Where Words Fail
Book Five: The Invasion of Omashu
Chapter 4: Remember, the world ends with you...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:
sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-5-4-150283161
SCENE DIVIDE
Her first scream was what woke him up.
His - he couldn't think of a place where he didn't hurt. Did everything still work - ? Arms, yes, legs, yes. No pain large enough to mean dislocation or broken bones. Good. But enough wood had collapsed around him that escaping felt like, like - an impossibility, almost. A heavy crossbeam laid across his stomach, and more wood had piled up over the top, enclosing him - trapping him. It was Lake Laogai, or that cave in the swamp, all over again. Longshot couldn't shake the sensation that, if he didn't stop winding up trapped in enclosed places like this, he'd develop latent claustrophobia. While the rational part of his mind reasoned that away as an impossibility, that very same rationality had become minimized as panic reared up to take over.
Couldn't - couldn't get out. Trapped under the water tower's remains. And Smellerbee had screamed - not just a yelp or a cry, something had hurt her, really hurt her, and he was - was helpless -
No! Not helpless, not ever! He had taught been that years ago, had realized his gift - apples instead of arrows, yes, but never, ever helpless! Longshot grit his teeth, and felt an old sensation flooding him - familiar, but old. Courage replaced the fear, determination replaced the paralyzing helplessness; he moved his arms down, around some detritus, and finally under the cross beam holding him down. Smellerbee - needed - him - dammit -
(If he couldn't muster the strength to save her now, then)
Jet.
Standing there, at night, the head of the table, a smirk on his face, a cup in his hand - he posed, he showboated, his wheat stalk bobbed and defied their oppressors. This feeling of action, of being invincible, of being able to lift boulders (or cross-beams) with his bare hands, that was a Jet thing to impart, whenever he spoke he was so full of charisma and words, words Longshot didn't have use for, and those words helped shape him, all the Freedom Fighters -
(Save her if you love her)
Ty Lee laid unconscious nearby. Longshot couldn't tell how wounded she was, exactly; it had mattered before, but now - well, there was somebody much more important he needed to worry about. Concern, respect, even a marginal admiration; he had all of these things for the enigmatic, cheerful Fire Nation girl, but he didn't love her.
Gritting his teeth (he was not as strong as Sneers or Pipsqueak but archery required so much upper-body strength that he outranked many other Freedom Fighters in that regard) and fueled by the haunting scream he had woken up to (fire roared in his veins for once, not ice, not cold - this time, the ice wouldn't be able to help him, he needed a rapid heart rate and muscles that could move quickly and powerfully, he needed to do, to take the incentive), he planted his palms beneath the beam, hoisted, and he could slip out, he was free, the stone beneath him slick, his clothes drenched, but that wasn't important, he could move, he could get out and help -
Smellerbee screamed again, this one louder than before. Longshot reached for his bow - wasn't there, wasn't at his side where it was supposed to be - scanned, found it lying not too far away, unharmed from the untimely collapse -
His quiver had gone missing. Probably just as well, he'd run out of arrows setting up this booby trap, but one beam nearby had survived the crash mostly intact, and five arrows remained lodged into the warped splits; he yanked them all out as quickly as he could, and moved to find an opening - some kind, any kind - just move, act, there wasn't any time to think -
"Archer!" The coy voice of the Fire Princess called out, he could hear her through the wreckage. "I've got your girlfriend. She's a lovely little specimen, if not a bit on the ugly side...what you've been hearing is a superheated knife being jabbed into her shoulder. Show yourself and I may be disinclined to let her go unharmed! But if not...well, I make no guarantees that my hand won't slip."
Longshot tuned her out. She'd make good on her promise (she said it with too much conviction to be just a threat) and he couldn't keep this blood-of-fire thing going anymore. The time for action was over; now frozen, wintry technique had to settle back into place, and it already felt more - more natural, his fear for Smellerbee's safety residing far more comfortably here, amongst the ice floes.
The water tower had collapsed in such a way that it formed a miniature dome; planks and beams of wood parted in some sections, letting flecks of light shine through, illuminating the space at a sparse minimum. That was alright. It left him with more than he needed. Gauging where Azula's voice had come from, the archer turned and walked to the opposite end of the dome - found some detritus loose enough to slide out of place, opening a wide-enough gap for him to shimmy through, the wood catching on his soaked tunic and threatening to crush his hat. Outside! He was outside, the sun still hidden behind the canopy of steel gray clouds. His clothing clung far too close to his body, making each step...uncomfortable, but he had to be fast, he had to be -
The rubble began to slant off, and Longshot crouched to hide behind it. He could see Smellerbee, still standing on the same rooftop as before - a form laid crumpled nearby (Mai? It had to be, she wore the same flowing, dark robes and had the same raven-colored hair). Behind and partially entwined with Smellerbee, stood Azula, one arm tucked under Bee's jaw, one leg wrapped around the same one on the Freedom Fighter. Pinned as such, she couldn't reach for the sword or dagger strapped to her body, and couldn't lash out with a kick.
