Disclaimer: Me? Own Avatar? Ha ha ha!
Warning: This story is a product of my overactive imagination. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental and an oversight on my part. To the rednecks out there, no offence is meant, for I too am a woman of the south. A southern broad. This is nothing more than my sad attempt at a humor fic. In other words, this is all a damnable lie and I should be ashamed.
The Gift That Keeps On a Givin'
- - - - -
Iroh, also known as the Dragon of the West, ex-general of the Fire Nation, hero of his people along with an abundance of other titles for which he was renowned, stood in awe of his surroundings.
It had taken a great deal of coaxing to convince his nephew that it was time to take a break from their journey. They needed to re-supply and the men where becoming as harsh and irritable as the rough ocean they were traveling through. Reluctantly, Zuko agreed to one night of rest in the port town of Tajima. The men were now making their way through the shop filled streets, spending more time filling their stomachs with local delicacies and ogling the pretty village girls than following orders. It would seem that Zuko himself was the only one who refused to join in on a night of rest and relaxation. He dutifully went from merchant to peasant to sailor searching for anyone who had seen or heard of the Avatar. Iroh shook his head ruefully at the sight of his overwrought nephew. Single minded to the point of obsession. He wondered briefly why Zuko reminded him of someone he knew then blushed slightly when he realized it was himself.
Full of purpose and a strong desire to achieve his goal, Iroh wandered determinedly through the winding streets of Tajima. He walked passed the vendors of noodles, grilled fish, eel, and even the peiking duck, resisting the urge to stop with every ounce of willpower he could summon. No distractions. There was something much more important he had to take care of first. Something so vital that it if he failed life itself would be meaningless.
Just when Iroh was beginning to shift from frustration to desperation he spotted it. It was hidden discreetly as the end of a side street, easily passed over if one did not know what they were looking for. Now Iroh was looking around him in amazement. It went beyond his most thrilling dreams and wildest imagination. Every shelf on every wall was filled with tea in a myriad amount of flavors, every possible possibility. A feeling of euphoria filled his being. His skin felt like it was stretching, almost bursting at the seams with the since of fullness his body was experiencing.
Iroh had died and gone to heaven.
Jasmine, oolong, spiced green, peppermint, white peony, ginseng. They all surrounded him like a blanket of caffeine packed joy. In a rush of delirium he gathered as many different flavors as his arms could hold and plopped them down onto the counter to pay. He looked over the mountain of tea to address the owner, but the space was empty. "Hello?" He called into the seemingly empty shop. He heard a muffled voice and a grunt of pain then silence. Iroh called out again determined to begin his evening of tea drinking. Perhaps he would try the Earl Grey Green first…or maybe the White Darjeeling.
"Can I help ya'll?"
Iroh nearly jumped out of his skin. One moment the space behind the counter was unoccupied the next a teenage girl was grinning back at him. Her round face seemed pleasant enough, but the ex-general sensed a cunning personality behind those dark eyes. Her hair, which hadn't been washed for several days, was pulled back into a sloppy bun and her crooked, yellow teeth completed in giving Iroh an overall sense of unease. An intriguing scent of tobacco mixed with freshly cut grass filled his nose. "Eh…" he stumbled with his words. "I would like to purchase these," Iroh gestured to the pile of tea on the counter. He inwardly frowned, something was not right here.
The girl took a look at the boxes and waved her hand dismissively as though they were unimportant. "Oh these here teas? Trust me sir, ya don't wanna drink any'a these."
Iroh had never hit a woman in his life, but insulting his favorite beverage must surely be an exception. He took a breath and tried to calm himself. "And why do you say that?"
She gave another toothy grin. "Now you listen here," she pulled out a box from behind the counter. "This here is the best darn tea this side'a the Mississipi. Pardon my French."
Now Iroh was truly confused. He had traveled far and wide over his many years, but he had never heard an accent quite like this one. And what the hell was the Mississippi? "That's an interesting accent," he commented as he eyed the box of tea she brought out. "Where are you from?"
Her eyes shifted nervously for a moment. Apparently she hadn't anticipated the question. "Uh…the southern Earth Kingdom." She quickly regained her composure and put on her best salesman face. "Now if you's any kinda expert, and I can tell ya are, you'd snatch this tea right up. Why it's the most rare, delicious thang ya ever did taste."
