Sorry I didn't post last week, friends! I had some friends over for the weekend and was busy. I'll be back to posting every week from now on!


Jirou has only left New Azulon once before, when he went to Taiyang to visit his father. So Bahasa's tall, earthbender-raised walls and wide city streets are completely unlike anything he's ever seen. Bizarrely-shaped cliffs tower over them, dwarfing even the multi-story buildings. From the top of one of those cliffs, Jirou bets the merchants, soldiers, and street vendors look like a mass of swarming ants.

"Stick close," warns Uncle as they edge through the bustle of people. To the right a woman stands on an upturned crate, yelling at a crowd.

"Now is our chance to break free of the Fire Nation's tyranny!" she shouts. "We must vote to return to the Earth Kingdom and—"

"Traitor!" someone screams.

"Jirou!" Uncle barks. Jirou starts. He hadn't realized he'd fallen behind. He dodges a group of women wearing sashes painted green with the characters "liberation" to catch up with Uncle, Nekana, and Altan.

"What are they talking about?" Jirou asks. Uncle places a hand on Jirou's back, hurrying him along. Jirou shrugs it off.

"It seems Bahasa and a few other border towns are being asked to choose whether to join the United Republic or return to the Earth Kingdom," Uncle explains. "It's none of our business." Behind them, the crowd breaks into angry shouts.

Now that Jirou is aware of the protest, there seem to be signs everywhere. Support independence! Down with Fire Nation puppets! Return to the motherland! People wear headbands with strange symbols and wave pennants still dripping with wet paint. The red paint on one flag looks suspiciously like blood. From a rooster? A group of men in grey robes and hoods glide serenely through the crowd, hands folded, murmuring prayers to the spirits. Some of the protestors fall silent. The crowd parts. But one tall woman, wearing what looks suspiciously like a dented shoulder spike of a Fire Nation soldier, steps right in front of the rows of monks. Without a word, she spits right in the lead monk's face.

The crowd erupts in screams.

Jirou wishes Uncle would slow down; from the way Altan and Nekana are looking around, they too want to see how the protests play out. But Uncle rushes them all around a corner and the protestors' shouts are muffled. Jirou strains his ears, trying to catch how it plays out. He wonders if there are protests back in New Azulon. After all, the Firelord did promise to protect the colonies.

"I still can't believe we are letting commoners choose to whom they will belong," Nekana sneers.

"Not again, Nekana!" says Uncle. "How else do you expect the borders be decided?"

"By declaration. From those with the right to rule."

Altan laughs unexpectedly. "Isn't that the way it works?" he says without humor. "Nekana's right. The powerful decide. And the weak are crushed."

"As long as we don't get caught in the middle, everything will—" Uncle starts.

Jirou sighs loudly. As Uncle, Nekana, and Altan argue, Jirou reads the street and shops signs, which are all painted in bright colors and hang haphazardly on the sides of buildings. In New Azulon, all the signs are indigo, the ink boiled in Jirou's mother's pots. He wonders how the local inkmaker creates that deep saffron yellow. Or the green bright as fresh shoots in spring. When Jirou skims across a character he doesn't know, he tries to remember its components. Uncle will probably quiz him on it later.

The lone wagon rattles noisily on the cobblestone streets. Uncle says they'll be staying at an inn for the next two weeks, which means Jirou won't have to spend his evenings picking up dried-out dung. Someone else will make the fires. As he envisions a soft bed a wood-fire, another batch of protestors hustle past the wagon, looking excited and holding more signs. These women look young. Almost his age.

Jirou glances at Uncle, who is still deep in conversation with Nekana. If Jirou explores the city by himself tomorrow, Uncle won't even notice he's gone.

Red. That's all Azula can see as she cranes her neck up at the garish building. Not only is the exterior saturated with red paint, but so are the door and the tiles on the curved roof. Even the carved phoenixes sheltered under the eaves are bloody crimson, outstretched wings glimmering with red glass, eyes specks of gold. Every window blows the gauzy red silk, and translucent scarlet lanterns hang from every shutter. Azula blinks. It's sensory overload. The thin, longing notes of an erhu float down from a second-story window and out into the empty morning street.

