Lightning & Boomerang - The Bounty Hunters

by Chaosconetic

Just an idle what if short story of how Sokka and Azula might forge a partnership as Bounty Hunters; set after the series ends and an alternate outcome in the search for Ursa concludes.

3. Chapter 3

-Jin-Sing Woodlands: Early Morning-

Sokka awoke to the racket of someone shaking his tent "Up peasant, you've slept long enough and breakfast is already prepared; now get out here, time's are wasting!" Azula commanded sharply and Sokka's keen nose immediately detected the fragrant scent of toasted spice bread, the delicious kind with cheese and bacon chunks baked in.

Now fully awake, Sokka clambered from his sleeping-bag into his shoes, having slept fully clothed, dressing was that simple. Seconds later Sokka burst tumbling through the tent flaps and was pleasantly surprised that not only had Azula done what she swore not to and actually cooked, but the gentle morning sunlight beaming between the trees confirmed she'd let him sleep an extra half hour "Weirdly considerate of her..." Sokka thought suspiciously "Maybe she dozed off mid-watch then let me sleep in long enough to twist the blame; yup, typical female."

Once he was standing upright outside in the fresh air, Sokka suddenly realized how urgently he needed to piss, but accounting the wooden spikes and Azula's other nasty campsite defenses, he'd been understandably reluctant to lose a foot daring last night's darkness.

Bemusedly observing Sokka perform his silly little pee-dance, Azula, who was currently toasting spice-bread over a low burning fire, informed him she'd already disarmed the traps. Still reluctant, Sokka asked if she was sure, and looking slightly irritated that he thought her so incompetent, Azula assured him she'd kept careful count. Needing no further prompting, Sokka scampered off to the latrine he'd dug yesterday evening and charitably watered the dying woods.

When he returned, Azula absently handed him his plate of toasted spice-bread and fruit and they sat cross-legged on the ground with breakfast in laps; she'd even seasoned the bread with essence of garlic, to Sokka's delight. He mentioned it, complemented her, Azula grunted indifferently behind a mouthful of spice-bread.

Sokka rolled his eyes, snarking "Hrmph, and you criticize my table manners."

"No table." Azula corrected, still chrwing.

"You savage;" Sokka tittered, unable to keep a straight face trying to imitate that critical, accusatory tone she sometimes uses,

Azula took it with grace, she looked almost amused "Just embracing a little culture peasant, you should try it next time you visit my country, broaden those bleak horizons of yours."

"Already did; too smarmy for my taste." Sokka replied, his tone mockingly chipper, closer to lilting.

"At least I don't growl at my food." Pointed look, smug smile.

"Only cause you save that energy for growling at me; RROoowwW." Sokka made a catty-growly sound with accompanying clawed hand gesture.

Azula tilted her head, gave him an odd look then as casually as one might comment on the weather, said "Your an idiot."

Sokka snorted, shook his head and resumed eating, deciding it best to leave the banter at that lest he accidently say the wrong thing that brings back the scary Azula of last night. Nervously he glanced sideways at her just to be safe, no lightning storms brewing, good. Then he noticed she was already fully dressed in that new green and black outfit of hers, he wondered if, like himself, she'd slept fully clothed, boots, knives and all. By the looks of things she was already packed too; her tent was neatly stowed in her backpack with all her other supplies excluding the hair brush resting beside her, yeah she'd groomed and tied her hair back so it wouldn't blow in her face while climbing. This meant the rest of the half dissembled campsite was Sokka's own gear, the cooking utensils among them, cooking was after all his responsibility by Azula's own decree; yet here she was, serving him breakfast...weird huh?

Multitasking, they debated tactical approaches from points they'd marked on the less than reliable map which hung pinned to the tree-trunk in front of them for study while they ate. Their extrapolations covered almost every logical time appeasing variable; accounting for weather, terrain, clouds and sunlight, visibility, time, etcetera-etcetera. They debated whether to split up and scout the rising ramparts of the slopes or simply just investigate the cave Sokka spotted yesterday and wait there in ambush for Bogar's return should it show signs of occupation. They also noted the potential for dangerous wildlife on the slopes. Hadn't Militia Captain Vaize mentioned Canyon-Crawlers? Sokka hated Canyon-Crawlers.

It was an almost civil discussion between two accomplished strategists, and surprisingly Azula found she enjoyed debating tactical theory with the tribesman, despite his eccentricities and their endless arguing he generally offered good logical input on important details like stealthily and smartly traversing the slopes. Soon enough breakfast was eaten with all cooking apparatus washed then repacked and their brainstorming had gone well enough that both felt their spur of the moment partnership might actually succeed, that is until it came to the matter of who primarily captured the Earthbender. Put simply, the alchemy of boyish excitement mixed with ego and anticipation of his first bounty hunt was scrambling Sokka's brains, much to Azula's vexation.

"Brimming with misplaced confidence today aren't we;" She chided wryly "And here I thought you'd confront this task with the same calm, logical circumspection with which you orchestrated the Black Sun Invasion, but instead I find myself burdened with a giggling idiot;" resignedly, Azula sighed "I think perhaps from now on I shall wear my disappointed face whenever you speak, that way I'll save both time and my faith in humanity."

"Now that was just uncalled for; sheesh, bitter much?" Sokka complained, trying to look offended "No, really, why shouldn't I be confident? Bogar doesn't sound all that bright, I mean come on, any old dope could've deduced he was staking out the roads into town for travelers from the slopes and using his Earthbending to cross the woods fast enough to ambush them in time; and ok, sure, the guy's a half-decent Earthbender..."

"More than half-decent I'd wager." Azula commented, downing the remnants of her bread.

"Pfft-so what? I've fought and out fox-hounded benders before; the power of body and bending has nothing on a powerful mind, and my mind's as powerful as powerful gets."

"Don't vaunt until the bandit is actually crushed under your heel, or mine to be precise." Azula admonished smugly.

"Personally I prefer to count un-hatched eggs in multiple baskets myself but..." Sokka mumbled, trailing off as the cryptic implication of Azula's words sank in "W-wait a minute; under your heel? What's that supposed to mean?!" He exclaimed, spittle flying.

Azula took a long draught from her canteen before replying "Let's get one thing clear eskimo-boy; we'll work together to track our target, but once we do, he's mine. Comprende?"

"No! No comprende!" Sokka railed, brattishly demanding "Why?!"

"Because you'd only get in my way" Azula retorted with the strained patience of an adult lecturing a particularly petulant child "And yes, while you're somewhat competent with a blade, a blade you don't presently possess," Pointed look "You're still no match for –any- above average bender, which our target is if the bounty poster and that mass-grave are any indication."

"Oh how touching," Sokka crooned hysterically "The big bad Pwincess is concerned for my safety; maybe someone should tell her that Sokka can hold his own in any fight and to stop pretending to care about him."

"Perhaps someone should tell Sokka to stop talking about Sokka in the third person, it's irritating;" She bit back "And to clarify, I'm not pretending concern, nor could I care less about your well-being, however since ensuring your continued survival will ensure my continued freedom, as per my deal with ZuZu which states I will handle all bender related opposition, this means you will be taking your place on the sidelines should this mission come to open combat, which it will." She glowered, daring an objection...Sokka dared.

"That's not fair!"

"That's life;" Azula simpered, shrugging, smugly satisfied "And besides," She amended, resuming examination of her fingernails "Seeing as my time in captivity, or recovery as ZuZu terms it, has substantially diminished my physical condition, I think this –Booger- character…."

"Bogar, his name, is Bogar!" Sokka exploded, throwing up his arms in exasperation "Sheesh, you don't even know the name of the guy your hunting! Yeah, -reeeeeeal- professional"

"This, Bogar;" Azula corrected, unperturbed "Sounds just competent enough an Earthbender to pose my atrophied Firebending talents a moderately challenging refresher exercise to sharpen them back up to scratch."

"And that's supposed to be a good thing? Cause I can't recall a single situation where your blue fire was a welcome sight."

"Nor should it be, fear and unwelcome are appropriate responses when faced with my fire; it gladdens me to know you understand that."

"Exactly, and that's all the more reason why it should be me who handles this guy;" Realizing his –rational- protests were falling pitifully short, Sokka tried a different tack "Alright-alright, fine, let's just compromise instead and say we both work together to take him down...Sound fair?"

"No." She replied distractedly, still examining her nails.

Sokka sighed, crossing his arms "Then you leave me no choice but to graciously refuse, your refusal."

"And I refuse your refusal of my refusal, graciously." She retorted, not even looking up.

"Oh-really? Well I refuse your refusal of my refusal of your refusal times infinity."

Azula tutted "In that case, I must regretfully refuse your every refusal infinity times plus one for no takesies-backsies; Check, and, Mate." She smirked.

