=+= Game of Trust =+=
Imagining a portly frame on his slendered shape did no favors for her. Welcome change or not for his health–after countless arguments about that spiking needle on the weight scale–she could not find it in her to care. Anxiety ruled his age enhanced features as he motioned solemnly for her to join him in the game. Doing as asked, her lithe fingers slipped along the board to move a tile across two of his pieces and claim them as her own. Copper irises like burned wood, scanned the far proximity of the table, the Pai Sho, and his daughter.
She was a beauty, and that word was foreign in here. Although refinement and routine dominated the prison halls, there was not much of alluring quality to behold. Sitting parallel to his greatest sacred creation, he thought of how similar those two utmost beloved to him had become. She was taller. Her hair was still black but styled in the sort of way that screamed "powerful independent woman" with a rather long, glorious tail hanging behind in a simple red rubber band. That was a Sato. The daughter of his wife and an heir to the multibillion-yuan company he built from a single generous loan. Asami was a mirror image of Wei, and he was a crack in the reflection.
They both noticed each other's distressed yet calm faces but made no other moves than on that wooden board in front of them. It became mechanical. To move one space, then wait for the next turn to plan your strategy. Attack or defend. Neither knew what to say and in their heads the cogs were turning. Both remained at the same gear, too scared or afraid to throttle ahead and leave behind what they had in the moment, like a sputtering Satomobile on it's last highway road trip to the scrapyard cemetery.
The heiress began to spin a tile between two manicured fingers, holding it in front of her, mimicking a wheel. Hiroshi wasn't exactly in a position to make demands and wasn't about to chase away his daughter after seeing her again for the first time since he tried to murder her. While her face was raw with determination, his was filled with regret when he began wording that first question.
"How are you, Asami?"
The woman in question looked up to see him with his hands folded somewhere underneath the table. Her father looked desperate, he never looked desperate. After four years, the words that normally came so easily to the jolly, chuckling entrepreneur, had a difficult time reaching his tongue.
"I'm fine," she responded kindly.
Conversations and negotiations were her speciality, but the act of speaking with Hiroshi she was sure was more difficult than trying to sign a contract with Cabbage Corp. They were both trained people of business and the perpetual game of money had left those two stone-faced and infallible, and neither would give in, normally. They stood a lot to lose and only one of them had fallen far enough to admit that. His attempts to make amends would take a lot longer than the few seconds it took to destroy her trust.
For several moments only the clicking of pieces being laid with care, and sometimes hesitation, on a flat surface could be heard. The rugged looking ex-billionaire with slightly slumped shoulders and stable breathing—thanks to the lack of a protruding belly—tended to fiddle with and scratch his beard, the same shade as his convict clothing. This 54-year old man balanced his spectacles on the narrow bridge of his nose. At least he got to keep those. Though he would have preferred another pair rather than these gold-lined glasses; a gift from the late Wei Sato.
If one were to look on at a snowy evening through a window, the pair and their setting could be described as peaceful and serene. Two things hindered the illusion. You could try to explain his ashen clothing to be a fashion statement... that said "I'm a proud committer of felony, engaging in a Pai-Showdown with my only child." And the other, was the missing overzealous view to peek in from. Practically luxurious was the jail's visitor room, undoubtedly covering up the rest of the building's dreary interior. But unlike their mansion shared for the better part of her life, this room replaced glass with bars. It was warm and inviting, yet hollow and condemning.
Asami could not find herself enjoying their time together any more than her limited suspension of disbelief allowed. The delusion that she was in fact not playing against her father in their living room, but in this guarded, un-private, and scrutinized meeting, kept her on edge. She withheld no more the suppressed bubbling rage, letting it gradually surface into a predatory gaze. A well-used expression that some regulars at her office knew very well, utilized in especially tiring meetings with officials where a bit of intimidation went a long way.
Through the gleaming of his golden circular frames, he might as well have been looking at the wife herself. His heir had inherited that glare to great effect and he saw no purpose in arguing with it. There were answers to be revealed for questions that would surely be cast.
"One of the many things," she began, "that have bothered me over the years was how you thought destroying an entire culture and people, was justified because one bad apple decided to go and murder someone, and that someone happened to be my mother, and a non-bender. Did it ever occur to you that it was an unfortunate coincidence? That you can't blame all of them for one individual's mistake?"