"It's called the Red House," says Temurin helpfully. "The best brothel in Bahasa. The red lanterns are how you—"

"I know what red lanterns mean," Azula snaps. She's not a child.

Temurin straightens his vest. Claiming he could tell the weather would be warm today, he stubbornly left his coat behind.

"So shall we head inside, or…" Temurin starts awkwardly.

Azula glares at him disbelievingly. "And this is the errand you said we had to run. First thing in the morning." Against her will, she flushes.

"It won't take long. But if you'd prefer, you can wait out here. I'm sure I can handle it myself."

"I should hope so," says Azula scathingly. She's still blushing, but tries to paste on a blasé expressions. They are both adults. But even so, she has to admit her life in the palace was sheltered in some ways. Never has she met someone so brazen…

"You're over Jinlian sooner than you thought," she finds herself laughing, high and false. "Well, as my friend Ty Lee used to say, the fastest way to get over someone is to—"

"Hold on," Temurin interrupts wildly. "Nekana, we're here for business. I'm not—we're not—" He sputters. His dark skin flushes red along the jawline.

"Business is one way to describe it."

"Kana!" Temurin half-shouts. A shopkeeper sweeping the stairs to their right glowers at Temurin, so he hurriedly steps closer to Azula and lowers his voice to a desperate whisper.

"Nekana, I told you that Mila and Yu-chen own a brothel in Bahasa! That's why we're here!"

His blush has spread to his ears. Which Azula can see clearly, since he's less than a foot away from her. Her lip curls as she realizes what a fool she's made of herself. How could she have not connected that brothel with this one? All this time on the run has blunted her edge.

"I would have known if you hadn't been so unnecessarily taciturn!" she spits, aware her face is blazing as red as the brothel's door. She hates it.

Temurin snorts derisively and looks like he's about to say something cutting. But then he stops himself, scanning Azula's flushed and angry face. His gaze softens.

"I'm sorry, Nekana," he says quietly. "I'm sorry I made you think…it's my fault." They stand there for a moment. For once Azula is not quite sure what to say. Temurin shivers as a light breeze blows dying leaves down the empty street.

"So we're meeting Mila and Yu-chen, your brothel-owning, yapian-buying, and Earth Kingdom-fraternizing friends," she says finally.

"Yes, into the mouth of the dragon we go," Temurin nods.

"I am the dragon."

The door swings open mere seconds after Temurin knocks.

"Mila!" he says. Pushing aside his dark suspicion that Azula is right, that Mila is responsible for the bandit attack on New Azulon, he smiles. The older woman chuckles with a voice deep and gritty.

"So you finally made it to Bahasa," she says. She looks no different than she did when they met and nearly battled on the road: thin and wiry, tan skin even darker than his, grey hair pulled up into her looped Water Tribe bun. Mila pulls Temurin forcibly into a hug, slapping his back hard.

"Mila!" Nekana smiles brightly—too brightly- and bows. "It's good to see you again under better circumstances. I'm so sorry for my hastiness last week."

Mila narrows her eyes. "No offense taken. You are very young," she says in a gravelly voice.

Following Mila, Temurin steps into the Red House for the first time in more than six months. His eyes struggle to adjust to the dark interior. The inside is just as red as the exterior, but the color feels less violent when it appears on lush fabrics and wall tapestries. Passing a few women playing cards in a side room, Temurin follows Mila to the back. Nekana crosses her arms uncomfortably. Temurin's stomach twists in guilt. Maybe he shouldn't have brought her here. She may be an unbelievably deadly fighter, but she's still barely an adult. If she is even an adult. With another unpleasant twist Temurin realizes he has never asked how old she is.

"Anything happen since I saw you last?" Temurin asks Mila.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," Mila waves one hand dismissively.