"But...you can't...d-damn it!" Sokka squeaked, knowing he'd lost this round. How does a spoiled Fire Princess even know the law of no taksies-backsies anyway? And why hadn't he thought of it? And what did she find so damned fascinating about her nails? It was driving him mad, all of it "Gah, why must you be so insufferable?! Is it Family tradition? Royal custom? Sheesh, didn't your parent's ever teach you to share...ach, dumb question, of course they didn't," He raved, hurriedly amending "But that's ok since hunting Bogar was my idea first, which means I've got dibs on the capture, so -pffffff- to your no taksies-backsies." He poked his tongue out at her.

"Papa Avatar and Momma Fire Lord's wishes overrule your feeble dibs I'm afraid, so suck it up and quit bitching at me, you sound like a squawking housewife eight months pregnant."

Adamantly, stubbornly, Sokka balked, grit his teeth, face reddening "Wooaah-no, that's not how it is, they never said I'm forbidden to fight benders, only that you're supposed to back me up when I do, and as I just said, hunting Bogar was my idea first; and I don't squawk!..." He squawked.

"Yes you do;" She retorted coolly "And having an idea first counts for nothing, any fool can decide to become a bounty hunter, I on the other hand am as much qualified a tracker and hunter as you are, perhaps more qualified –and-," Raised finger "Like the bandit we hunt, I am also a bender, and -you- are..."

"And I'm not. Right?!" Sokka finished, angrily throwing up his arms.

"Well I was going to say -a useless buffoon-, but you make a good point."

"That's not...y-you benders are all the same!" Sokka whined "Aang, Toph and Katara always excluded me from the action simply cause I can't throw around the elements like the spirits damned weather, and now you're doing the same, but at least they tried to sugarcoat it with concern for my welfare, whereas your just plain insufferable! Oh and a bounty hog too." He added glumly "Typical benders" He thought, recalling that whenever the others told him to hang safely back, what they really meant was they didn't want him in the way while they played hero, as if he were some fragile, brain deficient invalid. Seriously, what gave them the right? What gives Azula the right? Always flaunting her so-called superiority, looking to tarnish his self-esteem; He'd had it!

"Oh dear, it's a sob-story." Azula sighed dejectedly; usually she was good at reading people, but she simply couldn't discern the long-term goals motivating this fool's new career choice. Did he even have any? And if so, what were they? Money? Glory? Timewasting? Or does he just have something pointless to prove? Like that he, a non-bender, is the equal of his friends? How pathetic "All so very heartbreaking I'm sure, but your insecurities are immaterial; the Earthbender is mine, and that peasant, is that." She stated coldly.

Sokka rose, waving away her control-freak declaration like a smelly fart "Fine, I never wanted your help anyway! That's right, I can catch this guy by myself easy-peasy, just you watch!"

"As you wish peasant; but of course terminating our arrangement voids my obligation to support you against hostile benders and leaves me free to claim this bounty for myself; meaning –no- splittsies." She grinned wickedly, rising also

Sokka growled "You stay away from my bounty!"

"Careful, peasant," She growled back, voice sharp and razor thin.

"I have been, I've tried to be nice and polite and pretend I don't know what a psychotic blue fire throwing freak you are! I didn't reject your company even though I never asked you to come ruin my adventure, but instead of being grateful, you've been nothing but a pain in my butt since we started, so do us both a favor and go home to your loony-cage, CRAZULA!";" Boldly, Sokka strode a step forward, snarling.

Feelings of rejection squirmed in Azula's guts like parasites. Why did she care about some filthy peasant's opinion? How dare he judge her, especially after she'd tried so hard to play fair and get along with him, not as friends but as a courtesy, even letting slip his myriad death deserving offenses, all to test the tolerability of a life socializing with commoners. She'd been a fool.

"Say –another- word..." Azula hissed, concentrated icy malice settling behind her smoldering amber stare, attacking his resolve.

"And you'll what? Burn me? Kill me? Yeah, Zuko'd love that" Sokka raved, thinking "Oh how typical, she's already threatening me; but that's fine, if she wants to play it that way then maybe it's time to remind her who's really in charge here and that her –precious bending- isn't so untouchable." In no spoken words Zuko entrusted Sokka the task of keeping Azula in line, and Sokka knew Azula knew the consequences for harming or killing him would demand that which she could never willingly sacrifice, thus Sokka intended to manifest her fear as his authority.

Seeing his resolute expression, Azula's voice grew dangerously sonorous "Think –very- carefully, upon what you say next -Water Savage-."

Yeah, he didn't

"You think you're -sooo- intimidating don't you? But you know what Princess? Maybe I'll go tell Aang and Zuko you attacked me just for the laughs I'll get when Aang Spiritbends you into obscurity. You won't be so high and mighty then, will you, huh?" Obviously he'd never do it and he felt rotten saying it, but it needed saying "And don't think they'll listen to your side, my word's worth way more to them than your lies. And you know why? Huh Crazula? Because nobody likes yo-URPH!" The spin-kick that struck the side of Sokka's jaw flashed from nowhere and left him flat on his back daylight stargazing "Ahhooowww, why'd I go get carried away like that?...And why am I still alive?" He wondered groggily.

Azula's black steel-capped boot was suddenly compressing his windpipe, he couldn't breathe and no amount of feeble scrabbling remedied the issue "The only reason your still alive, you smelly little eskimo;" Voice alarmingly soft, she leaned forward, looked him in the eye, her boot pressing harder with the motion "Is because I value my freedom more than I'd enjoy watching the life fade from your big, blue, terror-filled eyes...but only just;" Sokka shuddered, her white toothy smile could've chilled a volcano yet her hot smoky breath on his bluing face almost burned "So threaten me at your own peril and leave portents of my brothers retribution and your Avatar's Spiritbending out of it;" She increased the pressure, hissing "My life, is my life. Are we clear?"

Sokka gurgled unintelligibly, it sounded antagonistic, Azula pressed down harder, causing his vision to dim and a lightheadedness to take root, both worrying signs.

"Are...we...clear?!" Azula sibilated, her eyes smoldering like hot coals. Realizing her severity, the appropriate response was obvious, Sokka nodded emphatically and she stepped back, scowled in disgust then strode off, leaving him to cough and wretch in dizzying spasmodic pain among the leaves while she stuffed her remaining possessions in her pack. The last he heard from her before she melted into the surrounding woods was "Our partnership is over, the bandit is mine; normally I'd advise you to run crying after your sister like the whipped snow-pup you are, but since your bullheaded enough to continue braying at the gates of futility like a deranged jackass I'll simply give you this one warning; -don't- get in my way!"

Dizzy from the blow to the head and the coercive strangulation, Sokka just sat for a time recovering his equilibrium and massaging his hurts. Azula's parting words hung on the air like bad omens, the unspoken –or else- or her warning required no conveyance, his throbbing jaw did that just fine. Even so, Sokka still couldn't believe how fast their amiable breakfast had escalated to violence, any more sudden and he might've suffered whiplash; but that's how arguments work sometimes, starting before people even realize there's trouble a-cooking.

Azula wasn't kidding about preserving her freedom though, she'd not put much power behind her kick, it'd stunned him more than anything, and the neck crushing part wasn't much fun either. Most surprising however was she'd kicked his tent over before storming off, surprising because Azula wasn't one to indulge such pettiness unless it served to benefit her somehow. But then he reminded himself Azula isn't exactly who she'd been two years ago, and threatening her like he had, not his brightest or kindest idea. But how was he supposed to handle her? Just roll over and obey her every demand like a good boy? There's simply no compromising with her, it's always Azula's way or the blue fire way. How could he contend with that?

Even so, Sokka resolved he wouldn't tell Zuko that Azula assaulted him, not because she scared him, which she did, but because he'd stupidly provoked her, see much as the admission stung his pride, his aching jaw was deserved; though the strangling...not so much. She'd wanted to hurt him, needed to, he'd seen it in her eyes, her struggle with some nameless raging anguish threatening to pull her under the waters of blackest madness, scary stuff; thankfully though her self-control prevailed. Oh he harbored no illusions that Azula's concern for his wellbeing stretched beyond the conditions permitting her freedom, yet maybe, just –maybe- this show of restraint meant she was improving "Improving? Now there's a bad case of wishful thinking if ever you caught one." His wounded ego grumbled.

Whatever the reality, in but a few hours either he'd get Bogar, Bogar would kill him, or Azula would steal his wind. Seriously, what was Princess Prissy's problem? Opting to capture Bogar solo wasn't fair. Sokka would've happily compromised for even rolls, and operating as a team –was- her idea to begin with "Me and my big mouth." He sulked, rising to stand on shaky legs and taking deep breath to steady himself.