Longshot nocked an arrow and took steady aim, setting his mouth into a slim line. The tip of his arrow lined up gradually with his combined target, and...he hesitated in taking the shot.
He - he had pulled this move so many times growing up. He had saved Jet's life the exact same way using an apple, which was far less wieldy and accurate than an arrow. Sometimes, an enemy soldier would just get the drop on a Freedom Fighter and think they could out-wrangle them. The occasion would rear up where he needed to save their sorry butts, and because the Fire Nation's soldiers tended to be combative morons, they never guarded themselves from ranged attacks - and, indeed, never seemed to expect them.
Azula was an entirely different matter.
She knew Longshot was still out there, first of all, so that made the element of surprise all but nil. Second, she had either known or correctly assumed he would be near the wrecked water tower, and poised Smellerbee so acutely between herself and the tower that all Longshot could see of the Princess was the exposed-yet-armored arm and leg (as well as part of her topknot). Third and worst of all, if Azula avoided any shots he made properly, he would either wind up piercing Smellerbee's knee or throat - and neither a resounding injury like that, nor the manslaughter of his leader/best friend/girlfriend, instilled confidence within Longshot.
Azula would move if he fired. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind. Cruel and twisted, a demon incarnate (because there was no other way to explain her), Azula had outsmarted the Freedom Fighters.
Eyes narrowing, the air rank with the burnt-chalk odor of singed stone, Longshot scowled and dropped his precious bow to the ground, emerging from his hiding spot with his arms straight by his side.
"Ahh, good," Azula crooned, removing herself from behind Smellerbee enough so he could see her face. A crooked grin twisted into existence across her jaw, and a light, nauseating burble began forming within him. "It's been ages."
He kept his teeth clenched tightly, kept silent, because speaking would be the same as openly admitting defeat to this psychotic Firebender. It would probably only give her pleasure.
"Cat got your tongue?" Azula asked, her tone a faux play of being conversational and bored. In her grasp, Smellerbee struggled to remain upright; blood dribbled down her chin, and she pitched as if ready to lose consciousness. (In the back of his mind, Longshot realized how she must have been tired of it, it would be the fourth time it happened today.) He could see her eyes so acutely...they drifted in and out of focus, and for once he wished he didn't have so much experience in reading body language. What Azula had claimed to have done sounded atrocious, but only in seeing his - a bitter, burning sensation began to churn in his gut - girlfriend in such a state of disrepair did he realize exactly the depths of her ruthlessness. "Oh well, it hardly matters, one way or the other. I'll be sure to have as much fun with the two of you as possible, believe me."
She forged on, knowing she hadn't yet elicited his ire - gotten enough of a rise out of him to get him to say anything. Longshot could tell. This was just a perverted game to the Fire Princess; with Zuko gone and Mai and Ty Lee out of commission, she had no allies, and she was playing the only card she had left in the meanwhile.
"I think you'll have it easy, at first," she continued. "You would just be tied up. Sure, complete immobility is pretty bad when you think about it, but compared to what I'd be doing to her..." Azula flexed the arm around Smellerbee's neck; the younger Freedom Fighter let a heavy, throaty mixture of a cough and a choke escape her lips, a mist of red spraying out into the air before vanishing. "Well, you'd be forced to watch every delicious minute of that. And I wouldn't stop, I don't think, until I either got you to talk, or killed her. Whichever comes first." She narrowed her eyes, and that twisted smirk became even more devilish. "And once one or the other had been accomplished, I'd set you free...after putting your eyes out. The last thing you'd ever see is your precious little tomboy broken and under my grasp."
So cold. Her voice inflected no real emotion - even though she put up a convincing civility to her monologue, it was still too inhuman, too unnatural, too out of context to be genuine. Longshot had understood the Fire Princess to be cruel, but that was only the start of things. In just the span of a few minutes, Azula had proven herself not only cold-hearted, but genuinely psychotic; she was a true sadist, taking pleasure from inciting fear in or causing harm to others. She stood as the epitome of what the Fire Nation strove for, what they did to achieve their goals. It gave Longshot the frightening mental image of those skull-faced soldiers invading, destroying, sundering village after village, town after town, lined up in perfect rows organized by colonels and generals in charge of battalions and squads and just endless miles of troops. If each one of those soldiers were to remove their face plates, Longshot imagined that underneath, they all bore expressions identical to Azula's. The world would be better off without her.
That last thought - it came to him so suddenly and with such sincerity that it took him by surprise.
Azula needed to die.
It wasn't Jet speaking to him from beyond the grave. It wasn't the old Longshot who would have killed Azula if only for her import to the enemy (or even just being part of the enemy). A glacier began to crest inside him, overcoming the urge to feel sick, as he realized that - even now - Azula was, is and would always be a threat, so long as she drew breath and Bent fire. This idea came exclusively to Longshot-of-the-Contemporary, and very suddenly he found himself wishing he had his bow back in his hand, flexing his fingers instinctively.
