The Avatar and Her Idiot: Makorra Month Drabblebending
Day#12: r e d
.
He saw red.
For as long as he could remember, Papa had had that scarf. It was finely woven, smooth to the touch, its hue dark and rich and warm. A beautiful color. He found himself admiring it from time to time, artfully draped around his father's neck. Once, inquisitive as any child, he asked Papa why he hardly ever took it off.
Your mother always said I looked dashing in this scarf, explained Papa with a wink, the corners of his bright brown eyes crinkling pleasantly.
That morning Papa let him borrow it; either the scarf was too long or he was too small because Papa had to wrap it three times around his neck to keep it from dragging on the ground. And sure, it made him a bit too toasty (it was unseasonably warm for autumn), but he didn't care because Mama was holding his hand and smiling and calling him a handsome young man. He swelled with pride, and a quick glance at Papa told him he was proud, too.
.
He saw red.
Fire, so much fire. Flickering heat, hungry, consuming. His eyes watered, but he couldn't stop staring; his throat tightened, and he couldn't scream. Firebenders, he realized, hiding in the shadow of the alleyway. Men in dark hoods, worn clothing, their faces concealed.
Is this what evil looks like? he wondered, too scared to cry.
They finished their work, digging through pockets, poking around his parents' remains with their feet. Then they left. He didn't watch them go. He buried his face into the fibers of his father's final keepsake and turned in the opposite direction, pumping his short legs, running as if his life depended on it. He had to get back to Bolin.
He fought back the urge to vomit.
.
He saw red.
Flames flying from his hands, with a swing of his arm, a sweep of his legs. He ducked and dodged, the roar of the watching crowd reduced to a dull hum in his ears. The other team's firebender had spirit and tenacity, he'd give him that. But his moves were too wild, too much wasted energy; he was slowing down, obviously running out of breath.
An earth disk came barreling his way and Bolin took care of it, as expected. Mako inhaled deeply, chi coursing through his body, and executed a series of powerful kicks and punches he'd strategized to secure their victory.
And they won, the cheers growing louder as they removed their headgear. His brother basked in it, posing to the crowd's endless delight, drawing out distinctly feminine screams of approval. Mako merely looked down at the patch of color on his helmet that indicated his bending element, his identity in the arena. He caught his face reflected in the visor's glass, glad to have won another match.
But mostly he was glad they had money for a couple more meals.
.
He saw red.
Who was this girl? Why did she have to confess like that? Why couldn't he stop thinking about her, even with the Sato heiress on his arm?
It was maddening, it was infuriating, it left him ridiculously confused. Because there was Asami, this perfect woman, well-mannered and self-sufficient, dressed in shades of red; everything about her made sense. And then there was Korra, this cocky girl, rash and imprudent, dressed in shades of blue; nothing about her made sense.
His foolish heart lept at the thought of the latter.
He didn't understand. It was unfair. There was some four-letter word that might've shed a sliver of light on this predicament, but he pushed it aside and dismissed it as folly. It was absurd. It only applied to Bolin, and to two people who no longer walked this earth.
.
He saw red.
Avatar Korra. Where are you keeping her?!
It seemed to take no effort whatsoever, holding that Equalist grunt up against the wall. His element flared hot and angry, dancing at his fist, there not to win a game but to threaten a life. At that moment he didn't care. This desire to find her, to make sure she was safe? It consumed him, it was an overwhelming need that boiled up from within, it was an uncontrollable burn, and he would willingly burn to ashes.
Korra!
In his rage he could think of nothing but her.
Korra!
He had no choice. He would protect her, stay with her once she was found, and never let her go.
.
At the end of it all he stood there, watching and waiting beside Naga, the sea below and the sky above.
She was back. She was his.
.
He saw red.
It was in the lovely tint of her lips when parted for a kiss, that flicker of tongue, that greedy little look in her eyes as she stood on tiptoe, grabbing at the back of his neck, pulling him down for more.
It was in the undeniable heat of their passion, the electricity of her touch, he was home again, finally, and he let himself fall into the endless expanse of her sky blue eyes; he saw dedication, he saw acceptance, he saw a future.
And he saw love.
A/N: I had major writer's block trying to write this prompt ugh, sorry for the bad writing! It's like, how do I english!? I'm sure you saw it deteriorating as it went along, so I really apologize for this huge COP-OUT. My excuse is that I'm really busy this weekend with NYCC! I'll make up for this, I promise!
(I'll try my darndest, anyway...)