Okay, this is my first Jetko fic, and it was done for a prompt on jetheartszuko, on the word 'art'. I'm not sure how good this is, so I would like some concrit. It is a bit short, and is more of a drabble than anything else. I hope it's good, and reviews are nice. Also posted on jetheartszuko over at LJ.
Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar.
Having lived in the wilderness for most of his life, Jet hadn't really been exposed to cultural things, or what people would call 'real art.'
He supposed that someone could consider the forest he had once inhabited art, with its majestic trunks and elegant treetops, concealing all that happened within its borders. Jet knew that it wasn't as beautiful and pristine as most would consider it; The world in general was a cruel, cutthroat place, why should the forest be any different? Animals lived inside it, preying on each other, and the freedom fighters who had once inhabited it were unwavering in their campaign to free the valley from the Fire Nation.
But when he met the mysterious teen on the refugee boat, he came face-to-face with true art. The pale skin of the boy was contrasted sharply by the charcoal-black mop of hair that fell over his face, nearly hiding sharp golden eyes. He was tall, mysterious, and unintentionally exotic, attracting looks from both men and women wherever he went. The large scar marring the left side of his face was, to Jet, more like an extra little factor contributing to his overall handsome face. Besides, the most beautiful things weren't perfect; the spirits were angered by perfection, so even the greatest works of art were given flaws and faults to keep them beautiful.
When Jet died, beneath Lake Laogai, with the two of the three people in the world he cared the most about, his last thought had been, "I wonder what kind of art they have in the Spirit world?"
I could beg for reviews down here, but I won't.