The Fire Princess waited - trying to see if she could goad anything verbal from the archer, he knew it. This was a mind game, a sick one conducted by a wicked mastermind, and if the bitch intended to break Longshot's resolve, she had a long wait coming.
"Ah well, it was fun while it lasted," Azula shrugged. "Just hold still for a second, 'kay? I owe your friend here one last good shot for Mai - "
Longshot lunged for his bow at the same time Azula raised her palm up into the air - but before he could even reach it, two blurs of peppered dark brown shot up onto the roof, plowing through Azula and sending her careening down into the streets.
Fletcher and Surestance - how the hell had they gotten free, found them, saved them like that? - croaked in loud disapproval of the dispatched Fire Princess. Surestance moved in to prop up Smellerbee as the girl wobbled and fell forward; she was out of sight, but Longshot could see her legs from between Surestance's - bent but not so that she was kneeling. Good - good. She could hold herself up at least. Relief came to him - knocked on his door - but he could only nod and acknowledge its presence now, couldn't let it enter until they had escaped Omashu and left it behind for good. Any peaking curiosity he had about the ostrich horses and his increased surprise at how smart they were would have to be put aside.
Picking up his bow, Longshot ran and leapt over the gap separating the buildings.
SCENE DIVIDE
The archer had to wear Jet's swords; Smellerbee couldn't ride Surestance with them strapped to her, she didn't have the strength for it after the encounter with Azula and Mai. The weight of the swords hadn't been remarkable for the entire trip back to Omashu's gate, like it had when doubt seeped in near the end of his hostilities towards Zuko, but just like that time in Ba Sing Se, he only carried the swords in order to preserve them, not to use them. Somehow, the weapons seemed to understand, and they let Longshot be the one to holster them in Bee's place.
After a brisk trip devoid of attack, the Freedom Fighters - Longshot sore all over and more awake than he'd like to be, Smellerbee more gravely wounded and holding onto the reins only by matter of virtue - managed to reach Omashu's gates, where they met the young Fire Prince Zuko, who kept his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
"Took you long enough," he murmured, his voice low and difficult for Longshot to listen to. In response, the archer simply narrowed his eyes; it wasn't like they hadn't had their share of trouble, and it wasn't at all like Zuko had aided them in the handicapped battle against his crazy sister and her friends. Instead of choosing a single path and sticking to it, he kept himself standing at the crossroads peering left and right, wondering which way he ought to turn. And most maddening of all was that the urge to say any of this - to verbalize it - took all his willpower to suppress.
"Well, listen. I told all the troops on the bridge that you had been spotted in the business district near the water tower and their help was needed by my order." Zuko glanced to the right, the scarred side of his face now the most prominent. "Azula hates me enough to think that I made a mistake sooner than I did it intentionally. At least, I hope so." He shifted his weight, and Longshot saw the muscles in his jaw tightening. Was he nervous...? "The odd thing is - as soon as the bridge was clear, those two ostrich horses appeared from that ridge and stormed on through. If I didn't know better..."
Huh. Go figure; maybe stealing Surestance and Fletcher had been more than necessity, then. The Freedom Fighters had grown fond of the two beasts, and Longshot placed a hand on the downy, lumpy skull of his own steed. Maybe it had been fate - the Spirits pulling the appropriate strings to put both pairs of man and beast in the right place at the right time.
"In any case, now's your chance to get out of here," Zuko concluded, his head craning up - Longshot met his gaze to see that he was staring at the statue of his father, the intimidating and cold-hearted Fire Lord Ozai. Leaving the city, here, now - the statue no longer imbued the power of irrational fear. Longshot had been inside, had experienced that fear, and overcome the insurmountable odds with Smellerbee at his side.
"Lee."
The sound of Smellerbee's voice - so hushed that it threatened to be swallowed up by the canyon spanning out beneath them - caused Longshot to hike his eyebrows and glance at the swordswoman. She forced herself to sit as upright as she could, her complexion pale and a glimmering, dagger-like gaze in her eyes despite her exhaustion.
The archer realized that she had captured Zuko's rapt attention as well, and could have smiled at the magic she held.
"The next time we see you," Smellerbee whispered, "if you don't have your act together, we will be enemies. We will kill you."
Zuko squared his shoulders in response, his golden eyes glinting as the sun finally began to pierce through the woolly, gray cloud cover. "I hope that by then I've made the right choice, then."
"Yeah," she said, tugging on Surestance's reins. "You better."
The ostrich horses took off, and the Freedom Fighters left Omashu behind them.
SCENE DIVIDE
When the hills unfurled and trees began to swallow up the spires of Omashu, Smellerbee urged Surestance to a steady trot, then to a full halt. Longshot and Fletcher came to a gradual stop shortly ahead of them, and the archer turned towards her with concern etched on his pointed face like a wood carving.
