Your name is Dave Strider, small-town firebender and all-around pretty chill guy. You pride yourself in the fine art of unrefined douchebaggery and also really bad poetry. You and your cousin, Rose Lalonde, a well-versed philosopher-in-training who also has a knack for making some of the most snarky and backhanded comebacks you've ever seen, are walking through the shopping district on an errand for your aforementioned cousin's mom. Momlonde owns a watering hole (read that as totally over-the-top bar and winery) and is kind of a big deal. Rose hates it though. Her mom actually used to be some sort of philosopher herself. She wrote some things about the stars and some other mumbo jumbo Rose told you in an exasperated tizzy you don't remember. What you do remember is that Miss Lalonde is a bending enthusiast. Books on all types of bending (primarily fire) stacked on shelves and stuffed in boxes all around their dwelling which rests right above the previously mentioned "adult establishment". Rose, as usual, hates this, too. She keeps ranting on about how her mom undermines her firebending ability, which isn't really the case, you think. Rose still doesn't buy it. She just ignores the books and goes out of her way to find reading material that isn't in her mom's personal library. This leads her to have more passive bending skills like lighting up her hand without getting burned, which is really fucking stupid. If she gets herself killed it's all on her and her surprising amounts of stubborn. Seriously, for someone who carries themselves like a high general, Rose is actually pretty immature.
"If we want to be home by lunch, I suggest we split up," Rose states this calmly and rips the list in a neat line, handing you one half. "Here."
"Yeah, sure," and off you go, yawning. "Meet back here in a half an hour?" She hums and you can tell she's nodding.
"Don't get caught up in another one of your rhythmic poetry battles. I don't want to have to explain to her that I had to traverse the entire shopping district seeking out lychee nuts. 'I'm sorry, mother, 'cousin dearest' was preoccupied with verbal exchanges to make dinner.'"
You roll your eyes. "If we're gonna have a Strider-Lalonde roasting here, please take into your humble fucking consideration that it was me that had to drag The Walking Thesaurus out of another one of her long-ass price negotiations. Shit was like a goddamn mess, Rose. It was like an Agni Kai only more verbose and boring as tits. Like the forces of the universe just pitted a snarky dictionary against a cheap merchant and said 'Fuck it, let's see what happens'. You know what happened, Rose? We were late, that's what. All because Little Miss Coin Hoarder couldn't-…"
Somewhere in your see of patented, high-quality Strider burnage, Lalonde got tired of you and went off. You don't know how long you've been standing there, rambling at nothing, but you're sure you look like an idiot. Her loss, you guess. You head in the opposite direction to check off the first item of your list. Lychee nuts. Go figure.
So here you are, searching for the same cart you got held up at last time, and you can't help but overhear some conversations going on. Rumors, stories, merchant things. The same boring, mundane bullshit that's always exchanged.
"Did you hear about that explosion last night?"
"I heard about that! Wasn't it just some kids messing around with their bending?"
"I sure hope so! There're way too many stories floating around, and if my child starts getting ideas, I might-"
You don't really care what this lady might do. You're on an errand and some old bat's stories aren't going to be the reason you're chewed out by your cousin. If you have to sit through another snarky string of overly-complicated sentences, you might-
"Move move move MOVE MOVE MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE-!"