Title: Memories
Pairings: Zutara/BluePaint
Rating: PG17/M
Warnings: AU, language, sex, mild violence
Summary: An AU in which the Avatar world is blended with the Old West. She was ripped from her home and living in the brutal wastelands of the Earth Kingdom. Then one day a man shows up and life never quite turns out the way you expect. Sometimes all you have left are memories.
Insprired by this picture by jesterry on DA. http:/ jesterry DOT deviantart DOT com / gallery / 27765492# / d39adht (take out spaces. Holler if the link doesn't work.)
Katara clutched the mask to her breast. How could she not? It was all that was left.
Katara remembered the day that she was ripped from her family home. Momma had passed from the pox, Daddy had gone away to fight some unseen enemy leaving behind her and her brother, Sokka. Gran Gran looked after them since they were still little enough but she couldn't do anything against the men that came. They were tall and mean, from the Fire Nation is what she heard, and they gathered the handful of girls that lived in the village, shoving them in the tight quarters below deck of the ship that took them across the wide ocean, picking and choosing the prettiest of the bunch to teach how to please a man in the rooms above. When they landed in their "new home" they were sold to the highest bidder. It was a rich Earth Kingdom man living in a wasteland turned profitable by the mines that bought her. Katara was the lucky one. He waited till she was 14 to teach her how to make him money by spreading her legs. She was the treasure because of the shade of her skin and the glint in her piercing blue eyes. Long Fang was greedy with her. Only the best paying customers got the privilege of fucking The Treasure of the South. Now a grown woman of 19 she ruled over the other whores in Long Feng's saloon, keeping them as healthy as they could be despite too much drink, too much smoke, anything to let them escape this life. It wasn't an easy life by any means. She had attempted to run away more times than she could count and been beaten each time his goons recovered her. But where would she go? Her family was across an ocean. She had no ties to anyone here. Coming from a society in which family was the most important thing, she hated those green-eyed bastards for all this.
That's why she did what she did. It was a little story one of the girls- a Fire Nation girl taken from her little fishing village- told the other girls about a spirit of the river. The Painted Lady. Katara felt immediately attracted to this myth and took it a step further. On the nights that she could sneak away unnoticed, she took on the myth as an extension of herself and used it as a means to get out of this hell.
OoooOoooOoooO
He had come into her life like a flash nearly a year ago. She stood at the counter shooting back the whiskey- it never did dull the pain enough- when he grabbed the little glass from her fingers and drank the contents. Turning to yell at the asshole who stole her drink she faced him and her breath stilled in her throat. He was tall, and if he hadn't of had the charisma he did, that scar covering the left side of his face would have made him a monster, instead he wore it like a badge of honor. His black hair hung low but not so low that she couldn't see his honey colored eyes. She was entranced. They held an honesty that was lacking in these parts. His clothing was different than what the men wore here. There were reds and blacks and golds. The way he held himself, it was obvious he was of some import. Gossiping with the women after their first encounter no one knew who the hell he was. But they sure wanted to.
Setting the glass on the dinged wood that honey gazed of his never quite left hers. "Think you should slow down there, miss. These things will kill you."
He turned away from her, motioning for the bartender to give him another round. He drank one shot, another then one more for dessert. Tipping his hat to her, he slid away from the counter leaving her wondering what the hell just happened. Katara wasn't one for letting a man just overwhelm her like that. It was another week before he came back having taken a job at the saloon dealing stud. Why Long Feng chose him she'd never know. Rumors swirled about who he was, why he was here. Was he really a prince from far away? Some unlucky bastard sent to work in the mines that got lucky by slinging cards? It didn't matter really. They were all transplants from distant lands, under the strict thumbs of the ruling class of locals. It was just the way things were.
Maybe it was because of their status as outsiders that they seemed to hit it off so well. Little glances, small talk, through it all they naturally had to be careful otherwise they'd have to deal with Long Feng's wrath. The bruises on one of the girl's faces set an example to those who thought about disobeying. Despite being an employee, he still had to pay for her services (no one seemed to question how he could afford her given his meager salary as a card dealer), and she gladly led him to her room ignoring the jealous glances of the other girls. Lounging on the mattress, she slid the thin gown all the whores wore up to reveal herself in full, waiting for him to join her. This stranger, this amber-eyed devil, made her feel like a virgin on her wedding night. But he never came to her. He sat watching her, as if mulling over their situation. He paid without taking what was his. For a moment Katara felt dirty and cheap. Was she not good enough to fuck?
The next night, he again paid, and paid a lot from what the rumors said. Again he sat in the lone chair as she lounged on the bed. His eyes roamed over her exposed mocha flesh but his fingers, the long digits that Katara imagined could bring a lot of pleasure should he ever decide to use them, never touched. Instead they talked. Asking her about her family, how she'd come to be here in a brothel in the remote Earth Kingdom. She obviously didn't belong. To her surprise she told him, everything. Especially how much she hated these people. These men that had sold her into this. She couldn't pinpoint that smirk of his. As if her confessions were his own. It was at that time he told her his name, "Zuko." It had magical ring to it. Harsh and beautiful. Like him.