Smellerbee let a slow, hard breath out. Everything just ached so much, and the pain in her shoulder had eased from thunderous to ringing...but the blade still - still stuck out. The hot-and-wet-and-sticky seeping around the wound, clinging to her clothes and armor, had changed to being warm-and-dry-and-sticky; the gash had stopped bleeding for now. Normally that was a, a good thing, but - Azula had burned her from the inside, and what if she'd been cauterized unintentionally because of that? That would lead to infection. She could lose the full use of that arm, or lose the arm entirely -
The stench of burning rock lingered in her nostrils, even though the woods closing in on the Freedom Fighters imbued them with the scent of pine and clean air. Exhausted, aching, Smellerbee pulled one leg free from Surestance's stirrups and slipped down the opposite side, stumbling down to the grassy ground and landing on her hands and knees. Surestance, sensing something wrong (the creature was just so smart), lowered its massive head and nuzzled its beak to Smellerbee's cheek, the down around its eyes tickling the Freedom Fighter's temple. Smellerbee gave a small sigh and reached her arm around to pat its head and scratch it; it croaked affectionately in response, and the Freedom Fighter felt a grin struggling to break out on her lips.
Longshot was beside her before she could register it; they needed to pull that knife out, to gauge how bad, exactly, the damage was. He apologized - for not getting to her side, for having to surrender like he had - and suddenly he went silent, clamping down on his thoughts before he boiled over.
"It's okay," Smellerbee whispered, watching her chest plate fall free as Longshot undid the straps at her back. For the second time this day, she found herself helping him get her shirt off, and smirked at the irony presented by the extenuating circumstances. She shrugged out of the left sleeve and he helped to peel it off from around her head, her blood-soaked shoulder, and her right arm. The cloth tugged at the exposed parts of her skin, caught for a moment on the widest point of Mai's kunai, and then came free, tossed so that it draped over Surestance's saddle.
Smellerbee glanced down. A little curve of dark scarlet appeared at the edge of the wrappings for her chest, and Longshot only confirmed what she'd thought: enough blood had flown to soak the undergarments. This elicited a light, hissing laugh from the swordswoman, who tossed her head back and grimaced as a sharp pain lanced her chest.
"You said you believed in an Irony Spirit, right?" She asked, and he nodded in return. "I think she's standing over us right now."
He smiled as he worked to cut through the wrappings with Smellerbee's knife. (There wouldn't be any salvage for the article, but the Freedom Fighter didn't much care. The day she mourned the loss of underwear was the day she no longer belched after meals.)
The archer moved to Fletcher's pack and burrowed around inside until he came up with some of the items he'd need; Smellerbee saw him withdraw a flask of cheap Earth Kingdom whiskey, a pouch of salve, a roll of bandages, a tiny needle and a spool of thread. His boots crunching the blades of grass beneath them, he positioned himself behind her once more and warned her of the upcoming pain.
"Before you do that," Smellerbee interjected, "because I don't know if I can keep awake when it happens - earlier today. In the basement. You...hesitated."
Longshot paused, frowned, and nodded. Where was she going with this?
"No, it's not a big deal," she said, closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath through her nose. "You're not ready yet...are you?"
Silence; mulling over the right answer, turning it over and over in his head, at last he came up with something he felt would do justice to what he meant. Yes, he wasn't ready yet...but it wasn't Smellerbee's fault. He still loved her, he did with every ounce of his being, but something like that, he just didn't know if he could live up to it or not. He hoped, passionately, that she would wait for him and continue to love him at the same time.
Smellerbee felt a smile crossing her face, and she lowered her head. "Of course, you big dope. I'm perfectly okay with that. You'll tell me when the time's right."
Good. Okay, good. He smiled, nodded, and pulled the blade free.
SCENE DIVIDE
That evening
Smellerbee flopped over onto the wooden table and groaned. The plateware jumped on the impact, clattering and threatening to fall over; Longshot darted one hand out and caught a plate that wobbled precariously on the table's edge, plucking it out and setting it back into its proper place. Smellerbee only noticed it peripherally, pressing one hand into her cheek while the other clutched at clumps of her hair out of frustration.
"I'm sorry, Longshot. That was just a waste of time." The rough wood caught on the stitching of her sleeves as she shifted, burying her head in her arm. Voice muffled, she added, "We shouldn't have gone into Omashu."
She felt Longshot's hand rest on her forearm, fingers squeezing gently, and felt a little more comforted - but the safety provided by keeping her eyes in this darkness kept her from raising her head. It was like being asleep here - no requirements other than taking care of your body, no need to meet somebody's ludicrous standards...okay, so the standards had been set by herself, but all the same. She didn't need to expect so much from herself while asleep.
Why the hell were Jet's boots so big to fill? It wasn't fair.
"Hey, kids. What's the matter? Looks like you two got trampled by a stampede of horse lions."
