Written for the prompt 'silence'. I had 2 ideas, so wrote them both. Now I have to decide which one to enter into the Avatar 500 contest. I favour the second one. What do you, my esteemed readers, think? And two 'chapters' in one day...that won't happen again. The next chapter of 'Thistle and Weeds' is begging to be finished.
Toph's World
Toph's world was a noisy one. People mentioned quiet and silence and she understood the concept just fine, but had never really experienced it.
"Isn't it peaceful here; so still?" Katara observed as they stood on the Fire Nation beach, the waves gently tugging at their bare toes.
"You could say that," she replied, not wanting to get into a discussion about her heightened senses. The master earthbender was aware of everything alive both above and beneath the sand. The scurry of crabs, the gentle movement of a starfish stranded on the beach, the death throes of a fish nabbed from the waters by a gull and then dropped unceremoniously. Quiet, or what others deemed quiet, was more chaotic for her.
Katara didn't hear the words anyway. The water absorbed all of her attention. Toph understood that too. It was her friend's element, after all. And every bender had a special relationship with whatever element they manipulated. Aang, of course, he loved them all, though air held a precious place in his heart.
After leaving the beach, they joined the others at a crowded restaurant. People talked loudly, some gesturing wildly with their hands. Dishes clattered. Beverages were poured. The door opened and shut. Meat sizzled and water boiled in the kitchen. Knives sliced through vegetables and bone, hitting cutting boards with a steady bang. The cook shouted at his subordinates. Waiters and waitresses listened patiently to whining customers.
Toph had figured something out years earlier. When there was a jumble of noises and vibrations all around her, like in Ba Sing Se for instance, if she let her concentration go, they all become one, almost like a gentle hum. That was her quiet.
"Geez, it's noisy in here," Sokka complained. "Do you want to go somewhere else?"
"Not me," Toph declared. "I'm basking in the silence."
The Water Tribesman stared at her, a bemused expression on his face. "You're a strange one," he finally stated.
The girl replied proudly. "That's me."
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Differentiation
From an early age, Zuko realized that silences could mean many things. His father's were frightening and full of unspoken disappointment and rage. The young prince preferred it when Ozai shouted at him or grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him hard. At least in those moments, the young prince knew where he stood.
Azula's were disconcerting. When her acerbic tongue was still, and she stared at her brother with those bright amber eyes of hers, Zuko could almost see the web of ideas being spun inside her head. Her silences were all about plotting and planning ways to make life difficult for someone, most often Zuko.
His mother's moments of quiet meant something altogether different. Sometimes she was lost in her own thoughts, but more often than not, Ursa simply enjoyed her son's company, enjoyed listening to him enthuse about something, enjoyed watching him smile or laugh or play. Her silences wrapped themselves around Zuko, sweet and loving and warm.
Uncle Iroh was rarely quiet. A boisterous man, he enjoyed life to its fullest and talking was definitely part of that enjoyment. But occasionally he would grow contemplative. If Zuko let him down in some way, and that occurred a lot during his banishment, Iroh closed himself off briefly, giving the prince plenty of time to think about his words or actions. Though the silences were not angry, Zuko felt their sting and guilt set in without fail. He would realize the nature of his misstep and in his own stubborn way apologize. Iroh knew how to get to the boy.
The girl he loved, Mai, was frequently silent. She chose her words carefully, and spoke them with dull indifference or wicked sarcasm. But most of the time, Mai keenly observed the people around her. People didn't notice her much and she was all right with that. She learned to read them well, their faces and their bodies, what they said and how they said it, what they left out and what they included. She probably knew more about these people than they knew about themselves.
Occasionally she turned that sharp awareness onto Zuko. Mai understood the prince quite well. But his emotions were almost painfully obvious. The reasons behind them, though, not everyone got. Mai did. Her quiet didn't bother Zuko. He loved it, in fact. She relied more on touch than on words with Zuko, and each press of her lips to his, each caress, each time she reached for his hand, said more than any words ever could. Mai's silences were rich and full and Zuko basked in them like he would a cool sea on a hot summer day.