Nerves calmed, wits recovered, mind reoriented and raring to make up lost time, Sokka scampered around the upturned campsite, unceremoniously rolling up his tent, pegs and all and stuffing them into his pack with everything else. Next Sokka buried the fire-pit, piling in all the dirt Azula shoveled out to build it, thereby masking the evidence of people camping here; good enough to fool an inattentive hiker he judged, but not a trained eye. Normally he'd have been more thorough, but all he could think about was beating Azula to Bogar then rubbing her nose in her failure to outwit some –smelly eskimo-, truly Sokka would trade all the world's food and wealth merely for the joy he'd derive from seeing an expression of shameful defeat on her pretty porcelain face "Then stop daydreaming and make it happen!"

Sokka retrieved Boomerang and Mr Clubby, sheathing them at his back. Both were like old friends and he wielded each expertly, yet in Space Sword's mournful absence he felt shorthanded. Before leaving he also scooped up a thin, relatively straight tree branch two thirds his height and, using his knife, sharpened one end into a spearhead as he walked. The spear, while not his preferred weapon, was still versatile; it could thrust, slash, cut and even pierce armor given a proper steel point and enough push. Spears aren't balanced for throwing like javelins, but they are handy for non-combat applications like supporting your tent, fishing or covert scouting markers. Sokka however wasn't carving an ineffectual spear but rather a clever prop purposed to diminish him in Bogar's eyes. After all, what sane person confronts an Earthbender with such a shoddy weapon? And without Space Sword, fighting Bogar would be tricky; luckily Sokka was born tricky.

Nevertheless, Azula had stolen the lead, so he'd concentrate on outpacing her first then worry about Bogar.

---

-Jin-Sing Woodlands & Krovine Slopes: Early-Mid Morning-

Eager to catch Bogar, Sokka kept a brisk, un-stealthy yet cautious pace as breaking a leg on a jutting rock or root didn't really appeal to him. Walking the narrow clearing between the wildly snaking tree-line and the long towering rock-face of the Krovine slopes, he couldn't help taking in the Autumn beauty of these woods; falling leaves, fresh air, insects chitterling, morning sunlight beaming golden through the tree canopies; it reminded him of the old days camping out with the gang "Old days? What am I; Seventeen or seventy?"

While scouting yesterday, Sokka noticed a gradual decrease in the first level ridgeline's elevation the further south he crept, almost like a ramp. This decline seemed to continue further than he'd scouted which made him think there might be a fully accessible –no need to break your neck climbing- ramp roughly another kilometer south, though he couldn't be sure as the trees had blocked his view and the sketchy hand duplicated map Azula had ungraciously stolen wasn't a reliable sauce on the matter. Still he'd mentioned his ramp theory to Azula yesterday and she'd taken it on board, which, he thought mischievously, might work in his favor.

Sokka guessed Azula, methodical thinker she is, would check his theory's credibility; if the ramp existed then she, believing Sokka unworthy competition, would arrogantly waste time ramp searching instead of risking her precious fingernails rock-climbing, and considering she wants a straight up bending brawl to test herself, stealth and surprise would be pointless, yeah, she'd take her time. Sokka however aimed to cancel out Azula's head start and gain his own by following the slanting ridge until he found a safe way to climb up. Azula underestimates his competency, and his zeal.

Following the cliffs south, Sokka confirmed the ridgeline overhead was indeed slanting gradually downward the further he traveled. Back when he left camp fifteen minutes ago, the ridgeline had been over twenty meters high, and that twenty became fifteen when he reached the point he'd spotted the vine covered cave yesterday. There, Sokka retreated back beyond the treeline to improve upward view, and yes, his eyes hadn't lied, the cave was there and more discernible in the daylight despite its innocuousness, but he'd vertically misjudged its location because there it sat, on the second level rampart maybe thirteen meters above the first level ridge which itself towered fifteen meters above him. His miscalculation was understandable, lying down here among the scrub late yesterday evening staring up the combined thirty meters of two cliff-faces that resembled one giant rock-wall, it's amazing he'd spotted the cave at all.

"Man, Azula's gonna go apoplectic when she finds out I fed her inaccurate information, hehehe." That thought cheered him right up, the fact he hadn't yet found a safely climbable rout didn't even bother him, well not until he remembered Azula doesn't have to climb when a little Firebending is all she needs to fly with the birdies; he wished she'd fly into the sun and die "Stuck up cow-hippo; thinks she's better than me." Yeah, his head still throbbed from meeting her stupid boot and it occurred to Sokka that rock-climbing so soon after meeting said boot might not be a bright idea, but oh well.

Continuing south proved wise as five minutes later the first level ridgeline hung barely ten meters above, though the jaggedly inconsistent skyscraping multileveled bulk of the Krovine slopes still loomed ominously way above the woods like a long spiky-spined monster "Why do they call em slopes? Slopes are supposed to be slopey, not cliffy; and that's another thing. How am I supposed to get an unwilling prisoner off these cliffs and back through the woods?" It was a dilemma he and Azula hadn't resolved before their dividing argument "Hope I'm right about that ramp...Hmm, maybe if I ask Bogar –reeeal- nice, he'd kindly Earthbend us a way down. I mean Bandits can be reasonable guys, right?" Sokka wasn't discouraged, he'd solved worse problems, lacking a ramp he'd just have to get creative and improvise; a skill Katara greatly undervalued.

Just when Sokka thought he'd be seeking the ramp access after all, good fortune presented him his shortcut, or specifically a funny looking outcrop of ramshackle stair like indentations rising sideways up the cliff-face, they wore a natural camouflage of roots vines and dying moss which rendered them inconspicuous to a passing glance but not to his sharp eyed scrutiny.

Observationally, the first level's winding cliffside path looked pretty narrow, but from this low angle it would. Still, Sokka felt confident in his climbing skills and immediately got to it, half climbed half scrambled up. The –steps- were steep, narrow, uneven, cracked, crooked, some didn't even resemble steps, but none crumbled beneath his weight plunging him to a splatty death which was a plus in Sokka's book; it also left no doubt in his mind these slopes had, at the very least, been shaped by Earthbenders long passed.

Exhaustive work it was, lengthy, exhaustive and dangerous. Sokka knew he could've made better time without his heavy pack, it's concentrated weight at his back made the climb quite treacherous if he proportioned his weight badly, and having to juggle his lousy makeshift spear didn't simplify his job either as it was too long and unwieldy to clip to his back, he nearly tossed it away several times in frustration. In the end however his determination, unshakable concentration and prior experience got him up there quickly enough, with Boomerangs help to create occasional handholds of course, and before he knew it he was heaving himself up over the cliff's edge snake-belly style. A few seconds Sokka simply laid there, a sweaty heavy breathing heap until he got his second wind, rose, and soldiered on.

---

-Krovine Slopes: Mid-Morning-

A White-gray stone world consuming all color but the blue sky above was really all that could be said for atmosphere up here on The Krovine Slopes, yet Sokka knew these rising ramparts are but the doorsteps to the true Badlands hidden beyond the comparatively pitiful natural walls which the slopes formed. Militia captain Vaize described that desolate wasteland as a vast system of rising cliffs, steep sparse canyons, underground caverns, avalanche stymied passages, stinking tar-pits and maddeningly maze like stalactite-stalagmite forests of rock formations not far removed in resemblance to the molting woodlands below "It's the gaping maw of death infested from crack to crevice with Canyon-Crawlers, large Scorpion-Cheetahs, larger chameleon-spiders, hives of giant Stiletto-Wasps, Death-Lanterns and countless other notorious predators all warring for territorial dominance." Vaize had ranted; a real cheery guy that Militia Captain, about as cheery as the place he described; Sokka hoped his hunt didn't lead there, though he'd not object if Azula's did, heck with her ten mile wide morbid streak she'd blend perfectly into such a bellicose environment.

Fortunately those particular wastelands lie beyond the jagged rocky peaks several levels above, the only bad news is if Sokka couldn't find Bogar's hideout, he'd have to confront the bandit at his lookout point since setting an ambush in an unoccupied cave would be almost as stupidly pointless as scouring several hundred miles of an unmapped, unfamiliar, baron, inhospitable, suicidal canyon-crawler infested multi-maze of notoriously murderous wildlife ridden terrain with only a few days food and water rations that'd doubtlessly be gobbled up by whatever freaky beasty first gobbles him up "Now who's being cheery?..."

The cliffside path he walked varied between a five and nine meter width; to his left was the drop to the dying woodlands far below and on the right stood another even taller rock-face rising to the second level rampart, though at least the further he walked up this one the lower that one got. As he moved, concerns swarmed Sokka's mind. Was he mistaken about the cave? Now he was up here he couldn't deny the possibility. From ground level it all looked so simple, one cliff rising up on the shoulders of another. Sokka wouldn't dissemble though, he remained certain this cave existed. After all, where better for a murderous Earthbending highwayman to hunker down within quick travel-bending distance of his lookout spire.