Smellerbee scowled. Okay, so a tea shop on the edge of a derelict town: also not a smart place to go (if you want to be left alone, that is). At least this one wouldn't - shouldn't - land her and Longshot way over their heads in trouble - but that was just the rational part of her brain. The rest of her countered with a guttural 'Shut up, you,' and she erred in favor of that. Swinging her head up out of the comfort of the darkness, she glanced upwards at the speaker, a tall, thin man wearing green and brown robes. With short, mussed, charcoal-colored hair and a jaw covered in stubble, the man kept one fist planted on his hip and his other arm lax at his side. Smellerbee felt her eyes drawn to his face, though; he wore dark spectacles over the bridge of his nose, the ovular lenses riding low on his face, obscuring his cheek bones. Not a lot of people had spectacles; it was mostly a luxury reserved for the wealthy, and if you had faulty vision and couldn't afford some, well, you just had to deal with it. So seeing this scruffy so-and-so in a humble tea shop wearing some had caught her off guard; after clearing her throat, she nodded and said, "Something like that."
"It's not often we get too many adventurers out in these parts," the man with the headgear said, sticking one hand in his pocket and quirking his head to one side. "Judging from your look and the smell of burning clothes, you must've come from Omashu."
Smellerbee pulled a face and murmured, "Can we just place an order?"
The man laughed, a pure, robust sound ringing out throughout the tea shop. "That's okay, we don't need to talk about it. What can I getcha? We got a wide variety of teas from around the world, including a few house specials. A couple extra copper pieces will getcha your first experience with a cuppa, something I'm sure you're gonna remember for a long time."
"What's...what's a 'cuppa?'"
"It's a trip, I'll tell you that much." At Smellerbee's annoyed glance, the man chuckled and smirked, adding, "You can call it my own unique concoction, involving a special kind of beans. I'm thinking of calling it 'coffee,' but I don't know if the name will catch on or not. I'd like to make a franchise outta the stuff, if I can."
Smellerbee stole a quick glance to Longshot, who arched an eyebrow. She saw intrigue and wariness flitting in his eyes; she could see that he wanted only a soothing drink, especially after the close brush with death at Omashu. Smellerbee could hardly blame him, but...a drink made out of beans? It sounded like something at least worth trying out. Curiosity piqued, bone-weary, sore from the day's battles, she said, "We'll get a jasmine tea for my friend, and I'll get a...a 'cuppa.'"
A grin split the man's face. "Ahh you really are the adventurous type, Shaggy. You live to seize the day. I like that. One jasmine an' one cuppa, comin' up."
He turned away and vanished into the back room of the tea house.
"'Shaggy?'" Smellerbee echoed, keeping her voice low. She tugged at a lock of hair and gave a light frown. "Not the meanest thing I've ever been called."
Longshot gave a small shrug, his mouth curled into a light frown. Smellerbee sighed and grinned, leaning back into her chair, which squealed under her weight. "Yeah, you're right. At least it's not a lie."
Glancing around her, Smellerbee gorged herself on her surroundings; the scent of boiling leaves wafted around them, thick and musky in the air. Lamps lined the walls, hung down from the ceiling, casting everything in a balmy orange light, as if it had yielded to the warmth of the middle of the summer. With walls made of wood instead of the usual stone, and a variety of tables made of the same, the tea shop had the word "WildCat" on the sign outside, and to Smellerbee looked like a well-to-do place with very humble intentions. It didn't surprise her...this wasn't a big town, and the Fire Nation had been through it repeatedly to take any handy supplies.
She winced. Thinking about the Fire Nation made her reflect on her poor decisions as of late; did Jet ever have this much trouble wearing the role of leader? Up until the dam mission, he'd seemed...flawless, perfect, a sparkling example of everything a leader should be. He had made some mistakes, yes (including the one that got her captured by a certain unit of Fire Nation troops leading a slave line through the forest), but things always worked out in the end and trying to find any faults in him to validate herself only made her feel even more incompetent. Heat rose up into her face, and she found herself slumping down - trying to make herself smaller, more insignificant.
She could feel Longshot's gaze on her, even without looking at him; ears and cheeks burning with embarrassment, she faced him, her head bowed down just a bit, masking part of him with her hair. "I'm sorry, I...just..."
He shook his head and placed a finger up to his lips. She sighed and - and, what next? The words felt jumbled behind her eyes, and before the opportunity to explain presented itself, a young girl only a little older than Smellerbee approached the table with a wooden bowl full of small rolls and breads. With hair the color of bare ground during a frosty autumn morning tied back into a long braid, she gave the pair of Freedom Fighters a friendly smile and set the bowl down between them.
"Free biscuits for you," the girl said, her green and yellow robes swishing as she moved, a white apron dangling from around her neck. She whirled and said over her shoulder, "Complimentary from the shop's owner. He's the guy that just took your order. You're lucky; he won't leave the counter for just anybody."
