Rain dew dripped from the flower petals that guided the city. Fitting for a woman such as Katara. Snow, rain, hail, even the fleeting wind gave the brunette woman a taste of familiarity in a new world where she held a candle to her "misunderstood" patients — albeit, hers was less of a misunderstanding and more of a defiance. Either way, she had turned into a night-owl by force, not choice.
The brunette woman attentively followed the beat of the rain, avoiding any puddles that could lure eyes in her direction. If the bustling few who were left wandering the streets skipped the first couple shortcuts, she did as well. And if they skipped over the cracks, she took notice. It was exhausting, mirroring the actions, and at times, mannerisms of her environment, but it kept her secure in her safety — and her fear of death.
Katara locked onto the nearest pocket of space within the diminishing crowd, sure that her one swift hand movement did not find the curiosity of roaming eyes. As graceful as she, the rainwater contained itself into a crossbody military-green canteen that doubled as a "personal bottle" as she would explain to others who would ask.. It's a personal bottle, she repeated to herself, first in her older brother's voice, and over time, just her own. Dont bend the canteen water, it's too much of a risk, Katara. Sokka left behind those fleeting words, alongside a few other warnings, and a canteen Katara admittedly felt an increasing attachment to. He never did say that she could not heal with the canteen's water or bend into the canteen, a loophole wouldn't hurt. Katara slipped into the open pocket of the crowd, adjusting herself to the new rhythm it gave her, and she disappeared nimbly into the back alley that both consoled and frightened her.
…Just a few more steps.
The woman fumbled with the canteen lid. She could hear it now, one of many piercing comments made by her brother. This one having to do with the lid of the canteen as if she was the one who picked it out before leaving to who-knows-where doing who-knows-what by demand of the Fire Lord.
"All men over twenty-five meet at the dock," flyers read two and a half years ago. Words lining the bottom fifth of the posters read like hieroglyphics to the illiterate: Destination: Unspecified. Return: Unknown. But there was a generous reward gifted to the remaining who still breathed, or so Sokka was informed, thus speculated, at that time. And the unfortunate ones who could decipher only the prize amount and not the dooming reality of the ordeal glued smiles from ear-to-ear and radiated pride in their souls as they set sail across the horizon, awaiting their final moments, unbeknownst to them.
Virtually three years later, the only thing breathing was Katara's hope that her brother would return relatively unscathed, or at least having injuries within the capabilities of her medicinal talent she coined Rejuvenation for the time being. Sokka would have had a grocery list of more suitable names, presumably one that did not serve an inkling to what the practice stemmed from. He excelled at that sort of thing. It was a place-holder, the name, as was the clinic. A way to get by until Sokka's return, if he were to. Had Sokka waited a few months, he wouldn't have had to join the others with his sister's new talents. She had harbored guilt since. Now, Katara betted her life every night purely on mutual trust with her delinquent patients, though a requirement of service meant facing away from her. She couldn't risk it, especially when in close proximity.
Criminals may have made up for most of the clientele, but the hush money sufficed the probability of danger.
Water. That was all it was, and all it took, regardless of origin. It doubled as the remedy, although patients were told it was a concoction derived from several flora and fauna that habited the area. No one was ever sure how it was made nor how it healed, but it worked. That alone seemed to lull the prying questions of the regulars. Secrecy in crime and virtual invulnerability for a handsome portion of dirty money was a fair — and safe — trade.
Crystal Catacomb Clinic. The home of sanctuary or atrocity, depending on who spoke of it. Beige and soft browns of the furniture with gold intricate trimmings adorned the hospital.
Emeralds hung alongside the clinic's windows, representing the kingdom that once battled tooth and nail to not perish at the same demise as the Water Tribes years ago. Out of sight, out of mind, they once pleaded. An underground city, no above surface sightings, and they would never have to live with the fear of extinction again. Katara wished her Tribe were granted the same solution. However, it only took one skilled water-bending master — the Chief — to heal the wounded and "blood-bend" the Fire Nation General who initiated the first raid for power, killing him immediately. That was enough for Lord Ozai to justify mass murder not long after.
