"It's been sixteen years, Teroura."
"Hm," the girl replied absentmindedly, still sitting with her chin resting on one fist, gazing through the window. Sumi and Baku were outside in the high noon sun, playing tug of war with Kurama's snapping turtle dog, Pora. Teroura knew without a doubt that Pora was the weirdest creature she had ever seen, but it kept the many con gangs and greedy refugees from stealing the butcher's meat. There were few people in the Lower Ring with any real jobs; most stole what they needed or stationed themselves near shops graced by the few tourists who dared venture into Ba Sing Se's Lower Ring. She, like the majority of the people who lived permanently in the Lower Ring, did some of both, as well as picking up odd jobs from her more fortunate neighbors when they had an extra coin or two— "more fortunate" being somewhat of a redundant phrase as the increments used in discriminating any sort of class in the Lower Ring were so incredibly minimal that such an idea was of no matter to any who did not live there. However, still there were two types of people who lived in the Lower Ring, aside from refugees: those with jobs and those without, and there were but a select few with the former, regardless of skill of any kind.
"Teroura!"
"What, Grandma?" Teroura groaned, swiveling towards the old woman on her decaying wicker stool, sending what was left of her tousled black bun into severe disarray down her back.
"It's been sixteen years, darling."
"Since what?" she asked, sighing loudly. She was reluctant to show any outward annoyance to her grandmother, but she'd made a negative profit today sitting outside the historic site of General Iroh's first tea shop— someone had stolen the empty bowl from which she was hoping to collect enough to pay for dinner. That had been her mother's bowl. Not that she cared, anyway, but it was beautiful. And aside from that, it was the only dish without a crack that could hold soup without leaking the precious nutrition all over their sad excuse for a table.
"Since Avatar Korra died," her grandmother prompted.
"Oh?" Teroura replied, finding it incredibly hard to fake interest.
"They will be naming the new Avatar soon. I can't wait! My old bones have lived through two Avatars, and they will see a third. Did I ever tell you about the time that Avatar Aang landed on the roof of this house? I heard a light tap late at night— one I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been sleeping in the attic with the squirrel cats— and I rushed to the window just in time to see him sail away on that glider of his."
"You've told me the story, Grandma. And about how Grandpa's proposal was ruined by Avatar Korra smashing through."
"Oh, it wasn't ruined, sweetie! That's what made me say yes!" the old woman chuckled gleefully.
Saying yes— now that's what ruined it, Teroura thought, careful not to let these words escape her lips like so many other private musings often managed to. Her grandfather had been a terrible man, and her grandma knew it of course, but family was family.
"Do you want to watch the broadcast with me? The Jasmine Dragon is the only place in the Lower Ring with a screen."
Screen or no screen, Teroura didn't want to return to the place where her mother's bowl was stolen, but these days it seemed like her grandma's only hope left was the return of the Avatar or the finding of a new one; she never cared for keeping the two straight. A lot of good any bending master had ever done for her or anyone in the Lower Ring, much less the Avatar with all of that "bringing balance to the world". She guessed as long as poor people weren't causing worldwide chaos, poverty wasn't worthy of such a powerful person's time.
Since Avatar Korra had died, the world hadn't fallen into chaos as far as she could tell, but the Earth Kingdom's new leadership had turned sour, though none of the policies to prevent crime and bring prosperity to the lower ring had been working, anyway.
"Sure, grandma," she finally agreed, "When does it start?"
"At sundown!"
"I'm going to take a nap, then," Teroura decided aloud, wanting to avoid any conversation where the subject of her mother's bowl might surface. "Wake me when it's time."
"Oh no, Teroura," her grandma said, smiling, "We must get going now to even be sitting down in the place, and you know my old bones won't be able to stand through everyone's speeches! Oh, but I can't want to hear Jinora's. She's such a lovely woman now. I remember when she was just a girl. We all heard her speak on the radio after she received her tattoos. What a mind on that one. I'd love to have a conversation with her someday— and there's not a lot of time left for that to happen now, is there?"
She ended with a laugh that, though raspy, was deep and joyful.
"Let's go then," Teroura replied, her lips pinching into what was almost one of her rare smiles. Hearing her grandma talk with such excitement about the Avatar did give her hope, too, for something to change.