With … it's similar, if more imdiate of a risk.
Then again, what's life without risk?
What's life without freedom?
...
Boring. Beside helplessness the first few months of my conscious existence in this world were remarkably boring. That was when I wasn't prone to fits of anger, fear or doubt.
Thankfully, my awareness had only crept in in stages. By the ti I was capable of understanding who and what I was, years had passed.
Peter is rather young to rember all of himself. But perhaps so of the mories were triggered by coming into contact with . It would explain so things.
Such are my thoughts as I make my way back to the shop while Gorou and Dionu load up our ship with the goods we also agreed on smuggling inside the city. Dionu's done it before, so we'll rely on his expertise for the operation. I imagine the Dai Li knows of their activities, but tolerates it, so long as it benefits them.
It's always good to have so drug-addicts for the 'clean' people to bla or bully. Their misfortune is their own fault, after all, and one's own life is still better than that.
...
"The boy has returned," one of the old n from last evening croaks. His face is the kind of old you rarely get to see, with wrinkles so fine and nurous that his entire face seems like the rockface of a particularly splintered boulder.
I shrug at him. "I said I would."
"The boy will follow," he says and laboriously rises from his seat. He leans on a gnarled cane with an equally gnarled hand that has beco a permanent claw with age and shuffles slowly towards the back of the shop that lies in complete darkness.
The other man, still in his seat, watches with sharp, mistrustful eyes.
I follow the first one to a door that he taps in an odd pattern. It slides open to reveal a beautiful garden, and my nose, used to the heavy waft of tobacco smoke, livens under the flowery scents. It is a small gravel path that the old man takes, ignoring the woman who'd opened the door. She, too, is old, but her eyes are keen as she ets my gaze.
A twist around a large bush, heavy with flowers that I can't na reveals a pond in which white lotus flowers float peacefully in the lacklustre light the day gifts us with. He shuffles past it to a stone table whose surface was carved with a Pai Sho grid.
It seems that we'll be playing before we hold a proper conversation about what I want and what I have to do to get it, if I can. We sit across from one another in silence.
The woman who opened the door sets tea down beside our hands.
"What does the boy seek from old n?" croaks my opponent.
That one is easy. "The ans to securing freedom for those who seek it."
"What does the boy think the will to freedom is?" Here we have a bit of philosophy. It's tricky because freedom can be defined in many ways, but if I actually had to pick one definition, I don't think I could, because the nature of freedom is that it is, well, free. If it were definite, it would no longer be freedom. Then again, the word is not necessarily identical with what it describes. So, the will to freedom…
"The desire to self-governance in action and thought," that's not all of it by far, but this is a quick and dirty fix.
"What does the boy believe these old n should do to aid his cause?"
"I should think that the ans of contacting certain people in hard-to-reach places would be a wonderful start," after all, I need help if we are to stop the war and build a community for people to exist freely in. That is, so long as their way of living does not restrict others in ways they object to.
"The boy intends much beyond what he reveals."
"Yes." That much is obvious. I mirror his action of sipping from his tea. It's a light flavour. White tea and a hint of sothing sweet.
The man scrutinises carefully.
"The boy will play a ga and he will play it honestly."
"Alright." I'm not master enough at Pai Sho to fool a master into thinking I'm playing as I would honestly when I'm not.
And so, we play.
The atmosphere is almost tranquil. The rustle of the wind as it brushes through the leaves. The gentle clicking of the stones on the board. A calmness so unlike anything I expected to feel today, especially after the high tension of last night.
"You were taught well," he observes quietly, surveying the board. He has, of course built a solid foundation into defeating . "Who was the best teacher in your life?"
"The best teacher?" I think on it for a short mont, "Well, they've visited all of us at least once. For most, they're a permanent resident."
"Pain," the old man says wisely.
"Hurt," I correct, and once more I feel his eyes keenly. Hurt is damage to the hearth, while pain is a threat. Sothing to be soothed. Hurt… is pain to the soul, and there are very few things that have proven to be adequate comforts for that. All that I do in the end is to distract from it. And yet, I can never escape it. It is a constant companion, and since you can learn from all things, if you look at them right, hurt is the most constant, the most present teacher. It is the best because consistency and presence are what matter most to in an unstable world such as this, in an existence as inexplicable as any other, but so much more because…
I open my eyes. The lids are heavy.
