As it usually is during the first cool months of autumn, Ba Sing Se University is positively bustling. Eager-eyed freshmen (and bleary-eyed seniors) make their way around the campus green, it's beautiful courtyard beaming with lush, full-bodied trees and patches of soft grass where clichés of students take much-needed breaks. Evera and Tuvo had taken the back professor's entrance, hoping not to alarm the students in the front quad with their Dai-Li presence.
"Evera!" A girl's voice calls out to her; Evera looks up to find Zayana, senior Political Science major at the University. A digital camera strings around her neck as her and an entourage of young students approach them.
More Song's friend than Evera's, Zayana always seemed like an energetic woman on a mission for the truth. Song had introduced her to Evera late last year when she had written an article about Song's father, General Meelo. Zayana's career aspirations as a journalist always came first, and she was the editor in chief of the Stonesthrow Times, the weekly newspaper at the University press. Evera's always admired her dedication as a journalist, though she does find her a bit nosey. She begins taking some photos of her and Tuvo.
"Please, no pictures," Tuvo grumbles out to her.
"Evera, what is the Dai Li doing here? Is it about misappropriated funds for the new Library? Why isn't it finished yet? Is our tuition going to waste?" Her barrage of questions is waved away by Tuvo. Evera shakes her head.
"Sorry Zayana, we're just doing our rounds, nothing to see here." Zayana frowns, her shoulder-length blonde hair framing around her youthful, pale face.
"You sure you can't drop me a lead on a new story?" She hustles to keep up with their pace, "Like, when will the Library be finished? Is Brock Ting still leading the project? Oh, do you and Song wanna get dinner later?"
"Yeah, maybe this weekend we can do dinner? Sorry, I can't really help you with a headline, we're a little busy." Evera and Tuvo continue on, leaving Zayana and her entourage behind. She calls back to her, "Maybe we can hit up Fu's this weekend."
Zayana waves, the smile fading from her face as she looks over the photos she got: all blurry.
"Vultures. They sure start them young." Tuvo retorts sarcastically.
"Hey, Zayana's a cool girl," Evera replies, "Wouldn't you want to know where your tuition money was going?"
Weaving through the labyrinth of dorms and administrative buildings, the duo finally come to a sectioned-off construction site, towering scaffolding and tarps draped across pallets of unused wood and yellow warning tape. They duck under the tape and enter an unfinished building, a small printed sign posted up on the door: "LIBRARY CONSTRUCTION SITE: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY"
The future new University Library was nearly complete; stacks of half-empty shelves lined the shining new marble flooring, the smell of freshly sanded wood still curling into the air. The dome-top shape of the roof gives it a modern, smart-looking flare, as if the Spirits themselves can peer in and watch over each page.
In the center of the room among a flurry of construction workers stands a tall, barrel-chested man in a expertly tailored deep navy suit: It was none other than Brock Ting, millionaire and real-estate mogul of the Upper Ring. He stands beside a hard-hatted foreman as they look over a clipboard, his golden, slicked-back plot of blonde hair shining under the new library lights. His green eyes scanning down yet another important document needing his approval, he pulls out a golden fountain pen from his suit pocket (a pen probably worth more yuan than anything Evera had ever owned). He quickly scribbles the bottom with his signature and passes it back before spotting Tuvo and Evera approaching from the doorway.
Brock Ting went by many names: Mr. Ting, Big Brock, Brock the Rock...but he was hoping to go by a new name this fall: Mr. President. He was one of the most well-known and controversial figures in all of Ba Sing Se. People from all over knew his story; born in the Middle Ring to a family of great Earthbenders, he grew up working alongside his father, who had started a business building car garages for Satomobiles in the city. With such an ironclad work ethic and second-to-none construction skills, the Tings soon earned their first million yuan and were able to move their family to the Upper Ring. When Brock fully took over the family business, he expanded it to create luxury housing, hotels and even redesigned some of the inner-city parks.
Quite the contentious celebrity, he was known for his flashiness and, at times, gaudy personal design, though many believe he embodied the "Earth Kingdom dream" to be able to manage and elevate his family's status even higher than his Father could ever dream for him. He even did a few pro-bono projects, including this new Library for his Alma Matter, and promised to complete it on time and ahead of schedule (well, that is, as long as they agreed to name it the Brock Ting Library). He certainly had his share of critics; known for being quite the Earthbending Nationalist, the press loved to smear him at every opportunity for being prejudice towards other nations. Even more so now, due to his latest presidential bid against Secretary Hilan.
"Tuvo, thanks for coming," He bows with respect as they approach, "And you must be Evera. I've heard a lot about you, they say you're the greatest." Evera politely bows back, slightly shocked to see such a celebrity in the dust of his own construction site(especially without any TV cameras around to prove it).
