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United Republic of Nations President Raiko

It was early in the city, his city. He knew Republic City was not a city that ever truly slept: exciting adventures could always be found; businesses needed vigilance for new opportunities; and the people he served the most—the butcher, the milkman, the deliverman, the Satomobile worker—they moved with the rise and the fall and sun.

So, yes. It was early in his city that never truly slept. And on this morning, he was awake with the rising sun as well. Tucked in his office, his door the only barrier between him and his escort, reading the newspapers with a frown on his face.

"PRESIDENT RAIKO STAYS MUM ON POST-HARMONIC CONVERGENCE DAMAGES"

He stared at the title about himself. His frown deepened, a perfect match of the tiny picture they had used of him. Again, the bad guy. The incapable guy.

And then at the half page picture of the front page. This picture they had developed of the blue…monstrous…spiritual Avatar.

"APPROVAL RATINGS FOR AVATAR AT ALL TIME HIGH"

He frowned at the picture, of The Avatar dominating all else on the front page.

He hated the papers sometimes. He hated the way they made everything look.

He hated the way it made him think if his poker face wasn't as strong as he thought it was whenever the conversation was about him and The Avatar.

…For the record, let it be known that he did not dislike The Avatar. He respected the legacy of The Avatar: the stories of The Avatars were the ones he listened to as a child; he respected the works of Avatar Aang, the co-founder of his nation, for without him, there would be no United Republic. He would not be president, a shining example of democracy in a world of chiefs, monarchies, and dynasties.

But this Avatar. Korra. (No, he never said her name aloud, but he knew it.)

She was stubborn and headstrong. More so than her predecessor. More than any other Avatar whose name he could recollect. Needlessly headstrong—foolishly headstrong. It was almost surprising that she was even a Waterbender; no Waterbender he had ever come in contact with was more hot-blooded. And she seemed unflappable…uncontrollable if page six of the newspaper was to believed. (Not that he needed the papers to remind him; he had seen that headstrong, bullying personality up close once. A child denied to what she wanted, willing to go behind his back to get her way.)

She was a troublemaker for the city. A welcomed troublemaker. Her activities throughout the city had caused more damage to public property than any police activity in the past. She had violated more of Republic City's bylaws than she had preserved. If she were anyone else, she'd probably be a regular visitor to the jailhouse. But this girl, this Avatar, was not a visitor to Republic City's finest jail cell—at least, not as an occupant. And she, being who she was, seemed to have even made alliances with powerful people. Chief Beifong came to mind easily because it made him the most easily: an uneasy partnership with the city's most powerful Earth and Metalbender, but proven to be advantageous time and time again.

For The Avatar at least.

And then there were her ties with Captain Iroh of the United Forces.

And retired former Commander Bumi of the United Forces.

He stared at the picture of her again. Blue. Larger than life, a 50-foot tall woman. Powerful. Powerful in a way that was beyond his own. Something palpable, that reminded him of forces bigger than anything he understood or accomplished—as the papers liked to remind him.

They both served the people, but the power he seemed to wield for the people was tiny, unimportant compared to this Avatar's. This Avatar who dealt in preservation for the benefit of the world—world…

If it were Avatar Aang, this would not be a problem.

If The Avatar now was anyone else, he doubted he would find their presence to be a problem.

But it was she, this headstrong young girl who seemed to not care about the world—or the politics of his world.

A fantasy of being without this Avatar, of Korra being gone from his city, crossed his mind quickly. It was fruitless to think about it; his imagined the nightmare his press secretary would have to endure if he ousted her.

And with the end of that thought, he felt a strange tingle down his spine, like a root growing in the ground.

And then he felt the ground shake—a mighty tremor, like a herd of those air bison were in his office. He covered his ears to muffle the sounds of the earth moving and his bookshelf toppling and his trophies and accolades and pictures all falling to the ground, the glass breaking. But he stood wide-eyed and transfixed as his floor began to open and a long, green something—a tentacle?—began to peak from the hole. He watched as one tendril, about as thick as he was reached over for him. All around him; more tentacles were burying themselves in his office walls. It took all of him to get out of his chair and duck under his chair to save himself; his chair was impaled and pushed out the window, shards of glass raining down near his feet.

And this with one large lurch it was over.

He stood. He reached out his trembling hand and touched what had almost killed him.

"Mr. President! Mr. President!" He heard the sound of the policemen yelling for him, trying to squeeze themselves through the largest crack in what was formerly his wall. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? …Mr. President, are you all right? Say something for us to know if you're okay!"

He exhaled. He hadn't even been aware he was holding his breath.

"It's a vine. This is a vine…in my office."

Already he was seeing the headlines.

Politics

I'm kind of interested in writing about the guys I don't like for the moment. R&R