Good ol' fashion fluff. Because we all love it deep down inside ;D Also, I'm trying out a new kind of writing style. Kind of abstract and weird, but I've read stories using it and I like them. Personally, I don't think it worked out very well, but it's a process, yeah?
Anyway, here it is!
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He's just a guy with a boomerang
Sokka leaned back in his wooden chair, tipping it until it was precariously perched on only it's back legs. The teashop was thick with the smell of jasmine, ink, silk, and the undistinguishable yet unmistakable scent of friendship and trust. Tan eyelids slid shut over sea blue eyes, tired in that content way when you know you had absolutely nothing you had to attend to. It was remarkable, the feeling of peace, after spending so many months constantly running, constantly fighting, constantly having a little timer ticking down the days-hours-minutes you had left before it was too late. The opportunity to just sit there and know that it was finally over was the greatest experience he could dream of.
His painting lay in front of him-- he didn't care what anyone else said, he knew he was an amazing artist-- the small paintbrush laying across the ink block, a steady drip of black falling onto the polished wood of the table. All of his friends (for after what they went through they were all friends, Sokka calls any person who opposed the Fire Nation a friend) sat together in the shop, chatting and laughing and relaxing for the first time in many months. Finally free of the little nagging in the back of their mind to be prepared for a fight at any given moment. For no matter how safe they were, freelance revolutionaries such as themselves were never truly safe
He had never thought this would happen. Two years ago, if you had told him that he would end up saving the world from the century old war, he would have laughed in your face and then told you to get the hell out of his village.
Studying the back of his eyelids, he muses about his old life, before the canoe crash and accidental waterbending that changed the course of the world's destiny. He was so sure he had everything figured out. He was the man of the tribe, after all. His father had given him a job, a duty, and he would die before he would let his father down. So there he was: training five year olds to fight before they could spell, making watchtowers out of snow, and attacking battleships with clubs.
Now here he is-- a warrior, a hero, but most amazingly alive. Alive and reminiscing about life and fate and the cosmos, and all he can do is laugh.
He once claimed to be only a guy with a boomerang. Now he will probably never see his boomerang again, lost as it was somewhere in the middle of the Fire Nation ocean. But that's okay.
He opens his eyes, surveys his friends and allies and sister and girlfriend, all happy and cheerful and, most of all, safe.
He's good.
She's just a girl from a sheltered island
Suki leans forwards, hand cupping a face long devoid of ceremonial face paint, and listens attentively as Mai tells a story about some beach in the Fire Nation. She's surprised and pleased to learn that behind the sharp needles and thick bangs the Fire Nation girl is actually a really pleasant person to talk to, with a wicked sense of humor to boot.
Laughing as Mai regales some story about Zuko being a dork and pink ice cream, she lets her eyes wander over the occupants of the small, cozy shop.
Toph laughing about something with Iroh, no doubt over some joke that the old man had said. Suki never would have guessed that the two of them could be friends, but she really should have seen it coming. Both benders found an alarming amount of joy in breaking stereotypes, of breaking and crushing the mold until it was no longer recognizable and laughing madly as the shattered pieces fell over their stunned and appalled audience. This was yet another example of the pair's infamous unpredictability.
Zuko, Katara, and Aang, chatting softly, the latter two holding hands under the engraved table where no one (especially not a warrior wolf-tail toting overprotective older brother) could see.
It is truly an astounding thing, she muses, swirling about the dregs of her Jasmine tea (Iroh is trying to convert her, but a small part of her taste buds will always prefer the Kyoshi tea that she grew up on), how she had ended up here. Not a few months ago she had been holed up in the Boiling Rock, unable to do anything but sit and think and slowly waste away, hoping for rescue that a small part of her was convinced would never come. And before that, even: growing up in Kyoshi island, fighting and training, yet unconcerned with anything that didn't have to do with the isolated patch of land that she called home.
Recalling the past, recalling herself and her life and all that she ever was, Suki finds herself chuckling softly, shaking her head at the pure and unadulterated irony of her life.
Once, she was merely a girl from a sheltered island. Now she had seen forests and prisons and temples and airships and knows far more about war and death than any Kyoshi apart from the island's namesake herself. But that's okay.
Her eyes sweep over her allies, her sisters and brothers in all but blood, letting loose and relaxing for the first time in far too long, and a barely distinguishable smile slips onto her face.
She's good.
He's just a guy with a boomerang
Two pairs of eyes connect, a girl and a boy, neither with any bending or 'magic' to speak of, just brains and speed and the determination to never give up without a fight, drawn together by the magnetic attraction that exists only between two people who completely and utterly get each other
She's just a girl from a sheltered island
A tiny smile works its way onto tan skin, for once not goofy or sly but brimming with happiness and content and peace. Pink lips spread into a matching smile, understanding etched into a delicate yet strong face, blue meeting blue, similar yet so completely different.
But together
Sokka gives an exaggerated wink, looking suave and ridiculous at the same time, and Suki just laughs and stands up to join her boyfriend.
They can do the impossible
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There it is. Fluffy and to the point, with a bit of abstractness thrown in to make it fun.
I would love to know what you all think about this, especially since I'm going out on a bit of limb here with the wacky writing. Let me know what you think!
Much love
April