About five minutes later Sokka stood below that –very real- cave, the snaking cliff path he walked allowing him a very clipped yet sunshine sure view of its large vined entrance a fair distance up. Sokka saw no safe means to climb up from here, but he didn't mind taking the long way, the cool breeze and warm sunshine soothed his impatience sublimely; not that he stopped shortcut searching, not when he had a princess to shame. He found no shortcuts, though he did notice the same rotting brown vines concealing the cave also clung in infrequent clearly unclimbable knots to the cliff-face; odd given the climate, but irrelevant.

Thankfully the above ridge sloped lower marginally faster than the one he walked had, thus Sokka had only to trudge a few minutes more before –finally- the intersection between paths appeared. As he started up the second rampart, Sokka marveled at the breathtaking view of Jin-Sing and the surrounding golden fields of vast farmlands beyond the woods, and the distant flock of birds silhouetted in morning sunlight circling and cawing only enriched the countryside's natural beauty. Still, despite being part of the landscape, Sokka understood why nobody visited these treacherous cliffs; up here flora cannot flourish, water is scarce and whenever stone cracks and crumbles, the ominous echo carries far; oh and Canyon-Crawlers, don't forget Canyon-Crawlers, those nasty buggies infest Earth Kingdom badlands like these; sure an Earthbender worth half his weight in stone could handle them, though whether they made for good eating Sokka couldn't say; perhaps he'd ask Bogar when he caught him as that kind of survival info might save his life someday.

"Only you would question the edibility of the world's deadliest wildlife while there's still food in your backpack" Katara would've chided. Sokka sighed, regretting the way they'd parted two days ago; he hadn't meant to snap at her, but sometimes Katara could be just so...so motherly; but she meant well, and he'd been a real jerk "Ah shucks, I miss her already, Aang and Toph too; heck, I even miss Fire Lord grumpy pants, just a little."

Rounding a gentle bend in the path, the soft scuff of hard-souled boots on gritty stone a dozen yards ahead startled Sokka out of his reflective daydreaming with a healthy shot of reality inducing adrenaline he shouldn't have needed to begin with. What was wrong with him? This was a bounty hunt, not a leisurely weekend walk. Now the Status-quo had inverted, Sokka's prey had found him, for there, blocking the road not ten paces ahead stood the bandit, Bogar himself.

Five-eleven, stockily built, equal parts fat and muscle, filthy shoulder length black hair with matching unkempt beard, weather-beaten face, pockmarked cheeks, the bounty poster's profile sketch was remarkably accurate, though his eyes weren't nearly as menacing and creepy as his portrait's, intense perhaps, like a war-hardened warrior's, but not exactly evil "Stop humanizing the bad guy Sokka, he's a bad guy!" Refocusing, Sokka noted the worn twin-hatchets on Bogar's belt, they showed evidence of liberal use yet remained well honed, much like the aged yet serviceable cuirass and tattered green vestments Bogar wore which were as dirty as the bandit was stinky, but Sokka knew all too well that bathing isn't a luxury fugitives enjoy "Aw-cmon, quit sympathizing with the guy and just clout him already!" One thing was clear though; Bogar's armor and boots were Earth Kingdom military issue, an exact match for the footprint he'd discovered by the tree-line yesterday.

"You;" Sokka breathed, beaming ecstatically "Haha-oh man, this is great, I can't believe I actually found you first; pfff-so much for the great Fire Nation Huntress." he snickered, grinning stupidly at Bogar who merely tilted his head in puzzlement, looking strangely nonplussed about his uninvited guest as a gritty knot of hair fell across his face; he shook it away.

"What do you have to be so happy about? This ain't no reality I'd be celebrating in your shoes lad." Bogar stated dryly, his voice, though gravelly, wasn't openly hostile, more like disquietingly affable.

"Then lucky for me you're not in my shoes, cause I sure wouldn't want to be in yours right now."

"I don't even wanna be in my shoes boyo, but here we are." Well how about that, a bandit with an existential streak "And judging by the weapons and travel pack your humping about, I'll assume you're not some long lost relative come to say hi."

"I'll be your favorite uncle Lee and give you all the Fire Flakes in the world if you'll just surrender peacefully and let me escort you to the Jin-Sing lockup." Sokka quipped, that old Water Tribe whit sharp as ever.

Bogar blinked, then grinned "How did you know my uncle's name was lee? Done your homework have you?"

"Uh, yeeeeah; can't bounty hunt without homework." Sokka cunningly improvised, a little startled himself "How many Lee's are there anyway?"

"Not bad, shows initiative, though if you'd dug a little deeper you'd know I abhor my uncle Lee;" Catching Sokka's look, Bogar explained "He beat my aunt regularly."

Sokka blinked "Uh; sorry to hear that."

"Don't be, I hated her too."

"Why? Cause she beat your uncle right back?" Another gem of Water Tribe spunk, he was on a roll today.

"Nope, she could've, but didn't?"

"Could've?" Sokka prompted, now detachedly intrigued.

"Put it this way; one's a Earthbender, one isn't. Can you guess which one's the Earthbender"

"Uhm, your uncle?" Sokka purposely guessed wrong in the tactical hopes Bogar will underestimate his intelligence.

"Huh, so much for homework." Bogar scoffed, not with derision, but pity, much to Sokka's chagrin as they both smiled slightly with awkward yet companionable mirth; yeah, it was a weird moment.

For such a wild looking fella, Bogar seemed quite a reasonable guy, if a tad morbid; probably just a beguiling –Lull-N-Trap- style front Sokka decided as the bandit clearly grasped the tactical windfalls of a disarming personality, an affectation that, along with that tidbit about his uncle, could be explained by his accent, because despite the distortion of other cultural influences, it unmistakably originated from the Ba-Sing-Se mean-streets, and in it Sokka heard all the struggles of the man's youth to survive in the cutthroat world of the poor and downtrodden. This was a ruthless man, a survivor, all the more proof things are never as black and white as they first seem. Still, this guy wasn't anything Sokka and his trusty Boomerang couldn't handle, though he did briefly feel bad for Bogar, obviously life had dealt him a crappy hand, but it still doesn't excuse his crimes, thus returning Sokka to why he was here.

He'd make it quick, knock him out, tie him up and frog march him back into town at knifepoint to discourage any Earthbendy shenanigans, and thanks to Toph's endless pranks, he knew most of the signs to watch for. First though, the knocking out part, So, doing what he should've done the moment Bogar appeared, Sokka, as taught during his swordsman's apprenticeship, assessed his surroundings. To himself, nothing particularly advantageous field wise; to Bogar however "Well let's see, stone cliffs, stone path, big fall onto more stone; my confidence is skyrocketing, aww-yeah tremble oh terrible Earthbender, before the might of Boomerang Guy." Even Sokka's thought processes were 90% sarcasm; as to the 10% sincerity "I miss Space Sword." Yep, there it is, reluctant and unhelpful as ever.

Despite his internal grumbling Sokka kept his cool, indeed as they bantered he'd been shuffling little baby-steps closer to his target, making mental calculations on distance for Boomerang's next mission and formulating anti-Earthbender strategy. Sadly, for non-benders like himself, such strategies were scarce, especially here on these accursed slopes. He'd been stupid blundering up here, such hotheadedness is Zuko's style, not his. Oh well, too late for regrets, he'd do fine, he'd just have to fight smart, he'd always said brains trump bending, time to prove it.

"Not to sound ungracious;" Bogar resumed more seriously, aware of Sokka's subtle maneuvering "But much as I've grown to appreciate civilized conversation living alone up here, perhaps it's time you and I get on with the formalities of our rolls."

"Rats," Sokka pouted "And here I was hoping my dazzling charisma and winning personality would convince you to come along peacefully."

"And a good try it was too lad...but no."

"Well in that case..." Sokka sighed melodramatically and straightened "On behalf of the Jin-Sing authorities, I, in my capacity as a bounty hunter, am here to apprehend and convey your person to jail with the other criminal scum confined there in;" He declared with an unrehearsed authoritativeness likely gleaned after hearing so many of Aang's crazy public speeches "So surrender now and come along willingly, or we'll do this the hard way."

Bogar cocked his head, simpering "You're not very good at this are you?"

"Well it is my first day so cut me some slack would you; and a little constructive criticism wouldn't hurt either." Sokka snapped irritably, forgetting his anger at the bandit's disrespect of the victims dumped like so much garbage in that mass grave Azula found.

"Hmmmm," Bogar looked thoughtful "If you drop the self-righteous –for the good of mankind- speech; maybe...actually, on second thoughts, just drop the whole speech like you should drop your target the moment you lay eyes on-em"

"Oh, you mean like this?!" In an instant Sokka terminated their dialogue with a not so sneaky –Sneak Attack- but hey, at least he didn't verbally announce it as such this time.

