Life Gave Him Lemons
He wasn't just going to sit around in the ashes, or puddles, of his former glory. Whatever the propaganda was about universal equality and forcible leveling of the playing field, he had completely reasonable doubts that anyone would be campaigning for his rights.
He was not a fighter. Being sneaky and landing a good hit was one thing, but the only weapon he'd bothered to develop was gone, and he was floundering. Being all exposed while a violently inclined social upheaval was underway wasn't ideal. In fact it was the perfect reason to pack up and leave.
He had a brother, one who was naturally non-bending. Since the Equalist Movement wasn't the only advertised lifestyle out there, just the one with the most press coverage, they both had an out. A world spanning, total relocation out.
Colony movements had gotten a bad name from the Hundred Year War. However, an enterprising, and completely politically unaware, little posse had gotten one together regardless. The destination was more than over the hills and far away, he counted two oceans and a state or two before they settled in a completely landlocked nation.
He was satisfied. He didn't really like water, and he hated being wet. It was tasteless and he never drank it if he could help it. After months of traveling and at least one desert where sweat was no longer something he could carelessly flick away, dinner was the final indignity.
They'd gotten charged some eye gouging price for a fish plate at the rickety inn the whole caravan had flocked to for some chance at real food. When he'd gone to squeeze a lemon over his meal, it went straight in his eye.
It stung doubly since a short while ago he would have simply bent it away. He sat there with a slice of yellow fruit squashed in his fist, blinking sweet acid out of his eye. When his brother again asked what he was actually planning on doing for bringing home the beef-bacon, Tahno answered promptly, "Lemon farmer."
Maybe he couldn't get his bending back, but he could make it his life's mission to crush the lemons of the world and devour their stinging juices. Which really put him in the minority. Apparently the rustic settlement they'd ground to a halt in had just hit pay dirt.
Virtually all of the native villagers as well as his entire company were hi ho-ing it to the mines. Earthbenders would've been on easy street, but even the non-dirt moving folk seemed to be living it up in style. Still, he went for lemons. You never knew when some conqueror would sweep in or the vein would run dry. Lemons were replenishable.
Not to say that he didn't benefit from the booming economy and the slew of tourists and traders. He knew how to advertise himself, and just because he hadn't not been obnoxious or overbearing about it up to that point didn't mean that he wouldn't be able to settle on something more in keeping with the village's rustic aesthetic.
The point was, his preferred business didn't depend on the gold lasting. He had something of a flair for cuisine. Frequenting every rinky-dink cafe as well as the poshest restaurants of Republic City had left him with a pretty well rounded palate. Discreetly extolling the virtues of every meal, tonic, and poultice that used his citrusy fruits was a lot more low key than hyping up the Wolfbats for the championship.
Yellow metal was the craze nearly everywhere in the town but his house. It made him think of Amon and his promises to make everything better if they'd just do one thing, just eliminate bending. There was never a one trick cure-all. There were always extenuating circumstances and a trailing line of price tags.
As the appetite for riches rose in higher waves, he found himself curiously indifferent to it. He'd already been obscenely wealthy. Even though he could no longer coax and command water, one of the hallmarks of waterbenders had always been adaptability. He didn't need luxury anymore, he could change, he was willing to try something else.
Albeit, new beginnings didn't call for a total overhaul. Leaning towards a mirror in a home he'd earned through the unmitigated sweat of his brow, and the charm of his person, Tahno slowly combed through his bangs. It was a lot more challenging to get the right body and curl now that he couldn't work steam and wet product through it with a twitch of his fingers. It was still achievable, though.
Seeing his hair ease back into that familiar shape, he took something else of himself to discard. Amon might have taken something from him, but he was the one who had decided to change himself. He still wanted to end with a vowel, it wasn't like he was an entirely different creature.
Tahno eyed his profile and tried on a smile. It was more mellow than the smug grins he'd donned in his probending days, but it was still him. He didn't want anyone calling him by his new name until he'd tried it out himself. Tentatively, he spoke the sounds that would now mean him, and gave a nostalgic smirk of approval. He liked the way Belsio rolled off the tongue.
A/N: First time me and and my family saw Tahno with his curly clump of bangs, we decided he looked like Belsio from FMA. Even before he got his bending snatched we were referring to him as 'Uncle Belsio, before life gave him lemons'. Once that plot development did kick in, the parallels seemed even more ironic, so I concocted this mockumentary origin story in lieu of a 'motivational' poster.
I know Tahno does make a cameo as a Tsungi horn player in the last Korra episode, but whatevs.
Belsio makes it even when the gold mines go under, he's building from the ground up, and Tahno's 'ever after' is Belsio's backstory. I think I hit both prompts and the Classic option. This entry was prompted to completion by the Twelve Shots of Summer Challenge.