation. You never called a woman who could suffocate you old. Not when her black hair was still black – even as grey streaked her temples and parts of her taut bun, two happy strands twirling ahead of her ears.
She was a kindly woman – and looked wonderful for her age. It didn't slow her down one bit.
Even as she played the mother, babied her little metalbender, Xin knew one thing – she could destroy anyone on this ship – water, fire, or metalbender. All it took was making mama bear angry.
==
"Xin!" Hiroshi's voice called over the loudspeaker. Below the forward gantry, Xin could see the approaching sand below. Xin reached down at his belt, triggering the microphone in his cap. "We're approaching the-"
"Yup." Xin cut him off, staring at the Misty Palms Oasis – sprawling miles of city in the midst of nothing – water pipelines and roadways cutting away from it in all directions. What was once a small village in Avatar Aang's day, and a town in Korra's, was now a full-on city – one rich off of oil swelling beneath the desert sands. That which fueled the plastic industries of the United Republic and Southern Water Tribe, and the Satomobiles that drove the world over, or the Airships like the Zhu Li. Oil was the lifeblood of the world – and the Si Wong Desert had turned from an inhospitable wasteland, to an inhospitable goldmine.
Misty Palms was a symptom. Water tribe sigils decorated the walls – featureless images of a woman in blue adorning walls, painted beautifully and dried simply in the golden sun. Avatar Korra had changed the world – and it was right there, in a dusty tavern (or so the massive statues said) that Korra plotted to defeat the anarchist Zaheer. Xin let out a huff, blowing into the microphone. "How we doin'?" Hiroshi asked, the airship pivoting. A massive spire towered over the city – four airships ported to it. Large cargo elevators filled it, and each of its six faces could handle three airships at maximum capacity. Every city in the Earth States had one.
"Green lights." Xin said. "Kysh, you on the board?" He asked.
"Yup." Kysha said. The sound of fluttering paper scratched through Xin's earpiece. "Looks like you want frequency 107.4 – I'll let you do the talking?"
Xin nodded. "I always do." He said, slowly pacing towards the starboard gantry. He climbed a small ladder, and already he was sweating bullets. He undid his scarf, stuffing it in a pocket. Xin hated the desert. Xin dialed calmly with a hand, the machine singing to him as the magnets vibrated within, ready to cast his words. He thumbed the talk button. "Misty Palms Tower – Zhu Li Fourteen, Varrick Global Industries, inbound southwest of tower. Over."
"MPT reads ZLF on UHF." A calm voice replied, gentle and happy. She flipped through some pages, audible on the radio. "Head to Ten, lower slot, your approach angle. Docking control will signal visually. Have a pleasant stay in the Palms. Over."
"Stay happy, tower." Xin smiled, clicking the radio back to the cockpit. "Starboard gantry approach on current heading, we're doing a manual with the dockworker." The sweating engineer rushed down the gantry, grabbing a pair of signal flags with an idle glove. "Signal flags are up." He reported. With a lurch of metal, the ship began to shift angles, twisting sideways. The rear propulsors ceased activity, leaving only the lift props active. Each whirred loudly, changing the angle of the craft.
Xin planted his feet on the gantry, crossing his arms with a powerful gesture. Metal straps clamped around his boots, rooting him in place. He held up both flags, fluttering in the sandy wind. Thank spirits for goggles and his scarf – the stuff whistled through the air and sizzled across the grating below. In the distance, a gantryway with 'X' stenciled above it stared back – docking gantry ten. Two identical flags stared back at him. "Signals are up – who's got the helm?" Xin asked.
"I gave to to Kysh – she says I'm 'too excited' about gran-gran's festival. How's that my fault?" Xin rolled his eyes, like he needed to explain that one.
"Oh?" Kysh said, her voice a solid wall of swirling sass. "You mean like that time you got excited, and broke two engines trying to surf a sandstorm? Or that time we went down near the Serpent's Pass, and that giant sea monster tried to eat you when you went swimming. Don't talk to me about responsibility, young man, we know what happens when you get excited." Xin cleared his throat. "But yeah. I'm flying."
"Down ten." Xin ordered. The craft dropped – the signal flags ahead signaling them level again. The man started jabbing to Xin's left, three, then five, then seven times. "Ahead seven." The ship shifted forwards, tilting on its axis to gain better positioning. "Straight on." Xin said. "Straight on." The man beckoned the ship forward. "You're at five hundred feet. Four fifty. Four. Three Fifty. Three." Xin read off the numbers. A sudden gust shook the ship, the engines rattling as the old hull groaned in irritation. Xin glanced back toward the cockpit, then stared at the flags. "Ah, Kysh – down five, back twelve. We're slipping."
"Turbulence is nasty – the weather didn't look bad on the way in!" Kysha replied, fixing the craft's attitude quickly. The man quickly began the beckoning – but Xin could see something swirling up in the distance, a strange chaos whirling up in the desert. Several figures were doing something out there, beyond the walls... but what?
Xin shrugged it off – it wasn't his business. He reached behind him, grabbing a line from a spool behind him. He let the flags in his hands fall into their holster behind him, and he began to twirl the spooling line in his hand. With a twist of a fist, it released – whirling through the air toward his target. Xin shifted his hands, wrapping it around a post ahead of him, and quickly rushed down the hull, sending another cable flying to a second post – then a third to a third, a fourth to a fourth. Within moments, he'd metalbent six cables into mooring positions – securing the ship in place. With a whir, the airships' engines began to cease – their motors shutting off, the pylons de-stressing to leave the airship floating peacefully, its ballast keeping it skyward.
Xin stepped across the gantry, and reached out with hands like claws – extending the cargo ramp down to the ground. He reached up, climbing onto it, and stepped down onto the dock. He reached a hand out to the dockworker, smiling. "Xin."
"Kurik." The man smiled. He looked Water Tribe – something that surprised Xin. "Welcome to the state of Sheng."
"Wonderful to meet you." Xin said, shaking hands with him. He looked out of the corner of his eye – the whirling sandstorm brewing on the edge of the city slowly blanketing the walls. "Are we safe, here?" Xin asked, looking at it more clearly. "Something looks to be up-"
"Don't worry about it." Kurik said, smiling. "Those are just some sandbenders unhappy with recent changes in government. The Sultan has made several important deals with the Southern Tribe in recent months – especially a very lucrative water contract. Now, what is your haul?"
"Several engine parts and fireguns." Xin said, reaching in his jacket to reveal a paper manifest. "They're apparently for oil prospecting sandbenders, or so I'm told."
"Ah!" Kurik said, smiling. He reached over to the wall, pressing a buzzer. "We've been waiting for you to come in – I'm afraid the cargo is being held up. The locals refuse to pay the import tarriffs."
Xin retrieved his clipboard from the man, holding it to his hip in confusion. "You're telling me we aren't getting paid for this delivery?"
"No, not at all." Kurik said. "You're already paid in full – I'm just telling you offloading to the end user isn't in the cards right now. Are you pressed for time?"
Xin rose his eyebrows, checking the manifest's second page. "I mean..." He glanced down at the festivities below – a small statue of Korra being paraded on a palatine by several robed locals. "...Yes?" Kurik frowned, and a pair of workers stepped out onto the dock, stripped-down mechasuits carrying them into the cargo hold.
"That's unfortunate." Kurik said, frowning. "Regardless. You'll need to stay to complete the necessary paperwork for tower storage, and pay the layover fees."
Xin rubbed his face, feeling the stubble of a few days scratching back at him. Hiroshi wasn't going to like this – and on his Gran-Gran's festival! A pair of loud Tsungi horns roared out – blue and white fireworks snapping loudly even in daylight, over the great ice fountain.
'Well.' Xin thought. 'Today can't get worse, right?'
==
Author's Notes
Wrong.