"I want to show Evera." Tuvo looks beyond past Brock's shoulder to the lofty stack of books, "Is it okay if I bring her back there?"
"Sure thing, follow me."
Brock leads them back through the stacks, the decorative lights along the caps of the aisles becoming rarer and rarer as they follow. The path ahead of them grows darker and darker as they progress along the gangway shelves, dimming over them like thickened treeline branches shrouding the sun from a forest floor. In a matter of minutes, the Library's friendly, futuristic ambiance had changed into one of eerie, mysterious energy.
They soon come to a dark aisle of books blocked off with yellow warning tape, printed red signs plastered all around it: DO NOT ENTER, MR TINGS ORDERS. DO NOT ENTER, FIREABLE OFFENSE. Brock raises up the tape and motions the duo through to this quarantined zone. Evera holds her breath as she passes under.
She stands curiously in the darkness of the aisle. There is a man-shaped figure standing up ahead of them, his construction hat gleaming in the shadows of the shelves. He is not moving.
"What happened? Is he a witness to a crime?" Evera whispers to Tuvo, who continues on ahead of her with Brock. He shakes his head.
"If he is, he can't tell us." Tuvo whispers back. A chill runs down Evera's spine; the unfinished, murky vibe of the Library was giving her the creeps now. She continues walking to catch up to them, approaching the stone-still construction worker's place as he faces the books, frozen where he stands.
"Someone on my nightshift crew found him like this," Brock begins, looking the man up and down, "But we have no idea what happened."
Evera approaches the man slowly. He indeed is one of Brock's workers, looking ordinary enough: wide cargo slacks, a thin orange safety vest draped over his linebacker shoulders, the famous Ting "T" insignia plastered across the back. His face is frozen in an expression of shock; brows arching, mouth agape. Evera waves a hand in front of his face in confusion.
"Hello? Sir?" Evera gently calls to him, "Excuse me, sir?"
He does not answer. He does not move
"He's not gonna answer you," Tuvo whispers, "He won't answer anyone. He's stuck like this."
She places a gentle hand to his cheek; still warm. She moves the hand to his neck; she cannot find a pulse. What in the world?
"How long has he been like this?" Evera asks, attempting to hide her shock.
"About 12 hours," Brock replies, "We don't know what happened to him, but we can't move him. It's like his feet are welded to the floor."
Evera kneels down to examine the man's workboots. They look normal, dirtied from the plentiful sawdust, and worn in with perhaps hundreds of miles of construction site steps. There is nothing particularly "holding" him to the floor, but there is a pile of books lying around him on the marble, fallen from their place on the tall shelf.
Peering back up at the man, she suddenly notices the position of his arms: slightly outstretched in an empty cradle, holding onto an invisible object.
"Looks like he was doing some midnight reading," Evera stands up. "But this is very strange." She spots a silver wristwatch on the man's left arm. She examines it closely: It has stopped, the second hand on the watchface unmoving as well. It's time reads 11:57PM. Evera's voice falls to a whisper.
"It's as if he's frozen in time."
"That was my first thought as well," Tuvo says quietly, "His pupils do not react to light and his blood is not moving though his body. But he is alive. He's just locked in here."
"My men have joked about this part of the Library being haunted," Brock says incredulously, "Is it possible a Spirit did this?"
"Very possible," Evera says, "The Si Wong Rebels worship the Spirits of Time and Sand, so this could be some kind of attack. But I don't believe Spirits normally attack humans unprovoked. Was he maybe being aggressive?"
"Nah, this guy's a gentle giant." Brock says sadly, "Everyone loves him."
"Evera, these books are all written by the same guy," Tuvo reaches down to retrieve one of the thick hardcovers from the floor, presenting it to her. "An author named I.J. Lee. He's apparently a performing artist in the Fire Nation, and a prolific writer on the bending arts. We think Brock's worker here was looking for something specific in the stacks when he got stuck like this."
Evera takes the book in her hands and reads the cover: 'Advanced Bending Principals volume III: The Third Eye.' Cryptic symbols are carved into the book's leather-bound cover. An eerie silence falls down upon them, until...
BBBRRRING!
Evera JUMPS!
But it is just Brock's cellphone.
"Sorry," Brock says with a sigh, "I gotta take this. Thanks again for your help, Tuvo, and a pleasure meeting you, dear." He quickly walks off with his cell phone, spouting something about contracts, ducking down an adjacent aisle back down the way they came.
"I managed to reach out to this Author, I.J." Tuvo continues, "And wouldn't you know, he tells me that he was expecting a call from the Dai Li. He says he has information about the Si Wong Rebels concerning his close friend, Lo-Son Jae. And he wants to talk."
"He's friends with Lo-Son Jae?" Evera asks, peering back down at the strange novel. "Maybe he knows what the Rebels are doing with him."
