~~~****Well, well, well...one day short of the twenty day mark, and here's a new chapter. Don't know where that came from...
So, listen I've got a few things to ask:
- I'm wondering how much you all are daunted by the length of a chapter. When I'm writing, I tend to do this thing where I want to put a bit into the story, but then I say to myself, "No, no, no. If you put that in, then the chapter will be so long and boring that the readers will want to scream at you. . ." and then I fight with myself and compromise, which is never all that good. Maybe I'm just going nuts, over thinking a little. Please tell me if you have a length-of-chapter-issue (or any other issues, now that I think of it), because they will be growing progressively longer starting, now...
-Also, I sketched a picture of Ona's dress, but I'm not done with it yet, which is bad because I'm already bored of working on it. I'm thinking of posting it as is, so let me know if you would like to see it, and I'll update. If not, I'll just keep it to myself...
-Lastly, as I reported in my other fan fiction the other day, once AVSL is complete, I plan to move on to plain fiction writing, and move away from fanfictions. So, if you would like to know about my up-coming project (which should be interesting for anyone who has ever played an RPG game for any length of time...) please let me know about that as well and I'll give you some details.
If you don't care about any of this, then at least let me say thanks for reading this far. See ya soon everyone! ****~~~
"This whole thing was a complete mess, if you ask me. I waded through it though, as any champion should. There are certain things that I want to accomplish, my dreams and my goals, and I won't let anyone, not even the Avatar get in the way. Ona was only competition, food for fodder, and I struck at her weakness. Don't call it cheating, because that is definitely not what it was."
-Basha
Chapter 10
The Most Glorious Job
Three days of steady traveling severely diminished supplies, though Haurran remained annoyingly unconcerned about the small rations. If anything, he was happier the nearer they drew to the city. Ona's feet hurt endlessly, even when she was lying down, and they flared hotly whenever she stood up. By the dawn of day four, she was too tired to even complain, which she guessed was fine by Haurran. He hardly spoke at all.
"What's the city called, anyway?" Ona asked, wincing in the noon day sun.
"Topul, the nosiest city in the Earth Kingdom they say."
She sighed, feeling that something else should be said, but the only word rolling around in her mind was noisy, and since no complete sentences would reveal themselves, she simply resigned to silence. Instead, Ona shifted her pack, wishing vaguely that it was weighed down with food and water provisions, or maybe even money.
As she and Haurran continued, another thought reemerged in her head, one that she had forgotten for some time.
"You said that you knew of a way to get around without being noticed. . ."
Haurran did not look back. All he said was, "Yes, I did say that."
"So, what is it?" Ona frowned. She couldn't see his face, but she was almost certain that Haurran was laughing. "What is it?" she said again, a bit more roughly.
"You'll see."
Her eyes widened, and she stopped where she was on the road. "Tell me what it—you ARE laughing! Stop it! Tell me what we're going to do!"
He refused to answer, even though Ona poked demanding questions at him every few minutes. Haurran only smiled in a secretive, humorous sort of way and ignored her. As they walked, Ona's annoyance built on itself, higher and higher until finally it collapsed into pure curiosity. She spent half the night conjuring possibilities, chasing sleep away with visions of joining a secret underground order that only the Avatar was welcome to. Just before she fell asleep, Ona was disturbed the thought that she and Haurran would be forced apart once they arrived in the city.
A cold sensation stirred in her stomach. Though so many other things were uncertain, and even though Haurran was so often remote to her, Ona was admittedly afraid of him leaving. Could she survive alone? Haurran probably could. Was he planning on deserting her in Topul? Could that be why he was in such good spirits, because he knew that he would soon be rid of her compulsive nagging?
All of a sudden the dark sky stretched overhead was daunting, and strangely menacing. The stars were too numerous, and the shifting of the rice fields was too loud. Unsettled, Ona rolled over slowly until she was facing inwardly into the small camp. She could see Haurran now, sleeping with an arm over his eyes. She focused on his face for comfort, simply because for once she had noticed the thousands of things far more frightening than him, skulking in the dark.
Topul was indeed the nosiest city Ona had ever visited, but that was chiefly due to the massive population between its walls. It took two hours just to pass the outer gates, standing in line to enter the city by the south entrance. The streets were dusty, littered with colorful papers, trash, and advertisements that had been ripped from their posts. The people were no less exotic, both the wealthy and the vagrants clothed in bright, colorful robes as they bummed and jostled each other between the tall buildings. Everywhere Ona and Haurran went they were forced to wade in a tide of bodies.