Xin's hands clutched the bag tightly, his stomach rumbling slightly. Bags beneath his eyes and sunken skin said it all – Xin was in no place to take the moral high ground. He'd tried as long as he could – he'd begged, he'd tried to work – only to be rejected for his youth. The orphanages of Omashu had been long filled, and he'd done his best to stay within the bounds – but some things went too far.
A hand slammed into Xin's small shelter, his eyes snapping open in fear. A small gust of wind whistled from his fingers – and he clenched them, fear in his beating heart. "How does a kid that scrawny run so far?"
"They're all beggars." The other spat. "They'll take it from you nicely, then they'll steal it illegally. It's how those rats live on our streets." He looked around – searching through a nearby trash can. "He ain't here. Flameo."
"Flam-e-o." The other said, running his hands along the wall. "Unless..." He said, perking up his ears. Xin held his breath tight, watching through the narrow slit as the man's figure wreathed it in shadow. "Doesn't the wall look funny here, Shan?" The man asked, rubbing the wall. "I'd almost think someone earthbent it."
The other man scoffed, his footsteps closing in. "Earthbent, huh? Let me guess – you hear breathing? We're in the iron district! Everything's earthbending and ventilation shafts!" The closer man's fist punched against the earth, a growl escaping his lips.
Xin gasped, curling up inside. The man was suddenly silent, and he placed his hands against the earth. "Shan!" He shouted. "I heard a gasp from inside! He's in here, I'm sure of it!" The rock began to ring out as Xin felt punches resound against it. The other man approached, and Xin felt two feet crack against the earth. The alcove tore open – and the two men stared down at Xin.
"You, boy!" 'Shan' shouted. "You're in trouble now!" He yelled, reaching down. Xin's eyes snapped wide, and he swung an arm up defensively – a gust of hard wind sending both men sprawling against the far wall. Both took up fighting stances – and one kicked hard against the earth, a large rock ripping out of a nearby wall.
"You think you can steal from us and use your bending to get away?!" The first man shouted. "I'll show you what we do to thieves here in Omashu, slumrat!" He roared, kicking hard. The rock sailed towards Xin, and he planted his feet, cracking it down the middle. The halves slid by him – only for a second rock to ram him against the wall.
With as startled gasp, he awoke – his chair slipping out from beneath him. With a twist of his arms, Xin felt wind beneath him – saving his skull from a hasty impact. His chair clattered hard to the floor, and Xin flipped it back up with a tired glove. "Dang." He said, rubbing at his eyes. A growl resounded from his stomach, and he pivoted on his heels, approaching the door. Before he could even reach the handle, a rhythmic rap resounded on the door.
"Oh Xin~!" A flamboyant voice called. "I hear someone's has a special day today!" The man behind the door shouted. "How about you head down to the galley? Kysha's cooking up her famous soup you love!"
Xin's head rested against the door, and he idly fished in his pocket for his cap, pulling it taut around his ears. "I'll be out in a minute, Hiroshi." He groaned, crinking his neck. He had many regrets in his life – and none hurt him so much as things he did in his youth. Crime. Violence. He stole, cheated, begged, and prostrated himself before others to get by. He saved, he skimped. His skin still sagged under his eyes, where hungry nights cut deep.
As he opened the door to see Hiroshi's smiling face. Bronze skinned like a Water Nation man, with brilliant green eyes like an Earth Kingdom citizen, Hiroshi was a mixture of everything in the world, and it showed in his attitude. He laid his arm happily around Xin's shoulders, looking up at him with a smile. "Y'know, today's a good day. You know what happened on today in history?"
"What?" Xin asked, rolling his eyes. "Did someone famous build something cool?" His legs carried him down the hall as Hiroshi spoke.
"No, no!" He said, laughing. "Today's Avatar Korra's festival!" Xin rolled his eyes, looking away. "We're going to be touching down at Misty Palms today – I've got a few packages that need offloading for several sandbenders – mostly engine parts for their Sandskiffs and a few fireguns to fend off the buzzards out there. I'm gonna need you running interference -" Hiroshi jabbed a finger in his chest. "We've got a big day ahead of us, so happy birthday, sport – we'll have a big day ahead of us!"
Hiroshi beamed. "Yeah, I guess so." Xin said, rolling his eyes. "How long do we have? Are we staying for the whole festival?"
"Oh, are we!" Hiroshi said. "My gran-gran's festival is something I always stop the ship for – of course, you weren't around this time last year, what with the leave you took in Omashu. Sorry I couldn't get that in for you, sport – sometimes we're on a deadline."
"Great." Xin said, turning the corner towards the galley hatch. Hiroshi hurried himself forward, leaving Xin's shoulders to a long-needed rest. With a flourish of the arm, Hiroshi snapped the door open – his long, stringy beard hanging sheepishly over the corners of his smiling mouth. Xin huffed, stepping inside.
His expression warmed as a smiling face stared back – her blaze orange and sunlit yellow robes welcoming him as she stirred a pot in the kitchen. "Kysha." He said. "How's the stew coming?" He asked her – the gray in her tired eyes shooting back happily. Despite her age, Kysha looked a picture of health. She stood, balancing calmly as the hull buffeted amidst the heat drafts below. She reached out with happy arms, hugging Xin tight.
"You never tell us when anything important happens!" She shouted at once. She held his shoulders, glancing him over. "Here I am, old skinny Kysha – everyone's grandma, and you're twenty-five and hiding it!" She pinched at his cheek, and Xin chuckled a bit, his eyes regarding her wrinkled face. "But don't you worry about that." Kysha said, reaching into a belt pocket. She held up a small golden fan, folded taut. "This belonged to my grandmother – I've been holding onto it for the longest time, never sure what to do with it. They say it helps with airbending, but... my children have never taken to anything other than their staves."
Xin held out his palm as Kysha tugged it into place, pressing the fan into it. "Now you have a happy birthday, hmm? It's too bad we have to work today." Staring at it, Xin flipped it open and shut, stuffing it in a pocket. It'd help more than Kysha knew – but he wasn't about to start playing at Avatar today.
"Work's never bad!" Hiroshi replied, chuckling as he stepped in the room. He happily put his hands on their shoulders. "Especially not when the -real- Gran-Gran's celebration is today!" He clapped. "How's the stew coming, Kysh?"
"Fine." She said, shooting Hiroshi a look. He bared his teeth in a dejected smile, slinking away at the woman's piercing gaze. Kysha tugged on Xin's scarf, giving him a bit of breathing room, and tilted his cap up. "You always have yourself so closed off, y'know?" She asked, giving him a look. "Twenty-five, that's a big number."
"So's a hundred fifteen, but nobody ever told Avatar Korra that." Xin said, shrugging his scarf back flush with his neck. Kysha put her hands on her hips beneath her robe, shaking her head. "Aren't you airbenders supposed to live a long time, too?"
"Maybe if you shave your head, get arrows, and stuff yourself up in temples all your life." Kysha retorted, scoffing at the thought. "The ones that run away from the temple, have a bunch of kids, and sail off into the wind? We're not quite the same sort."
"Some would call that a punishment for running from duty." Xin said, looking down at the deck. Kysha picked up his chin with an idle hand.
She smiled at him. "Don't think like that." A happy aroma filled the cabin, a few bubbles forming in the stew. With a twist and an open palm, wind swirled from Kysha's palm – putting out a simple coal fire beneath the pot. Xin cocked his head, smiling sheepishly as she spooned out a small bowlful for him, handing it over. Xin's gloves kept out the heat as he blew on the first spoonful – smiling as he ate it.
"Wonderful, Kysh." Xin said.
Kysha had her own spoonful, leaning happily against the wall and shutting her eyes with a contented moan of enjoyment. "If I can't make good food, what kind of old lady am I?"
"A dangerous one." Xin deadpanned, shooting her a grinning look.