The convicted of the two non-benders took time to formulate his monologue correctly. This was his first and possibly last chance to utter words that have eaten him up since the day he was thrown in a metal cage. "This was never how I envisioned things happening. I wanted you by my side and was furious when the last person I cared for left me, and only now do I realize that it was I who left you. I can forever beg of the police's amnesty, but when I get out, if you are not there then I might as well be with my wife if she can forgive me. And unless I manage to make peace with you, I imagine there is only the Fog of Lost Souls waiting for a man like me to devour."
Laying forgotten between them was their shared escape to a simpler life, where the only troubles were to figure out what to do on that day. A free day to spend away from their private, isolating, huge estate. Among the suggestions were: go to the park, which Asami didn't really care for because it was autumn and she knew her nose would get stuffed like her wolen platypus bear by pollen. If she did however agree on taking their pet chihuahua-rat, there would be an ice cream reward. The 6-year old decided against it.
Instead her choice lay in fetching one of the prototype Future Industries boats and taking it for a spin into Yue Bay. The little girl had a thing for engines and the speed they could achieve. So when her father agreed to let his wife and daughter into one of the workshops to try out his latest invention, they all (especially Asami) parted ways from their family meeting jubilant as ever.
Rattling the hot-off-the-presses, brand new framework, the equally fresh engine (which Asami was just beginning to get an understanding of) gained a hundred knots in a few seconds to rocket the pair through water like a knife against butter. The cutting edge of technology.
Little Asami glanced innocently over at her mother and saw that luscious hair that instantly brought her back to reality. While her own curled locks left the view, a man scrunched up under rich, shining glasses that seemed to be burrowing into his face, re-captured her seemingly fleeting attention.
"Look, I need you to stop attacking my running boys," Hiroshi spoke. "They've done nothing to you and if I don't deliver these next few messages, I'll be out of an important deal."
Of all the thugs in the room, the smallest and least intimidating one had the required brain-power to retaliate in other means than violence, such as words. "It is not our fault, Mr Sato, that your errand boys have a route through our territory. I think you will find it in your best interest to just pay up, and we'll leave the guys alone. Just make sure we won't have to bother with another one of them interfering."
After a small 'business meeting' with his dear Asami and wife, the day carried on and slowly broke his pleasant mood, when finally it was time to take care of real business. "Fine. Here's the money."
A large platinum suitcase jolted the table. Two clicks and five men were towering over the apparently glowing merchandise. "I think we can agree that you have made a wise decision," said the Agni Kai.
Just below, a few levels, a motorboat carrying two red-clad individuals, one short and one tall, lurched into harbor.
"I hope you're not blaming Amon for this." His daughter's voice broke the painful recollection. "You are at as much fault as he was, and his name was Noatak. He was from the Northern Water Tribe."
"I know that he was a waterbender," the prisoner said. "And the only person I blame is myself."
"Good. Perhaps it'll make you feel better to know that I blame you as well, Hiroshi."
The formal mention of his name stung more than he anticipated, and he knew that he deserved every bit of it. He even wanted it so he could share some of the pain that was woefully inflicted, lift some of the burden and heal the damage.
"I've been racking my brain trying to understand, but it's only caused more confusion and I just want to know... why did you do it?" The pain in Asami's green eyes was so obvious and that persuasive, bargaining business look was gone along with both of their resolves, tilting them precariously close to annihilation. "Just, tell me–why?" ...did you leave me?
Why did I disown you? Why did I try to kill you? "I don't know." And Hiroshi winced outwardly for the first time in their conversation and instinct screamed for him to reach out to her, but he stopped himself short of making such a foolish maneuver. In his forehead creased deepened lines that seemed to compete over each other for whom could fold across the nether first. Like they were consuming, dominating each other, that was how he felt. It didn't get better when his abandoned daughter stared at him like the deplorable man he was.
Mr. Sato's façade melted as he collapsed onto the unfinished game of Pai Sho, his and her tears staining the metal of Republic City Jail. A moment of shared grief lost without contact. And she left to move on, leaving him like a broken piece of machinery, a single component halting the engine's advance.
Little Asami looked skywards to the birds. They were shining almost, her small verdants, exactly the same as the pastures around them.
"How are you, Asami?" he inquired.
"I'm alright..." the girl answered.
"What is it? Care to tell your old man? Is it boy trouble?" he said and laughed heartily.
Together they chuckled and giggled, reveling in the warm spray of midsummer sun.
"No... today is your anniversary, right daddy?"