Ona suggested tethering a rope between them, to be sure they wouldn't be separated, but Haurran settled for gripping her hand as they maneuvered around the market place. She clutched his arm and didn't allow him to walk very fast, stunned silent with the overwhelming march of people and the fear of becoming lost in the dizzying expanse of buildings and shops.
At last the crowds thinned as people turned off onto separate streets. They arrived in an area that was nearly unoccupied, save for a few elderly citizens trying to escape the metropolitan chaos. Ona sat down on a bench and sighed.
"This is the park I used to visit as a child," Haurran told her. He was gazing around at the twisted trees fondly, possibly drawing out old memories. "I always thought this city was exciting. The architecture is. . .earthy, at least."
Ona glanced around, finding that she agreed. No building in Topul was shorter than two stories, and many were hosts to threads of vines, flowers, and in many cases, entire trees. Plants jutted out of the sides of houses and shops like overhanging rocks, and a few dedicated people had actually taken to residing in large tree trunks.
She looked up at Haurran, nervous despite herself. "So, what now?"
"I need to visit some friends," he said. "I expect to be done business by sundown, maybe earlier. I'll have to collect some funds before I go."
"What do I do?" Ona asked.
"Stay here," he gestured to the buildings ahead, "or you can go shopping. Supplies are low, and I'd like to head toward Ba Sing Se next."
"Wait," she snapped, "you're not. . . leaving me here are you?"
"Only for today. Keep your head on and you won't get lost, though I would put your money in your inner pocket, just to be safe." He smiled, seeming more cheerful than Ona had ever seen him. She interoperated his look as more mischievous than excited, wondering darkly what had put him in such a good mood.
Her lack of delight sobered him, and he looked away. "Right, so let's meet back here at sunset, agreed?"
She nodded, gloomily deciding that she was better off staying where she was, there on the bench where she couldn't possibly become lost. She didn't watch Haurran leave, but closed her eyes and tried not to show all the worry she felt.
After only ten minutes Ona was dripping with boredom, her eyes longingly glancing at the market place ahead, though the panicky clenching in her stomach consistently kept her on the bench a while longer.
She felt an odd prickling on her neck and looked to her side, only to spot a strange old man staring at her from across the park. Over the next few minutes she threw quite a few tentative looks toward him, hoping to be fairly clandestine, and each time she found him gazing back just as brazenly as before. He didn't seem ashamed of his persistent ogling, but it was making Ona extremely uncomfortable.
Fearing that he might advance on her, Ona steeled herself and made a dramatic show of standing up and leaving the park. She didn't look back until she had rounded a corner, but the man was not following.
Ona relaxed. Even if the man had been friendly, she didn't want to meet him.
Turning, she let herself survey the market, now that she had finally worked up the nerve to approach it. She took Haurran's advice and stashed all of her money (stark as it was) in the inner pocket of her jacket, then began freely wandering the streets.
As her fears slowly ebbed away, Ona began to notice a near wonderland of attractions; food stands, merchants, hawkers and shoppers crowded the street, concocting a stunning array of smells and sights all around. She idly passed the shops, studying the window displays with interest. She took the time to enter a candy shop, then a store peddling odd jewelry, and then a remarkable building made entirely of tree branches that sold mystical treasures and toys. Ona reluctantly kept her money close to her, declining to put out even the smallest cent for what she deemed fascinating trivialities.
At the end of an hour, Ona found herself shuffling around the outside of a tavern, the stink of alcohol, sweat and what smelled like onions making her eyes burn. She squashed her fingers over her eyelids, trying to knead out the sting.
"Oh!" a feminine cry sounded close to her, "Oh! Excuse me dear!"
Oblivious, Ona dropped her hands and blinked repeatedly, tears from her watering eyes budding on her eyelashes. Again, a woman's voice shouted, "OH!" very close by.
And then two strong hands grabbed her shoulders. Ona shrieked and thrust her hands out, feeling the street below bulge as she tried to summon earth to her aid. A club of dirt streaked out and slashed at her attacker, but whoever had captured Ona deftly skipped out of the way and the grit fell uselessly down again.
"Now now now!" the faceless voice scolded. "Calm down, I'm sorry to startle you."
The hands softened their grip, but did not let go. Ona squinted and focused on the stranger's form. Gradually her eyes cleared, and Ona saw the face of a very lovely woman staring into her own, bright blue eyes set like diamonds in a delicately round face, bordered with soft curls of silken brown hair. The woman's sparkling red lips smiled, wide and genuine as Ona gawked at her.