Kysha stared at him with narrowed eyes, before a bellowing laugh filled the compartment. Hiroshi snuck past her, shifting his hands to acquire his own bowlful, and stalked back to the cockpit, giving them both a wide berth. It was never wise to mess with Kysha – and she only accepted age jokes from her side of the conversation. You never called a woman who could suffocate you old. Not when her black hair was still black – even as grey streaked her temples and parts of her taut bun, two happy strands twirling ahead of her ears.
She was a kindly woman – and looked wonderful for her age. It didn't slow her down one bit.
Even as she played the mother, babied her little metalbender, Xin knew one thing – she could destroy anyone on this ship – water, fire, or metalbender. All it took was making mama bear angry.
==
"Xin!" Hiroshi's voice called over the loudspeaker. Below the forward gantry, Xin could see the approaching sand below. Xin reached down at his belt, triggering the microphone in his cap. "We're approaching the-"
"Yup." Xin cut him off, staring at the Misty Palms Oasis – sprawling miles of city in the midst of nothing – water pipelines and roadways cutting away from it in all directions. What was once a small village in Avatar Aang's day, and a town in Korra's, was now a full-on city – one rich off of oil swelling beneath the desert sands. That which fueled the plastic industries of the United Republic and Southern Water Tribe, and the Satomobiles that drove the world over, or the Airships like the Zhu Li. Oil was the lifeblood of the world – and the Si Wong Desert had turned from an inhospitable wasteland, to an inhospitable goldmine.
Misty Palms was a symptom. Water tribe sigils decorated the walls – featureless images of a woman in blue adorning walls, painted beautifully and dried simply in the golden sun. Avatar Korra had changed the world – and it was right there, in a dusty tavern (or so the massive statues said) that Korra plotted to defeat the anarchist Zaheer. Xin let out a huff, blowing into the microphone. "How we doin'?" Hiroshi asked, the airship pivoting. A massive spire towered over the city – four airships ported to it. Large cargo elevators filled it, and each of its six faces could handle three airships at maximum capacity. Every city in the Earth States had one.
"Green lights." Xin said. "Kysh, you on the board?" He asked.
"Yup." Kysha said. The sound of fluttering paper scratched through Xin's earpiece. "Looks like you want frequency 107.4 – I'll let you do the talking?"
Xin nodded. "I always do." He said, slowly pacing towards the starboard gantry. He climbed a small ladder, and already he was sweating bullets. He undid his scarf, stuffing it in a pocket. Xin hated the desert. Xin dialed calmly with a hand, the machine singing to him as the magnets vibrated within, ready to cast his words. He thumbed the talk button. "Misty Palms Tower – Zhu Li Fourteen, Varrick Global Industries, inbound southwest of tower. Over."
"MPT reads ZLF on UHF." A calm voice replied, gentle and happy. She flipped through some pages, audible on the radio. "Head to Ten, lower slot, your approach angle. Docking control will signal visually. Have a pleasant stay in the Palms. Over."
"Stay happy, tower." Xin smiled, clicking the radio back to the cockpit. "Starboard gantry approach on current heading, we're doing a manual with the dockworker." The sweating engineer rushed down the gantry, grabbing a pair of signal flags with an idle glove. "Signal flags are up." He reported. With a lurch of metal, the ship began to shift angles, twisting sideways. The rear propulsors ceased activity, leaving only the lift props active. Each whirred loudly, changing the angle of the craft.
Xin planted his feet on the gantry, crossing his arms with a powerful gesture. Metal straps clamped around his boots, rooting him in place. He held up both flags, fluttering in the sandy wind. Thank spirits for goggles and his scarf – the stuff whistled through the air and sizzled across the grating below. In the distance, a gantryway with 'X' stenciled above it stared back – docking gantry ten. Two identical flags stared back at him. "Signals are up – who's got the helm?" Xin asked.
"I gave to to Kysh – she says I'm 'too excited' about gran-gran's festival. How's that my fault?" Xin rolled his eyes, like he needed to explain that one.
"Oh?" Kysh said, her voice a solid wall of swirling sass. "You mean like that time you got excited, and broke two engines trying to surf a sandstorm? Or that time we went down near the Serpent's Pass, and that giant sea monster tried to eat you when you went swimming. Don't talk to me about responsibility, young man, we know what happens when you get excited." Xin cleared his throat. "But yeah. I'm flying."
"Down ten." Xin ordered. The craft dropped – the signal flags ahead signaling them level again. The man started jabbing to Xin's left, three, then five, then seven times. "Ahead seven." The ship shifted forwards, tilting on its axis to gain better positioning. "Straight on." Xin said. "Straight on." The man beckoned the ship forward. "You're at five hundred feet. Four fifty. Four. Three Fifty. Three." Xin read off the numbers. A sudden gust shook the ship, the engines rattling as the old hull groaned in irritation. Xin glanced back toward the cockpit, then stared at the flags. "Ah, Kysh – down five, back twelve. We're slipping."
"Turbulence is nasty – the weather didn't look bad on the way in!" Kysha replied, fixing the craft's attitude quickly. The man quickly began the beckoning – but Xin could see something swirling up in the distance, a strange chaos whirling up in the desert. Several figures were doing something out there, beyond the walls... but what?
Xin shrugged it off – it wasn't his business. He reached behind him, grabbing a line from a spool behind him. He let the flags in his hands fall into their holster behind him, and he began to twirl the spooling line in his hand. With a twist of a fist, it released – whirling through the air toward his target. Xin shifted his hands, wrapping it around a post ahead of him, and quickly rushed down the hull, sending another cable flying to a second post – then a third to a third, a fourth to a fourth. Within moments, he'd metalbent six cables into mooring positions – securing the ship in place. With a whir, the airships' engines began to cease – their motors shutting off, the pylons de-stressing to leave the airship floating peacefully, its ballast keeping it skyward.
Xin stepped across the gantry, and reached out with hands like claws – extending the cargo ramp down to the ground. He reached up, climbing onto it, and stepped down onto the dock. He reached a hand out to the dockworker, smiling. "Xin."
"Kurik." The man smiled. He looked Water Tribe – something that surprised Xin. "Welcome to the state of Sheng."
"Wonderful to meet you." Xin said, shaking hands with him. He looked out of the corner of his eye – the whirling sandstorm brewing on the edge of the city slowly blanketing the walls. "Are we safe, here?" Xin asked, looking at it more clearly. "Something looks to be up-"
"Don't worry about it." Kurik said, smiling. "Those are just some sandbenders unhappy with recent changes in government. The Sultan has made several important deals with the Southern Tribe in recent months – especially a very lucrative water contract. Now, what is your haul?"
"Several engine parts and fireguns." Xin said, reaching in his jacket to reveal a paper manifest. "They're apparently for oil prospecting sandbenders, or so I'm told."
"Ah!" Kurik said, smiling. He reached over to the wall, pressing a buzzer. "We've been waiting for you to come in – I'm afraid the cargo is being held up. The locals refuse to pay the import tarriffs."
Xin retrieved his clipboard from the man, holding it to his hip in confusion. "You're telling me we aren't getting paid for this delivery?"
"No, not at all." Kurik said. "You're already paid in full – I'm just telling you offloading to the end user isn't in the cards right now. Are you pressed for time?"
Xin rose his eyebrows, checking the manifest's second page. "I mean..." He glanced down at the festivities below – a small statue of Korra being paraded on a palatine by several robed locals. "...Yes?" Kurik frowned, and a pair of workers stepped out onto the dock, stripped-down mechasuits carrying them into the cargo hold.
"That's unfortunate." Kurik said, frowning. "Regardless. You'll need to stay to complete the necessary paperwork for tower storage, and pay the layover fees."
