A/N: I know, it's a bit late, but that was actually by design, lol. I'm going to start posting on Saturday Mornings instead of late Friday Nights for scheduling reasons.
Chapter 3
Sokka of the Water Tribe:
"Sokka? Are you in there?"
The voice drifts through me like the wind, effervescent and nonsensical. The canoe drifts easily on the calm, cool water, floating lazily across the lake as I pull the rod back out of th water. I've got a long line set on it, accustomed to the deep water, which I expertly handle around the fragile skins of my canoe. A quick flick of my wrist casts the line out; the baited hook flicks out artfully through the air, colliding with the calm lake and drifting slowly downward. My practiced eyes gaze intently upon the cork as it settles, pulled half into the water by the weight of my lure.
"Sokka? Wake up! Geez, gimme a break..."
Annoyed now by the irritating insistence of this voice in my mind, I bring my hand angrily across the side of my head, hoping to pound it out. A sudden movement down underneath me causes me to stare down into the water by my little canoe. A little smile replaces my irritation as I stare down into the blue below me, marveling at the clarity of the water. I can see the quick, furtive movements of the fish below me; seeming to dance ever closer to the trap I've set for them. I only have to wait.
Suddenly, my gut cries out in pain, jerking me into a doubled-over position. My eyes shut firmly at the shock, tightened against the sudden, solid hurt. My feet clatter against pavement, causing..
Wait...
Pavement?
My eyes slowly come open, causing me to squint at the blaring sunshine that licks out in between the parting lids. The scenery has changed drastically from the peaceful serenity of the fishing lake. I see the dark steel monoliths that paint out the buildings around us, see the cosmetic shrubbery artfully skittered around the grounds. The noises of Fire Nation birds, singing and flitting through the air accost my ears, accompanied by the odor of freshly cut grass, which replaces the round, slightly pungent aroma of fishing tackle.
"Sokka? Are you there?"
It's Toph, walking beside me. Her eyes stare obliquely out into nothingness, but her slight frown, and the firm way in which her fist is planted against my ribs alights me to her certain anger.
"What... what's going on?" I ask, nervous and slightly scared by the sudden re-entrance into reality.
"I think...I think you somehow blacked out while walking and talking," she answers, slowly allowing my skin to reform around my belly by withdrawing her clenched hand, "My parents showed up, and your heartbeat started firing off really fast, but as you were talking to them, it suddenly slowed drastically and it was like you weren't all there."
"I...I was fishing," I add lamely, pulling a dramatic sigh from her.
She mercifully allows the conversation to die as we head for our room, lavish and austere. The silence around us allows my head to slowly come to grips with the happenstance. Slow snippets of memory flash across my consciousness, taking me back. Yes, I remember now.
I saw the slightly familiar faces, a memory from what seems like a lifetime ago, so far away and so distant that it took me several moments to fully realize who it is they were. I saw painted smiles upon their face, rife with political intelligence, and I felt my gut begin to shrink. I said the formal, banal little pleasantry that I was instructed to say, and then... I guess I went fishing. Oh boy...
I sure hope I didn't make an utter fool of myself. The pangs of dread and fear wash across my chest, alighting me to the inescapable truth that this will not end well.
Toph falls more than sits in a chair as we enter our room. I slowly, carefully lay down upon our couch, still a bit taken out by the sudden rush of reality. Another soft whisper of a sigh escapes her lips, and I know that it is time to talk.
"So... What happened?" I ask.
"Well, first off, don't freak out, because you actually did pretty well," she begins, "Somehow, with your brain turned off, you managed to be courteous and polite." All I can do at that news is breath a little sigh of relief, which she seems not to register as she continues. "The problem is, you invited them to dinner."
"They came over to us and gave me a hug, and then we all started talking. I mentioned that you were my boyfriend, which they didn't act surprised about, but their heartbeats started firing off wildly. Then, you invited them to dinner, which is tonight at about seven."