Iroh felt his curiosity turn from the girl to the tea. He sniffed it cautiously then almost fainted with pleasure at the delicious scent that filled his nose. "I'll take it!"
The ex-general tucked his purchase affectionately under his arm and practically skipped out the door.
"Ya'll come back again, if youins should have any old problem whatsoeva'!" The girl waved as her customer left, a satisfied smile stretched from ear to ear. That had been easier than she thought. A muffled voice jolted her from her underhanded thoughts and she gazed irritatingly at the man in the backroom. The shop's owner lay on the floor, bound and gagged with a large lump on the back of his head, and whimpered in pain.
She sighed. Men could be such babies.
- - - - -
Breathe in. Breathe out. Clear your mind. Focus only on your breathing.
Zuko had performed this exercise several times over his years of training. He could practically hear his uncle's voice directing him, telling him over and over how important meditation is.
The chamber of the exiled prince was sparsely furnished, decorated only with a few objects representing his great nation. It was the perfect place for concentration. It was set well away from the other men's quarters and the usual noise of the ship. There was nothing here to distract him from bringing his troubled thoughts to rest. Not only had hours of interrogation proved fruitless, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had been followed. It was nothing more than the tingling of his skin and it had lasted only for a short while, but Zuko doubted it had just been his imagination. His instincts told him better.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Clear your mind. Focus only on your breathing.
He tried and failed to bring his thoughts under control. Now matter how many hours he spent sitting here meditating it would not bring him closer to the Avatar. Just when Zuko was about the give up once and for all the sound of strange music drew his attention to the date. Tonight was music night. He sighed. What on earth had convinced him to allow such lunacy? Well, not so much what but who.
"Uncle!" Zuko opened the door of his chambers and stepped out into the corridor.
Splat!
The prince ungracefully tripped and fell to the metal floor. What the hell? What happened to his ship?
Beer bottles, cans, broken appliances, and old tires littered the once clean passageway. The walls were covered with posters of NASCAR drivers, naked women, and a strange looking flag he had never seen before. Zuko picked up the object that had caused his unexpected fall and gaped at the label, "Uncle Pete's Famous Chili" What is "chili"? What the hell is going on?
Zuko carefully made his way down the corridor trying not to trip on any more garbage or blush at the pictures on the wall. Someone was dead. Someone was beyond dead. His mind drifted to the many possible ways to inflict pain on a disobedient subordinate.
The Spirits themselves would not dare to challenge him now. Full of rage and ready to unleash his anger on the first man that crossed his path, Zuko stepped out onto the deck. Unfortunately for Zuko his anger quickly transformed into utter confusion. Several of his men were lined up against the side of deck, and to the prince's horror, were relieving themselves. "What in the name of Agni do you think you're doing?" He shouted.
One of the men turned and grinned at his commander, "Damn good tea ol' Iroh got there, but it shor does make ya wanna piss. This is the third time tonight!"
"Hey ya'll!" Another soldier called out from the end of the line. "Whatcha say to a peein' for distance contest?" A number of shouts and 'hell yah's' started the competition.
"I'll kick your ass!"
"With that distance? Ya'll full of shit."
Zuko opened his mouth to protest, but no words could adequately explain what he was feeling. What strange illness had infested his crew and diminished their minds? They acted like…like…well he wasn't exactly sure what they were acting like, but he was sure it was not good.
He turned his gaze to the other side of the deck and spotted his uncle Iroh. To his astonishment, which was every increasing, the Dragon of the West was dancing. Several of the men had formed two lines and were stomping, clapping, and swinging to the strange music. One of the men was holding an instrument like a shamisen, but with five strings instead of three and the neck wasn't as slim. Another was calling out directions in a sing-song voice over the 'yee-haw's' of the dancers.
"Swing thru and then, spin the top my friend. Find the corner, swing, and then you promenade…"
"Uncle!"
The sound of his nephew's voice turned his attention to the irritated looking young man. "Zuuuko!" The teenager winced at the drawl and the absense of 'Prince' before his name. "Whatca doin' just standin' around? Come on over here and allemande with your favorite uncle!"
"Alle-what?" But Iroh didn't bother answering his question. He grabbed the younger man's arm and pulled him into the line dance.
"Four ladies promenade that ring. Run on back and give your man a swing…"
Iroh twirled his nephew with a little more enthusiasm than was required. Zuko felt like he was going to be sick. He was in hell, he was sure of it. The prince wondered which spirit he had pissed off to warrant such malicious treatment.