It was after his seventh visit that she'd had enough talk. "What's your problem? Did you lose your prick or something?"
Like a wolf-bat out of hell he flew from the chair covering her body with his own. Part of her was scared, she'd seen this before. Can't call it rape when the men pay for it and Long Feng could care less as long as the women could still spread their legs and make him money.
His breath tickled her ear. "Tell me how much you hate it here. Tell me you want out."
For Katara the fantasy had played in her head since she was 11-years-old. She whimpered her response. He moved away slightly and his gaze softened, sending a powerfully delicious chill down her spine. "Have you heard of the Blue Spirit?" he whispered against her neck. Her fingers laced into his hair that curtained around her.
Who hadn't? He was demon that had wreaked havoc across the land. He was thief and a murderer. Katara almost admired the demon. Strangely enough the rumors about the demon intensified once this man had arrived. Coincidence perhaps, but Katara knew better. It always amazed her how a man would confess anything between the thighs of a woman.
His lips descended to her collarbone, suckling on the delicate flesh. "Have you heard of the Painted Lady?"
Katara stiffened. She was an angel of death, some said. She destroyed buildings and tormented those that did wrong. She was a thief too. Stealing gold and jewels.
"I know who she is," he announced, cupping her right breast. Katara had to bite back her surprise. He doesn't know. No one could know. She was so careful. His tongue slid over her nipple, biting so gently, "I want her to join me."
Scrambling from out underneath him, she backed away, pulling the robe back over her exposed flesh. "Who are you? What do you want?"
If it had been another man, she would have been terrified of that smile. Instead she was intrigued. He wasn't like the locals. He was different. Like her. "You are a criminal like me."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a stupid whore in a two-bit town. I'm nobody." This man, this Zuko of the Fire Nation, stalked her across the room, pinning her to the wall with his gaze, palms on either side of her head. His eyes told her she was so very wrong. "Come with me."
His hand slid over her hip, and she melted against it. "I…I can't leave. If they find me-"
"If they find you, I'll kill them." His lips caressed hers as his fingers pried apart his belt dropping his pants to the ground. Cupping her firm bottom in the palm of his hand, with such ease he lifted her. Her legs circled his hips perfectly.
"Why me?" she sobbed, not meaning to of course. Not since she had been home in the Southern Water Tribe had she felt this feeling of home. She forgot how lost she felt.
Zuko cupped her cheek, thumb running along her jaw. "Because you don't belong here and I don't know why but since I first saw you I've needed you."
"Yes," she hissed wantonly as he slid within her, filling her so full of more than just himself. He was a lustful creature and it had never felt this way before. Oh Spirits above! Save her. Was this her angel sent to take her away? His kisses told her this was true. For the first time, she felt free. "Take me away."
Katara slid from his grip as their peak subsided. He whispered, "Get dressed. We've got work to do."
OoooOoooOoooO
He is the epitome of manhood in his black costume, the blue demon mask terrifying but she knows how handsome he is beneath it. She is the epitome of womanhood in the flowing red gown, the veil hiding her away from all until he lifts it to steal kisses before they go to steal their fortunes.
Quite a little life they've built making a home in an abandoned cabin in the forest miles away from where they found each other months ago. A far cry from the brothel. They worked together brilliantly in their disguises, pillaging from the corrupt and greedy, giving away most, keeping a tidy profit for themselves. They are stealth and strength and cunning and damn good at what they do.
Pushing through the trees, they make their way back to their hovel, tossing the contents of tonight's success on the floor before following it down to make love in a swarm of sweat and laughter and heavenly moans on the old dirt floor. The silk of the ties that held the mask to his head slipped between her fingers as the black shirt slid from his chest letting her easily run her fingers over the sinewy muscles that rippled with each thrust. Head thrown back, lost in these moments, imprinting these memories into her soul. She wished for this to be her forever.
But forever only lasts for so long.
"Run!" he growled. How he had heard them she'd never know. All she remembered was being shoved to the ground, a shout of "No!", then finding the arrow lodged deep within his chest.
Katara gripped his arm tight urging him forward. "I'm not leaving. Please. Just… just a little further."
"No," he groaned, clutching the hole in his chest. "There's enough. Take it and go." That cough filled with blood was not a good sign. His hand then reached out and lay on her belly, hardly swollen yet with the child that grew within. "Tell him that I loved him." He coughed again, and Katara cried. Staggering to his feet, Zuko took a defensive stance preparing himself with the inevitable onslaught that was heading their way. "Go."
She could hear the posse coming yet her feet remained glued to their spot on the trail. Seeing that she wasn't moving, he cursed softly kissed her one last time, whispered his affection for her, and then ran into the darkness to divert their attention away from his lover. Stunned by it all, Katara sunk to the ground hearing the violence in the distance. His mask, that blue demon that hid the man beneath, lay staring blankly up at her. Katara clutched the mask to her breast. How could she not? It was all that was left.