Done talking, she slouches further into her couch, placing her hand despondently into her hands. I sit up, thinking furiously about the impending doom of dinner. Is there any way out of it? Should we run for it? Will it really be that bad? I don't know.
Worried, I ask her, "What do you think? You know them better than I do."
Her ears twitch slightly as she thinks, leaning forward to match me as her shrewd and cunning mind begins to turn. Time passes as she works things out, apparently stretching backwards into her system of memories to draw out the important ones. I wait patiently for her, understanding my own inadequacy at dissecting the situation. I can't help but marvel a bit at how the tables have turned.
"Well," she begins, "The parents I remember won't like you. Not because of anything you've done or the way you are or anything, but because you're not rich and they didn't pick you for me. Now they won't try anything direct like they have in the past, because here, we're more important than they are, and they don't have access to anything that could change that."
My eyes stare out into space as I try to sift through the information. "Well... The Bei Fongs that I remember, though I obviously didn't know them as well as you do, wouldn't sit by and do nothing. But what can they really do?"
She starts suddenly, and her head cranes upward, registering upon some unseen answer. "They can be political," she answers, drifting back lazily, "That's what they're going to do. Listen, Sokka, whatever happens after tonight, whatever they may say or insinuate, you have to know that it isn't true."
I look at her, a little surprised, but not necessarily worried. "Whatever they say or insinuate? Toph, they're just words. It's not like they're going to be able to talk us out of a relationship."
She doesn't move, or change her posture, just sits looking fearful and worried as she says, "Sokka, you don't know my parents. They're political geniuses, that's why they're as rich as they are. They're going to rip into you at dinner tonight, I just know that they will, but you have to harden yourself against it."
Now I'm starting to get worried. She pushes herself out of the chair and slowly walks over to the couch by me, sitting down with a slight hiccup of leather. Her arms snake around my waist as she leans against me, resting her head solemnly against my chest. Ok, scratch that, I'm officially terrified.
My arms wrap behind her, drawing her into a tight hug as she says, "Listen, whatever they say... It isn't true, and I don't believe it. We've been together for awhile...that means something. Just hold onto that."
I'm shocked into speechlessness. Words fail to come out of my mouth as she cuddles into me with a tenderness that is unusual and more than a little frightening coming from her. I feel the need to comfort her, to kiss her on the forehead and tell her everything will be ok, but I realize the nature of a platitude like that, and I know it won't help. I have to cheer her up, and there's only one way that I know how.
"Oh, relax," I say, filling my voice with unfelt arrogance and pride, "I can handle it. I don't think you're giving me enough credit!"
She groans as she sits back upwards; a small smirk alights my face as I see the cute little frown that crosses hers. "Don't be an idiot, Sokka," she warns, folding her arms dangerously, "Or I'm going to harden you the difficult way. And you won't like that."
I let a little snort fire from my nostrils as I reply, "Oh please! I dare you, short stuff." I see her eyebrows shoot up, giving me a slight warning as to the impending suffering headed my way; it gives me just enough time to do anything but react.
Her hand goes from safely folded in her arms to firmly lodged within my ribs in a fraction of a second. I see a blur of pale flesh and green tunic as it happens, crashing into my already bruising stomach and knocking me forcefully from the couch. A malicious grin alights my face at the prospect of the upcoming fight, but as I attempt to pull myself up, her foot slams against the ground. Firm pavement turns into liquid underneath me, dragging my hands and feet into the solid pool and trapping me in its cold earthen embrace.
I struggle futilely against my concrete prison, nearly stretching my arms out of socket as Toph lazily sidles from the couch to the floor. Her bare feet slap meatily against the ground as she pads out to meet me, leaning downwards so that her face is mere inches away from mine.
"What did you call me, gimp?" she asks sweetly. I open my mouth to say something vicious in reply, but as I breathe inwards to pull the words from my throat, her weight shifts, and I feel the ground tighten viciously against several areas that I would rather not mention. Pain explodes up through my stomach, stifling the words in my mouth and causing them to go into hiding. My demeanor changes with the speed only desperate pain can bring as I choose my next words carefully.