Like lightning Sokka launched his boomerang before the bandit could adopt a bending stance, but Bogar merely leaned aside, curiously familiar with the weapon's function as he tracked its course with one eye while keeping the other carefully trained on Sokka. Sokka noticed this however and instead of predictably rushing the bandit with his club, he cleverly exploited Bogar's divided attention by doing the unexpected and threw his makeshift spear like a javelin while his now unoccupied Boomerang arm drew his club. It was a bad throw and the carved tree limb, like most real spears, wasn't balanced for throwing, but Sokka didn't intend for it to connect, it was just a ploy to confound; and confounded Bogar was, abandoning whatever Earthbending skullduggery he was midway through motioning to dodge what needed no dodging. By then however Sokka was already charging hard and fast, club poised. Startled, Bogar renewed his bending effort, but the bandit forgot about Boomerang whose return spin Sokka had timed to strike moments before he closed into the melee.

It worked, sort of; however with the war over and Space Sword lost, Sokka lately hadn't the time or inclination to train, and his laxity resulted in two slight miscalculations. Firstly boomerang came back a heartbeat quicker than anticipated, and secondly it struck Bogar's armored back instead of the knockout headshot Sokka sought, hence allotting Bogar time enough to recover and catch Sokka's descending club, rotate and then simultaneously disarm and toss the miffed tribesman martial arts style over his shoulder.

Thankfully disorientation didn't fuddle Sokka's wits and he reflexively rolled into the tumble then back to his feet, gaining some distance. He wondered how such a tall, chunky guy could be so nimble; Earthbenders aren't agile dancers, their supposed to be immovable as their element. So typical Sokka thought irritably; he decides to take up bounty hunting and his personal albatross, namely this ever spiteful world, immediately changes the natural order of things just to screw him over. Damn his arrogance, Azula was right; swordless, peacetime softened and so driven to beat her to the catch without caution or preparation, she'd predicted his blunder and blundered he had. He'd never credit her it though, his ego wouldn't survive that even if he survived this, and the bandit's next actions did nothing to illuminate that bleak outcome on the darkening horizon of his future. If only Space Sword were here; if only...if only.

Seeing Boomerang lying on the ground a few meters ahead, about half way between him and Bogar, Sokka made a desperate lunge for it without thinking, and Bogar, noticing his intent, Earthbent a small ankle-high bump in the path that had Sokka faceplanting before he'd taken one step, but a history of clumsy stumbling had taught him how to flow with the fall and he was able to scrabble upright almost immediately, and just in time too.

"No," The bandit chortled, snarling "Like this!" Echoing Sokka's own smug repartee, Bogar stomped, threw an arm forward and Sokka frantically found his feet punctually enough to dive aside the none too subtle head-sized clump of mountainside pathway that whooshed scant inches past his left ear. A textbook Earthbender attack, but an attack, Sokka realized too late, intended to make him evade exactly so. Sokka's dive conveyed him in what –he- thought the safest direction, that being toward the rock-face which rose to the third level rampart high above; only he was wrong and his dive plopped him straight into the path of the large uneven section of that same cliff-face which slid out and began shoving him inexorably toward the great drop off the path's edge, and stuck sliding painfully on his backside as he was, Sokka couldn't avoid it, the section of cliff was simply too big to roll clear of, too tall for him to climb atop and so implacable it kept him too unbalanced to even stand, let alone pursue any counteraction.

Blue eyes wide, bulging and wild, Sokka flailed like a fish out of water, only now remembering what it meant to fear for your life. Bogar's move reminded him of the nail-biting moments in those adventure stories where the group of tomb-raiders find themselves on a narrow ledge and one of them steps on a trigger-tile, causing sections of the wall to slide out, intending to push them off the ledge into something nasty, like a black pool of Croco-Gators, or Electric Puffer-Eels, or Sea-Hoarse-piranhas. Unlike the heroic scoundrels in those colorful tails however, Sokka didn't have a wise old wizard to magic his problem away, nor a practical minded Earthbender to save the day, nah, that roll just had to go to the guy trying to kill him; trying and succeeding because for some illogical reason the colorful obscenities Sokka was spewing didn't cow the pushy stone block or grant him mystical flying abilities when he finally went tumbling over the ridge with an anguished, regretful howl of outrage.

Falling, falling, that was what he knew next, his senses scattered in the merciless whirlwind battle between the sky and cliff-face as they spun, collided and rebounded in every direction around him. He couldn't believe this, defeated so easily, and by such a grouchy lout too, how embarrassing. Why hadn't it occurred to him to throw off his heavy pack before invoking the conflict so he could move faster? Had he left his brain in Appa's saddle or something? Why did the world hate him so much? This was so unfair, and now he was almost sure he was about to die, at least that was his firm belief before he heard the shifting of stone and something dead, brown and leafy snagged his pack which bare milliseconds ago he'd been cursing. It was a solitary half dead cluster of vines barely clinging to the rock-face that'd tangled in his pack-straps, they were dried out and nowhere near strong enough to support his weight for long, but they did briefly halt his fall. Desperately Sokka clung to them, squeezing his eyes shut, hearing them creek in protest of their unwanted burden.

"Please hold vines; I'm too handsome to die." Sokka made a pitiful squeaking sound in his throat that he'd have found comical coming from anyone else who wasn't him. He didn't want to look down but he forced himself to, and blinked, his cheeks burning red. Okay, he was still fifteen meters above the rampart below, only that wasn't the cause of his embarrassment, no, that honor went to the small rocky ledge jutting from the cliff a mere hand-span below his scrabbling feet. Wait, that couldn't be right, his depth perception had to be shot from the fall...Suddenly, the vines snapped and he slid helplessly down the rock-face, thinking it was finally over when not an instant later he flopped onto that -very real- ledge in an undignified heap, hugging it for dear life.

Once the directions up and down settled back into their natural places, Sokka cracked an eye open, reflexively analyzing his situation. The ledge wasn't exactly spacious or comfortable, sticking almost two meters out of the cliff-face with a more generous three meter width it was unnaturally rectangular. All that really mattered to him though was it felt solid enough to bare its newly acquired load. Glancing up, Sokka was a little surprised to discover he'd only fallen three or four meters, he could have sworn he'd plummeted twice that; in fact it's lucky he snagged the rotting vines now laying tangled about him, because even this shortened fall could've aggrieved him with worse pains than the scrapes and bruises he currently bore

"Gee, rescued by dead foliage, thanks a bunch Mother Nature." He sniffed, thanklessly disentangling the vines and tossing them off the ledge like unwanted trash as he shakily stood, trying to puzzle something out and doing a lousy job of it in his slightly tremulous state. Something about this ledge, its smooth surfaces, it's surgically-exact rectangular shape and the fact he didn't recall seeing it in that pants-peeing moment of being shunted off the ridge, it's non-existence a flash before the world became a spinning-top.

Sokka shook himself, no time for diversionary excogitating, Bogar was still up there and it wouldn't be long before the bandit began playing a game of extreme vertical mountainside bowling, Earthbender style. Sokka wasn't sure what he could do either, weaponless, stranded, it was over and he knew it. Then, as if on cue, the scraggly bearded bandit was there peering down at him over the ridge, not far up yet well beyond Sokka's vengeful hands.

"Huh, looks like you're not the only one with bad timing today; I was hoping to knock you flying into the woods with that ledge, not catch you on it;" Bogar chortled "I've never seen a man fly before; pity."

'No way, lady luck hates me –way- too much to let me die that easy." Sokka drawled, playing the confident funny man to disguise just how rattled he actually was.

"I know the feeling;" Bogar snorted amusedly, quipping "so, how's the view down there?"

"Oh it's absolutely wonderful," Sokka exclaimed with a truly masterful cocktail of angry sarcasm "Why don't you take a swan-dive and see for yourself."

"If repartee is an art form, then you sir, are an artist; but I'm afraid you'll need more than linguistic finesse to disencumber your present spate of adversity;" Bogar chuckled, taunting "No way up, no way down, better hope you got lots of rations in that pack cause it's the reason your attack plan failed, slowed you down too much see;" He lectured with smug condescension "But don't look so glum, you nearly had me there;" Bogar sighed melodramatically, appending "If only –nearly- were nearly enough, eh?"

When all else fails and death is certain, be bold, true warriors adjure no clemency "Oh spare me the hindsight and just do it if you're going to do it! Come on, drop a big rock on my head, right here;" Sokka taunted, slapping his pate "It'll hurt way less than hearing you waffle on; seriously, if I wanted to be lectured and victimized I'd have left with my friends instead of chasing you down!"

"If you rave at your friends the way you're raving at me, it's any wonder they give you grief."

"Hey, you haven't got any grounds to judge me on anything, mur-der-er!." Yeah, Sokka was in one of his moods "Now either kill me or let me be on my way;" He lied, fully intending to throttle the bandit at first opportunity "Either way I'm not begging for my life, so you can just forget it if that's what your waiting for sicko."