SCENE DIVIDE
The girl departed, leaving the Freedom Fighters alone; following her departure, Bee shifted her weight uncomfortably, as if she had something on the tip of her tongue before the interruption. Longshot saw Smellerbee begin to twist a lock of hair around her fingers, noticed that her lower lip disappeared as she bit into it; body language spoke well where words failed to form for the swordswoman. It was okay; Longshot clasped his hands together on the table in front of him and let his face sink into placidity. Smellerbee could take all the time she needed to put the right combination of words together; that was the flow the pair had established long ago, since she never succumbed to filling in the void of silence left between the pair when they had nothing to really talk about. Her eyes darted around, taking in their surroundings, and Longshot practically heard the churning, grinding gears inside her head working to pull together a massive puzzle where the pieces had been scattered about.
Plucking up a roll from the basket set for them (the crust dry and hard under Longshot's fingertips, little seeds flecking the bottom), the archer took a reasonably-sized bite; the inside was bitter and rich, the taste rolling across his tongue, making his eyes roll back into his skull. After the day, and after the long trip between the last city to Omashu to here where there wasn't much else aside from salted meat, bread was a true prize; maybe later, Longshot could convince Smellerbee to hunt for potatoes at the bazaar (even though she hated them). Or apples - fresh, red ones with shining skin and bursting with juices. Yes, it had been a while since he'd had a red apple. Fletcher had taken a liking to them, too - a bizarre trait that, along with her underlying intelligence, Longshot couldn't even begin to explain. What were the chances, right?
As he chewed, rolling the spongy innards of the bread across his tongue, Smellerbee found the proper words. Slumping over and propping up her head on her free arm, she asked, "Am I leading okay, Longshot? I don't think I am. Jet never seemed to screw up this much."
Was that all? Longshot felt his eyebrows arch upward in bemused curiosity, a tiny grin flitting across his face. He chewed one last time and swallowed the mouthful. That was kind of a silly question to ask. Of course she was leading okay, and of course there'd be some bumps in the road; that was an inevitability, especially when starting out and taking on the job full-time. In the past, she'd only ever had to lead the Freedom Fighters for a day or two - a week at most, remember? And never in situations this harried. She'd better not dare compare herself to Jet and think that he was absolutely perfect, because he'd made a lot of mistakes in his lifetime. The biggest mistake was the one that killed him, after all, and he was responsible as their leader then, too.
"Yeah, but - that was Jet going off on his own that night." Smellerbee shook her head, her brow screwed up tight. "If anything, it was a display of how shitty we were as his friends and followers. I could have gotten both of us killed today, and then what would have happened to the war?"
Longshot took another bite of the roll and furrowed his brow. That's a tough call...well, the war certainly wouldn't have been their problem anymore, would it? Don't get him wrong, he didn't exactly have a deathwish, but dead is dead is dead and the Spirit that parted Soul from Body didn't take 'no' for an answer.
The archer held up one hand with the fingers and thumb curled inward, forming a tight ball. There was the slave line incident...then the thing with Spatula...the dam, don't forget about that one...trying to recruit Lee so aggressively...not to mention the one with the exploding lobsters. For each event, Longshot extended a finger on the hand until all five digits were splayed out; he wiggled them and smirked, his thick, bushy eyebrows curved inward, yielding a soft expression. Smellerbee didn't have anything to worry about. A brush with death was just part of a Freedom Fighter's job.
At first, this drew nothing from Smellerbee; after a moment's scrutiny, however, a wide grin split her face, and she heaved a great, raspy belly-laugh that Pipsqueak would have been proud of. Throwing herself back into her chair, she tossed her head back, her shaggy mop for hair swishing. Clapping a hand over her stomach, her laughter rang out through the half-full tea shop, drawing the attention of the remaining patrons and making Longshot smile. He swallowed again and took another mouthful in order to avoid the temptation of laughing out loud as well.
"Well, it's good to see you two have cheered up a bit."
Longshot glanced upward as the scruffy man from before - the shop's owner - sidled up beside the table once more, a tray of drinks in his hand. Bee's laughter died down, her wide smile reduced to a simple, but still honest grin. "Thanks. I think this place has the right atmosphere for a good pick-me-up."
A grin twisted to life on the man's face. "I aim to please. One jasmine, one black cuppa; and tell you what, I think you guys have got my curiosity stoked." He set the tray down and reached over to an empty table, grabbing a wooden chair and dragging it over to where the Freedom Fighters sat. Settling into the creaky wooden seat, he set his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of his chin. "I'd like to say this is the first time I've seen you, but that'd be a lie - the wanted posters in the center of town say that the Fire Nation's got a sizeable bounty on your heads."
Smellerbee beamed. "I know, isn't it cool?"
"HAHAHA!" This time, it was the shop owner's turn to laugh, and Longshot had to hide a grin. The man was some sort of good mood infection - like a disease you didn't want to get rid of, if such a thing existed. His laughter was clear, piercing and...and, inspiring, he guessed. It was hard to describe. "I figured it was a pride thing to you. So I'm gonna strike you a bargain: these old ears love hearing traveling stories, and ones involving swords, bows 'n arrows, and Firebenders are better than boring old mercantile stuff. Tell me your story, and the drinks are on the house."