Xin rubbed his face, feeling the stubble of a few days scratching back at him. Hiroshi wasn't going to like this – and on his Gran-Gran's festival! A pair of loud Tsungi horns roared out – blue and white fireworks snapping loudly even in daylight, over the great ice fountain.
'Well.' Xin thought. 'Today can't get worse, right?'
==
Author's Notes
Wrong.
Xin struggled to his feet – his body weak and numb as the whispers clawed at his mind. They yelled at him, pleaded – Find the Lotus – they said – You will never be so helpless again. Xin stared into the darkness, and looked down at the broken bodies of the men, their faces crushed like tinfoil against the earth around him. "What!?" He shouted in the dark, rubbing at his bloody hands. He felt the crack in his leg as he tried to stumble away, and felt the voices shouting again in the dark. You're not alone, Xin! You need to find help!
"Leave me alone!" Xin roared out to the darkness, as he dragged himself away. He finally found the courage to kick his foot in the dirt, stone encasing around his leg – it'd keep it from breaking until he found a halfway house – wherever he'd find one open at this hour. His legs carried him through the darkness, and the voices were silent. Small miracles were all that kept Xin going these days – and he growled his way through the darkness – a bow-legged child whimpering in pain beneath the streetlights. After a time, a dusty blue-painted Satomobile flickered on its lights, driving up behind Xin. The boy stopped, staring at it with tired eyes.
The man at the wheel stepped out – his police uniform wrinkled from long hours of patrol. "Kid." He said. "Why are you out at an hour like this?" He asked.
Xin looked down at his leg, and at his bloody hands. "I'm always out." He said. "Not like there's a place to go." He said.
"How bad is it broken?" The officer asked, bending down. Xin let the rocks drop, showing his off-angle leg. The officer shook his head, carrying Xin to the backseat and strapping him in. "You stay right here, kid." He said, stepping into the front seat and grabbing the radio. "Central, Unit 37. Local homeless medical intervention, off net." He whispered into the radio.
For awhile, the pair rode in silence, passing empty streets with flickering lights. Xin grunted at his leg, but stayed silent. There was no reason to speak. The man was just doing his job. "Not a safe night out there." He said. "We picked up two guys pulped down an alley on Kiro Way. You see anything like that?" He asked.
"Nah." Xin said. "Been keeping to myself." The cop swished his rear-view to look straight at Xin, his eyes appraising the child. "I broke my leg trying to get over a fence to check a lady's dumpster." He explained, lying perfectly.
The cop shrugged. "I feel sorry for you kids. Maybe if the King cared at all you'd be better off – but I'm not one to say anything." Xin folded his hands, waiting out the car ride in silence for the remainder. They pulled into the emergency dock – and a pair of nurses with a gurney rolled up to the car. Xin was pulled onto it, and dragged through the doors. The Cop merely gave him a nod as he was pulled away, and drove off into the night.
As the doctors worked on Xin's leg, and put him up in bed, a tray of food – real food – was laid before Xin. He reached out tenatively with his hands, only to have them slapped away by a nurse. She gave him chopsticks, pantomiming their use with her fingers. Xin grabbed a small roll, eating it with the chopsticks. He'd never had more bliss in such inconvenience. After all was said and done, Xin was left to rest – and he told himself something in the darkness of his hospital bed: "I won't live the poor life anymore." As he drifted to sleep, voices whispered once more at him, and two figures stared at him in his dream. One had short black hair, dark of skin, and very beautiful. Blue eyes stared at him, appraising, but not belying her opinions. The other was a glowing... kite? It looked like a spirit, like those that perched in the city or frequented various places, but had an aura of power he'd never seen before.
You know who we are, Xin. The kite-spirit whispered.
We're what make you who you are, Xin. The dark-skinned woman said. You may fear to succeed me, but you need to become the Avatar. If you don't, dark forces will take hold, as they always do. My legacy won't last forever.
And all the while, the other voice said, You will have failed to learn and grow as the Avatar.
Xin blinked, cradling his arms to his chest as his leg ached at him. I don't want to be Avatar. The boy whispered. I just want to be a normal kid, with a family!
So did many of your ilk. The spirit replied. All rose to the challenge in time, child. Fearing your destiny-
I make my own destiny. Xin whispered in his sleep. You could've helped when Mom was dying – and you watched. When two men were teaching me a lesson, you made me kill them. You're a monster.
We do what we do to balance the world! The woman shouted. We protected you! Those men would've killed you!
Maybe I deserved it. Xin thought. With a grunt, he dismissed them both, dropping into a full sleep. In the hallway, the nurse glanced into the room – to find a child sleeping normally in the dark. She could've sworn the room was lit not even moments before.
"Leave me alone!" Xin roared out to the darkness, as he dragged himself away. He finally found the courage to kick his foot in the dirt, stone encasing around his leg – it'd keep it from breaking until he found a halfway house – wherever he'd find one open at this hour. His legs carried him through the darkness, and the voices were silent. Small miracles were all that kept Xin going these days – and he growled his way through the darkness – a bow-legged child whimpering in pain beneath the streetlights. After a time, a dusty blue-painted Satomobile flickered on its lights, driving up behind Xin. The boy stopped, staring at it with tired eyes.
The man at the wheel stepped out – his police uniform wrinkled from long hours of patrol. "Kid." He said. "Why are you out at an hour like this?" He asked.
Xin looked down at his leg, and at his bloody hands. "I'm always out." He said. "Not like there's a place to go." He said.
"How bad is it broken?" The officer asked, bending down. Xin let the rocks drop, showing his off-angle leg. The officer shook his head, carrying Xin to the backseat and strapping him in. "You stay right here, kid." He said, stepping into the front seat and grabbing the radio. "Central, Unit 37. Local homeless medical intervention, off net." He whispered into the radio.
For awhile, the pair rode in silence, passing empty streets with flickering lights. Xin grunted at his leg, but stayed silent. There was no reason to speak. The man was just doing his job. "Not a safe night out there." He said. "We picked up two guys pulped down an alley on Kiro Way. You see anything like that?" He asked.
"Nah." Xin said. "Been keeping to myself." The cop swished his rear-view to look straight at Xin, his eyes appraising the child. "I broke my leg trying to get over a fence to check a lady's dumpster." He explained, lying perfectly.
The cop shrugged. "I feel sorry for you kids. Maybe if the King cared at all you'd be better off – but I'm not one to say anything." Xin folded his hands, waiting out the car ride in silence for the remainder. They pulled into the emergency dock – and a pair of nurses with a gurney rolled up to the car. Xin was pulled onto it, and dragged through the doors. The Cop merely gave him a nod as he was pulled away, and drove off into the night.
As the doctors worked on Xin's leg, and put him up in bed, a tray of food – real food – was laid before Xin. He reached out tenatively with his hands, only to have them slapped away by a nurse. She gave him chopsticks, pantomiming their use with her fingers. Xin grabbed a small roll, eating it with the chopsticks. He'd never had more bliss in such inconvenience. After all was said and done, Xin was left to rest – and he told himself something in the darkness of his hospital bed: "I won't live the poor life anymore." As he drifted to sleep, voices whispered once more at him, and two figures stared at him in his dream. One had short black hair, dark of skin, and very beautiful. Blue eyes stared at him, appraising, but not belying her opinions. The other was a glowing... kite? It looked like a spirit, like those that perched in the city or frequented various places, but had an aura of power he'd never seen before.
You know who we are, Xin. The kite-spirit whispered.
We're what make you who you are, Xin. The dark-skinned woman said. You may fear to succeed me, but you need to become the Avatar. If you don't, dark forces will take hold, as they always do. My legacy won't last forever.
And all the while, the other voice said, You will have failed to learn and grow as the Avatar.
Xin blinked, cradling his arms to his chest as his leg ached at him. I don't want to be Avatar. The boy whispered. I just want to be a normal kid, with a family!