"Uhh..." I force out, through clenched teeth, "I called you... uhh... Sweet heart?"
The pressure subsides, and the sheer relief that cascades through my body causes my muscles to slack unresponsively, and as the Earth guides me back onto solid ground, I slump backwards, limp as a rag doll. My own heavy breathing accosts my ears as her grinning face appears in my field of vision.
"That's what I thought you said, darling," she says, patting me lightly on the stomach, "You're just lucky that you're cute."
My brain is immediately awash with questions as to how she could have reached this conclusion, lacking sight as she does, but I trade the vocalized question for a little witticism, saying instead, "Well, you're just lucky that you can beat the crap out of me."
The muscles in my abdomen flex harshly, bringing me up to a sitting position as I gaze upon her. The raven black hair that contrasts so sharply with her pale skin has fallen askew, framing her milky blank eyes with a mischievous aura. A cheeky, impish grin fights its way between her cheeks, alighting her face with a youthfulness that is anything but innocent.
"And don't you forget it!" she smirks.
A warm wash of love and affection replaces pain at the forefront of my mind, eliciting an unconscious, happy grin to match hers. Sokka, you may have all the social graces of a Platypus Bear, but if there's one person in the world that you know how to cheer up, its that little blind Earthbender.
Xiang Farzu:
"Shh," I coax him, cradling him over my shoulder and patting his back affectionately. My baby brother wails piteously, dribbling hot, wet, irritated tears into the folds of my shirt. Suddenly, an unbelievably loud belch dribbles wetly from his throat, accompanied by the pungent aroma of half-digested baby food. I can't help but smile a little bit as his caterwauling instantly subsides, drifting seamlessly into a curious, tired sigh.
I lower him back into the cradle, casually brushing the leftover saltwater from my shoulder and grinning down upon him. Iroh stares inquisitively up at me, his lips wet and slimy, his hands and feet suspended awkwardly in the air. If there's anything more adorable than little infants, I think my head would explode upon seeing them.
I wait until his eyelids start to droop before leaving him to sleep, exiting through the casual wooden door and moving happily out. Our house is a lot less gaudy and pompous than a lot of the other Councilmen's, slightly large but noticeably without decoration. We decided long ago that we would donate the money that would have been spent on aesthetic frivolities, hoping to help stimulate the economy and keep things active in this desperately poor country.
Of course, I can't complain. My life has been anything but difficult, born into wealth and raised by loving parents with strong senses of right and wrong. Maybe that's one of the reasons I am so drawn to Zuko; he did not have the care of his parents in the way that I did. Maybe I want to care for him in a way that few ever have. It makes sense, but I know there is more too it than that.
"Have you been threatened?"
The voice catches me off guard, jutting prolifically from behind a thin wooden door. It is the gravelly, tired voice of Councilman Tsung, but what truly draws my attention is the weight with which it is asked, drawn with utter severity.
A sigh whispers through the door, barely fighting through, but doing so with enough force to relay the clear voice of my father. He says, "Of course we have. It's always the Family. But we can't let fear impede us from doing what is right."
"I agree," Lo Dai's voice follows, thin and reedy, just like always. "Besides, our current Enforcers have done an admirable job keeping the raids down. I truly believe that we will all be just fine."
Just fine? I wasn't aware of any threats our family had received, and I feel pangs of worry begin to strike up and down my spine. What if somebody does something to Iroh?
"I know." Tsung's voice now. "I just worry for you, Farzu, because you have a full and happy family. Maybe we should increase the guard detail around your home."
The sudden, staccato burst of a hand slapping wood starts me, making me jump backwards from my eavesdropping. It is immediately followed by a burst from my father.
"No!" he says, "Tsung, I have stood by you through the War, and through much worse than this. I will not be afraid of some glorified group of thugs! We will be fine, and we have more important things to divert our resources to."
