Today you're back in the role of 'street vendor'. Your 'imported product' hauls haven't been too plentiful these past few days, due to the recent distractions in your life.
The usually fast-paced business is dragging on and on for what feels like forever. The remaining goods at your table include: a smaller ornate jewelry box, a decorative fan, a jewel-encrusted ring looped through a thin, silver chain, and a couple of fancy porcelain tea cups (only one of the teacups shattered in your bag; that's something of a record for you).
Not only are you bored, but you're also really sleepy. You're used to poor a sleep schedule, but this is getting ridiculously out of hand. Last night was the worst sleep you've had all year. Sitting behind your stand, you let your face rest in your hand, trying to ward off the sleep. You stare aimlessly ahead of you, your gaze resting on a red-patterned rug another man has on display.
You zone out of reality as you peer at the tapestry. Maybe you should go home and nap before your meeting with Jet tonight? No, you need to sell these last few items. You're running dangerously low on coins and you still have to pay your rent soon. But sleep is tempting you, and your eyes start to flutter against your will. The market fades from your vision, thoughts of last night's events playing behind your heavy eyelids.
"Wake up, sleepy head." You hear as someone gently shakes you awake.
"AAH!" You jump straight up, eyes wide and alert. You fell asleep? How could you let your guard down?
You face you person in front of you: it's none other than your favourite Uncle Mushi. You instantly calm down, breathing out a sigh of relief.
"Mushi! It's nice to see you!" You bow your head respectfully. "Sorry about... that."
"There's an old proverb that goes something like this: 'When sleeping women wake, mountains move.' Provided they sleep well, of course."
"I sleep… well. Well enough." You fib.
"A soothing cup of chamomile tea helps one relax before going to sleep," he advises, raising one of the teacups on your table.
"Ah, maybe I'll stop by the shop tonight for a cup," you say, stifling a yawn.
"Or… maybe you should go home and get some rest. Come on; I will help you carry your things." And with that, Mushi starts grabbing more items off of the table, before you even have the chance to protest. You're just too tired to disagree, or, more likely, maybe you've developed a soft spot for the old man.
You're too tired to realize you should probably tell Mushi where you live, however, as he heads towards the teashop, it seems he already knows. Together you follow the side of the building and stop at the landing at the bottom of your stairs.
"Rest up, and try not to stay up so late," Mushi says with a wink. After thanking him profusely, you start up the stairs with your giant bag of items. He enters the tea shop through the rear doorway.
As you reach for your door, Mushi peaks his head out of the back of the tea shop and calls to you.
"I'll make some chamomile tea! I hope you will like it. Zuko will bring it up in a few minutes!" He seems very excited, and without a second thought, he rushes back inside to start making your tea.
That sounds perfect. You can practically taste the sweet, hot tea as you unlock the door and push into your house. You toss everything to the side, not as gently as you probably should have, and flop down onto your unrolled futon.
Wait.
Who's Zuko? Another employee perhaps, and he's going to bring you your tea? The name seems oddly familiar. Before you can spare another thought, your eyes shut and sleep draws you in.
You get about five minutes of napping done when you hear three consecutive knocks at your door. You look at the closed door from across the room, feeling too exhausted to get it. Instead, you shout: "It's unlocked!", then resume your previous position of laying face first into your pillow.
The person at the door enters with hesitant footsteps, and you call out again, just barely lifting your face out of the cushion:
"Just leave the- the tea on the table, thank you… Mr. Zuko." You mumble with a grateful wave to gesture in the general direction of the table in your home. You're honestly too tired to even look up or give a proper thank you. At least you got the gentleman's name right. Right?
You hear a sudden crash as the tray drops onto your small side table; the teacup shattering with it. You're definitely awake now.
You snap your head in the direction of the loud noise, propping yourself up with your forearms. Eyes wide, you expected to see some random, clumsy tea shop employee. Instead, it's Lee. Figures.
He stands by the table, his hand still mid-air, remaining in the position with which they'd once held the tea tray. His eyes are wide open, at least the one is. The other can only open so far, since it seems the muscle around it has been permanently damaged. He is staring at you wide-eyed, as if you had transformed into a two-headed lion-gecko.
"Jeez, Lee, I was half-asleep! Thanks for the tea, but you can leave n-" He snaps out of his daze and cuts you off.
"WHAT did you just say?" He demands, narrowing his eyes menacingly at you. You notice that his scarred eye tends to close more than the other one.
"Thanks for the t—"
"No! Before that." He cuts you off again, a mean scowl plastered across his face.
"That I WAS half-asleep!" Glaring back, you watch him approach your futon, then practically squat to lean into your ear. You wanna say something, do anything, but you're entranced by his golden irises (which are now mere inches from your own).
"'Zuko'. You said the name Zu... What did that street rat tell you?" He's somehow managing to maintain the volume of a whisper, but with all of the anger of shouting.
"Street rat?! You better not be talking about Jet. And calm down, Mushi said 'Zuko' would be bringing my tea. Instead, I get you." You give him scowl.
"Uncle is being careless!" He mumbles to himself, then lets out a big breath before turning to face you.
"Never speak that name again, or I'll make you regret it." With that, Lee turns and leaves through the door.
Stunned, you don't even know how to reply. "What's wrong with y—"
Before you can finish your sentence, Lee is gone and your door is slammed shut. More than ever, you want answers. With a sigh, you glance over at the mess Lee left behind.
Pointed shards of tea cup are scattered in the zone of impact, wet with the warm, fragrant tea. You frown at the wasted beverage Uncle Mushi had prepared for you. Seriously, what was wrong with Lee? You crawl over to the debris and begin collecting the broken pieces, being careful not to cut yourself on the sharp edges.
Jet will be here in a few hours, and you're hoping he'll be able to finally explain what is going on with the tea employees downstairs. For now, you clean up the spilled chamomile then proceed to take a long-awaited nap until Jet shows up.