So did many of your ilk. The spirit replied. All rose to the challenge in time, child. Fearing your destiny-
I make my own destiny. Xin whispered in his sleep. You could've helped when Mom was dying – and you watched. When two men were teaching me a lesson, you made me kill them. You're a monster.
We do what we do to balance the world! The woman shouted. We protected you! Those men would've killed you!
Maybe I deserved it. Xin thought. With a grunt, he dismissed them both, dropping into a full sleep. In the hallway, the nurse glanced into the room – to find a child sleeping normally in the dark. She could've sworn the room was lit not even moments before.
==
"So you're telling me the Water Tribe Civil Guard seized our priority shipment flameguns and engines?" Hiroshi said, holding his hands taut around the seizure orders, sitting at his desk in the captain's quarters – a marginally nicer wood-paneled room that Hiroshi called home. It had nicer windows, a fancier bed, and a desk with actual chairs on either side of it – complete with a small Avatar Korra figurine, a betrothal necklace draped from it in red strapping with an emerald sigil – still carved with the symbols of the southern tribe. Wear had made the strapping fray, but the emerald was polished beautifully.
Say what you will about Hiro's fantastical stories, one was absolutely true – his Gran-Grans had somehow had a baby. Though the story changes every time he tells it, and Xin wasn't about to go find out the truth, Hiroshi's collections of Korra memorabilia were something Xin had unfortunately grown accustomed to. What was more disconcerting was how familiar it all looked. He looked at these objects like he'd held them in his very hands, used them, worn them. They spoke to him in a way that haunted him.
Naturally, Xin avoided the room like the plague, which only made this conversation all the more uncomfortable. "Look, man, I just nodded. I'm not about to fight with any government authorities – nobody pays enough for that."
Hiroshi set the paper down, glancing at the three crewmembers gathered in his suite. Shao was perched precariously on a small nightstand, one leg in the air, her eyes concentrating on the sandstorm that had blown in during their arrival, pattering against the windows. "Whatever we do," She said, "We're going to need to get out of town fast. I don't like what this kind of weather does to the engines."
"Port lock is port lock." Hiroshi said, rubbing at his temples, "And we're not spending Gran-Gran's festival-"
"Forget the Avatar." Xin said, shaking his head. "Its been twenty-five years, and I'd rather not be in port when the cops come knocking – especially when they shouldn't be around."
"Something's fishy about all of this." Kysha said, quieting the room as she spoke. "This sandstorm – Water Tribe guardsmen running the ports. Last time we were in Sheng was, what?"
"Six years ago!" Hiroshi said, holding up a finger. "We were delivering water during the pipeline crunch by the Duke of Nanlu, and the Sultan was preparing to attack. Last I knew, the Sultan hated foreign influence, and was against Nanlu and Yi's alliance with Omashu."
Xin shrugged. "A little before my time." He said. "I was still in school."
"Still, strange." Kysha said. "The Sultan isn't the kind of man to hand over power to others willingly. He has a stranglehold on this part of the desert, and has the loyalty of hundreds of Sandbenders." She reached into her robes, withdrawing a necklace – an airbender sigil on it. "I can try to see if there's still an Eyrie in town. Perhaps my friends who walk the winds can explain some of this strangeness?"
Hiroshi nodded, folding the paper and stuffing it in a desk drawer. "A fair plan. In the meantime, I guess we should enjoy the festivities – if we can brave the sand."
Xin looked out into the dusty mass, which whirled about in angry roar. He frowned. Something wasn't right, and he knew it from the moment he saw the clouds while he was on the gantry. A wordless whisper tugged at his mind, but he cursed it aside in his thoughts. Now wasn't the time.
Now wasn't the time.
"Xin?" Kysha said, tapping him. "Did you hear me?" She asked, looking at him with her steely eyes.
"Sorry." Xin said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "I was somewhere else for a minute. What's up?" He asked.
"Kysha is headed out to speak with the airbenders. I'm headed to the Festival and to speak with the Port Authority. You and Shao have the ship – we'll stay in touch by radio." Hiroshi said, tightening his tie as he brushed off his suit.
Xin nodded, glancing back at Shao on the stand. She twirled off of it, nodding at her boss. "I won't let Xin get in too much trouble while you're gone. We all know what he does when he's restless!" Kysha and Hiroshi shot him a smiling glance. Last time they'd been gone without Xin for a few hours, he'd completely rearranged the entire bridge and made sculptures out of empty cargo containers. Boredom turned to industry for Xin – he could never sit idle.
As Hiroshi and Kysha departed, Xin stepped out the door and turned left, walking onto the bridge – the helm and radio stations arranged calmly around the central map, which spilled out over the rest. Engine monitors and other steam gauges whistled around him, and Xin removed a glove, feeling the very ship sing to him. She rumbled silently, groaning in the sand. Her engines felt like chafing – the sand scribbling at their intakes, and Xin knew immediately that they'd need work.
Shao stepped in behind him, closing the door. "You're doing it again."
Xin closed his eyes with a narrowing of his lips, gripping the metal tighter. It buckled slightly under the force of his chi, but he released – putting it back in shape. "Why do you feel the need to do that?" He asked.
Shao put her hands on her hips. "I'm not the one who goes around fondling metal like its' his only love in life." She said, shooting him a look. "Oh well. We're probably going to have to overhaul the engines if this sandstorm keeps up." She said, flicking her fingers to send sparks showering ahead of her as she idly paced the room.
Xin shrugged, pulling his glove back on. "Good luck finding any metal for that in the Si Wong. I'll do my best to keep it from coughing out the main intakes, but-"
"The engines are my business." Shao said, growling at him. "You're the structural engineer. I'm the mistress of movement." She said, with a sparking twirl.
Xin rose his hands in supplication. "Whatever you say." Xin said. "I'll let you get right on that, then." His eyes turned to the charts, where he looked over the string routes tied between various locations. Sheng was the furthest south the Zhu Li XIV had been in months, due to the trading boom between Omashu and Ba Sing Se following a great trade treaty between the city-states. There was lucrative money there – and Hiroshi had garnered them amazing contracts before the larger firms gobbled up exclusive rights.
It was always a race – a race to run the right cargoes, at the right price, for the right people. Today? Today was a bad gamble. Shao leaned over the map, squinting at it. "Nearest good spot for an engine overhaul is in Luoto City." She said, tracing a tattooed arm past the Fennu Mountains and into Yang, at the nexus between it and the states of Nanlu and Xi Bai. "Getting there, though, is gonna be rough if we take too much damage from the sandstorm."
Xin glanced out into the storm, which had still not dissipated. "Isn't it a little odd that the storm brewed so suddenly?" Xin asked. "Were you on the bridge when it came in?"
"No." Shao replied, turning to look at him. Xin stepped to the helm console, leaning out to look out in the silica fog. "Why? Did you see something weird?"
"It seemed to start on the north side of the city, past the wall." Xin said, shaking his head at the window. "Almost like someone was bending this mess."
Shao looked confused. "Who could bend an entire sandstorm?" She asked. "The entire city's socked it – it'd take dozens of sandbenders, and probably airbenders to cause something like this!" She looked at Xin, whose eyes were distant. "Xin?" She asked.
He stared off into the sand, and saw the burning blasts of flameguns frying the sand In the air on the street below. Something was going on.
Xin felt a clang through the hull, and doffed a glove. The cargo bay screamed as three metal devices entered the compartment, clanging angrily – their treads cutting into the thin plating and damaging the hull. He put it back on, and twirled. Ceiling plates clanged around his arms and chest in thin strips, stacking one atop another. "We've got a problem." He said, gesturing toward the noise.
"What?" Shao said, letting her sparking fingers cease. A bolt of sparkling flame hit the deck, fizzling out like Shao's energy. Several more clangs resounded. Xin reached down to his belt, triggering his radio.