Longshot glanced at Smellerbee, hiking an eyebrow. He questioned exactly how 'old' the man stood - certainly no more than his mid-thirties, and that felt too high because of his youthful spirit - but would a stranger like this really be interested in the whole tale without having any ties to the Avatar? Smellerbee shrugged in return, wordlessly; his guess was as good as hers, she figured. (A simple enough gesture wasn't so hard to read, even given how long they'd been friends.) Rolling his shoulders in response to her, she turned back to the shop owner and said, "Okay... I think we have ourselves a deal."
He grinned. "Beautiful."
Longshot quirked his head to the side once again; something about this stranger had made quick work of Bee's defenses, and Longshot would be lying if he said that he was exempt from the same. He just felt like a...a sincere, passionate, inspiring person. Like Jet had been. (Maybe that was why he was so easy to get along with...no, that wasn't right, either. Huh...he'd have to think about it.) Smellerbee began to regale their story, starting with their fated meeting with the Avatar; Longshot, though, was already far ahead of her, thinking back to this morning - to the smoldering, overcast mountains of earth that had at one point in time made up one of the strongest capitals in the Earth Kingdom.
SCENE DIVIDE
(Much) later
"That's a pretty impressive tale." The shop owner leaned forward on his chair and smirked, using a finger to push his shaded spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "And I have to say, you look pretty good for a girl who was about to keel over."
"That's a story for another day," Smellerbee responded, rotating her right arm at the shoulder and relishing at the lack of pain - at the ease of which the limb moved. "A lady can't give away all her secrets, now. Also, explaining it would feel too much like a deus ex machina."
She saw a phantom smile tugging at Longshot's mouth, hidden behind his cup of tea. The shop owner chuckled and conceded. "Fair enough, fair enough. That was a pretty nice palaver we had."
"'Palaver?'" Smellerbee reached for her coffee and hiked an eyebrow. The stuff tasted bitter - she'd been tugging at it for what felt like hours - but the combined, unique flavor and its soothing heat and constant supplements to her chi made it a thing of wonder, a liquid miracle that caught her entirely by surprise and made her muse at how nobody had discovered it before.
"Sorry, slip of the tongue. It means something like a meeting, a story-telling session like this." He waved his hand around in the air, indicating the table and their encounter. "You notice that, as long as your story was, it's still night outside?"
A measure of surprise overcame the swordswoman; she and Longshot glanced outside of the WildCat to see that, indeed, the sun had not risen despite the length of their story and the detail of which she'd gone into it. Come to think of it...Smellerbee raised a hand up to her throat. Her voice hadn't gone hoarse - well, more hoarse than it already was - and she didn't even really feel that tired (something she had been attributing to the coffee). Both Freedom Fighters turned their attention to the shop as if to ask what the hell had happened; he shrugged in response, a grin on his face. "What can I say? This world is fulla magic, kids."
Longshot gave a slow nod. He was right on that count.
"So, what's next on the docket for you?" He asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. The stubble on his face, the mussed, dark gray hair on his head, radiated an air of youth - but for some reason, that just didn't seem right to Smellerbee. His age was a deceptive thing to pin down. "You just made enemies with the meanest bitch this side of the Fire Nation, you've got prices on your heads that are only gonna go up, and you couldn't find your friends in Omashu."
Smellerbee shrugged. "We only knew where they were going after the forest - Pipsqueak and The Duke could be anywhere in the world by now. They could be dead. It...it would suck, but we vowed to move on after Jet, and this is no different, you know? Looking for 'em is a moot point. All we can do now is cut straight to the forest and meet up with our friends there. Go from there."
"Hmm." The shop owner nodded, his spectacles slipping a little down the bridge of his nose again. He met Longshot and Smellerbee's gazes in turn, his expression suddenly turned serious. "Listen to me, guys. You're absolutely right about the world's current state of affairs. If the Avatar really is dead, we'll all need Freedom Fighters to cover our asses. Just don't forget that life isn't just worth living for tomorrow - but today, as well. Seize the moment. You more than anyone else I've met understand that every passing second is precious."
His inflection somber, Smellerbee felt herself caught off-guard by this strange tea shop owner once again. Where had this all come from...? And although unprovoked, she understood what he meant, breaking his gaze long enough only to look at Longshot, who sensed the movement and locked eyes with her. He looked as astounded as she did, and she felt this enigmatic man's words clicking into place as she took in Longshot's - his entirety, his pale, porcelain-skinned face, his beautiful chocolate eyes, his adorable ears, his slender shoulders, his rumpled and dirty clothing...
"The pair of you have realized something important from the events in Omashu," the shop owner continued, but Smellerbee could only listen as she absorbed Longshot further. "In dealing with the knife-thrower and the acrobat, you started to expand your boundaries. All your lives, you've been trained to respond to the Fire Nation in blacks and whites, how every one of them deserves to die just because of their blood. But only when you accept people in your life with different views do you continue to shape who you are; the time will come when you'll coexist beside Fire Nation and Firebenders. You've both made remarkable progress overcoming your past prejudices already...just be aware that there is a difference between prejudice and justice. And remember, young Freedom Fighters...the world ends with you."