Daddy looked down on the small bundle of love sitting on his lap, enveloped in his embrace. How long ago was she a baby? "Yes, that's right honey," he said, and smiled.
Putting tiny hands on her father's chest, Asami dragged herself out of his arms and off his sizable paunch. "The kids at school asked me if I had two dads," she admitted with a low frown.
Calm, blazing maroons surveyed the girl. "I'm so sorry, Asami," he hugged her, and made a silent promise to take her out of public education for homeschooling.
"I don't know." That was the best he could do? Was that all he had to say?
The chief of police walked over to two men that had been knocked over by the heiress' violent exit. Lin didn't have enough time to stop her before Asami had left in her aqua-colored Satomobile.
Oh how she missed her mother that could just tell her straight what was going on, and she could do the same. Ever since she died, so did that part of their family. The honest glue keeping them together. Asami could never know why he insisted on keeping things from her.
If cars had emotions, the one she drove embodied full-on unadulterated rage. Angry turns and twists around the soft corners of roads she'd helped create. A furious press on the pedal forced brakes to bring the Satomobile to a complete and sudden stop, an unwelcome exertion on the iron discs. There, across well-known Yue Bay, was the even more famous Air Temple Island. A place that always seemed to be calm and ordinary–and that wasn't at all wrong; it was, after the Avatar left.
Just a few weeks ago was she standing on that dock, peering up at the imposing Water Tribe ship, comparing it to the tiny temples (and then she remembered her own monolithic airships). She wouldn't admit it to herself, but she was cowering behind the gathered welcome committee. Among the disappointed faces were Tenzin, Tonraq, and everyone else, except Asami. If someone did look anywhere but at the exit ramp of that ship, at her, they didn't say anything. Not that there was anything to tell, because Asami Sato was good at hiding emotion, thank the Spirits. If she wasn't her father's daughter she would've cried right then and there.
Owner of Future Industries was a prestigious title, one people would not hesitate to associate themselves with. That meant that Asami would always be privileged. She'd always get what she wanted, if she wanted it, whenever she wanted it. Her story wasn't like so many others, she wasn't pining for her parents love, they were always there for her and she was the opposite of spoiled. However, being the daughter of these amazing people meant there were expectations to live up to, ones that took 3 years to supercede. Time spent re-building credibility, integrity, reputation–everything needed in order for a company to be successful. She struggled with that for so long, alone, when those amazing people vanished.
Even though Asami was the heir after Wei, there was speculation over whether or not the company should need a new CEO. It hurt her badly to speak well of Hiroshi in order to secure her rightful spot as owner, but she held her mask and made sure not to drop it. If she did she'd just lose everything that she'd worked for, all that she'd prepared for her entire life, the last thing entitled to her. Asami never wanted to usurp her father, but that didn't stop newspapers from printing large sensationalized articles debating this very fact. Of all the ridicule spewed, the argument that spoke to her the most–and the only one that was true–was claiming her annexing of the throne as caused by an unhappy childhood.
Some dock workers looked over at the blue-colored, custom-built Satomobile, and the driver firmly and securely placed on its shearling dressed seats: the fabric gained after removal of fur. Her gloved hands were placed at ten-and-two on the wheel, yet the engine was off. The vehicle faced an island out at sea– neighboring a large statue of the current Avatar's previous lost incarnation.
The woman wondered if its been too long since they saw each other, that it was expected of her to address her friend as "Avatar Korra" now. She would've found out if she actually arrived, and wasn't missing.
Asami had knowledge of what the Avatar had been dealing with. It came in the form of a letter, a single response to the many hundreds she'd sent. They were good at that too, sending messages, the Sato family. It was a regular business practice after all, the sending and receiving between two parts. For she had been recieving dozens from Hiroshi, and was shocked to find one sent by the princess of the Southern Water Tribe. It was a process that ruined her life over and over again.
The mother walked in on something. Her husband was in the center of the room on his chair, resting comfortably at an almost 45 degree angle to seem unfazed, until she had barged in.
"What is going on, Hiroshi?" Wei kept cool under brimming exasperation.
"It's nothing, dear," he answered. "Us gentlemen were just about finishing up. If you don't mind..." The corpulent man steadied himself upright, ushering the Triad members out. "I think we're done here."
A little girl who had been ordered to stay behind was growing impatient, but decided to wait just a bit longer. She knew how important her dad's job was and couldn't think up a better way of ruining everything than to storm inside right in the middle of something.