"Join up hands, circle left go round. Do an allemande left your corner, weave that ring…"
"Enough!" A jet of red hot flames burst from the young man. The banjo was on fire and several members of the crew were looking slightly singed. He turned back to Iroh, "Now tell me what's going on here!"
His uncle didn't seem at all upset by the destruction of the musical instrument or the burned sleeve of his kimono. "Zuuuko! Ya seem tense. Why dontcha come right on over here and have yourself a cup a' tea?"
"I don't want tea!" His voice was still harsh, but inwardly he was slightly relieved. The tea reference assured Zuko that part of his uncle was still intact. Even with the creepy accent and the line dancing.
"But this just ain't any ol' tea. This here's sweet tea. Ya'll gonna feel like a million bucks!"
"Sweet tea?" Zuko ran a list of tea flavors through his mind. Sweet tea was definitely not in there. Over the many years spent with his uncle he had come to be an expert in his own right, even if he didn't share Iroh's obsession.
Iroh nodded and handed the young man a cup. Zuko studied the foreign beverage in his hand. This was definitely not like the other teas of Iroh's taste. For one thing it was cold, for another thing it was black and not green. He sniffed it cautiously, it had a sugary aroma. Sweet tea, tasting sweet. What a concept.
With much urging from his uncle Zuko took a tentative sip. He waited. Did he feel differently? He wasn't sure. "Uncle, I don't feel a thaaang…"
Oh dear Angi. Had his voice just drawled? What was happening? Zuko quickly made a mental note to seduce the pretty village girl he had seen in Tajima just in case the end of the world was set for tomorrow.
Iroh looked like he had just struck gold. "Ain't it the best darn tea ya ever did taste?"
Zuko was horrified. He had halfway resigned himself to strangling his mentor when he had the sudden overpowering urge to join the men who were fishing off the port side of his ship. He mentally slapped himself. Fishing? He hated fishing! What strange magic had possessed him?
It was the tea! Somehow it had affected his mind and the mind of his crew. He had to get rid of it! With righteous indignation he threw the cup away and the brown liquid spilled across the deck.
Iroh squealed. How dare he defile the sweet tea! "Now you listen here!" He pointed his finger and waved it at Zuko like a mother regarding her unruly son. "Ya'll gonna clean that mess up right this instant!"
"I will not!" Zuko fought tooth and nail against the accent that threatened to usurp his usually regal speech. "Uncle, that tea is what's making you and the crew act this way. We have to get rid of it!"
"Don't you give me that sass! I'll turn you over my knee and give you such a whippin'…"
This was wrong. This was so incredibly wrongly wrong. This must surely be punishment. He was being punished for all the wrongs of his past with this…wrongness. Suddenly capturing the Avatar seemed like child's play compared to finding sanity again.
"Hey Iroh!" One of the soldiers called out to him. "We're all outta tea!"
There was a collective grumbling as the men realized their precious beverage was no more. Fistfights broke out over what remained.
Iroh looked dejected. "I guess we'll just have ta go get su'more."
"No!" Zuko insisted. "No more!" If he was lucky maybe the effects of this sweet tea would be gone by morning.
"Did someone order some sweet tea, ya'll?" A teenage girl appeared on the ship holding a freshly brewed pitcher. Iroh raced towards her with a speed Zuko had never seen before. He cursed and punched at the other men as they tried to steal it from him and have a taste for themselves.
"Who are you? What are ya doin' on my ship?" Oh Agni, the accent was back. He had to destroy the tea. His mind spun with the possibilities of stealing the cursed drink from the entire hostile crew.
She giggled and her round face blushed. "Little ol' me? Why I'm Betty Lou. Mary Sue's southern sista'."
Betty Lou? Mary Sue? Was this a nightmare? If so he prayed to the spirits to let him wake up.
"And you," she pointed at the prince. "Are mine."
She smiled a huge toothy grin and for some reason he didn't understand Zuko found it quite enticing.
- - - - -
Author's Notes: This is for Hotspur who gave me the idea for this fic. I apologize to such a talented authoress for my complete lack of shame or sanity. Writer's block can be a horribly dangerous thing and after such a long pause from writing Providence this idea came to me. It struck with such ferocity that I was forced to write in self defense.
And now I must atone for my sins by returning to Providence.