This time, the duo turned to their host, who wore a coy, knowing smirk. The chair creaked under his weight as he pushed away from it, spinning it around and sliding it back under the table the right way. "That story was so epic it knocked me through a loop, so I'm gonna head back and take my half-an-hour fifteen minute break. And just like we promised, the drinks are on me this time 'round." He began to walk towards the back room of his small, well-lit shop, only to turn around and glance back at them before he could reach the doorway. "Oh...and good luck, kids."
He turned, and in a moment, vanished.
Aside from the few patrons left in the shop and the girl standing behind the front counter, the Freedom Fighters were alone.
Turning to Smellerbee, Longshot quirked an eyebrow. That guy was odd...something about him didn't fit quite right in the picture, but it wasn't...it didn't feel like a bad thing. Right? That's how he saw it, anyway. The shop owner struck him as an eccentric, and he obviously knew a lot more than he let on, but he seemed as harmless as a baby sabre-tooth moose lion.
"No, I agree with you," Smellerbee murmured, reaching into her sleeve and withdrawing a folded scrap of parchment. She unfurled it and laid it flat on the table, the mottled yellow and brown surface yielding a startlingly accurate calligraphy of herself, pigmented by vivid, stained watercolors - her wanted poster, filched from a signboard near the outskirts of the town. "But it seems to be a recurring pattern, tea shop owners being more than they seem..."
Which brought up another question. Longshot leaned forward and took another sip of his tea, which had remained hot throughout their story. If - in the future - the pair ever crossed paths with Zuko again, and let Longshot play Demon's Advocate for a moment and assume he actually did change his ways - what would Smellerbee do? Would she still mistrust him? Would she kill him, even though he'd made the right choice?
Smellerbee folded her hands over the top of her cup, tendrils of steam rising from her coffee tracing unseen lines along her palms and fingers. She glanced down at the wooden floor beneath them and pursed her lips, her brow furrowing in thought. Would she...? Drawing a deep breath through her nose, she exhaled and said, "I...wouldn't kill him. Jet wanted a second chance. Mushi - Iroh - believed people deserved second chances. Neither Jet nor Zuko ever really crossed that threshold, you know? I think I could find the patience to give him the benefit of a doubt. But I'd only trust him as far as I needed to. He'd really have to do something big to prove he wasn't his father's son."
Longshot nodded. That's pretty much what he figured. And their plan - reuniting with Sneers. That actually did still stand, right?
"Yes. Yes it does." Smellerbee nodded her head, a slow, dire motion. "How we'll convince him to help us, I don't know. But I think we should consider building up a back-up force of warriors in case he doesn't. It may not be the same Freedom Fighters, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel now. We should take what we can get."
This elicited another nod from the archer. He only really had one more question, then: what if they couldn't mount a massive offensive force like that?
"Then...I guess it'll be just the two of us, to the very end." Smellerbee sighed. "We'd have to be prepared to move silently. If we assassinate Fire Lord Ozai and Azula...and probably Zuko, too...we'd have to be careful about it. But that's our last-ditch effort."
Longshot's posture fell just a little bit, and Smellerbee could see the grim reality settling over him, shadows forming under his eyes. This isn't good, is it?
"...I wouldn't worry." She said, at last. "We'll persevere, one way or the other. We're too strong for anything else."
He believed her.
SCENE DIVIDE
Then
Earlier that day
Omashu.
Pipsqueak glanced up at the city - distant, four conical spires jutting up into the sky, which had gone gray as steel and just as cold.
He and The Duke had left Hong Ye forest following the flooding of Gaipan in an attempt to start over, trekking towards Omashu; they hadn't made it, as was their lot in life, and even though the two Freedom Fighters were just passing by as part of Hakoda's entourage, he couldn't help but feeling a little sour about it. Their second chance at life had been a wash before they could even properly start it.
"It stinks, don't it?" The giant asked, craning his head back just enough to keep from throwing The Duke off his shoulders. "We got so close."
"Yeah." The Duke sighed. "But I guess we just had other things we needed to do. Your 'spirits' and all that nonsense."
Pipsqueak chuckled. "Yeah. At least, so far as I know. You know how I am on that stuff: 'whatever will be, will be.'"
The two Freedom Fighters fell into silence, just marching onward with the other warriors - but ahead, in the distance, Pipsqueak spotted a pair of gray-brown blurs charging for the bridge connecting Omashu to the mainland, spanning over the yawning chasm keeping out intruders. (The pit had obviously not worked when it came to the Fire Nation, though.) Pipsqueak squinted - tough to pin down what they were -
"Huh." Hakoda murmured. "Somebody's going to be missing their ostrich horses."
Yeah...Pipsqueak guessed so. The two beasts reached the bridge - bounded across - before vanishing into the city.
It wasn't their business, though. They had a date with some Earthbenders in a village east of here.
Time to move on.
Where Words Fail
Book Five: The Invasion of Omashu
End