"Hiroshi! Kysha!" He shouted. "I saw firebolts in the street, and we've got boarders – do you read me?" The radio squirreled with static and feedback, and Xin clicked it off entirely. Something was jamming the signal. "Shao." He said, looking at her. Her happy face had turned into a knot of concern, and Xin ripped a chestplate off the ceiling, wrapping it around her. "I need to get to the transmitter. Something's blocking the signal."
She nodded. "We don't even know what we're up against, Xin!"
"It isn't my first fight." Xin smiled. "It definitely won't be our last." He twisted, his metal armor scraping together with a shower of sparks as he opened the doorway. Whatever was going on, they'd find out soon enough.
Say what you will about Hiro's fantastical stories, one was absolutely true – his Gran-Grans had somehow had a baby. Though the story changes every time he tells it, and Xin wasn't about to go find out the truth, Hiroshi's collections of Korra memorabilia were something Xin had unfortunately grown accustomed to. What was more disconcerting was how familiar it all looked. He looked at these objects like he'd held them in his very hands, used them, worn them. They spoke to him in a way that haunted him.
Naturally, Xin avoided the room like the plague, which only made this conversation all the more uncomfortable. "Look, man, I just nodded. I'm not about to fight with any government authorities – nobody pays enough for that."
Hiroshi set the paper down, glancing at the three crewmembers gathered in his suite. Shao was perched precariously on a small nightstand, one leg in the air, her eyes concentrating on the sandstorm that had blown in during their arrival, pattering against the windows. "Whatever we do," She said, "We're going to need to get out of town fast. I don't like what this kind of weather does to the engines."
"Port lock is port lock." Hiroshi said, rubbing at his temples, "And we're not spending Gran-Gran's festival-"
"Forget the Avatar." Xin said, shaking his head. "Its been twenty-five years, and I'd rather not be in port when the cops come knocking – especially when they shouldn't be around."
"Something's fishy about all of this." Kysha said, quieting the room as she spoke. "This sandstorm – Water Tribe guardsmen running the ports. Last time we were in Sheng was, what?"
"Six years ago!" Hiroshi said, holding up a finger. "We were delivering water during the pipeline crunch by the Duke of Nanlu, and the Sultan was preparing to attack. Last I knew, the Sultan hated foreign influence, and was against Nanlu and Yi's alliance with Omashu."
Xin shrugged. "A little before my time." He said. "I was still in school."
"Still, strange." Kysha said. "The Sultan isn't the kind of man to hand over power to others willingly. He has a stranglehold on this part of the desert, and has the loyalty of hundreds of Sandbenders." She reached into her robes, withdrawing a necklace – an airbender sigil on it. "I can try to see if there's still an Eyrie in town. Perhaps my friends who walk the winds can explain some of this strangeness?"
Hiroshi nodded, folding the paper and stuffing it in a desk drawer. "A fair plan. In the meantime, I guess we should enjoy the festivities – if we can brave the sand."
Xin looked out into the dusty mass, which whirled about in angry roar. He frowned. Something wasn't right, and he knew it from the moment he saw the clouds while he was on the gantry. A wordless whisper tugged at his mind, but he cursed it aside in his thoughts. Now wasn't the time.
Now wasn't the time.
"Xin?" Kysha said, tapping him. "Did you hear me?" She asked, looking at him with her steely eyes.
"Sorry." Xin said, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "I was somewhere else for a minute. What's up?" He asked.
"Kysha is headed out to speak with the airbenders. I'm headed to the Festival and to speak with the Port Authority. You and Shao have the ship – we'll stay in touch by radio." Hiroshi said, tightening his tie as he brushed off his suit.
Xin nodded, glancing back at Shao on the stand. She twirled off of it, nodding at her boss. "I won't let Xin get in too much trouble while you're gone. We all know what he does when he's restless!" Kysha and Hiroshi shot him a smiling glance. Last time they'd been gone without Xin for a few hours, he'd completely rearranged the entire bridge and made sculptures out of empty cargo containers. Boredom turned to industry for Xin – he could never sit idle.
As Hiroshi and Kysha departed, Xin stepped out the door and turned left, walking onto the bridge – the helm and radio stations arranged calmly around the central map, which spilled out over the rest. Engine monitors and other steam gauges whistled around him, and Xin removed a glove, feeling the very ship sing to him. She rumbled silently, groaning in the sand. Her engines felt like chafing – the sand scribbling at their intakes, and Xin knew immediately that they'd need work.
Shao stepped in behind him, closing the door. "You're doing it again."
Xin closed his eyes with a narrowing of his lips, gripping the metal tighter. It buckled slightly under the force of his chi, but he released – putting it back in shape. "Why do you feel the need to do that?" He asked.
Shao put her hands on her hips. "I'm not the one who goes around fondling metal like its' his only love in life." She said, shooting him a look. "Oh well. We're probably going to have to overhaul the engines if this sandstorm keeps up." She said, flicking her fingers to send sparks showering ahead of her as she idly paced the room.
Xin shrugged, pulling his glove back on. "Good luck finding any metal for that in the Si Wong. I'll do my best to keep it from coughing out the main intakes, but-"
"The engines are my business." Shao said, growling at him. "You're the structural engineer. I'm the mistress of movement." She said, with a sparking twirl.
Xin rose his hands in supplication. "Whatever you say." Xin said. "I'll let you get right on that, then." His eyes turned to the charts, where he looked over the string routes tied between various locations. Sheng was the furthest south the Zhu Li XIV had been in months, due to the trading boom between Omashu and Ba Sing Se following a great trade treaty between the city-states. There was lucrative money there – and Hiroshi had garnered them amazing contracts before the larger firms gobbled up exclusive rights.
It was always a race – a race to run the right cargoes, at the right price, for the right people. Today? Today was a bad gamble. Shao leaned over the map, squinting at it. "Nearest good spot for an engine overhaul is in Luoto City." She said, tracing a tattooed arm past the Fennu Mountains and into Yang, at the nexus between it and the states of Nanlu and Xi Bai. "Getting there, though, is gonna be rough if we take too much damage from the sandstorm."
Xin glanced out into the storm, which had still not dissipated. "Isn't it a little odd that the storm brewed so suddenly?" Xin asked. "Were you on the bridge when it came in?"
"No." Shao replied, turning to look at him. Xin stepped to the helm console, leaning out to look out in the silica fog. "Why? Did you see something weird?"
"It seemed to start on the north side of the city, past the wall." Xin said, shaking his head at the window. "Almost like someone was bending this mess."
Shao looked confused. "Who could bend an entire sandstorm?" She asked. "The entire city's socked it – it'd take dozens of sandbenders, and probably airbenders to cause something like this!" She looked at Xin, whose eyes were distant. "Xin?" She asked.
He stared off into the sand, and saw the burning blasts of flameguns frying the sand In the air on the street below. Something was going on.
Xin felt a clang through the hull, and doffed a glove. The cargo bay screamed as three metal devices entered the compartment, clanging angrily – their treads cutting into the thin plating and damaging the hull. He put it back on, and twirled. Ceiling plates clanged around his arms and chest in thin strips, stacking one atop another. "We've got a problem." He said, gesturing toward the noise.
"What?" Shao said, letting her sparking fingers cease. A bolt of sparkling flame hit the deck, fizzling out like Shao's energy. Several more clangs resounded. Xin reached down to his belt, triggering his radio.
"Hiroshi! Kysha!" He shouted. "I saw firebolts in the street, and we've got boarders – do you read me?" The radio squirreled with static and feedback, and Xin clicked it off entirely. Something was jamming the signal. "Shao." He said, looking at her. Her happy face had turned into a knot of concern, and Xin ripped a chestplate off the ceiling, wrapping it around her. "I need to get to the transmitter. Something's blocking the signal."
She nodded. "We don't even know what we're up against, Xin!"