I fall back against the far wall, digesting the information and struggling to come to grips with it. I had never really thought much about the possibility that our lives could actually be in danger, that the Family was that politically organized. Yet, there it is. Dad has received threats. I'm not sure what to be more upset about, the fact that our lives have been threatened, or the fact that Dad failed to relay that fact to us.
I'll tell Zuko. I'll ask what he thinks. He's been through things like this before, and he will know how to handle it. It seems like the only logical course of action.
Toph Bei Fong:
My feet shuffle nervously against the excruciatingly polished and oiled marble underneath me; not an action that I am used to performing. Sokka sits beside me, and even though his chair is made of wood, I can feel him shaking slightly, struggling to maintain an air of austerity and formality that he is, at best, unaccustomed to, and at worst, completely incapable of performing. The clock sends out the thin, musical vibrations of a small chime, alerting us as to the hour.
My parents are due any minute.
He lets out a worried sigh, long and drawn out, mixing with beads of cold sweat that drip from his forehead. Suddenly the image of him is fully clarified as he places his feet flat upon the ground, giving my perceptions entrance into his body. I feel the warm smile that he gives me, and I know that the action was specifically for my benefit.
"I got some really high-end gourmet stuff for this evening," he tells me, trying to mask his terror behind a facade of good humor, "Well, I had some help. But, see, I know it was gourmet because the portions are tiny, they taste really weird, and they cost about as much as a small house."
I let out a little chirrup of laughter, staccato and clearly forced, but he seems to take it with a grain of salt. Sudden motion outside of the room jerks my attention away, bringing my feet to a sliding shuffle as I get a better view of them from inside my mind.
I can feel the finery draped around them, feel the silk dragging smoothly against the ground, feel the thickly cushioned satin soles of their shoes, and the unhurried calm of their respective heartbeats. Coming through this door are surely my mother and father as I remember them, geared for the attack and ready to pounce. Memories flash through my mind of an overprotective father, filled with cunning intelligence and a razor-sharp understanding of politics, yet completely incapable of understanding humanity, even his own flesh and blood. A doting, loving mother, whose affection becomes drowned out by irrational fear and smothering devotion. I feel pangs of regret mix with the sadness and frustration at a wasted, unhappy childhood.
The frustration only culminates as I hear the doors open, sending out large, slow vibrations that give me a clear picture of their faces. Both are cloaked in severity, masked behind a regal aura of perfect political behavior, and I realize that, once again, they are going to attempt to destroy one of my few sources of happiness. A mask wraps itself around my made-up, powdered face, one of enough power to match that of my parents.
"Hello, Mr and Mrs Bei Fong," Sokka says regally, standing and offering a deep bow, "I am pleased that you deigned to meet with us on this fine evening."
Good. The rehearsed introduction. From here on in, I'm going to try and steer the conversation, preventing Sokka from being pulled into the fire of my Dad's rigid questioning.
"Please, Master Sokka, call me Lao," Dad replies.
"Daughter, it's been far too long," Mother says, nodding in my direction. She hasn't even mentioned him, a curt way to get his mind worrying.
I take a short breath, inhaling the cool air as I prepare to delve into a world that I have all but forgotten. The stupid aristocratic banter.
"It really has, Mom," I say, "You guys have been getting my letters, though, right?" I'm careful to keep my voice light and airy, avoiding the more commanding tone of my parents. If I play this angle, I can show affection. Plus, my bringing up the letters brings to the table that I have not completely abandoned them, nixing any attack they could make on those grounds.
"Oh, Toph, of course we have," Mom says, placing her hand lightly over mine, "We've poured through them. News of your circumstances has kept us going through these long years."
Hmm... That's not too good. Makes me seem like the bad guy again. But it's not aimed at Sokka, which is what I'm trying to gear us away from. They can attack me all they want, accuse me of anything, but Sokka is the one that needs to be protected. I know that if Dad can manage to get inside him, just a little bit, he'll destroy him, eating away his confidence and self-image.
