CHAPTER FIVE
BOLIN AND TANYA
Tanya played head-banging rock music from a radio that blasted screaming guitar verses, concussive beats and brass, with a reedy voice that carried them through lyrics and choruses and the bridge. They mixed together in a cacophony about frustration, defensiveness, and pushing back. The beat got her bobbing her head back and forth in tempo while she worked.
Dozens of overhead panels filled her studio with fluorescent white light with which to see. It reached every corner and illuminated every work surface.
Onyx-black tables formed a rectangular perimeter. Drapes covered them to protect the contents: kits, equipment, spare parts of machinery. Tool boxes were stuffed underneath, put in stacks that were organized by frequency of use. Precision tools were under there from a variety of different manufacturers. Cases protected unused glass beakers that ranged between the size of grams all the way up to holding gallons. Shelves carried scrolls made from blue paper, vellum, canvas, written with plans for mechanisms untold.
She currently had a phallic instrument in front of her. It was maple-brown in color, except the head at its topmost two inches was lighter than the shaft. Veins were pitch dark, and they seemed to web the exterior from its base and up to three-quarters its height. The base was its widest point, to act as an anchor that stood it upright.
It had a square panel on one side which was open by its hinges, disguised as part of a vein. She inserted two tools: a tweezer tiny enough to pluck sand by the grain and a blowtorch that made her hands look giant. Blue fire lit up the table surface, the dildo, and her front.
She wore a welder's mask to protect her face and neck, fire-proof gauntlets made of dense leather, and a smock colored like gray sediments striped with yellow and blue. Paint had speckled its chest and sleeves ages ago that had never come out. Beneath her welding uniform, she wore a tee-shirt and gray cargo pants to work.
Her music faded.
Bolin's voice came from an unseen somewhere behind her, but she spoke over him before he got out much. "Don't turn down my music."
Bolin went on with his smiling voice, a tone that cheered her on no matter how she scorned him. "I feel like you might be late for something. Aren't you flying south right now?"
She turned off the fire and tilted the lid of her mask to see with her naked eyes. "Doesn't feel like it, yet."
"That's right! Your airship's supposed to take off thirty minutes ago. Shoot!"
"What's the point in owning an airship if it takes off without me?" She put down her tools to either side of the work desk with the tiniest clinks of metal on metal. She held up the dildo to her eyes and studied the interior at a better angle through her crinkled expression.
"Ronda's waiting. We should get you gone, miss."
She grumbled something else about her own airship belonging to her, deciding her own schedule, but Bolin went on unfazed.
He carried a slate clipboard stacked with reports and print-outs, with his ink pen poised over them. "Before you leave, I have a couple things I need to ask! The Earth King is donating a trio of tapestries. We need to figure out where to put them."
"Are they good?" She got up, standing a few inches shorter than him and dwarfed by his bulk.
"They're nice! They're of his mother and the badgermoles." He took a couple steps that herded her away from the work table. She turned her back to it and smelled espresso that had not been there a minute ago. He went on to admit, "They're a little bit old-fashioned. There's some age settling in them. Other than that, they're fine!"
"Trash them. All three." She came to the end table where her electric radio now played a soft ballad rock song. Bolin had brought down a silver tray. A tiny mug smaller than a nugget was filled with a piping hot black drink and beside it, a pretzel treat with caramel, pecans, and sea salt. She lobbed her gloves across the room.
"The Ember Island Players have their open auditions…."
"This summer! Don't bother me with that shit already." Caramel cream and savory salt mixed together when she bit into the pretzel. Bits crumbled down her front, so she swept them to the floor.
"I know, I know, miss. They just, you know, sent another request letter. I'm just passing the message along. The theater folks do love you."
"How'd the dude take it?" She said between mouthfuls.
Bolin lifted his gaze to the ceiling. They both knew at once who she meant. The nameless side character made the same annoyed aftertaste in them both. "Like a champ." He then removed the visor from her head with one hand and placed it atop the radio.
Her hair tumbled down her ears, neck, and almost brushed her shoulders. She shook it to and fro. Bangs smothered her temples and forehead.
He said, "Fire Lord Iroh the Second has put the two orphaned dragon eggs on auction. Your Board of Directors has put up a price for the wyrmlings to be incubated in your Forge Main."
Her eyebrows shot up. She wiped the crumbs of her snack across her front, more fragments spilled to the floor, and she spoke with food crunching in her mouth, with cocoa melting on her tongue. "Are they a good representation of our partnership?"
He hesitated over this one, winding his uncertainty back and forth. "It's meaningful. But you know...they're kind of invaluable. They're going extremely expensive."
"I want them." She indeed the belt of her apron with both hands behind her back. "Need them. Buy them now."
He shrugged and made a line of notes across the top page of his clipboard.
"Why are you trying to hustle me out of here?" She tossed her apron onto the floor.
He at once plucked it up, shook it out, and draped its neck onto a nearby wall-mount placed specifically for this purpose.
In a secondhand tone that tried to pass it off with nonchalance, he said, "I have some plans later."
"Did I authorize this?" She squared up to him face to face with her chin up. She propped one hand on her hip while the other pinched her mug's handle. By now, its caffeine aroma had overtaken the studio's industrial odor. She absorbed the morning aura while Bolin spoke.
"I'm allowed to have plans on my birthday."
"It's your birthday?"
He feigned a smile. His eyes were softer around the edges. "Sure is, miss."
"I knew that. Already?"
"It's the same day as last year. I was just joking about that with my bro last night."
She smacked her lips and cleaned the corners of her teeth with her tongue to get the last few crumbs. "Get yourself something from me and Mom."
"I already did." He swelled his chest with satisfaction and straightened himself and the smile reached his eyes.
"And?" She tilted forward on her toes, the eagerness of a woman on the edge of her figurative seat. The light touched her eyes at the right angle, the corners of her lips quirked, and she searched his expression to know more.
Beside herself, she wanted Bolin to be happy. She provided for him the best benefits, the highest pay, but at times he proved it wasn't enough. She wanted to give him more than money, more than gifts, more than benefits. He deserved it for how much he did. He deserved the world, after all his time. It was everything she could to give him that. He deserved joy.
Anybody could be bought with a certain amount of coin. Anybody could smile with the right sized charity. But Bolin, she wanted to give him joy. No amount of money and no gift felt good enough to fill him with joy.
He was more than her assistant. He was the closest thing to treasure she had ever owned.
He was more than a war hero. He was a savior who limped her through day after day.
She wondered if Mom ever understood how much he truly meant to the family. If only she could see how priceless the veteran proved to be.
He punched skyward with two fists. The rally in his voice burst with energy. "I'm so dang excited for it, Ms. Sato. I can't wait!"
She gulped her espresso in one shot. The flavor of concentrated energy, something like gasoline washed through rich soil, slashed down her tongue. It steamed her insides with the willpower to continue today. She smacked her lips a couple times and cleaned out her mouth with the sides of her tongue, because she enjoyed the remnants of flavor before it all slipped down.
She avoided looking at his face, since hers had gone flush-red with the heat in her mug. She handed it away. "Will that be all, Mr. Bolin?"
"That's it, Ms. Sato."
She hid her fiery cheeks with a wave of her hands on the way to the workshop's exit. She cleared her throat along the way.
