Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
A/N: OFFICIALLY OFF HIATUS! And in other news, I discovered upon saying that the next chapter after vestibular would be taste, that three quarters of my readers have gutter-minds. I'm so sorry about the delay, third and fourth quarter were...hectic to say the least. Then I got writer's block. And then the musical, AP exams, graduation practices, graduation, Senior Week, graduation parties, family reunion, freshman orientation, etc.
Synesthesia Chapter 4: Taste
An Acquired Taste
"How can you eat like that?"
"Like what?"
Katara gestured with a sweeping motion at the pile of rice onto which Aang was in the process of dumping liberal amounts of curry.
"With that much spice."
"How can you not?"
The boy jabbed his utensil accusingly at Katara's platter of fried fish, completely untouched by any seasoning.
"How can you live like that?"
"With an unscorched tongue." She took a large bite of her food to prove the point.
"It doesn't bother me," He pointed out, still absent-mindedly applying spice.
You're used to it, Aang," Sokka observed to the twelve year old. Even nearly a century after the complete destruction of the Air Nomad race, it still had the reputation for consuming large amounts of absolutely mouth-igniting food on a regular basis.
This tavern had a few Nomad dishes to choose from, for conversation pieces, with warnings accompanying them. Aang had gleefully ordered them, and the other denizens were stealing glances at him with something like awe in their eyes.
Aang conceded Sokka's comment. He stared thoughtfully into space for a few moments, as his companions went on eating their meals with relish. It was so rare that they got to eat anything other than their own mediocre cooking, made with whatever they could find in their immediate area.
Weary, hungry, cross, and very close to biting each other's heads off, Sokka had made the suggestion they give in and splurge on a place to eat and sleep. It had been one of his more brilliant suggestions.
"You could get used to it."
Katara arched an eyebrow, "How would I do that?"
"I could get you used to it."
The waterbender protested she didn't even want to try.
Aang sulked.
Four years later
"Try that, Katara!"
Katara sighed, "Aang, he just said it was spicy."
"It's not that spicy, I promise," The Avatar objected, "You barely even taste it!"
She looked hesitant. Compromises had to be made. The tavern keeper looked back and forth between the squabbling pair, waiting for someone to give him an absolute answer.
"How about I order something bla...er, mild and if you don't like your dinner, we can switch."
The girl agreed, muttering something about Aang taking the blame when she drank the local water supply dry.
But she didn't switch meals with him that night. In fact, after the initial grumbling over the slight burn in her mouth, she admitted she liked it.
Aang felt quite satisfied.
Ten years later
"Aang. What did you do?" Dangerous emphasis was put on each word, as the Avatar wove his way through abandoned tables to their seat in the back of the inn.
"I got us food," He explained, simply, placing the platter in front of her. Katara could smell curry and cardamon, and an amalgamation of other spices she could not identify.
"I can't eat that."
"You know your problem is, Katara? You never just try anything. You put way too much thought into everything." He said this around a mouthful of food.
The woman saw this as a challenge, as Aang was well aware she would. He had expected her to dive into her food, just to spite him; he wasn't prepared for the reaction he received.
She grabbed the front of his robes, pulled his face to her level, and kissed him, quite forcefully.
After the initial moment of absolute shock, in which he found he could not move a single muscle, lips included, he brought his hands up to cup her face and deepened the kiss, reveling in it.
Katara tasted all the spices the madman had eaten, and a taste that was not quite anything she could identify. Maybe that's just what Aang tastes like, she thought rather dazedly. All of her thoughts seemed rather hazy and dazed at the moment.
She pulled away, trying to catch her breath, partially so she could sound sufficiently smug, and not dreamy and breathless.
"I just had to sample the taste first."
Aang was speechless.
A/N: I shall dub this chapter "Quasimodo," for it's half-shaped and ugly form. Sorry about this one, folks. I'm just getting back into the swing of this story. Dedicated to my friend Amir, who can't understand why Americans like their food so bland.
Edit: Glaring grammar errors.