Dinner progresses lightly this way, the conversation maintained upon me and my parents, focused largely on small-talk and our gratefulness at the reunion. Sokka wisely keeps his big trap shut, nodding at the correct times, and smiling at the correct times, but venturing nothing forward that might allow Dad to shift the conversation in his general direction.
Well, that is, until...
"Mr. Sokka," Dad says through a momentary lull, piercing the introduction through a tiny silence with the precision of a surgeon, "What news do you have of the Avatar? I understand that your sister is his fiancé; surely you must be better informed than most."
I feel Sokka tense up noticeably at the direct question: stuck behind the line of fire and unable to make a correct move. He coughs slightly, a slight hiccough jarred from his throat; it is seemingly innocuous, but rife with a sense of weakness that I know my father will attempt to exploit. My toes clench up underneath the table as I pray inwardly, idly picking up a lonesome mushroom with my chopsticks.
"Um," he begins, straightening his back and forcing his eyes to my father's, "Well, they're currently in Dai Tso, holding off the Loyalist army until the main forces from Ba Sing Se can arrive. I'm afraid that communication has been a bit difficult, largely because the city is under siege."
"Under siege," Dad says, tasting the words and swilling them around in his mouth, "That sounds like quite a dark situation. Why do you suppose that they left you two behind? It seems to me that they would have needed you quite desperately."
Uh oh. He's starting. I shift my feet, but Sokka still seems fine; his even heartbeat is indicative of guarded defenses and hardened emotions. I feel a pang of warmth and love echo through me, marveling at his strength and his ability to remain calm. He understands that I'm stuck, that I can't keep my father's attention away from him any more, yet he has managed to keep himself steady and prepared.
"Well, sir," he says calmly, apparently unfazed, "Unfortunately, with the current Reconstruction of the Fire Nation, Aang felt that we were needed here, to represent him and help turn the chaos that this country has fallen in around."
Good! That's a solid answer! A small smile alights my face, but before I can shift the direction or congratulate him, Dad is upon him again, stagnating the conversation, forcing it into his corner, upon his terms.
"No, I understand that," he clarifies, gesturing warmly into the air, "I just wish to know why hhe would leave you behind? Surely he feels the need to protect his fiancé, to leave her in a position where she will be safe and unharmed, yet he brought her to the field of battle. I suppose I just don't understand the reason. Blindness aside, after all, Dai Tso cannot be short-supplied of Earthbenders, so I can understand him leaving my daughter here, but why you?"
He has no answer. I don't either. I struggle to think of something to say, anything at all to abrupt the attacks that are about to occur upon my boyfriend's psyche.
"You know, dear, that's a good question," Mom adds lightly, filling her voice with a motherly warmth that belies the viciousness of her next words.
"I mean, surely, you are an accomplished man. You have fought for the Avatar's cause for years! You have sustained a terrible wound yet you clearly have managed to overcome the effect it should have on you. You still fight for a living, even with a disability! I suppose that I just don't understand why he would take his fiancé into battle, yet leave behind the strategist."
Vicious, callous, and awful, rife with painful slashes across his confidence and horrifying wounds to his vitality; these are the actions of my parents, undoubtedly seeking to protect me, to take me back underneath their wing. I can palpably feel his heart sink downwards, hear the questions of doubt fire back and forth through his head, needlessly planted there by unkind words. He has nothing to say, he lies there defeated, harmed worse by that than by any blast of fire.
Ideas wrack through my mind, facts that can answer the question fully and completely. I know that what they're insinuating isn't true, and so should Sokka. I work the sentence out peace by peace in my head, careful to eradicate any holes that could be exploited by my canny parents. His strategic ability is needed here more than bending, his ability to think on his feet is more apt to a situation such as this, Aang and Katara are both good at strategy and smart enough to hold off the impending forces... No. Each one is susceptible to attack, and might only worsen the situation.
