A/N: Please, above all, enjoy. And PLEASE review! I cannot stress the importance of your thoughts enough. :) thank you.
It is 2003. The years of the future. But, for this small town, everything is still stuck in the Victorian age. Ozai ordered that the town be kept in its original state, for the profit of tourism. On top of that, Ozai, to secure his position on the throne, banned bending. No discussing bending, no bending at all, or you will face the worst of consequences. People began obeying when entire towns burned out of nowhere, and people started to disappear. . .some can't remember what bending even is. . .
"Thank you, Misseour," the young woman offered the vendor a gentle, warm smile. Her deep ocean eyes sparkled with kindness, and no such hypnotic eyes could have belonged to any other than the beautiful maiden known throughout the small town. Two chocolate locks curled around her angelic face in loops, the rest in a neat, tidy bun at the very top of her head. The sunlight caught the strands of her silky hair just right, illuminating with a golden glow.
The vendor graciously returned the smile. "You are most welcome, madmoiselle; you know that." His smile widened, for Katara always came to visit his stand on these Tuesday afternoons, and her visits were always joyous occassions, never unpleasant. "Have a good day now." Katara treated him with a small laugh, the corner of her eyes crinkling up.
"And to you as well." She bowed her head slightly in farewell, her pink lips still parted in light happiness, turning around and waving, and continuing her errand trip along the uneven cobblestone streets. Mindless pratter passed her, horse-drawn buggies rolling up and down the streets, the hooves clicking hard, heavy with weight against the stone. Katara smiled as she found herself listening to the familiar, soothing sounds of a quaint afternoon in France. Vendors wooed the upper class women, dazzling with mouth watering delacicies and sparkling jeweled necklaces. It seemed an art, in fact, the way their faces would twist with such enthusiastic expressions, and the way they swayed their arms to draw their prey in, surely it had to be a learned art. The women would gasp, picturing such finery lying on their pale skins. Vendors grinned in triumph and began the bidding starting at greedy prices, assuming the women were not truly educated in business. Katara shook her head sadly. Oh, if only they would understand how others would take advanatage of their ignorance! A long time back, when Katara had first begun her Tuesday errands, she had pleaded with the women in that they could haggle for much lower prices. They had snickered, though, turning up their noses at her and merely casted her off as a stupid peasant girl, which made the vein in her jaw tick in annoyance. Katara felt pity towards them. She turned her gaze upwards, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the clear, intense light. None criticized the sun, she thought. Though dangerous as raging fire could be, everyone else had seen it as a pure being. . .
What a lovely day, Katara changed her thoughts as she turned down a street, narrowly dodging a rather furious looking individual on a bicycle. She did a full twist, her skirt twirling around her, the loops passing in front of her eyes in a little boastful dance. The sun sat regally in the sky, overlooking his subjects that he regularly provided plentiful life for. Air was calm and warm, just enough for a gentle flush upon one's cheeks. Suddenly, a strong gust ripped through the town, lifting Katara's cream skirt in a violent, rippling dance. She shrieked as her hands flew down to catch the restless fabric, a dusting of frustration fluttering over her cheeks. The scent of saltwater drifted with the wind, and Katara's nose inhaled deeply and needingly, like a man parched for days discovering clean drinking water. Her alarmed muscles relaxed, sighing peacefully. "I haven't been to port in a while," she persuaded herself with a smirk. "Sokka can wait." Inspired by the wind, she changed her course, heading west to port. Gracefully without effort, she weaved her way through the relatively small crowds, entertaining herself with a puzzle of a maze. As she neared sea port, the number of bulky young men shrowding around her increased, carrying large crates of supplies such as rope and water and bread back to the ship. She shivered, feeling uneasy and dirty under lingering, watchful eyes. Katara shrugged it off and increased her pace to arrive at the port, a smile lighting her face, her breath stolen by the powerful sea wind. Her heart thundered under her breast, a constant reminder of her longin for the sea. Whenever she was around water, she found, it seemed to draw her near, like a mother softly calling her child's name. It was where she belonged, as if she should have been born with fins, not feet
Her heart squeezed at the thought. "Mother. . ."she whispered softly to herself, deep blue orbs stinging not because of the air. Unconsciously her hand rose to gently rest at the heart of her throat, her fingertips stroking the cool surface of the stone.