"Oh-I could kill ya," Bogar conceded "But nah, I think I'll leave ya there for now, come back every so often, laugh at ya some, spirits know I need a good laugh, it gets mighty boring up here, and watching you cry, beg and starve to death should cheer me right up; who knows, I might even feed ya."

"Yeah, because guys who fill mass-graves are all heart, right?" Sokka snarled.

"Actually it's a garbage pit," The bandit corrected so casually he could've been commenting on the weather "But don't worry, you're not –special- enough for the pit," Something in Bogar's smiling tone chilled Sokka; sedition, cold rage and something else, pride maybe "Besides," Bogar continued more mildly "I've always wanted a pet bounty hunter; uh-well not really, but the idea's mighty appealing..."

In a blur, Sokka drew his belt-knife and launched it spinning viciously upwards, it was a good throw, quick, professional, but Bogar had extraordinary reflexes and ducked back as it sailed past then reappeared laughing, completely unfazed. What a morning Sokka thought, he'd let his temper get the better of him twice now, and he'd just thrown away his only backup weapon "Stupid-stupid-stupid!"

"Ya missed meeee!" Bogar sang, sniggering "Nice trick though. Know any others?" Sokka growled and scowled in frustration "Can ye bark like a tiger-bat?"

"Don't you mean a wolf-lion? Tiger-bats don't bark you ignorant troll, they squeak and purr, though I can understand why you got them confused because all I hear coming out your mouth right now is –squeak-squeak-squeak-" Sokka wasn't sure what he hoped to gain by provoking Bogar after losing his knife in his failed surprise attack, maybe if the bandit got angry enough he'd lose his balance and tumble off the ledge, unlikely, but not impossible, and positive thinking never hurts "Sheesh, I seriously overestimated your intelligence, it's a wonder you even know which end food goes in and comes out of."

Bogar gasped, feigned hurt "You wrong me, especially after I was smart enough to strand your sorry butt down there." The bandit simpered

"So help me when I get back up there, what rotting teeth you have left will be taking the scenic route to a chamber-pot! I hope you get indigestion you malodorous, cookie cutting sack of murdering monkey ding-dongs, cause it's...Ayeggg! HEY!" Sokka exclaimed as the ledge divided in two between his feet, sliding him into a very uncomfortable near-splits position before slamming back together again, dumping him on his can. Bogar mentioned needing a respite from boredom, and the bastard was getting his money's worth if his hearty laughter were any signifier.

"You shriek like a girl stuck in a wagon full of rodents; think maybe I'll call you Lassy from now on. Eh? Hehe."

"Do that and I'll turn you into a squealing eunu-UEEEEKK." Sokka squealed again as the ledge shuddered beneath him, he hugged the cliff, exclaiming "Okay, call me whatever you want, just quit heckling the ledge!"

"Attagirl Lassy, keeping a civil tongue isn't so hard now is it?"

"Ha-ha, you're a riot." Sokka grumbled, voice flat and sullen .

"And your ridiculous; I mean really lad, your almost a man-grown, and men don't squeal like bug-eyed schoolgirls;" Bogar snorted "It'd be pitiable if it weren't so spirits damned funny."

"That's me," Sokka groaned, thoroughly deflated "The guy who lives to entertain others at his dignity's expense. What else is new?"

"My condolences, people are seldom comforted to learn their true lot in life; you poor unfortunate sod;" Bogar sounded almost sympathetic, almost, the grinning bastard "Still, you win points for threat originality; hmm..." The bandit looked thoughtful, bad sign "Tell ya what, take the remaining daylight off to think up a real good insult, then lay it on me when I return this evening, if it's derogative and vile enough, I'll toss ya down some grub. How's that sound?"

"And if it ain't?" Sokka challenged, derisively mimicking Bogar's rough accent.

"And if it ain't" He echoed glibly "Well, you'll be dancing for yer dinner when I start tossing boulders down there."

"Say what you like about my originality, but you sir, are a cliché, so cliché in fact that…."

"You're wasting precious thinking time." Bogar hummed in falsetto, turning to walk off.

"Hay, where are you going? I'm a warrior, you can't leave me like this! It's undignified!"

Bogar's receding response was almost sing-song with mockery "Can do, want to, shall do, now doing, DONE!" And just like that Bogar was gone, his voice a fading sound, and miffed as he was, Sokka had to admit that, if nothing else, he liked Bogar's style; easy, laid back, slow to anger, witty even; okay, the murderous sadistic streak wasn't to Sokka's taste, but nobodies perfect.

Something long, thin and wooden suddenly came sailing over the above ridge and Sokka recognized his makeshift spear plummeting to reacquaint itself with its woodland home. Apparently that damned bandit was claiming Boomerang and Mr Clubby as booty; guess he considers sharpened stick an unworthy addition to his armory "Pfft, typical bandit, so fussy." Sokka huffed, silently swearing the moment he figured a way out of this mess, he'd reclaim his prized weapons; losing Space Sword had broken his heart, but Boomerang and Clubby were like childhood friends, he'd not stop until he rescued them from an unconscious or dead Bogar's evil friend-napping clutches; that is, if he escaped this ledge intact "Well…I'm screwed."

---

(Mostly boring plot irrelevant info on Bogar's past from here to chapter's end; so feel free to skip it; I only wrote it cause its fun composing OC character histories.)

-Krovine Slopes; Mid-Late morning-

Before leaving, Bogar retrieved the lad's Boomerang and club, he'd served with Water Tribe warriors and knew the sentimental and cultural significance the weapons represented; Bogar respected that and would return them to the lad later. Truthfully he had every intention of stranding the fool kid on that ledge; despite common opinion among Jin-Sing's citizenry he wasn't a bloodthirsty fiend, the lad was just an over-confident teen who made a silly career choice he in no way deserved to die for, nor did Bogar wish to extinguish such a young man and promising warrior's life. Indeed the kid had potential; smart, creative, quick-thinking and skill-wise the equal of any tribesman Bogar had fought beside, just not skilled enough to afford his too cocky by half attitude, though he'd certainly inherited that Water Tribe spiritedness Bogar had always admired in their warriors along with their infamously canny humor. Bogar also retrieved the boy's thrown knife, it'd been a good throw and if he hadn't anticipated it, he'd be dead. Bogar didn't bother with the makeshift javelin, just tossed it off the cliff, it'd clearly been an improvised diversionary weapon, it almost worked too, clever whelp, that opening attack was nothing short of tactical genius; lad just needs to work on his timing.

For caution sake he'd lain low an extra day following the Avatar's brief advent townside, but life must go on and routine does have its droll self-deluding comforts Bogar thought, clipping the lad's weapons to his belt with his war-axe. Bogar liked the axe, more slaughter per-swing by sacrifice of a swords reach and defensibility; an ugly weapon for an ugly man doing ugly deeds, just his style. Bogar favored an exhilarating melee over the impersonal rock-chuckery Earthbending. But ultimately, for victory, for survival, you go with what works. With the weapons secured, he set off to man his lookout point whistling some tune he scarcely recalled, pausing only to Earthbend most of the stone back into the head-sized pothole he'd created during the scuffle; wouldn't do to have an untidy home, and these slopes are home, a home Bogar took pride in.

Another slow day today, like most, though the young tribesman's attack was a refreshing break from routine. Still, strange a bounty hunter would seek him out so soon in the Avatar's wake; nobody had tried in months. Coincidence? Perhaps; but the sky bison left quick as it arrived, which meant the Avatar was on a schedule, otherwise they might've stayed to resolve Jin-Sing's bandit problem, and formidable Earthbender though he is, Bogar wasn't stupid enough to combat the Avatar, or even his three companions, all of whom were master benders despite their age. Apparently there's a fifth team member too, but public opinion pegs him as just some obscure, tagalong, no-note stable boy and lemur-sitting goofball "More than a stable boy I'd wager, not that he'll get any credit standing in his friends shadows, poor guy; history loves it's benders, anything less and you're a footnote at best." Bogar sighed, saddened "Actually he should be grateful, such obscurity is often envied by the famous; history isn't kind to failed heroes; people look to them, idolize them, then turn on them for slipping up and proving their only human after all, punishing-em for being mortal…I should know…."

It was too sunny a day for sour moods, but the woeful memories came unbidden, clawing as they often do from their shallow sub-unconscious graves like the mythical undead of horror stories. Memories need exercise too Bogar thought ill-humoredly, like pet pups in need of walking, only these pups piss all over the tenuous silverlinings of his now dismal life, disdainful of the man he'd become, whispering remembrances of another man long dead. Identity can't endure as memories do; again and again he buries them, but again and again they rise to haunt him. Perhaps his sub-conscious is trying to tell him something, but he stopped listening years ago. Yet the past has left its mark, and its myriad shades still possessed him and could drag him down from life's mild contentments into their cold dark, time-frozen world at their leisure. Before Bogar realized it, the immersion had already begun, his body continued trudging to his lookout, boots clopping, weapons clinking, hair flicking in the cool breeze, but his mind silently sank down-down into despair, self-loathing and shameful longing for a life reduced to bitter ashes.

