Avatar: the Last Airbender fanfics
Jan. 18th, 2007 09:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
onemuseleftI'm playing in a new fandom to see if it fits. ^_^
Two Avatar: the Last Airbender ficlets. Neither one of these has been beta-read so they may have some typos and such. Feel free to nit-pick.
In which Aang reflects on traveling with Sokka and KAtara:
By the third or fourth time they stop, they get it down to an art form.
The first couple of times they managed to stop at an actual inn or market, there were too many questions and too many explanations, and Aang learned from experience that in a war zone, people generally aren't too picky about what they eat. Passing up fresh meat (the general definition of 'fresh' being somewhat variable from town to town, of course) made people notice you and they couldn't afford to let too many people notice them.
So instead of trying to convince the innkeeper that yes, seriously, he just wanted some more cabbage please, and maybe an apple or two, he takes whatever the special is and then he and Sokka dance.
Not really dancing. But it's kind of like it.
Aang spins his bowl of mutton stew across the table, a hint of airbending to keep it from spilling over and Sokka catches it with one hand while he tosses Aang his bread and apple. It works just as well with pork dumplings and miso soup or that weird fish paste stuff that they had further south and served with stuffed cabbages. Katara said it wasn't fair, because Sokka ended up with more food, but Sokka was bigger than he was and after all, if Aang wasn't going to eat it anyway, they might as well make it work
(The dance would never ever work with Katara, who loves mangos and berries and fresh bread and could be happy if she never saw venison again.)
Katara puts her foot down about doing it every time because even a musclehead like Sokka - her words, not Aang's - had to have something besides meat all the time (Sokka objected strenuously), but they don't really eat in enough inns for it to be a problem. Most of what they take with them are dried fruits and cured meats and the odd tuber and root vegetable (Sokka makes an awesome stew and it only took him a couple times and a few pouty glances to remember to serve Aang before he puts the meat in) so when it comes to nutrition, well, the monks would have fits if they could see Aang's digestive system, he knew that.
Folks still notice, yeah, but it's easier to explain away. The serving girl bringing their drinks will sometimes give them a funny glance, or the innkeeper might ask if the stew wasn't to Aang's liking, but generally people don't notice things that don't directly affect them.
Aang thinks the system works just fine, and not just because he gets the lion's share of the papaya.
It's hard to explain, and he knows if he tried he'd just make them think he was strange - or worse, pathetic. But it's something they do, he and Sokka and Katara. Trade food and bicker about eating habits and threaten to shove melons down certain big brother's throats.
It's the sort of thing friends do. Maybe even families.
And it's been a hundred years since Aang knew what that felt like.
In which Toph reflects on directions, impressions and the ease with which one can lose all good judgement:
Her first impressions were usually pretty reliable, and she stands by her initial judgment of Aang as a flighty twerp. Sure, maybe in a few years (or months, the way theirlives are going) when he's done some hard living, he'll be a little more than what he is, but at the moment, Aang is just a kid. Toph hears it in his voice and feels it in his heartbeat and footsteps.
The Avatar, the almightly protector that the world has been praying for, is a little kid who has to force himself not to run away from conflict.
Katara Toph may have misjudged. A little. She's definitely a heinous bitch who likes to boss people around, but she's also oddly comforting in a way Toph doesn't quite understand. It's not at all likeToph's mother, who would touch Toph with gentle fingers and divert her from all harm. Katara protects people by throwing them into the fire. Toph could probably get used to th at.
Sokka is exactly what Toph thought he was: a teenage boy. She doesn't make any judgment there. Her contact with other girls is limitted - that may be why Katara drives her so crazy - but she's fought any number of boys in the ring. She knows how to deal with boys. Sokka is younger than most of her opponents, but a lot smarter and a lot nicer, and at first, he's the only one she really likes. His footsteps are steady, and, unlike Aang, there's no hesitant backstep before facing off against danger.
He's not exactly the leader: Toph isn't sure who is, exactly. Not Aang, he's too timid yet, too hesitant to step into battle even when it's just her and Katara fighting over dishwashing chores. Not Katara. God, not Katara. She's nice and all, but Toph is prettysure that any battalion Katara led into battle would be so henpecked that they'd probably beg the Fire Nation to capture them.
Sokka acts like the leader sometimes, in as much as he's the only one who ever bothers to plan a route or worry about supplies, but mostly they make decisions by committee: aka, everyone starts shouting until it makes Toph's ears bleed.
Toph herself is definitely not in charge and she doesn't have any plans to save the world - though she doesn't mind teaching Aang how to do it. She's just a kid too. The same age as the Avatar, but a little older at the same times. Blindness does that to a person, but then, being the Avatar is probably just as great a burden.
And, she reminds herself, Aang doesn't run. He wants to. She can feel hisfeet shift, she can sense the hesitation in his movements, in his words. he wants to back away, to run away. But he doesn't.
Because he's crazy, of course. Anyone in their right mind would want to run away from Aang's destiny. And here the four of them are, running headlong into it.