I should not be nearly as tired. Or calm…
There is little worse than feeling helpless. I slide my gaze to the empty tea cup. "Ah."
...
( SOKKA POV )
Sokka is, has and always will be soone practically inclined. This doesn't stop him from being introspective, when the situation calls for it. With Kaito, he's practically forced into it.
He isn't a man of many unnecessary words, Kaito. But what he does say when he opens his mouth is relevant and sobering. He's fun, too, which seems like a contradiction, but Kaito, Sokka has learned, is never entirely consistent, or conforms to expectations. He seems aloof, but carries out gestures of care naturally, without expecting gratitude.
He seems not to know what to do with Katara's jealousy, except for allowing her to realise that there isn't any need for comparison between them without ever actually saying it. There never could be an accurate comparison between them without ever actually saying it. There never could be an accurate comparison of their skill, in any case. He grew up in the North, with Pakku as his teacher from the ti he was two years old. He was part of a large community of benders, with duties to his people that demanded a certain amount of maturity.
Sokka recognises that Kaito, although only a year his elder, commands a vast amount of experience in matters of fighting and observation of people, as well as a sharp intellect that he only reveals when it cos to the defence that none of the others, including Sokka can muster.
He understands that his sister is intimidated, wants to be able to stand up to a comparison with Kaito. But, as Sokka keeps reminding himself, there can be no comparison.
He isn't usually so introspective, but sothing about Kaito and his words, the way he argues, well-inford, well thought-out and so convincing that Sokka takes it at face value. He's never had to work at understanding soone else in a conversation while they're speaking the sa language.
He feels slow when he asks for clarification, but the way Kaito then elaborates and takes the slight difficulty in understanding into account the next ti they discuss is nothing short of impressive. Sokka feels his brain stretch in those monts, horizon expanding, shifting to a new, before unseen level.
Really, he thinks privately that, were Kaito not as tricky to handle as he is, and a few years older, Sokka would be nursing a bad case of hero-worship by now. As it is, they're working on a great, easy friendship that could, if Sokka's optimistic, change the world.
With his own cleverness and Kaito's realism and capability of understanding and going along with Sokka's trains of thought, they could – with sufficient resources – defeat the Fire Nation. Not bad, for the two of them, and with Aang by their side, if they play it right, the Fire Nation would go down. Will go down. Perhaps even in Flas.
So when Kaito makes the decision to stay behind in Omashu, an active warzone, it feels a bit like they're being protected. Which, while rubbing Sokka the wrong way in a lot of places, also feels nice. Ever since his father went to war, Sokka had to look after both Katara and himself.
So Kaito caring about their well-being… it's nice.
And also, kind of patronising? But, Aang is their priority and Sokka agrees that for his sake, they definitely had to leave. As their ti with Kaito made all-too clear, Aang is eleven.
Sokka isn't all that much older, but the difference is considerable. They might've been fending for themselves for a long ti now, but their encounter with General Fong and the subsequent violent ss that ended their stay with the man, made it very apparent that they weren't ready for a lot of things.
And now that they were alone again, Sokka sort of missed the comforting presence of another person who behaved responsibly at least in the situations that most demanded it. Besides, Kaito laughed at his jokes, no matter how flat they fell with Katara.
Katara was both more and less irritable without Kaito around. She bristled at the most innocuous comnts, especially when she felt that she wasn't being taken seriously – and, honestly, she could stand to be more relaxed about that. But she no longer nagged at them as badly as before Kaito had been with them. He'd managed to give her a new sort of perspective about a lot of things, Sokka thought. At least when it ca to accepting that so people were just always going to be of a different mindset and that cooperation was still possible.
Aang… he tried not to show it, but Kaito had been a big comfort for him. Sokka tried to make up for it a bit, but he knew that only Kaito could fill the odd gap he'd left in their interactions. He'd been soone to go to for advice who took even the small insecurities Aang had seriously.
Sokka knew he wasn't the best about honest, serious conversations, but he made an effort to show Aang that he could still co to him with his problems. Although he drew the line when it ca to Aang's crush on Katara. He just ignored that. Because… ew.
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