Bogar was born and raised in the Ba-Sing-Se slums, the only child of loving but inattentive parents who died when he was eight, murdered by the debt collectors of a local loanshark. His mother and father's sacrifice ensured his escape, sparing his life. But what life had he left? Orphans either ran in gangs or were poached and sold into prostitution; male or female, any age, whatever appetites their grungy, grotesque clients sought, the crime-bosses supplied it cheap-cheap-cheap; sick business, sick bastards. Luckily he'd not fallen into that particular –vocation-, rather, knowing his uncle Li and aunt Fane wouldn't take him in, he joined one of the more prominent gangs, having had made friends there his parents wouldn't have approved of. The gangs were created by the young and the destitute who banded together to survive and protect themselves from enterprising crooks, pimps and slavers; yes, you heard, slavery is common in the slums too. Oh Ba-Sing-Se law is proclaimed fare and just by the middle and upper classes, but the desperately destitute aren't even considered real people, sewer-rats drowning in shite more-like.

So the gangs survived; but not freely, they still served bigger baddies, but it was more of a patronage than servitude. The warring criminal kingpins weren't stupid, they knew harming an aligned orphan would unite all the gangs, rival or not, a quarter of their number benders, culminating in a bloodbath; that's why they championed the gangs and shrewdly encouraged rivalries between them, classic divide and conquer tactics; besides, if an orphan worked hard, there were perks. Nevertheless, it was a lawless world no honest watchmen entered bar those unscrupulous guardsman coveting unlawful indulgences, bribes, or protection racketeering. Ultimately, slum law surrounded that unspoken peace treaty between the gangs, crime bosses, black alchemists, pawnbrokers and crooked watchmen. Gang life was gritty work, Bogar had sunk low, done much and killed many to survive, moreover, he excelled at it and as a powerful Earthbender he soon became headed the gang, harbored ambitions, knowing that with time and planning he could even usurp his criminal patron and elevate his gang to new prosperous heights.

But luck, as ever, spoiled his plan for that's when the pressgang looking for frontline fodder to throw at the Fire Nation's unstoppable war-machine came calling, and Bogar's ever-thoughtful patron, the one he aspired to usurp, happily volunteered him; Patriotic huh? Devious bastard probably suspected his scheming, or heard whispers; someone always tattles. Still, by that point Bogar was twenty and a heavy hitter in the slums, not that he missed it after he was shipped out with a handful of his more loyal pals who'd voluntarily followed him rather than weather the ensuing power vacuum of his ousting as they'd have been first on everyone's throat cutting list. Yeah, even the criminally destitute have their political system, and neither Bogar nor his friends lamented their exile from its oppression.

In military training and later on the battlefield their twelve strong group remained stubbornly cohesive and became very disagreeable with any superior attempting to separate them; they'd grown up together, and would die together. Among their team, trust and loyalty ran thicker than blood, the rare gift of true friendship, akin to brotherhood, or, as four of their number were female, a family; a family that, as it turned out, also doubled as a finely tuned, well-oiled war-weapon. In fact, their experience with swift cutthroatery, unparalleled talent for coordinated unit tactics and startling survival and success ratios quickly got them noticed and shipped off for high priority training with the EK-SF, Earth Kingdom Special Forces. But even then they stuck together, the implacable unit, the elite, of the elite.

Age twenty five was when he met the woman he ended up marrying two years later with their first child conceived a year after that. Learning of his wife's pregnancy saw Bogar resign from the EK-SF, his superior at the time, who, being a family man himself, understood what really mattered and pulled some strings. woefully this life-changing decision followed a disastrous sneak-n-sabotage mission that got most of Bogar's best friends killed. Faulty Intel was to blame, the enemy presence far exceeded expectation, and worse, the Fire Nation heard they were coming and set an ambush his team was ill-prepared for. Grossly outnumbered, seven friends fell, only he and four wounded others escaped. But how was their operation compromised? Easy; one careless intelligence leak and the Fire Nation spies pounced. That one mission might've turned the war and some careless desk-snot spoiled everything jacking his jaw. Special Forces and intelligence people in most militaries have an abiding love-hate relationship; soldier's lives depend on good intel, but too often the intel isn't reliable and those paper-pushers just shrug off their incompetence because they aren't the ones out there bleeding and dying; no, rather they shift the blame onto the soldiers themselves with the typically disdainful -they should do their jobs better like their paid to do- Attitude; bloody wankers.

Anyway, it brought life's true preciousness into focus for Bogar; wife, family, he'd matured enough to realize the outside world wasn't all flowers and sunshine, it'd come as a shock to discover the villains out here made the slum kingpins look like the callow street thugs he once ran with, and those villains were supposedly the good guys. Thoroughly desensitized, Bogar's inhumanity brooked no shivers over memories of the dark deeds they'd ordered his team to commit; war is war, life is cheap and he'd suffered private shameful shivers aplenty back then; not even street life had been that revolting, thus his assisted resignation and sojourn into family life, one last –vain- hope to salvage what tattered scraps of humanity remained to him. He'd beseeched his surviving friends to resign also, but dehumanized and war-hardened they'd found their calling with Special Forces, getting paid to do what they'd always done best; spy, sneak, kill. So they parted ways, but not before one last grand farewell piss-up, though recently married Bogar abstinently disappointed the tavern wenches that night. He still thought of them sometimes, his friends not the wenches, wondered what they were doing now the war was over; wondered if they still remember their grizzly old buddy. Bogar grimaced, knowing those crazy buggers too well; competent, but two times too fearless without him there constantly ass-kicking them into rational behavior "Likely all dead," he thought somberly.

For 16 years thereafter he served as guard captain of his wife's home town where his family lived happily, it'd taken only a month before the mayor handed him the job with a fourty man garrison he'd be charged with re-training, disciplining and commanding in their duty of keeping a crime-free town by patrolling and scouting its borders for external threats. Bogar, known by a different name back then, found it a good, honorable job, he was idolized by his men for his incredible Eartbending talents and army experience; still, his history in special forces he kept hush-hush, as ordered. All in all it was a good life; work hard, keep vigilant then go home to a warm bed and some –down time- with the wife who never tore his head off for absentee fathering, or lovemaking hehehe. Yes, he was proud of his career and more so of his family; two wonderful teenage daughters, brave, spirited reckless Tier; her shy, softly-spoken younger sister Arie, and his practical minded older son Ken-chi who also joined the guard to hang with his old man; all three were the pride and joy of he and his gorgeous, often cheeky wife Arah.

All dead now….his family….raped and or murdered when a large Fire Nation contingent roughly 730 strong scourged his home, their assault, sudden, brutal and unforeseen. Outnumbered, blindsided, unprepeared, Bogar tried to hold the lines and protect the town, his men were all excellent Earthbenders and warriors compared to the Fire Nation's baby-faced recruits, the insurgents bled hard for their cause, 5 enemy soldiers fell for every one of his warriors, but superior numbers and all that. Valiant though the resistance, the lines broke, the town fell and the last thing Bogar recalled was he and Ken-Chi fighting desperately back to back until his son shoved him clear of a giant multi-Firebender fueled fireball; a great rain of burning rubble and Ken-Chi's agonized death-cries were the last things Bogar knew before he blacked out to later awake among the plundered wreckage as one of the few overlooked survivors. His eyes burned, damned slopes, gets so dusty up here…Who was he kidding? Survivors guilt still gnawed at him even now; yet his youth in the slums taught him to survive no matter the cost, so if suicide was for cowards, what else could he do but live? And even if that life was so lonesomely absent any possible recourse or redemption, he regretted none of the bloody retributions he'd sown to avenge his family's cruel fate…none…at…all

Initially Bogar was baffled when blame officially fell on him for his towns grizzly end, so naturally he'd gone to regional intelligence headquarters for answers, like why they'd not sent warning of such significant enemy activity. They stonewalled him at first, but after threatening to make public the atrocities they'd ordered his EK-SF team to commit, his implacable perseverance eventually yielded answers; none good. Turns out the regional intelligence branch merely neglected to keep tabs on enemy movement. But did they take responsibility? Nuh-uh, that'd be too embarrassing; so instead they bandied some legal words and covertly bullied those few other lucky slaughter survivors into reluctantly testifying against their once respected guard captain who'd –allegedly- received and failed to act on a warning he'd never even received, even going so far as to unofficially hint that his survival of the –mishap- is suspiciously telling of a Fire Nation sympathizer….Bloody Wankers!

