i.m.p.u.r.i.t.y — Janae
Warning(s): dark ; AmonKorra with a dash of Stockholm ; mentions of death and/or graphic death scenes ; helpless!Korra, dark!Korra and Equalist!Korra if you squint
Note: This is quite, quite long and I'm a bit ashamed—for loading you with so much.
O|n|e
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P|a|n|i|c—a sudden overwhelming fear, with or without cause, that produces hysterical or irrational behavior, and that often spreads quickly through a group of persons or animals
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"Naga, we're here!" a young Avatar exclaims excitedly. She smiles widely. Finally! The long trip had been worth the wait. "Thanks for the ride!" she calls as Naga bounds away.
She is too far off to tell, but the white man in green clothing who had fallen when the polarbeardog trampled past narrows his eyes. The Avatar in Republic City! There was someone he must contact.
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"Wow, look at this place!" Korra grins, a small-town girl in a big city. "I've never seen so many—" But then a cloth is being pressed to her face, and her Naga is thrashing before going slack. What is going on? She feels desperately for the pull of the earth or water—something, anything. When she realizes that is futile, she tries willing fire from her hands. It works, but only just.
Before she notices, her body is being jabbed in different spots and suddenly she has no more energy to hold herself upright, let alone bend.
The last thing she hears before she blacks out is a gruff voice saying: "Do not harm the Avatar or her pet! We are under strict orders to let no harm befall her! Take them away."
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Korra's eyes open groggily. Where—Naga! Was Naga alright? Her thoughts come quickly, frenzied, and she thinks it must show on her panicked face.
"Wake up, Avatar." The voice is deep, though not so deep as to be unpleasant, and charismatic. Korra's initial thought is to obey in order to hear this man's words of praise, but she does not listen. In fact, she squeezes her eyes shut tighter. "That was not a request, Avatar, it was a command. Now wake up." When again she does not abide, a hand strikes her head. Her eyes fly open, and Korra realizes that she has been tied to a chair so that now her neck is stiff and sore. "You would do well to heed my words when at first I utter them, my young Avatar, so that I will not have to reprimand you. Believe me, the last thing I wish to do is blemish your . . . frail body."
It is then that Korra looks at him—really looks at him, taking in his body, his stance, his mask. His mask! The thing frightens her. It was mostly white, save for the bright red circle in the middle of the forehead. Briefly, she wonders why he wears it—she wasn't exactly going anywhere, mind you, and it was just the two of them—and what he looked like without it—probably beautiful, she thinks, but then curses herself and concludes that, no, he must be very ugly—among other things. All these thoughts flit through her mind as the man paces back and forth, and the hairs on Korra's neck stand on end.
"My name," the masked man murmurs, "is Amon." Amon. She wishes that she could say his name out loud, taste in on her tongue, but she does not for fear of punishment. Who knew what this crazy man could do? "Tell me, dear Avatar, what it is they call you."
"Korra," she manages. Her voice is hoarse and Korra realizes how unbearably thirsty she is. How long had passed since she had last eaten?
"My, my, little Avatar. Do they not teach you manners in the South Pole? No? I understand that your speaking skills might be stiff, as you seem highly famished. Shall I call for supper, then, Avatar?" Dinner. So it was evening. But how many days had passed?
"Yes . . . please," she adds in her croaky voice, because it seems the thing to do. "Thank you . . . Amon." His name sounds odd coming from her mouth, the syllable forming awkwardly, much less refined than when it came from his own tongue. "But—although," she corrects herself, "I still do not understand why I am here."
Amon raises a gloved hand. "Shush, impatient Avatar, and wait for the meal to come. There is much I must explain to you that you seem to be unaware of."
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Two people in funny-looking uniforms somewhat similar to Amon's set a table and chair down in her cell. The table is square and the chair has been set to her right rather than across from her, as Korra deems proper. Did people eat close to each other, here in Republic City? If she still was in Republic City. She had no sense of time, place, or anything at all, here in captivity.
Amon takes a seat in the chair set down next to her. "I will dine with you tonight, and perhaps if you are civil and pleasant in my company, more frequently." Korra does not want to be civil and pleasant—she was starving and cross, mind you—but she does not voice her thoughts. It would only bring her pain.
The night's meal comes in courses. An orange soup with sweet potatoes and beef—real beef, and not porkbeef or something! A salad drizzled in a sauce that reminds her of summer, though she's never properly experienced the season. Mixed rice with bits of corn and what seems to be turtleduck.
Though she is the Avatar, Korra is not used to such rich fair and gobbles up the food hungrily without thinking of the consequences. One hand was freed so that she might eat of her own free will. "Perhaps it would be best if you decreased your nutrition intake at such high speed, yes?" Underneath his mask, Korra imagines his eyebrows and lips raised in mock teasing. Still, she does not slow. "Suit yourself."
About halfway through the meal, something goes terribly wrong. Korra has said the wrong thing and it sets Amon off.
He gets a whole speech going about his traumatic childhood. "The bending of the elements is an unfair, unjust advantage! My entire family were non-benders, and we did not have the protection of money such as some. This made us very easy targets for the fire bender that extorted my father. One day, my father confronted this man. The fire bender took my family from me! And when he did, he took my face.
"That is why I wear this mask, Avatar. That is why you are here. It is because you are impure, and have an unfair advantage. The Avatar is meant to keep peace, you say? Well, so far you have done nothing of the sort, not to mention that the Avatar is never a non-bender!"