Sudden motion draws my attention back to the door, the quick, furtive steps of a sprinting man, pounding the ground and sending vibrations so thick that they expose the entire room, ceiling and all, to my perception. Sure enough, as I turn my head to better my reception, the doors slam open, forced apart by a Fire Nation soldier.
"Mr. Sokka! Ms. Bei Fong! There's been an attack!" he blurts out, jamming a knife through the manners and formality of the evening, "We think its the Family! We need your help immediately!"
Sokka rises to his feet. He looks at Dad, then at Mom, then at me, before turning on his heel and following the stricken soldier.
I know how fragilely he clings to his self-confidence. I know how sensitive he is about being unable to bend, like his compatriots. I know how hard he works, and how much he struggles to keep up, maintaining himself as a worthy member of the team. It is all grand nonsense, he is valuable by virtue of being himself, but it makes him feel better to work harder, so we've always encouraged it.
Yet Lao and Lily Bei Fong have managed to rip that away from him, to throw him back into a cycle of self-doubt and unsureness that he had pulled himself out of.
I rise to my feet to follow him, preparing to rip out of the ridiculous finery as soon as I get out the door and follow him. I can only hope that this crisis ends ok; if it doesn't, well... I just hope it does. No matter what, now is the time that he needs to shine, and believe in himself
"Toph!" Mom's voice proclaims, catching me as I approach the ornate iron door. I stop, waiting.
"Daughter," Dad says, "I hope... That at some point, while we are here... You will come and visit us. So we can talk about things."
My hand catches the handle of the door, more taking my weight and supporting me than preparing to pull it open. Memories flash through my mind, of the grinning boy who took me into the world, who rescued me from a life of practical slavery. Who dove in front of a plume of fire to save my life.
"Anything you want to say to me," I answer coldly, "can be said in front of him."
Singe, a Family Man:
The night sky drapes heavily over the backdrop, burst apart by a light, happy moon. I squint slightly into the brightness of the oracle, pulling off my glasses and rubbing them furtively against a cleaning cloth. A grin alights my face as I tuck it back under my bandoleer, a grin that I am almost sure matches the luminous white hue of the full moon.
The marks stand out by the gate of the mansion, staunch and upright in their martial stoicism. I take a quick note of the pikes they hold cast upright, and feel rushes of anticipation and pleasure creep up my spine. If they're allowed long weapons such as these, then they must be a part of the military! Hopefully veterans. They'd better not disappoint.
Their eyes come upon me as I approach, four pairs, waiting in guarded curiosity. It would be nothing at all to send four blades into their four open throats and end it quickly, but that's boring. And I will not stand to be bored.
"Sir, what is your business here?" the more ornately armored one asks.
My cheeks feel like they split apart under the powerful, natural grin that comes across them.
"I'm here to kill you," I announce truthfully.
Two daggers snake out from the bandoleer slung across my chest and forms in my clenched fist, as I slide my left foot forward. I feel the heat on my face from the flame that alights both of my hands, encapsulating the daggers. I can hear the shuffling of footsteps and the scuffling noises of metal being drawn as the four men charge. That's it then! The action has begun!
A small chuckle alights my throat as I let the flame creep up the edge of the throwing knife, fully taking it over and superheating it, before it flies out of my left hand, almost of its own accord. The man charging to my left grunts lightly as the knife embeds itself in his pike, throwing his balance off and lifting the point upwards. Then, with a loud pop, the dagger explodes.
Oh, how remiss of me! To describe without explanation! My daggers are specially made by me, with a hollow cavity near the base of the knife. It's a little trick I picked up years ago; letting my Firebending superheat the blade makes the pressure in the cavity so intense that, after a short time, the knife explodes in a rain of shrapnel.
Splinters mix with deadly shards of twisted metal, raining down upon the four men whose shrieks now alight the night sky. The one with the ruined pike goes down, I see a hefty blade of destroyed wood embedded in his throat as his knees give way, and he collapses.