"There now, not as horrendous as you thought, hm?" the stranger said. Her voice was graceful, though with a human weight.
"I- . . . What do you want?" Ona gasped.
"Oh, my dear, it's what you want, isn't it?"
"E-excuse me? I'm not sure I—"
The woman giggled, a laugh like pulsing water. "Follow me," she commanded gently, and clasped Ona's wrist in her hand, the cascade of golden bracelets on her arm clanking harmoniously.
Ona was led across the street, toward a gorgeous shop that seemed to be trimmed in lace like a dress. The golden roof flashed in the sunlight as they entered, shimmering as if it was enchanted.
Inside the room was almost as bright as the street, as five large windows poured sunlight onto the floor in yellow-white pools.
"Who have you got Jemmine?" inquired a young voice, male, though the speaker was hidden.
Ona looked around as the woman released her arm and disappeared into another room. A myriad of fabrics hung from the walls, many of them pinned to the lattice work criss-crossing the ceiling like a vibrant spider's web.
Ona gasped. Displayed around the room was the grandest collection of gowns, coats, pants and formal clothing she had ever seen. She realized as she stared that she had wandered into a dress shop, the first she had ever entered.
The woman reappeared by Ona's side, smiling again. "Now lovely, I simply knew I would find you. You are exactly what I've been looking for."
"Where'd you see her?" the boy's voice asked. The speaker was standing behind Ona, and she turned to look at him as he in turn considered her. "In the marketplace?"
"I did, isn't that just poetic?" The woman laughed. "She was just standing there, almost like a dead tree or a large, misshapen—"
"Um, excuse me!" Ona burst out. "I have no idea what you're talking about. What do you want?"
The woman looked dazed for a moment, but then she laughed and fanned herself with her hand. "Oh! How rude! I was so excited I just—My dear, my name is Jemmine, and that is my nephew Den."
She paused, and Ona realized that the woman wanted to know Ona's name as well. Warily, she introduced herself, eyeing Den suspiciously. The boy was gazing at her with far too much interest.
"A beautiful name," Jemmine said. "I suppose its short for Onatha, yes? Oh! How exquisite ! Absolutely divine, yes!"
"I really don't understand what-"
Den's hands shot out and snapped onto Ona's waist. She instantly twisted around and made to slap him, but he dogged her attack just as easily as his aunt had done earlier. He held up a strand of measuring cord, looking innocent. "Just collecting measurements, no need to be feisty!"
Ona flushed deep red. She desperately wanted to leave, but Den was blocking the path to the door. "You still haven't told me what's going on!" she cried.
"Oh, dear it's the most romantic thing," Jemmine said dreamily. "This shop has been here for fifty years, built by my grandfather's own hands."
Ona listened, but in her mind she was wondering how difficult it would be to vault through the nearest glass window. She would prefer the cuts over Den touching her again.
". . .and then ten years ago, the most handsome made came through our door," the erratic woman was still talking. Ona edged toward the window. "Oh, it was so sad. His beloved wife had just passed away, which I and at such a young age it was tragic, but true. The poor man was alone. He had come to give me a dress, one that he had meant to give his lover, but that was useless to him now."
Ona took a rather obvious step closer to the window, but Den saw her and intercepted casually. She glared at him.
". . . He told me to give the wonderful gown to a worthy young woman, one I saw to be very special. I swore that I would, and I waited for all these years, and now..."
Jemmine fixed her dazzling eyes on Ona, sighing rapturously. "And now, I've found you!"
"I really don't think you have," Ona protested. "I'm not much of a dress-wearer. . .I really should be going-"
"NO! PLEASE!" Jemmine yelped. She looked desperately at her captive, as if suddenly their roles had been reversed. "Please, please, just try on the dress! It will only take a moment, and I've waited so long. I only want to see it on you, please!"
Ona could feel her face shading red again, and the realization made her even more embarrassed. "Isn't there anyone else you could—"
"No, you're the only one I've seen!"
"I'm not exactly made for dresses…"
"This dress is meant for you!"
"I can't—"
"PLEASE!"
Ona hesitated, shooting her eyes from Den to Jemmine. She sighed. "Alright. But then can I go?"
With a squeal of joy, Jemmine grabbed Ona's wrist again and tugged her toward the dressing rooms. A few moments later she arrived with the dress, wrapped in a protective silk drape. She shoved the entire package into Ona's arms, then rudely pushed her into the small changing room, hastily shutting the door behind.