"Thanks to Mila, the Red House is the safest establishment in Bahasa," Temurin calls over his shoulder. Nekana nods. She's examining a red-framed painting of an Earth Kingdom consort. Perhaps it's merely his overactive imagination, but Temurin swears the woman in the painting looks like Crooked Zhao.

"And thanks to Temurin, we are also the cleanest brothel in Bahasa!" Mila adds.

"Wonderful," Nekana says stiffly. Temurin winces. Yes, he really should have warned her beforehand.

"Yu-chen," Mila calls as they enter a back office. "You'll never guess who showed up at our door."

"Not the independence protestors again, I hope," sighs the woman writing behind the desk. She wears a shocking pink and red dress. Her light brown hair is pulled back into an elegant knot and fastened with a ruby-and-gold phoenix pin. When she sees Temurin and Nekana her face lights up.

"Finally! Mila told me of your…misunderstanding on the road, and I've been eager to make it right."

"So have I," Nekana subtly elbows Temurin aside, her voice so cheerful that for a second Temurin doesn't realize who spoke.

"It is in the past," says Mila. She stands behind Yu-chen, one hand resting supportively on the other woman's shoulder.

"Tea?" Yu-chen asks.

"We're fine," Temurin says.

"I'll have some," Nekana speaks up charmingly.

"Don't speak for her, Temurin," Yu-chen chides. "Have we taught you nothing?"

Nekana laughs. She leans in her chair like it's her own personal throne, legs crossed casually. Temurin doesn't know what her game is here, but clearly she delights in his discomfort.

"Temurin is always trying to be in charge," Nekana tells Yu-chen, voice lowered like the two are already confidants.

"Aren't they all," says Mila dryly. The three women share a private smile. After a few seconds stretch by Temurin shifts in his seat.

"Ah—sorry, Nekana."

"I won't hold it against you," Nekana says sweetly. Temurin rolls his eyes. In less than five minutes, Nekana's charm offensive has succeeded.

"If you'll forgive my brusqueness, I'd like to shift to business," Temurin says.

"Good," says Yu-chen. She taps her calligraphy brush against the table. "When will you come for check-ups?

"Tomorrow. But I also have something that might interest Mila," Temurin says significantly.

At that moment, a woman walks in with a cup of tea for Nekana. It smells like jasmine, and Temurin wishes he had accepted the offer of tea the first time. But it's definitely too late now. After she leaves, Temurin picks back up.

"I've come into possession of a very large amount of yapian," he says, leaning forward. "More than a hundred kilos."

"I thought as much," Mila says seriously. "You're selling, I assume?"

"At 500 kuai a kilo," Temurin replies. "450 for you two."

"Bring it tomorrow and we'll haggle properly," Mila reassures him.

"Well, well, Temurin," Yu-chen, her perfect eyebrows lifting. "You've turned your little side business into quite an endeavor. I'm sure you know our mutual friend does not play games. Sure you're not in over your head?"

"That's why he has me," Nekana says unexpectedly. "To handle things when he gets out of his depth."

Yu-chen and Mila share another significant glance. "There's a story here," Yu-chen says speculatively.

"But unfortunately, not one we can tell now," Temurin says hastily. "I need to get back to my apprentice. Set things up for my visit tomorrow." As he stands to depart, he hears a faint shout followed by more and more voices.

"That will be the protestors," Yu-chen sighs. "I don't know why they have to assemble here every morning. It disturbs the women's rest terribly."

"Be careful out there," Mila warns. "It's only a matter of time before the protests turn into riots." Temurin's stomach slowly turns heavy. From Mila's tone, it sounds more like a promise than a warning.

"He'll be safe with me," Nekana is saying.

"I believe it," says Yu-chen seriously. She rises and bows. "It's good to have you back, Temurin. And we very much look forward to working with you, Nekana."

"Likewise," smiles Nekana. She places her hand on companionably on Yu-chen's arm. "I hope to be back soon."

Nekana's eyes are kind, not glittering like she's plotting someone's downfall. She almost looks…happy. It's a good look on her.

Unfortunately, Temurin knows Nekana well enough to know that her warmth and friendliness is probably a lie.