"It isn't my first fight." Xin smiled. "It definitely won't be our last." He twisted, his metal armor scraping together with a shower of sparks as he opened the doorway. Whatever was going on, they'd find out soon enough.
==
Author's Notes
For reference, I think of Hiroshi as a modified version of Varric with stubble and a crazy mustache from Book Four, Kysha as a mixture of Kya and Suyin, and Shao as Ty Lee with a bit of Azula thrown in the mix.
For reference, I think of Hiroshi as a modified version of Varric with stubble and a crazy mustache from Book Four, Kysha as a mixture of Kya and Suyin, and Shao as Ty Lee with a bit of Azula thrown in the mix.
"This isn't right." Kysha said, her robes flailing about in the sandy winds. Hiroshi stood next to her, his goggles the only saving grace against the impenetrable dust storm. In the streets, dozens of cars were piled up in a honking mess, lights and sirens roaring in the distance: all the while, the sand filled everything, a constant and unyielding whirl.
"Of course it isn't!" Hiroshi shouted. "A sandstorm on a holiday? Downright awful! Nobody's going to be able to see-" He silenced as Kysha pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head. She reached behind her, pulling up her hood, and shaking the sand from her hair. "What?" He asked, as Kysha huddled to the ground. She perked her ear to the air.
"None of this is natural." She said, turning toward the far street, where dozens of lights shone amidst the silica of the sand. "We're in a false sandstorm – someone's cooked it up." With a sudden rush, Kysha snapped back, a police satomobile rushing by – a Sultanate Police Satomobile, not Water Tribe.
"How far are we from that Eyrie you were talking about?" Hiroshi asked. "We're-" He paused, feeling around at his belt, and putting an earpiece to his ear. "Yes, what-" The field washed out in static, a warble hitting his ear. Hiroshi let the microphone drop, and glanced at Kysha in confusion. "I just got a call on the radio – but it's all interference. Something's jamming the radios!"
In the distance, shrieks resounded, even muffled by the wind. Flashes of flame and light crackled – police lights warbling uptown, at the far end of the chaos. In streams, people ran down the sidewalks, fleeing from the chaos. Kysha and Hiro shared a look of confusion, before Kysha grabbed the arm of a bystander. "Ma'am." She said, smiling. "I'm Master Kysha, of the Air Nation. Do you know what's going on?" Her dimples crinkled in that old motherly way, and the woman she'd accosted relaxed slightly.
"Sorry, mami." The woman said. "I only saw the fireguns – police are fighting the freemen – and the waters are helping beat them. It's not safe. They don't like the festival." A man tugged at her arm, and she disappeared – floating away in the foggy throng.
"Hiro, we need to get downtown – whatever's happening, we need to figure it out."
Hiroshi stared at her, shaking his head. "Or, we could be like normal people – get in line, go back to the spire, leave!" He said, pantomiming with his hands. "No danger, no trouble, just disappear!"
"We're not taking off in a sandstorm, Hiro. You know that better than anyone." Kysha said. She whirled an arm, forming a sand-free bubble of whirling air, and motioned Hiroshi onwards. They pushed through the crowd, their bubble blowing people a safe distance away. Abandoned vehicles lay ahead, further flaming bursts crackling in the distance, growing brighter and closer as they approached the heart of Misty Palms Oasis – The Frozen Square, where a massive ice sculpture of Avatar Korra was carved for her festival. It hung heavy in the sandy mist, worn at by the abrading silica, but it still lay there: staring down on Hiroshi and Kysha as they entered the plaza. Glimpses of fighting troops were all they had amidst the fire, and Kysha bent down, arms swirling in a bending motion. With a twist of her slippers, a brave wave of wind crashed through the plaza – clearing sand and flame alike. Crashed vehicles and a pair of Sand Sailors had filled the square, with a small squad of police officers – Sultanate police – facing off against nearly thirty sandbenders – armed with flameguns and their own bending.
A momentary pause broke out, as both sides regarded the new arrivals. "You! Airbender!" The Police Sergeant shouted. "These locals have a bomb! They're trying to blow up the plaza!"
"These oppressors are handing us over to the Water Tribe!" A Sandbender shouted, triggering a gout of flame from his weapon. The police ducked behind their vehicles, melted from the heat already. "They take our prospecting, they take our sailors, they take our livelihoods! The Sultan is a traitor to Sheng!" His compatriots let out angry war cries, launching a sandy barrage.
Hiroshi grabbed Kysha's arm - "Look, do what you want – but we're not here to fight wars for other people. Xin and Shao are alone on the ship – and god knows what's happening everywhere-" Hiroshi jumped forward, knocking Kysha into the stone beneath them as a pair of rocks flung overhead – the sandbenders firing earth now to drive off the pair.
Kysha rolled out from beneath Hiroshi. "We're going to need friends to clear out this sandstorm – and that means helping defeat these guys. I'm not here to pick sides, but I know what we've got to do." She said, standing up. A twirl of her arms sent approaching rocks into shrapnel, crackling in a cone behind her. Hiroshi stumbled to his feet, snapping a ring of water out of his hip cask. Without further adieu, they charged – Hiroshi tossing a pair of ice darts at the enemy – forcing the attacking Sandbender on the defensive. Kysha snapped up onto a whirling ball of wind, spitting sand behind her as she whirled around the rear of the Sandbenders – dodging flamebursts as she charged their positions.
Hiroshi slammed into position with the police, tossing more ice darts. "Gentlemen, your aid has arrived!" He shouted. The Sergeant nodded to him with a smile.
"We appreciate the aid, traveler. We're not well staffed with benders in these parts!" He shouted, ducking beneath a pair of firebolts. He rose, firing a hand-sized flamegun at his opposition. "These damned terrorists have been attacking the Sultanate for months now! Angry Sandbenders mad that the Sultan has outsourced oil prospecting to the Southern Tribe."
Hiro dropped a trio of icebolts, as the enemy was forced to draw back – a swirling mass of air and sand indicating Kysha in full swing on the far side of their battlements. In the distance, sirens and flameblasts roared out. "Where are your support troops? Do you have reinforcements?" Hiro asked. "There should be mechatanks and -some- bending support, right?"
Across the field, three sandbenders went flying as Kysha advanced – a whirling shield of air protecting her from cutting sand and fireblasts. She shot hard scythes of air with her fist, the cutting wind destroying cover and forcing the sandbenders back. Strangest of all, though, was an absence of anything bomb-looking. "Hiro!" Her voice enhanced by her abilities, it carried over all of it. "They don't have a bomb!"
Hiro looked at the Sergeant. "No bomb?" The Officer said, reaching for his radio. It squealed interference back at him, and he cursed beneath his breath. "The Spirit-Meter at base had a huge squawk a few hours ago – we had expected them to attack the festival: so the question is, where's the bomb?"
The Police rose from cover as Hiro reached out, snagging ice from Korra's statue. With a solemn wince, Hiro send a shower of spikes down on the enemy – and they began to put down their arms in surrender. The police swarmed them, gathering flameguns and locking them in chains – the sandbenders spitting in defiance but silent. One simply smiled, wild eyed. "You'll all burn, anyways!" He shouted. "Once we're done-" His comrade hit him hard in the jaw with his cuffed hands, cold-clocking him.
The Sergeant looked at the pair, frowning. "Thank you for all of your help." He said. "Not many want to help us in this town – these are just a symptom. Can you help us get these men to the station?"
"Sure." Kysha said, cutting off Hiro as he moved to speak. "We're going to need our vessel impound voided so that we can leave, perhaps that can happen there?"
"We'd be just next to the Southern Tribe Guard Headquarters – I'm good friends with a guy on their staff, I'm sure he'll help you. Especially so, considering there's a bomb at stake." The Sergeant said. He offered them the back of a cruiser – the vehicle puttering off despite melting on one side. The other police vehicles began to pull into rough convoy behind it, pushing through gnarled streets. It was clear from passing other boulevards and squares that this wasn't the only fight – but the radios were still dead. Flameguns triggered in back alleys and on street corners.