An awkward, resentful sensation surged thorough Ona as she stood, motionless in the dressing room. She had the strongest desire to hide in the small space forever, away from Jemmine and Den's expectant eyes. Away from the city, away from the assassins hunting her, and even away from Haurran. She felt foolish, wasting time in a gown shop. What would he think of her if he knew? Even Nokki would have laughed.
One thing she was sure of was that she did not want to see herself in that dress. She didn't even want to unwrap it. If it really was beautiful, she was certain that she would dishonor its grace just by looking at it. Jemmine would be so disappointed, but then, she would be disappointed anyway when she realized just how plain Ona was.
What a joke, Ona scoffed.
"Dear, how are you doing?" Jemmine asked kindly. Ona could hear the hope in her voice.
"F-fine…" She sighed. This did seem to be important, if not for Ona, then for Jemmine. She was a strange woman, but her benevolence was just as plain as her dreamy passions. And besides, once Ona tried on the gown, she was free to go, right?
Reassured, Ona shoved away her misgivings and unwrapped the dress. She tried not to look at it excessively, hurrying to change. Even so, flashes of gold and rich earth tones caught her eye as she threw the soft fabric over her head.
"Are you ready yet dear?"
Finally, Ona had the dress situated correctly over her shoulders. Anticipating a disaster, she pushed open the door and stepped out to where Jemmine and Den could see her. She shut her eyes, refusing to look down.
Her appearance was met with silence, as she had expected. Raising her chin, Ona peeped open her eyes with great apprehension.
Jemmine seemed stunned, and for the first time, speechless. Her long fingers covered her mouth and nose so that only her large, bright eyes were visible. Ona wasn't sure what to make of the woman's expression; she couldn't tell if it was disgust, shock, or humiliation she was feeling.
"It needs something," Den muttered. With a sharp turn he exited the dressing area, strong determination in his stride as he made his way toward the front of the store.
Jemmine meanwhile, seemed to have found her voice. "Ona, dear, you must see yourself. I'll go find the mirror." And then she too hurried away, leaving Ona alone, now wishing even more that she had jumped through the window when she'd had the chance.
Den was the first to return. He smiled thinly as he drew close, an odd, questioning look on his pale face. "May I?" he asked, almost jokily.
Ona merely started at him, unsure of what he was asking about, until he reached out and delicately lifted her hand, gently fastening a sparkling gold bracelet around her wrist.
"There," stepped back and sighed, "truly beautiful."
Inwardly Ona told herself he was lying. She was feeling no less embarrassed, with Den standing there studying her in what she was coming to understand was the appraising, dubious expression he likely turned on everything he looked at. In the back of her mind, Ona felt as if she were doing something almost criminal by wearing the dress. She was breaking some unspoken rule, fancying herself in a position that she did not belong. Den's judgmental stare did not help sooth her in the least.
"You don't believe me, hm?" he muttered.
Ona didn't turn to him, feeling marginally more comfortable with her eyes elsewhere. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You don't believe that you're beautiful, do you?"
She froze, coils of cold resentment swimming upwards through her veins. She didn't say anything, but felt her face growing hot once again.
Den made a sad noise, something like a strangled chuckle, and leaned against one of the nearby tables, still watching her. "You know, I see a lot of different girls come in here," he said, not sounding so much like himself anymore. "I see. . .confident girls, who are sure they know exactly what they want, and they give Jemmine and I a hard time, as if we don't get them, as if we can never satisfy their needs." He laughed, and admitted, "Well, I guess we can't really, in truth. And then, I see plenty of girls who are scared out of their minds to be seen in anything besides pants, though they're always glad they came when we're done."
"And… I see girls who are just longing for something else; attention, love, popularity, whatever…"
He paused for a long time, shaking his head slowly, chewing his lip and staring at the floor. Ona still kept her gaze away from him, discomfort growing in her stomach with every word he spoke.
"You know what?" Den went on, softer now. "They're all trying to prove something. Jemmine always says 'beauty is painful', but not just because you have to paint your face and twist your hair and sit up straight and squeeze into the smallest dress you can. It's painful because the work never really ends. If anything, the expectations grow larger every day, and everyone has to crawl farther just to be noticed."
With a small jerk he pushed away from the table and approached Ona again. She glared at him, but he didn't seem to notice, smiling in his characteristic sly, though oddly charismatic way.
"Not that it can't be fun," he confessed. "Jemmine and I would be out of a job if vanity wasn't worth something. When people feel beautiful on the outside, their confidence inside becomes so much stronger, so much greater, and that's something that we both love to see. It's what makes this job somewhat glorious. But. . .sometimes I just wonder, what's it all for?"