"Indeed, such a sight should move anyone to tears," a voice affirmed behind her, startling out of her thoughts and causing her to spin around quickly.
Standing tall and proud, a handsome young man, unruly brown hair caked with salt and grime. His skin was not too far off from her caramel-colored tone, more of a glowing tan caused by many laborous hours working under the scorching, unforgiving sun. The familiar stranger's eyes were a rich brown, and Katara found herself easily lost in such beauties. A piece of straw hung limp between his lips as he gave her a cocky smile. Her jaw dropped, her eyes widening as her brain scrambled for a name to match the face. "J. . .Jet?" she asked, afraid of the wrong accusation.
The boy frowned, searching her face, then gasped and reached out a calloused hand, stroking her hair loops. "Of course," he breathed, smiling. "there's only one girl in the world with hair loops like these." Jet's fingers lingered in her hair. He wrapped his arms around her abruptly, hugging her close to his chest that smelled of the sea. "It's been a while, Katara!" he laughed, his voice bright as his posture relaxed.
"Eight years, I think it's been," she smiled, embracing her old family friend, reluctant to pull away. "What brings you all the way out here?"
The words flowed smoothly from his lips, reciting a fairytale book memorized by heart. "Well, turns out that some of my relatives live in Paris, and they own a highly successful business. So, I thought I would just. . .drop by." He shrugged casually, as if it were the most obvious thing to do in his position.
Katara's smile faltered as she looked deep into his eyes, whispering, "You're looking for a home, aren't you?" her voice cushioned with understanding.
Jet kept his cool, calm demeanor, chuckling and running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. . .believe so." He looked at her, smiling gently. "I've been alone for a long time, Katara, ever since my parents were slaughtered." His voice wavered a little, becoming lighter, but the sweet charm never left. Jet effortlessly and quickly changed the subject. "How are you and Sokka doing?"
Katara opened her mouth to respond, but paused and clamped up, and she tried again. "I can hardly believe that this," she waved a hand around them, "is hardly the place to catch up on the past. We have a store, and it's closed for the day; perhaps we can go there, instead?"
Jet nodded, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. "Sure."
Katara returned the nod, motioning with her head to follow her. Her body moved fluidly in and out of the crowd, and Jet seemed to have no problem distinguishing her from the rest in order to follow her lead. All chatter was withheld until they reached the shop in a matter of minutes. Katara extended a dainty hand, smooth like a woman's, and turned the undistinguished metal doorknob, pushing forward. A ding of a bell announced her arrival, and a head behind the bloodied counter perked up. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and Sokka grinned and rose from his seat, making no rush to take his baby sister into his arms. "There you are, Katara! What took you so. . ." he trailed off, his eyes narrowing menacingly at the young man that accompanied Katara. "Who's your little friend?" Sokka all but hissed through clenched teeth.
"Come off it, Sokka!" she snapped, slapping him on the arm. "This is Jet- do you remember him?"
After a pause, Sokka drew up his memories with success, but his glare never lessened, not even a bit. "Even worse," he muttered.
Katara opened her mouth to sharply remind her brother of a theory called manners, but Jet spoke before she. "It's good to see you, too, Sokka." He smiled, clapping him heartily on the shoulder on the shoulder, then turned his attention to Katara. "Is there a place we might be able to sit and discuss in here?"
"Yes, yes, of course." Ignoring her brother's looks, she led their guest up the wooden, creaky steps to the upstairs level. A small attic, was all it was. Two beds, one on either side, and a window that could let the light filter through. The rest, was completely barren. Not even spiders kept this room cozy. She offered a small smile. "I'm sorry, it's not much-"
"Stop, Katara. It's fine." He sat on her bed when she offered. He paused, and smiled to her. "So, tell me. How'd YOU get here?"
Her eyes, so bright and full of life, lost all playfullness, but the brightness never left. "It's been tough, but we've made it so far. We ran away from Tipulten, and we came here to France a couple of years ago. For a while, we barely kept food on the table by doing a variety of chores and manual labor around the town for little to no pay, but eventually we earned enough to open up a shop just underneath our home. I run the bakery, and Sokka runs the butchery. Even now, we don't make much more profit than we did before, but it's worth it."