Bogar however was too experienced with intelligence people to believe they'd overlooked an enemy battalion so large infiltrating their territory unopposed. No, they weren't framing him to cover their ineptitude, but rather, to conceal a more nefarious purpose; they denied the accusation, of course. Still, whatever their reasons for sacrificing his town, family and reputation, whether strategical, political or otherwise, this coldblooded ingratitude was their way of saying –As thanks for years of loyal service, here's a complimentary knife in the back and our sincere indifference your loss-…Wankers. Politics, it's always politics, sniveling, self-image obsessed parchment-pushers hiding safe behind their desks, able to sacrifice thousands of innocents with one negligent quill-stroke, blissfully distant from war's true horrors. Knowing such contemptible people were responsible for all his losses was what finally saw Bogar snap. Perhaps they expected he'd flee before their governmental might with tail between legs. What they didn't expect however was his –mildly irrational- suicidal grief driven reaction to their betrayal; they weren't acquainted with the kind of irreconcilable despair that he was; but they learned, and HARD!

Bogar was a damn powerful Earthbender back then, and cunning with it; many fell to his wrath that day, including the entire west wing of regional Intelligence headquarters. He slew every preening politico present who'd framed him along with two dozen of their elite bodyguards. The bodyguards he'd killed quickly, cleanly, they were just soldiers, like him, and deserved respect unlike their wards who did NOT die easily, or cleanly. After Earthbending up the floor to barricade the only escape, he got to work, one official after another, taking his time, especially with the regional head-honcho, Bogar disemboweled him, reKplacing his guts with bucket-loads of sharp pulverized stone he'd bent into powered shrapnel and forced into the bloodstream of the man's arteries. Woefully interrupted, Bogar escaped through the collapsed roof Earthbender style just as headquarters security broke through his barricade only to find the conference-room walls floor and ceiling splashed with blood and everybody dead but the regional director who was screaming in hysterical agony, slowly dying from mutilations so grotesque not even the world's greatest healers could've salvaged him. The memory still made Bogar smirk; vengeance attained reaps not cold emptiness, but exultant pride.

It didn't end there either; outlawed and relentlessly hunted; Bogar grew determined to learn the true terrible –why- of it all; the slaughter, the stich-up, everything; he needed closure desperately. Long story short, after several weeks of illegal activity, trespassing, sleuthing and ruthless interrogation of knowledgeable persons, He finally unearthed that buried truth, a truth so pathetically despicable that he'd actually laughed after learning the names of the surviving three villains who'd precipitated his woe.

Two were merely advisors to those he'd already punished, inconsequential next to the third man whom he both knew and thoroughly despised. His name was General Tao, a brutish, unscrupulous, slovenly vile ale-swilling oaf repeatedly accused by the town mayor of corruption, protection racketeering and sexually assaulting townswomen. Bogar himself had feuded with Tao over said accusations many times, after all he was guard captain and the townspeople his responsibility, but long odds to the gambler who backs a captain over a general for that general was well connected and dodged every charge. What set alarm bells tolling in Bogar's head however was the recollection of his last meeting with the mayor two days before the Fire Nation's shock assault. Apparently the mayor had found means to expose Tao's corruption, having already petitioned Ba-Sing-Se's High Court via messenger he was scheduled to travel there and put fourth his evidence the following week. But of course, one day before his scheduled journey….Bogar surmised General Tao had somehow steered that enemy force toward his hometown with the intel-branch head's bribed cooperation….So much pain and death to save one fat, disgusting man's career….For all those murdered, Bogar individually stalked, kidnapped, tortured and killed all three bounders, and only Tao put up a fight, but Tao was out of shape and Bogar prevailed, easily incapacitating him. The good general got his undivided attention in the night's aftermath; it was….most cathartic.

Unfortunately, Bogar's victims were still vital to protecting the region from enemy incursion and his righteous retribution had plunged local intelligence into leaderless disarray, and those ever-innovative Fire Nation generals capitalize immediately, and Bogar was too numb with grief to care. Luckily, their replacements weren't so corrupt, and unluckily, for Bogar anyway, three grudge baring factions, the authorities, military and intelligence community, immediately launched a tireless crusade to hunt him down and dispense justice, but typically their factional rivalry constantly impeded onenaother's efforts and Bogar's EK-SF training preserved him. Eventually however other cases of deserters and war criminals piled up, forcing them to reprioritize, entrusting the hunt to a measly skeleton crew Bogar easily outfoxed. Some months later the Avatar returned and with the hundred year war was reaching its climax, head office abandoned the chase and reassigned that defeated crew more important jobs. Nobody cared about some tired old traitor anymore, eventually he was forgotten; oh his sketch remained the military's shit-list, thus why he grew a beard and gained some pounds, effectively burying that broken family man and birthing of Jin-Sing's infamous bandit, in his stead. There was no going back, this was it for him, the highest low point of his life he could rationally hope for; he might not like the reality, but he accepted it.

How ironic that he'd come full circle, started out with a substandard life plunged further into bloody depravity and criminal enterprise, then to glimpse freedom in serving a new, seemingly worthwhile cause, he and his friends striving and clawing their way toward a better life; family, kids, a respectable job, free and happy, then one man's greed and an enemy nation's ambition tore it asunder, leaving him only revenge and loneliness; then once the crimson mists faded with vengeance acquired, he found himself back where he started, worse actually, he'd had friends back then. He couldn't return to the slums, either he'd be apprehended entering the city or his old ilk would sell him out, besides there'd be a new conniving generation ruling the warrens who wouldn't welcome some faded old gang legend's homecoming; to them, he'd be upper-class filth, respectable peoples, and though he'd grown more contemptible than all of them combined, it made no difference, they were simply surviving, whereas he should've died with his family long ago.

He reached his lookout-spire thoroughly depressed. Sighing, he Earthbent himself up to the small sit-in niche three quarters up, sat then glowered over the treetops to the easterly view of Jin-Sing and its northern and southern roads respectively, moodily unmoved by the golden radiance of the grassy planes under the mid-morning sunlight; usually the view cheered him, but not today. Scowling at the unfairness of it all, Bogar's eye scanned the sky, decent weather, hadn't been raining lately so Earthbending the quick way down shouldn't be a trifle. Satisfied, Bogar dug around in the pocket of his tatty, dirt-smattered vest for his spyglass, and finding the pocket empty he cursed, he'd left it back at the cave, again "Must be getting old, they say memory flees the aging, yet mine haunts me just fine, it's the amnesia of senility I envy." He scoffed in self-mockery "Maybe I'm getting too comfortable here, too complacent?" Something he'd ponder while returning to the cave, also deciding on an early lunch when he got there; perhaps he'd even toss the tribesman an apple or something, no need to be cruel, the lad couldn't help being born stupid. Then Bogar wondered if the kid needed money to survive and took up bounty hunting out of desperation; possible, but he didn't look too badly off despite his raggedy appearance. Regardless, Bogar would leave him there a few more hours then send him on his way with a valuable life lesson.

The prospect of food cheered him some, he still had those dried meat rations and eggs from the supply wagon he'd hijacked four days earlier, quality stuff, the guards were pretty tough too, poor bastards, they'd only been doing their jobs, it's why he'd left their personal belongings behind for their families to claim. He'd also only taken from the carts what he needed to survive up here and left the bulk of the food stocks for the town, he'd even spared the non-combatants. Bogar wasn't needlessly villainous like most bandits who destroyed everything they couldn't steal; part of his highwayman philosophy, don't get greedy, take only what you need and only what others can afford to lose, if they can afford it, take more, show your victims respect, even the dead ones; though he never extended those courtesies to his Fire Nation victims, that'd just be silly.

Ten minutes on, having reached the intersecting paths and started up the one leading to his hideout, Bogar suddenly paused, cocked his head, listening intently; thought he heard a voice, it sounded female, though he was too far away to tell if he'd imagined it. Perhaps it was just the young tribesman having another fit of hysterics, the lad's voice certainly did take on a girlish pitch when agitated; silly twit should save his breath, nobody's like to hear him up here and he seemed the type good fortune would thumb its nose at. But if someone else was there, would he kill them? Depends who and what manner of will they bore him, ill-will being the norm for most folks. Just once a friendly caller or a bounty ignorant hiker would be nice; he'd rob them of course, but no reason they couldn't make Smalltalk at the same time.

Regardless, Bogar strode onward to investigate.

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A/N

Villain-wise Bogar's nothing special, in fact he's probably crazier than Azula, but I like humanizing the bad guys with extensive backgrounds; hope his history wasn't too boring. Now Bogar's a very powerful Earthbender, in his prime he'd of posed Toph or King Bumi a serious challenge (perhaps even defeated them 3 times out of 10) though here he's old, unfit and past his prime. Azula is also out of shape after moths wasting away in the Asylum; so both being prodigies, Azula will find him difficult prey, especially since she doesn't trust her present mental stability enough to conjure lightning.

Chapter 4 will take a while, I'm a slow-slow writer, bad procrastinator, and busy weekdays don't help the process either.