"Exactly," Tuvo says, "I've arranged for you to meet him undercover off the coast of Chameleon Bay. You'll be attending a reception cruise. You are to meet I.J. and receive his information, but you'll have to be careful, because we really don't know much about this guy. But he could be a big help in taking down the Rebels, and he claims he really wants to help Lo-Son Jae."
"A reception?" Evera asks, unenthused.
"A wedding reception, actually." He continues, "A Fire Nation General is marrying the daughter of a Northern Watertribe Nobleman. Your contact I.J. will be one of the Fire Jugglers working the party."
"Great," Evera says sarcastically, "I love weddings."
"Well, it was my idea. I did my research and found that I.J. was performing there, and I happen to be good friends with the father of the bride. I figured it should be a crowded place, just in case this I.J. decides to pull you into trouble... There's just one small issue."
"What's that?"
"Okay," Song stands on the far side of their living room by the windows, the curtains drawn to hide any nosey neighbor from peering in, "Lets try again. Just do it exactly like I do it, feel the flow. Follow your body through the stance."
Evera, back in her regular tribe-inspired clothes, stands in frustration across the room from Song. A large bucket of water sits between them in the middle of the room, imprinting a wet circle on the round jute rug. Sencha, in her sweet kitten form, is curled up in a warm fuzzy ball on the nearby table. Beside the adorable kitten sits two empty wineglasses.
Stepping with her left foot, Song raises her left hand and gracefully flicks her wrist, waving her palm around elegantly. Her right hand follows suit and waves alongside in a "lifting" motion. A stream of water begins twirling up from the bucket, whisking up decisively over and around Song's head. With the continuous twirl of her arms, Song waves the water over to the nearby table and streams it directly into an empty wineglass, not spilling a drop.
She looks over to Evera and nods. Evera sighs heavily, taking a similar stance by the door.
She steps with her left foot and raises up her arm. Nothing happens at first.
"Just think about the coolness of the water," Song calls across the room, "Think about the way it can fill any space, how flexible it is."
Evera thinks about this; she remembers the waterfall from her vision and the way the calming green lakewater pooled out in front of her feet. Waving her hand higher, a stream of water suddenly lifts from the bucket and swirls above the room.
"You got it!" Song calls out. "Don't forget your other hand!" Evera holds her concentration, motioning her right hand to continue on with this wave. As gracefully as she can muster, Evera twirls her arms just as Song had done, watching as the water swirls in a whooshing lasso rope around her. She motions for it to move towards the second wineglass on the table, catching herself in a stumble as the stream begins to drip and leak. Song still calls from afar: "It's okay to move your body, no need to be rigid like a rock! Flow, like water!"
Evera takes another step and dances out of the stumble, continuing the swirl of her hands as the water follows suit. Aiming down, she gracefully streams the water toward the empty glass, following through with her motions as it begins to fill up.
"Yes!" Song shouts out, "You're doing it! That's SO much better!"
Filling the glass up all the way, the last bit of the stream accidentally whips down, splashing poor Sencha out of her cozy slumber.
"Oh, sorry girl!" Evera calls out. Sencha grumbles, shaking off her long fur, sending the drips flying about. Song laughs, swirling up the excess water from Sencha's mane with a twirl of her finger.
"That was so great! See, I know how to teach." Song stands confidently, beaming with a smile.
"Thank you, Sifu Song." Evera says, half-sarcastically. "Really though, that was actually very helpful. Water feels so different than Earth. In the sand, I constantly have to ground myself and stay rigid. With water, it's like you have to move your body to match its flow."
"Exactly," Song states confidently, "It's all about the push and pull of the water. Great Aunt Kya taught me well."
"I can't believe Tuvo wants me to impersonate a waterbender already," Evera says, sitting in a nearby chair. She begins stroking Sencha's damp fur. "And this little move is the only one I really know how to do."
"You know how to do the freezing move." Song says with a sly smile.
"Hah, that was more of an accident." Evera reaches out to the wineglass, picking it up to dump its contents back into the bucket.
"I guess streaming the water is the only important move you need to know for this anyway." Song says, retaking her stand, "Isn't that all a waitress does at a wedding? Serve drinks?"
"Ugh, so embarrassing," Evera says, going back across the room, "I work years in the Dai Li, find out I'm the literal Avatar... and now I'm gonna be serving drinks."
"Do it well enough and no one will know the difference, you'll blend right in as a watertribe waitress working for tips." Song strings up another stream of water, swirling it around the room toward Evera. Evera motions up and 'pushes' it back to her. "Tuvo's right, you'd stick out like a sore thumb if you went as an Earthbender."
"Uh oh," Evera says, her eyes drawing away from the water to look down at her regular clothes. "That reminds me. I don't have any water tribe clothing." Song smiles.
"Leave that one to me."