A careful silence fell over Mako. The swaying of the ship caused a gut wrenching feeling and drew him close to vomit. It was not the boat ride itself that shot his nerves, it was his company. Never in his life did he think he would have to hold so much patience until now. Many a time he had to hold his tongue in fear of it being ripped out before an opinion slipped out that he would regret. While traveling with the duo, Mako had hoped to have learned more information about these two but was gravely mistaken. Vinioz purposely kept herself reserved and only spoke when felt necessary and Kama was notorious for doing most of the talking. It drove Mako into frustration trying to figure out the connection between the two and what it was they wanted with Tarlokk. The ex-politician was a nuisance in the past but the aspect of growing an army puzzled him. There was the Task Force he insisted Korra to join but beyond that he couldn't quiet imagine who would side with him after he was exposed for the bloodbender he is.

Mako conducted in eating as a past time but it was a fruitless effort. There was trying to socialize with the crew members but Kama made it blatantly clear they were not here to make friends, only to do business. He was a guide, not a social butterfly. He wouldn't have entirely minded it if it wasn't for the fact the two made for horrible company. They would talk to each other quietly and exchange a word here and there but that was it. This trip was so boring Mako didn't know what to do with himself. Eating and sleeping were his only true welcomed company on this voyage.

The stars said nothing to him even as he looked up and sought guidance. He was no Avatar, surely, but there were occasions where spirits reached out to others too besides the Avatar. Mako wished that was the case, but it was not. He was suffocating, drowning in his own subconscious minds for answers he did not receive, doubts that flooded his core of if Korra was alright or not.

"It won't be long now. With the pace we are going, we should arrive sooner than expected. Not tonight, of course. That would be wishful thinking."

Mako glanced up from the starboard to see Vinioz standing beside him, arms crossed and overlooking the vast sea. Her hood remained covering her eyes and for just a moment, the boy wondered if she was deep in thought just as he was. Her emotions were too hard to tell and he sought any type of refuge from eyes he could not see. Any glimmer of hope that Korra would make it out alive, that he would make it out alive.

"Your lack of faith is to be expected. Given your situation I can't guarantee anyone's safety – if that is what you are most concerned about?"

In Mako's experience, older folk were usually far more intelligent but often mislead and incautious. In this case, Vinioz was neither. While she spoke with ease and did not seem to regret any words ever spoken, she also did not seem like an incautious person, but this statement worried him in that spectrum. Should this make him fret all the more?

"I'm worried about Korra…I mean, the Avatar." He was quick to correct himself, figuring the woman did not know her by first name.

"You are worried for yourself as well. Or am I wrong?"

The accusation was not in the least bit incorrect. In fact, it was right on the nail. It was not something he expected to hear in the slightest though. "I am." Once more he overlooked the sea, just as Vinioz did. Perhaps both being firebenders they did not feel the natural pull to the water as did waterbenders, but it was a sight to behold nevertheless. It was open, empty, and vast. Just like ones subconscious mind while dwelling on things.

"Is it obvious?" He chuckled lightly, a gloved hand running through his hair as he leaned over the railing. "I can't help it. I know nothing about you two. All I know is that waterbender friend of yours is the one who killed all those metalbenders in Republic City. How am I not supposed to be on guard?" This felt odd. Telling his feelings to someone like her who he knew nothing about, it was insane, preposterous even.

"If it makes you feel any better, Kama is the least of your worries. He is a good friend of mine but he will not take action unless he is willing to deal with the consequences. He's not nearly as scary as people make him out to be." She smiled half-heartedly. "The only reason he killed those men is because they would not listen to reason. If they would have stood down, no violence would have befallen them. While he enjoys the feeling of killing, killing in itself is not a very welcome feeling to him. Nor is it to anyone regardless of what they may say. It may be a sport to some, but their actions will always weigh heavily on them as a reminder of the sins committed."

"Killing is never okay no matter what the circumstances. There's always a second chance." Mako tried to reason. If Vinioz saw from his perspective perhaps he could stop all this madness. "You can't just kill because you're provoked, it doesn't work like that."

"I don't expect a boy like you to understand. I know that's not saying much since I'm little below ten years older than you but in my life I had to grow up early to adapt. Whether you choose to agree or disagree with Kama and mines methods doesn't matter. We have our reasons and we take responsibility for our actions, as should you and as should the Avatar. If you don't like the outcome, mold it into something else. Do not just sit around and expect it to spontaneously change for your benefit."

He wanted to ask more on it but thought better of it and kept his thoughts to himself. Vinioz shifted lightly and turned her back on the railing, her eyes casting over to where Kama was on the opposite end of the boat sharpening the blade of his scythe no longer slung to his back. The sound was distasteful.

Vinioz expressed interest and encouragement to think about what she said, leaving Mako's side to accompany her teammate in preparations upon arrival.


There had been times when Tarlokk wished had had never been born. There had been times when he rejoiced in such superb power wielded to him. In a blind state of corruption, many a thing fell upon him. He hesitated. Once. Twice. Maybe a third. He couldn't quiet remember. His mind told him lies and secrets, gave him promises not meant to be kept. He constantly found himself in eternal conflict, encasing him in a web of lies and mockery. Shouting at him, telling him he is nothing but a slimy, grotesque maggot, meant to grovel at the feet of others. Without power, you are nothing. He will square his shoulders at night just before bed, take a deep breath, and assure himself things happen for a reason.