Their eyes are alight with fear now, illuminated by the firelight; they slow, warily make moves to circle me. Blood dribbles down all of their bodies, blood spurned by the thin tendrils and sharp fragments of metal, painting their crimson armor an even deeper shade of red. I keep the flame away from the dagger, keeping it cool enough to stay intact, waiting for the marks to make the next move.
The leader suddenly thrusts with his pike; he's good, the spearhead reaches me in a sudden brownish blur, almost ripping into my torso. Almost.
My leg kicks out reflexively, looping over the sudden burst of wood and death as my other foot takes flight, suddenly enshrouded in fire as it crashes angrily into his head. His head snaps back, accompanied by the clatter of his armor as he falls to the ground, clutching his ruined face. The living, breathing flame then finds its way around the dagger as I spin around, just in time to witness one of the two left swinging his pike like an overgrown quarterstaff. I grab the haft, jerking him forward into the molten knife blade; his armor melts away before the dagger, and his eyes give me a look of pure, mortal terror as my knees spring me backwards into a flip.
The doomed man has only time to bow his head before the knife explodes in his chest, shattering his armor and destroying his stomach in a rain of molten hot, skittering metal. Two staccato beats, like those of a snare drum, accompany his fall to his knees, and his collapse to the pavement.
My gaze turns to the lone survivor, whose body has begun to shiver palpably. He lets out a pathetic whimper as I pry two more throwing knives from my bandoleer and advance upon him; thick, greasy drops of sweat dribble down his face as his jaw quivers up and down, as though trying to figure out what to do next.
"Wait... wait! Please, mister, I can leave! I'll leave the city, I'll never come back!" he pleads, drawing a light, airy giggle from me. "Just give me a chance! I won't tell anybody!"
My laughter intensifies, becoming louder and more falsetto as the pike drops noisily to the ground. He turns on his heel and begins to sprint away, his echoing footsteps bursting forth from the pavement with rapidly lightening volume.
The first knife flies gracefully from my hand, digging deeply into the back of his left knee.
His armor makes a terrible scraping sound as he collapses, skidding horribly against the cobblestone pathway. The cry of pain that flies from his throat quickly turns into sullen, desperate weeping, manifested in salty teardrops that dribble from his face to stain the ground.
He tries to say something, tries to, perhaps, plead again for his worthless life as I appear over him, casually flipping the remaining blade in between my fingers. I fall to my knees in front of him as his sobs intensify, gripping his shoulder firmly in my one free hand as I reveal his chest. He is beyond fighting now, reverted to the childlike position of insecurity and helplessness, and I feel the moment become ruined by the boring way in which he begins to pass.
"You know," I lecture him, "I might have let you bleed to death from the back of your knee, but you're not even fighting anymore! I can't stand boredom, you little worm, so now you get to die in agony!"
His sobs become louder and more intense, grating upon my ears and my nerves; I roll my eyes as the irritation mounts and the fun begins to dry up. "Shh," I coax him, lightly brushing his lips with the back of my hand and wiping away his tears.
Then, slowly, I force the knife into his heart.
A/N: Well, alright! Singe returns, haha. He's a very fun character to write: initially, I just had him as a straight Mafia-style street tough, but as I started writing the initial plot, I saw that I had an opportunity to turn him into a super-sadistic psycho sociopath (ha, alliteration) and realized that he can add more to the plot that way. Basically, Singe is a product of me listening to Bat Country by Avenged Sevenfold, then watching previews of Heath Ledger's (RIP) depiction of the Joker for the upcoming Batman movie. I know that Singe is a bit different then either of those two sources, but its basically what I wanted out of him. He's going to be featured a lot as this story goes on, so let me know what you think of him!
Vicious dialogue has never been a strong suit of mine, so tell me how you all feel the scene with the Bei Fongs went! I tried to write them as connivingly as possible, and they will return as time goes on, but I don't want to say anything more, haha.
Well, I guess that's all I've got! Keep reading!
Superbleh11