Ona didn't think she was meant to answer this question, which was nice because she had no answer to give. Den had set himself on a track of thinking that obviously concerned him greatly. She would just have to let him talk, she decided.
But then he leaned in next to her and whispered something that actually surprised her enough to make her face him.
"Would you like to know the secret to ceaseless beauty?" he asked, looking at her very seriously. All the smug appraisal had dissolved from his eyes, giving him an unsettling somberness that both caught and held Ona's attention.
Ona could not keep the longing from her own face, and knew that Den saw her interest there. She was glad that he didn't laugh. "What is it?" she said.
He smiled kindly. "Don't tease."
"I won't, I promise."
"The secret," he said slowly just to torture her, "is simple. There's no magic, no special clothes or formulas. Simple."
Ona scowled, disguising desperation by feigning anger. "What is it? Tell me before I have to hurt you."
"Easy now," he goaded, fully enjoying himself. "Don't get so worked up. I'll tell you if you stop glaring at me. Come on then, show us a smile, hm?"
Sighing, Ona raised her eyebrows and briefly forced her lips upwards into a comical grin. An instant later the expression was nullified by the reappearance of her narrow-eyed glare.
Den was so amused by this show that he laughed loud and richly, and Ona felt for a moment that she could relax in his presence. He wiped his eyes and muttered, "Alright, alright you win. Listen up then, here's the secret. . ."
He looked directly into Ona's face, once again all business. "When you are seen through the eyes of someone who truly loves you, you can only appear radiant. To that person, no amount of blemishes could ever make you seem ugly, for they simply cannot see you as anything except what you really are: perfect."
Ona felt her mind lock at this revelation, as if she were offended by the words. Den, on the other hand, had a look on his face that barred all questioning. He was gravely convinced that everything he had just reported was absolutely true.
"Still don't believe me, do you?"
Ona was once again lost for words. "I- -"
"If you're unsure, why don't you just ask him?"
She blinked. "Who?"
Den pointed his finger toward a window a few feet away that looked out onto the busy market street. Between the lavish velvet curtains draped around the sides of the glass, Ona saw a familiar face watching her and Den from outside.
Haurran gazed through the window, holding several bags in his hands and smiling with genuine pleasure.
"He's been standing there nearly ten minutes," Den said musingly. "You know him?"
Ona's throat became so dry and constricted she could hardly breathe, let alone answer. Haurran saw that she had noticed him, and he waved one burdened hand to her.
"Oh no," she gasped. She glanced again at the street; just to be sure she had seen what she thought she saw. "How could they—"
Without pausing she leapt at the window, gesturing frantically to Haurran, trying to urge him to turn around. At first he was confuse, but then he seemed to understand by the urgency with which she pointed behind him, and though the glass window muted her shouts, the message was clear that he was in danger.
Haurran whirled and searched the crowd, scanning faces but failing to find what Ona had seen. Stealthy, though encumbered by his bags, he tried to melt into the crowd, still frisking his eyes around him in dreadful anxiety. A large cart weighed down with barrels of an odd-smelling draft rolled by him, and he squashed himself to its side to hind behind.
Inside the dress shop Ona had immediately rushed toward the door, Den hustling just behind her, barking questions with his sharp voice that she did not answer. She brushed past Jemmine, who was halfway through a muttered sentence about having loaned her transportable figure-length mirror to the armor, when Ona ran past, seized the door handle and rushed outside.
On the street she found herself nearly shoving people out of her way as she moved toward where she had seen Haurran. The memory flashed into her mind again, a vision of a dark haired young man, dressed in an even darker cloak, talking with the old man who had been staring at Ona in the park. The youth had turned, intelligent eyes spearing Haurran's back, and moved toward him, cutting easily across the throng. He had almost reached his target when Haurran had caught Ona's warning and turned, but a cart had rumbled past, preventing him from seeing the other man. After that, Ona had run to the door, and lost sight of them both.
He must be one of the assassins, and so was that old man. She thought wildly. No wonder he was watching me!
She searched for several minutes, but came up empty even as she hunted through the masses for Haurran's brown hair and green vest. Den found her quickly, and demanded to know what had happened.
"I—I thought I saw something," she said truthfully.
"Come back inside," he said, trying to sooth her. "Don't you want to change back into your own clothes?"
Still lightly apprehensive, Ona agreed, constantly checking over her shoulder as Den guided her back into the shop. She did not spot the strange men, and still ignored Den's interrogation. In the distance she could make out the shape of the cart, pushing through the streets with a cloud of dust bubbling behind, and hopped fitfully that Haurran was alright.