He sucks in all resonance, embedded by death to befall of him, surely. He wishes for this many a time, yet he always finds himself alive. It is inevitable, this curse. It is but a fraction in his life, meant to be dispelled into the past where it will forever stay and never surface. Wishing for some type of retribution, he knows it will never come unless he goes after it. For too long he has been exposed to such negativity and revenge. To look past is to forget, but to move forward is to remember and learn from. He cannot move past what haunts him most. Yakone will provoke, even in death. He will threaten, he will downcast; he is a monster.

Tarlokk can not rationalize even if he tries. He is branded by what he was born to do, even in rebellion. He knows too his brother is haunted by this same fate, but he also knows Noatak was always much stronger than him. Not pure, no, but stronger. More adaptable to overcoming and pursuing of goals.

A paragon is what he had hoped to become, a symbol of justice and peace. It was vague, the goal. It was reachable.

I must obtain it.

Optimism would stain his face each day. It would plague him and fester in his core, rippling and tearing like a beast. Tarlokk is a feral monster, and he knows this. He does not wish to be but he cannot help it. He basks in the glory of fame and accomplishments. Perhaps it will distract him enough for him to forget of his true power. The power forbidden by law.

He lays awake in bed, slumped up against the headboard of his old bed, memories flooding into his brain of the old days, the days when his innocence was tarnished by the very creator of this household. Even in death the man is dissatisfying and his name leaves a bitter taste in Tarlokk's mouth and thoughts. If only he could forget the suffering, if only

This being here…It was insignificant. There was no real purpose of their visit. They had accomplished what they sought out to do, and now they waited and the wait itself was what set Tarlokk's mind into a setting of remembrance, memories and experiences he wished he never had to grow up with. It makes him wonder if Noatak feels equally as guilty about the punishments he has come to bare, the burdens he holds on his back.

Laughter resounds and he knows it must be the same. To let go so easily of an icon he held for so long, Tarlokk wonders how his brother is strong enough to move past it and continue life with no remorse. It all seems like some kind of sick joke, really. A fairy tale about monsters and the hero, and here they are, two monsters sleeping in the same vicinity with that same hero. It's almost humiliating if not a bitter outcome. Showing such hospitality to none other than the one who had tarnished both their chances of redeeming themselves was a mockery and blow to his pride. How had he shown such kindness to Korra earlier?

He almost pities her, really. If only she had known the true power they held, the true potential of his bloodbending grip. No…She had only received a glimpse of it and that was only out of panic. She has yet to ever encounter his strength when angry. All too soon, he thought, it was useless nevertheless. He no longer had his bending, nor did he hold any hate for the Avatar, and that is what he hated most about himself. He hated that he couldn't hate her or what she stood for. He hated how he could not hate Noatak for saving him when all he wanted to do was just die. Most of all, he hated himself. Hated himself because he failed at becoming what it is he wished to be. His rebellion to their father failed, his attempt at ending their wretched bloodline failed, and now here he slept, in his old bed that mocked him each second he lay here.

"What a mess I am…" He scoffed, rolling his wrist around. Oh how much he just wanted to punch something, to scream his plight up at the moon and wish that he could start over, but it was all too late for that. This now, was not a second chance. It was a mere continuation and he knew that. Tarlokk wondered if things would ever get better. Being reunited with Noatak, he wondered if the two of them was all they needed to move forward. Remain here or somewhere else, grow old and die of old age. Living a lie was not worthwhile, but it was manageable. It kept him out of the light even if that is where he wished deeply to be. He loathed darkness so much. It swallowed him whole and spat him into an abyss with no means of escape. He bred forth more darkness by self-loathing and wallowing away and pity.

Tarlokk sits up, gazing down at his open palm. The light from the hallway vaguely ensues the room and lights a streak on the hardwood floor, illuminating a ghastly aura that he cannot shake. It is his own shadow that looks up at him from below, always connected by the feet, forever following him.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to fix any of this…Or if I do at all…What's done is done." He said. His feet did not seem bothered by the cold chill sent through his body at the touch of the boards beneath his feet, even as he stands. He seeks clarity and solitude and his subconscious cannot provide this. So, he begins to pace – to meditate and keep an open mind. If only he allows the spirits to come to him, accept their offerings, maybe then will he find true peace within himself.

But they never came. For the first time since he was a child, the man weeps silently to himself.


AN:

Believe it or not, this was actually not meant to be Chapter 9. I had Chapter 9 already written up but when I put it on my flashdrive and tried uploading it on a different computer, the file would not work. So, this is basically a filler, sorry to disappoint. D: The next chapters will start to go more into the beginning of Amorra.

This chapter was fun to write (even if it was kind of short) because I really wanted to get into the mind of Tarlokk, he's just a very interesting character to me. I was going to write about Noatak's mental state, but he's much more reserved than his brother so it may be a little more difficult. Perhaps in the future I will.

Also, sorry for posting this so late. It snowed really bad here the past couple days and I had no way to get to a laptop, so apologies. Hopefully 10 and 11 will be up soon.

Song is Cemeteries of London by Coldplay.