Kysha glanced over at Hiro, who chittered at his seat. "They'll be alright." She said. "Xin's resourceful, and Shao wouldn't let anything happen to her baby."
"I know." Hiro said. "But with how things are here?" He shook his head. "They may not have a choice."
"Of course it isn't!" Hiroshi shouted. "A sandstorm on a holiday? Downright awful! Nobody's going to be able to see-" He silenced as Kysha pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head. She reached behind her, pulling up her hood, and shaking the sand from her hair. "What?" He asked, as Kysha huddled to the ground. She perked her ear to the air.
"None of this is natural." She said, turning toward the far street, where dozens of lights shone amidst the silica of the sand. "We're in a false sandstorm – someone's cooked it up." With a sudden rush, Kysha snapped back, a police satomobile rushing by – a Sultanate Police Satomobile, not Water Tribe.
"How far are we from that Eyrie you were talking about?" Hiroshi asked. "We're-" He paused, feeling around at his belt, and putting an earpiece to his ear. "Yes, what-" The field washed out in static, a warble hitting his ear. Hiroshi let the microphone drop, and glanced at Kysha in confusion. "I just got a call on the radio – but it's all interference. Something's jamming the radios!"
In the distance, shrieks resounded, even muffled by the wind. Flashes of flame and light crackled – police lights warbling uptown, at the far end of the chaos. In streams, people ran down the sidewalks, fleeing from the chaos. Kysha and Hiro shared a look of confusion, before Kysha grabbed the arm of a bystander. "Ma'am." She said, smiling. "I'm Master Kysha, of the Air Nation. Do you know what's going on?" Her dimples crinkled in that old motherly way, and the woman she'd accosted relaxed slightly.
"Sorry, mami." The woman said. "I only saw the fireguns – police are fighting the freemen – and the waters are helping beat them. It's not safe. They don't like the festival." A man tugged at her arm, and she disappeared – floating away in the foggy throng.
"Hiro, we need to get downtown – whatever's happening, we need to figure it out."
Hiroshi stared at her, shaking his head. "Or, we could be like normal people – get in line, go back to the spire, leave!" He said, pantomiming with his hands. "No danger, no trouble, just disappear!"
"We're not taking off in a sandstorm, Hiro. You know that better than anyone." Kysha said. She whirled an arm, forming a sand-free bubble of whirling air, and motioned Hiroshi onwards. They pushed through the crowd, their bubble blowing people a safe distance away. Abandoned vehicles lay ahead, further flaming bursts crackling in the distance, growing brighter and closer as they approached the heart of Misty Palms Oasis – The Frozen Square, where a massive ice sculpture of Avatar Korra was carved for her festival. It hung heavy in the sandy mist, worn at by the abrading silica, but it still lay there: staring down on Hiroshi and Kysha as they entered the plaza. Glimpses of fighting troops were all they had amidst the fire, and Kysha bent down, arms swirling in a bending motion. With a twist of her slippers, a brave wave of wind crashed through the plaza – clearing sand and flame alike. Crashed vehicles and a pair of Sand Sailors had filled the square, with a small squad of police officers – Sultanate police – facing off against nearly thirty sandbenders – armed with flameguns and their own bending.
A momentary pause broke out, as both sides regarded the new arrivals. "You! Airbender!" The Police Sergeant shouted. "These locals have a bomb! They're trying to blow up the plaza!"
"These oppressors are handing us over to the Water Tribe!" A Sandbender shouted, triggering a gout of flame from his weapon. The police ducked behind their vehicles, melted from the heat already. "They take our prospecting, they take our sailors, they take our livelihoods! The Sultan is a traitor to Sheng!" His compatriots let out angry war cries, launching a sandy barrage.
Hiroshi grabbed Kysha's arm - "Look, do what you want – but we're not here to fight wars for other people. Xin and Shao are alone on the ship – and god knows what's happening everywhere-" Hiroshi jumped forward, knocking Kysha into the stone beneath them as a pair of rocks flung overhead – the sandbenders firing earth now to drive off the pair.
Kysha rolled out from beneath Hiroshi. "We're going to need friends to clear out this sandstorm – and that means helping defeat these guys. I'm not here to pick sides, but I know what we've got to do." She said, standing up. A twirl of her arms sent approaching rocks into shrapnel, crackling in a cone behind her. Hiroshi stumbled to his feet, snapping a ring of water out of his hip cask. Without further adieu, they charged – Hiroshi tossing a pair of ice darts at the enemy – forcing the attacking Sandbender on the defensive. Kysha snapped up onto a whirling ball of wind, spitting sand behind her as she whirled around the rear of the Sandbenders – dodging flamebursts as she charged their positions.
Hiroshi slammed into position with the police, tossing more ice darts. "Gentlemen, your aid has arrived!" He shouted. The Sergeant nodded to him with a smile.
"We appreciate the aid, traveler. We're not well staffed with benders in these parts!" He shouted, ducking beneath a pair of firebolts. He rose, firing a hand-sized flamegun at his opposition. "These damned terrorists have been attacking the Sultanate for months now! Angry Sandbenders mad that the Sultan has outsourced oil prospecting to the Southern Tribe."
Hiro dropped a trio of icebolts, as the enemy was forced to draw back – a swirling mass of air and sand indicating Kysha in full swing on the far side of their battlements. In the distance, sirens and flameblasts roared out. "Where are your support troops? Do you have reinforcements?" Hiro asked. "There should be mechatanks and -some- bending support, right?"
Across the field, three sandbenders went flying as Kysha advanced – a whirling shield of air protecting her from cutting sand and fireblasts. She shot hard scythes of air with her fist, the cutting wind destroying cover and forcing the sandbenders back. Strangest of all, though, was an absence of anything bomb-looking. "Hiro!" Her voice enhanced by her abilities, it carried over all of it. "They don't have a bomb!"
Hiro looked at the Sergeant. "No bomb?" The Officer said, reaching for his radio. It squealed interference back at him, and he cursed beneath his breath. "The Spirit-Meter at base had a huge squawk a few hours ago – we had expected them to attack the festival: so the question is, where's the bomb?"
The Police rose from cover as Hiro reached out, snagging ice from Korra's statue. With a solemn wince, Hiro send a shower of spikes down on the enemy – and they began to put down their arms in surrender. The police swarmed them, gathering flameguns and locking them in chains – the sandbenders spitting in defiance but silent. One simply smiled, wild eyed. "You'll all burn, anyways!" He shouted. "Once we're done-" His comrade hit him hard in the jaw with his cuffed hands, cold-clocking him.
The Sergeant looked at the pair, frowning. "Thank you for all of your help." He said. "Not many want to help us in this town – these are just a symptom. Can you help us get these men to the station?"
"Sure." Kysha said, cutting off Hiro as he moved to speak. "We're going to need our vessel impound voided so that we can leave, perhaps that can happen there?"
"We'd be just next to the Southern Tribe Guard Headquarters – I'm good friends with a guy on their staff, I'm sure he'll help you. Especially so, considering there's a bomb at stake." The Sergeant said. He offered them the back of a cruiser – the vehicle puttering off despite melting on one side. The other police vehicles began to pull into rough convoy behind it, pushing through gnarled streets. It was clear from passing other boulevards and squares that this wasn't the only fight – but the radios were still dead. Flameguns triggered in back alleys and on street corners.
Kysha glanced over at Hiro, who chittered at his seat. "They'll be alright." She said. "Xin's resourceful, and Shao wouldn't let anything happen to her baby."
"I know." Hiro said. "But with how things are here?" He shook his head. "They may not have a choice."