I've only been alive for seventeen years! she wants to shout. Stop expecting so much of me! (It is then, she realizes, that everyone in the world already does.) Korra cowers back in fear, or however much she can manage with her hands tied up and such. "My apologies," Amon says after he clears his throat, sounding sincere enough. "It is not often that I let my temper control me."
"You are stressed," the Avatar guesses, correctly so because the man next to her nods. "Talk to me, Amon. I will listen to you." Korra does not know whether she truly cares or is simply doing her duty as the Avatar. The man next to her sighs. What must be going through his seemingly unstable mind?
"The spirits have chosen me to usher in a new era of balance, Avatar. You have not been doing your duty."
"Balance?" Korra asks, still confused. "What needs to be balanced?"
"Everything! You were not informed of anything in the outside world while under the protection of the White Lotus. While you were away, the revolution has begun!"
"What are you revolting against?"
"Bending." Korra's eyes widen. How do you defy bending? If you were born with the gift, bending was a part of who you are. "Benders have always had an unfair, unnatural advantage over ordinary people, Avatar.
"The only thing bending has brought to the world is suffering! It has been the cause of every war, in every era. But that, dear Avatar, is about to change."
Korra can only manage one word. "How?" She half wishes she chose why.
Behind his mask, Amon grins. "I shall show you. I am due for a demonstration soon. Come with me."
Korra looks up at him. "I'm otherwise occupied at the moment," deadpans she.
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"If you are good," Amon tells Korra as they walk, "I won't do what I do to those men—I will not do the same to you in public."
Korra raises her eyebrows. "But you will still do it to me, whatever it is?"
"Yes."
She huffs exasperatedly. "Then I don't see what difference it makes."
Amon stares at her. "Considering your pride, little Avatar, it will make all the difference in the world to you." He slings an arm carelessly over her shoulder and stares her down to stop her from protesting. "Believe me, my Equalists would tear you apart, pretty Avatar. You are safer this way."
Korra tries not to blush. Instead, she stops and takes an earthbending stance. The ground does not rush to meet her, does not change to her will. "I can't bend." She tries again, this time to firebend. "I can't bend," she repeats, a mantra. "I can't bend." She stares at him, mouth and eyes open in horrific realization. "What have you done to me?"
She sounds so broken it shocks her.
"It's not permanent," Amon says, as though it is reassuring—and perhaps it is, a bit. "Your attempts are futile. Now, come back to my side." She detects the double meaning, but does so anyways. Besides, as foolish as it is (as she is), Korra feels safer under his arm. It is lean and strong—it reassures her in some small way.
When apparently they finally arrive, Amon opens the door for her. They seem to be backstage, because the deep red curtains are drawn. "Wait here," he says. "Oh, and be good." She sighs as if to say, No promises.
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"Brothers and sisters!" Amon says to the crowd, completely charismatic and charming. "I am the solution." The audience is a collection of approval, cheering and hooting and screaming in mad applause. Solution to what? Korra wonders. How do you become a solution to bending? To the three men kneeling on stage. "Prepare to be equalized."
Their eyes collectively widen in time with Korra's. One man—who looks to be Fire Nation, so perhaps a firebender?—stands quickly, fire blazing from his hands. Korra longs to again feel the pull of all her elements. The firebender lunges for Amon, and for a split second she worries for her captor's safety, but he simply sidesteps and uses the other man's velocity against him.
Then Amon's fingers are on the man's forehead and neck and the Fire Nation man no longer has flames streaming from the tips of his very being and Korra is confused, so very confused, is this permanent like Amon said her's wasn't and—
Korra stifles back her scream, biting her lip, drawing blood. It tastes like despair.
Meanwhile, the other two men—she assumes that one is a waterbender and the other, an earthbender—await their verdict. The waterbending-looking one just pleads. He trembles and shakes and please don't take my bending please I am nothing without it nothing you hear me—
Korra thinks she hears Amon say, "You're worthless," and decides that she just wants to feel safe again. Where did the charming man who told her to be good disappear to?
The earthbender, however, is stoic. His composure and facial expression is hard, like rock, like the earth which he will no longer be able to move after a few moments. He does not plead. He does not expect to change his fate with petty, meaningless words.
All too soon it is over.
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She is back in the cell.
"What was your opinion of my demonstration, Avatar?"
"No, please!" she blurts. "Let me keep my bending. Please. Please. Please!" The Avatar is a thrashing, wounded creature—the only notion fear, the only thought is that this could well be the end of everything she's ever known. Where is the godly spirit who brought balance, who ruled over kings and emperors?
After all, what was life without bending? She was the Avatar. Bending was Korra's life.
Amon makes a tsk noise. His mask seems even more menacing to Korra as it looms over, staring straight into her soul—the perfect face of disapproval. "You have fifteen seconds to convince me as to why I should allow you to stay impure, pretty little Avatar." Her captor had been doing that frequently since she had arrived here, she realizes—called her by her title, but always adding an endearment of some sort, however small. Somehow, the way he says it—in such an intimidating manner—at that moment makes her skin crawl.
"I'll—I'll help you take down other benders! With the four elements, I could help you take down anyone! I'm the Avatar! Please!"
His eyes pierce her, search for any sign of disloyalty. "You . . . may keep your bending, little Avatar. However, from now on you must follow orders—any and all orders—and not wander during your stay here. You will be civil in the presence of company, and polite and refined when called for. I do hope for your sake, young Avatar, that you are a proficient actress. Your bending does depend on it, after all. And what is an Avatar without her bending?
"She is nothing."