Jet tilted his hand, eyebrows crinkling. "Why is that?"
"Well, we don't try to make a profit. We understand that money is hard to come by nowadays, because we understand being poor, and unable to buy food. We want to try to help people as best as we can with the war going on." Jet admired how kind and sincere her eyes were, even if they seemed lost in their own world. She was proud of her and her brother. . .as she should be.
"That's great, Katara! That's. . .really impressive." There was a warmth in his eyes, like a campfire. Cozy, soft. . .pulling you in. . .
"GET OUT, JET!" The door swung open, slamming against the wall. Stood at the opening, a very pissed Sokka, shaking with fury. His eyes were wide, and his arm struck out, his index finger pointing to the doorway. "NOW!"
"SOKKA! He isn't DOING anything!"
"Yeah, not NOW. But I'm not letting him touch you, Katara." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're my baby sister, and I have to protect you-"
"HONESTLY, Sokka? I'm sixteen, I think-"
"-That I should go." Jet finished, patting her hand. "It's alright. I'll see you around sometime, okay?" He stood with a smile.
Katara frowned. "Jet, please excuse h-"
"Let him BE, Katara." Sokka said darkly, watching Jet like a dog as he left the attic, downstairs, and out of their shop.
She turned to him sharply. "Why do you HAVE to be such an ASS?"
He sighed. "It's my job, Katara." His voice gentle, he sat by here, and wrapped his arms tight, hugging her to his chest. "After our parents died. . .you're all I have left. I can't. . .I WON'T let anything bad happen to you."
After a few moments, she forgave him, hugging her brother back. "I love you too, Sokka." She pulled away and grinned, taking out a small, brown paper bag. "And I got you something."
With a raised eyebrow, he took the bag, opened it up, and gasped. "OH MY SPIRITS. OH. MY. SPIRITS!" He pulled out a small bottle of cactus juice. "I haven't had this in AGES!"
She laughed. "I knew it was your favorite. It was on sale."
"My precious. . ." He murmured, hugging the bottle now, cuddling it close to his cheek. He stroked it, as a mother would her kitten.
xXx
It was late at night, the moon hung high in the sky, casting all that it touched in an ethereal glow. The owl hooted, the crickets chirped. Long, dark lashes fluttered open, casting a quick glance over at her brother. He was fast asleep. . .and when he was asleep, not even a bugle could wake him up. Quietly, she pulled her sheets off, her soft feet brushing against the clean wood floor. It was something to do, keeping the house tidy. She hated it. . .being such a woman. She wanted to fight. Be out there, in the war, and protect their freedom.
And by Spirits, she WOULD.
Tiptoeing, extra carefully, she snuck out of the attic. Down to the shop, she pulled on her winter jacket, and snuck out the back way, so the bell wouldn't ring. She was in control of her destiny. And she was going to take it into her own hands.
xXx
She had been wandering for hours. Katara had no idea what to do, or where she was going to go. Running a hand through her loose curls, she sighed. Great. . .she didn't have a plan. Another rash decision. Turning her head up to the moon, the cool breeze caressed her hair. "What can I do, Mom?" she whispered. How she wished they were both here. . .they'd know what to do.
A deep bellow thundered from above. Sheets of tiny water droplets poured down, drenching her with cold liquid. Katara closed her eyes, her frustration boiling inside. The rain felt so good. . .but now her clothes were ruined. Her eyes flinging open, she stomped her foot down, hard, into a puddle. The water not only splashed, it exploded, like gunpowder. With a shriek she stumbled back, tripping on a piece of wood left behind in the street, and hit her head hard on a brick wall before she blacked out.
The last thing she could remember was a pair of unfamiliar, strong arms wrapping around her, and lifting her up into a chest that smelled of burning wood.
A/N: I think I shall end the first chapter here. I'm watching Legend of Korra and LOVING it. I found this on my iPod, though, and decided to give it a try before I write Korra fanfics. (Makorra- ZUTARA NEVER DIES!) I'm writing the second chapter RIGHT now, don't fret. . .And I'll get to my other stories, as soon as summer starts. . .
A/N: No, Tibulten is not a real place. It's made up. Play along XD