They're all crazy, and the sad truth of things is, Toph reluctantly acknowledges, that the giant flying fur machine is probably the only one of them with any common sense.
Two Avatar: the Last Airbender ficlets. Neither one of these has been beta-read so they may have some typos and such. Feel free to nit-pick.
In which Aang reflects on traveling with Sokka and KAtara:
By the third or fourth time they stop, they get it down to an art form.
The first couple of times they managed to stop at an actual inn or market, there were too many questions and too many explanations, and Aang learned from experience that in a war zone, people generally aren't too picky about what they eat. Passing up fresh meat (the general definition of 'fresh' being somewhat variable from town to town, of course) made people notice you and they couldn't afford to let too many people notice them.
So instead of trying to convince the innkeeper that yes, seriously, he just wanted some more cabbage please, and maybe an apple or two, he takes whatever the special is and then he and Sokka dance.
Not really dancing. But it's kind of like it.
Aang spins his bowl of mutton stew across the table, a hint of airbending to keep it from spilling over and Sokka catches it with one hand while he tosses Aang his bread and apple. It works just as well with pork dumplings and miso soup or that weird fish paste stuff that they had further south and served with stuffed cabbages. Katara said it wasn't fair, because Sokka ended up with more food, but Sokka was bigger than he was and after all, if Aang wasn't going to eat it anyway, they might as well make it work
(The dance would never ever work with Katara, who loves mangos and berries and fresh bread and could be happy if she never saw venison again.)
Katara puts her foot down about doing it every time because even a musclehead like Sokka - her words, not Aang's - had to have something besides meat all the time (Sokka objected strenuously), but they don't really eat in enough inns for it to be a problem. Most of what they take with them are dried fruits and cured meats and the odd tuber and root vegetable (Sokka makes an awesome stew and it only took him a couple times and a few pouty glances to remember to serve Aang before he puts the meat in) so when it comes to nutrition, well, the monks would have fits if they could see Aang's digestive system, he knew that.
Folks still notice, yeah, but it's easier to explain away. The serving girl bringing their drinks will sometimes give them a funny glance, or the innkeeper might ask if the stew wasn't to Aang's liking, but generally people don't notice things that don't directly affect them.
Aang thinks the system works just fine, and not just because he gets the lion's share of the papaya.
It's hard to explain, and he knows if he tried he'd just make them think he was strange - or worse, pathetic. But it's something they do, he and Sokka and Katara. Trade food and bicker about eating habits and threaten to shove melons down certain big brother's throats.
It's the sort of thing friends do. Maybe even families.
And it's been a hundred years since Aang knew what that felt like.
In which Toph reflects on directions, impressions and the ease with which one can lose all good judgement:
Her first impressions were usually pretty reliable, and she stands by her initial judgment of Aang as a flighty twerp. Sure, maybe in a few years (or months, the way theirlives are going) when he's done some hard living, he'll be a little more than what he is, but at the moment, Aang is just a kid. Toph hears it in his voice and feels it in his heartbeat and footsteps.
The Avatar, the almightly protector that the world has been praying for, is a little kid who has to force himself not to run away from conflict.
Katara Toph may have misjudged. A little. She's definitely a heinous bitch who likes to boss people around, but she's also oddly comforting in a way Toph doesn't quite understand. It's not at all likeToph's mother, who would touch Toph with gentle fingers and divert her from all harm. Katara protects people by throwing them into the fire. Toph could probably get used to th at.
Sokka is exactly what Toph thought he was: a teenage boy. She doesn't make any judgment there. Her contact with other girls is limitted - that may be why Katara drives her so crazy - but she's fought any number of boys in the ring. She knows how to deal with boys. Sokka is younger than most of her opponents, but a lot smarter and a lot nicer, and at first, he's the only one she really likes. His footsteps are steady, and, unlike Aang, there's no hesitant backstep before facing off against danger.
He's not exactly the leader: Toph isn't sure who is, exactly. Not Aang, he's too timid yet, too hesitant to step into battle even when it's just her and Katara fighting over dishwashing chores. Not Katara. God, not Katara. She's nice and all, but Toph is prettysure that any battalion Katara led into battle would be so henpecked that they'd probably beg the Fire Nation to capture them.
Sokka acts like the leader sometimes, in as much as he's the only one who ever bothers to plan a route or worry about supplies, but mostly they make decisions by committee: aka, everyone starts shouting until it makes Toph's ears bleed.
Toph herself is definitely not in charge and she doesn't have any plans to save the world - though she doesn't mind teaching Aang how to do it. She's just a kid too. The same age as the Avatar, but a little older at the same times. Blindness does that to a person, but then, being the Avatar is probably just as great a burden.
And, she reminds herself, Aang doesn't run. He wants to. She can feel hisfeet shift, she can sense the hesitation in his movements, in his words. he wants to back away, to run away. But he doesn't.
Because he's crazy, of course. Anyone in their right mind would want to run away from Aang's destiny. And here the four of them are, running headlong into it.
They're all crazy, and the sad truth of things is, Toph reluctantly acknowledges, that the giant flying fur machine is probably the only one of them with any common sense.