"I won't let you leave," the woman blocking the doorway sent a vicious glare at the group of thugs.
"Wei, please." His normally, subtly boisterous character, was replaced by a confrontational frown. "Just let them go."
"You can't keep doing this, just re-route or solve the problem some other way, not like this," she plead, only to him, ignoring the bandits in the room.
"You know I can't do that."
"But I won't stand for working with criminals. You're ruining our good name, and our daughter's trust!"
The slim, snide-looking man of the bunch, stepped forward. "If I may, Ms. Sato, add a few words to the discussion. Your husband has been a wonderful host to us humble guests and," he pointed to his goons. "I don't think it'd be wise of you to spoil our wonderful deal, and force us to take drastic action."
"If you keep harassing us and taking our money, I will personally have the entire police force breathing down your sorry scumbag necks," Wei threatened.
The sickly thin man slithered his fingers clasped like a spider weaving its prey. For a second, his gaze let up and he spoke, "I apologize for this unfortunate turn of events and honestly I am truly sorry." He gestured for the men to take the suitcase. "I think we'll be leaving now," he started. "The Agni Kai sends it compliments and we will meet again."
Whilst they were distracted by Hiroshi's strained handshaking and disturbed facial expression, her agile digits slipped inside the glove. "No. I can't let you destroy everything that I love."
For a moment, all of the days events that led up to this point played in front of her mind. How they hollered in glee, surfing upon the water in their boat. Her mother's joyous grin and flowing, silky, jealousy-breeding black hair. And now it was scorched. In the heat of the moment, Little Asami cried out in despair and agony as the charred body collapsed.
Simple human words did not contain enough emotion to express and fully encompass her absolute subjugation. A picture does say more than a thousand words. A thousand burning words she never wanted to hear again, a flaming picture she never wanted to see again. Why did she not just go to the park like her mother asked?
As the tender jade eyes Asami shared with her mother, closed for the very last time, a new pair of cool, royal navy eyes, opened her view forever.
Shot back into presence, the woman's beryl-accented ovals bent with purpose and revved the engine she built herself, aggressively, knowing exactly how much it could take.
"You're going to be taking self-defence classes."
"What–why?"
Little Asami and Hiroshi Sato sat under a massive chandelier, next to a sparkling fireplace, a comfy silky rug, on opposite sides of a Pai Sho board, the snow howling against their window.
"I want you to be able to defend yourself. Just a precaution."
The seven year old didn't want to question him when he was like this. He didn't seem like her father, the convivial and caring one she trusted. So she just accepted it and went to practice the next morning.
Years passed and the small girl turned into a lovely woman. She was just on the way to her master's class when a guy ran into the street to topple her self-manifactured bike on its side, and him on the face.
What she didn't know until much later was that that was her only real friend, and through him she met more true friends, ones she'd met by herself. Not through galas where the people she conversed with were only interested in her father. But now, people were interested in her, but she never wanted to speak with anyone who wasn't genuine, who could understand and she could speak to about anything and just be herself.
Through Mako, she met Avatar Korra. A hotheaded rambunctious teenager, the exact opposite of herself, yet she found that she was drawn to her by some inexplicable power. Her new-found legitimate friends who cared about her, was hated by her father because they were benders.
It was lonely in the mansion. So, she thought she'd let someone else make use of all that space, i.e Mako's family. Because all that room was too much for one person to ever justify having, let alone two people. The west wing of the small castle was enough for her, and maybe someone else, someone she cared about, with blue eyes instead of green. That Asami could be herself with and share fears and doubts, just like she wished Korra would one day. Let go and fall apart in her arms, not be strong for everyone and let Asami be strong for her.
Despite her father essentially turning into the man who killed her mother, and almost her, she still loved him as her only family, she still wanted his acceptance–if her crush even felt the same way. The woman who she understood so intimately, yet had as little knowledge of her struggles as everyone else. Asami knew how Korra felt when they spoke to her because she was the Avatar, how she felt when she was alone in the compound, and what to do to deal with these problems. Ms. Sato was in her Water Tribe-blue car, on her way to see her father. For no matter how much time passed, the game would always be there to play. And to win, you have to first know your opponent.
She didn't just want to forgive him to gain approval; then she'd be as bad as him. For he would be in her debt, and as a businesswoman, she knew how dangerous that was.
Asami knows it is easier to ask for permission than forgiveness.
