Chapter 9
Just before noon, Katara and Zuko left his residence with warm, comfortable, artificial smiles to greet the paparazzi of the day. Their overly warm demeanour was due in part to the dampened spirits of their insufferable, persistent pests, whom, the pair noticed, Sokka had 'accidentally' turned the hoses on pre-dawn that morning—to the housemates' amusement. As such, the camera-laden vermin were slightly less aggressive than usual. Zuko had to hand it to Sokka's engineering ingenuity—it had to have taken some evil brilliance to get those pipes to thaw over the course of a single night and spray their unwanted guests without bursting from the sub-zero temperatures. (For his part, Sokka had said nothing, only remarked that if they saw any hairdryers on sale that day, would they mind picking up a few? All his had unexpectedly burned out at the same time.)
In spite of the morning's humour, by late afternoon Zuko was ready to call the entire trip quits.
The inspirational sing-along with the school children had taken off spectacularly well with a child throwing up on his boots; the villagers had then proceeded to shower him with praise—and for some reason, accidentally moose dung; and now, as he snow-shoed across the windswept tundra to the photo-op of him finally, finally, opening the nature reserve. He wasn't sure how the reserve was any different from the pseudo-parking lot he and Katara had left her car in, four kilometres ago; he saw no difference in the landscape, the wildlife, or the random tribesmen who kept unintentionally stomping on his snowshoes to trip him.
The constant jabs, the harsh conditions and the uncertainty surrounding Katara and her intentions, whatever they were, left Zuko with a very thin sheen of patience over his professional, regal veneer by the time he'd cut the ribbon and shaken hands and suffered through far more photo-ops than he thought strictly necessary.
Plus Katara had taken off somewhere in the middle of it, leaving him alone to his PR stations, which wasn't improving his demeanour.
When he found the weather turning colder, the biting winds picking up and the snowfall shifting from light and whimsical to blinding and dangerous, Zuko sighed in relief and turned to ask for a ride back to the parking lot—only to find the last of his hosts had already taken off on their snowmobiles, leaving him with naught but his wits and his snowshoes.
The snowshoes he wore, for their part, had seen better days: Their straps had snapped, their buckles sheared off, and he was almost sure that crack in their outer brace was new. He hoped these weren't historic relics of any importance.
And he was left alone at the edge of the wilderness, to top it off.
It was a difficult minute for Zuko, to hold himself back from screaming to the heavens how much he hated his 'job' at that moment.
Resigning himself to his journey, he picked up the rackets and trudged doggedly back towards the parking lot in his boots and long, fur-trimmed coat. He just hoped Katara had left their vehicle behind for him.
From there, there would be nothing left but the long flight home.
But not even that small respite was possible, in the growing storm.
An hour later, Zuko was bitterly cold and desperately lost. There was no longer any visible sign of the road, trail or parking lot, let alone the village.
He did scream, then.
"Mother f—!"
AN: Much love to you wonderful individuals who've been leaving me reviews! You make me smile while I'm at work. :)