Of course, Katara could never witness the lights reflecting off the emeralds in the lobby. So she settled for the descriptions of others. It seemed to almost inspire her more to advocate for the revival of the Water Tribes — and water-bending in its entirety. Although the idea of the sole survivor of a Water Tribe reviving an extinction was shut down by Sokka, it was deemed unlikely as Katara held no weight in the matter. Regardless of the clash of opinions, she stayed resilient. Perhaps another compromise was in order.
Fortunately for Katara and her adopted mother, the Fire Nation had exhausted their soldier count merely two years into the Lord Ozai reign. To prioritize other means of opposition, Nation soldiers only made rounds through this corner of Ba Sing Se once every quarter of the year, if they were unlucky.
Wasting no sliver of moonlight, Katara entered via the back entrance, glanced down a long hallway, before heading out through the lobby where people from obscure walks of life anticipated the second reason why crime was allotted in this piece of Ba Sing Se — Rejuvenation.
Katara's mother followed closely behind the final patient-slash-criminal, locking the door shut.
Kya was in every way her child's opposite: Katara's brunette wavy tresses to her mother's straight platinum blonde, Katara's blue gaze to her mother's earthly one, Katara's tanned complexion to Kya's pale tone. They both cared and valued one another, allowing the other a chance to fill the roles lost half a decade ago, no matter the anguish and betrayal of the Fire Nation that flooded each of their minds from time to time. The pseudo mother-daughter relationship never fell ill to the grief they both shared.
"Katara, sweetheart…" Kya called behind her from the front door.
Across the way was Katara, leaning over to grab her newly-altered powder blue winter coat off the back of a chair. The corner of her mouth twitched and her eyes watered at the sight of the serene hue. Calmness. Hopefulness. Caring. Resilience. She had a compromise of her own in the clinic, one room, any decoration. And if Water Tribe elements were in question, they must be modified in some form so that if by some unknown reason a soldier were to ransack the hospital from top to bottom, any indication of Katara's elemental existence would fly under the radar. Or face execution. And modify, she did, kind of. In Katara's private room, the blue walls virtually matched that of the Water Tribes, ivory cobble stone water fountains were displayed against every corner of the room, mindful that they could not catch the line of sun rays in the daylight. Navy blue tribal markings lined the utmost bottom of the four walls, carved-in afterthoughts were included after the moment Kya believed the markings were too identical to the ones that were once paraded in the Tribes. But that was fine by Katara, the painted walls were generous enough.
It helped that the Fire Nation soldiers grew more oblivious as their strongest started dying out some time ago, though extended and rigorous training was told by the townspeople to be in the works for the new waves of patrol. There was a shiny and young vigilante "on the loose" as Sokka would say. Although it was an enemy of the Fire Nation, and thus, a threat to Fire Lord Ozai himself, Katara's brother never shook his opinion of the crusader — a senseless man, spirit, demon, whatever it was could not be trusted if he had to commit crimes unidentified. Katara had a more contrary and relevant argument that usually shut down Sokka and the conversation as a whole — she had to stay unidentified whilst committing crimes of her own, being an accomplice to her existence were assumed crimes as well. Plus, who is to say that the being did not own a moral compass. After all, the motives for every criminal are not comparable, that includes unknown beings — like the Blue Spirit.
Unlike her stubborn brother, Katara felt a camaraderie between her and the unknown…man. A desire to help the other if need be. Both were enemies of all that surrounded them. The worry of being identified other than how they presented themselves to the public, and delving in what the couple believed were hope and light in an otherwise chaotic circumstance. Not that she knew for certain that she and that unknown person shared anything alike other than having targets on their backs. And Fire Lord Ozai remained at fault for both their deficiencies. He was a Dark Knight in her eyes, seeing that not all he did was harmful. The criticisms chimed the same tune as his praises — although, children voiced more of the latter. It did not discredit him as the most-wanted criminal though, more so proved that the vigilante had a soft spot amongst his sometimes-questionable actions.
"— and lock up once you've finished." Kya said, opening the front door once more. This time, just enough for her to slip through and away from the clinic for the night. "Please, don't forget this time. We don't need lemurs being curious again."
Katara pulled her coat sleeves through, buttoned the final top button, ready to bask in the mild warmth of the sun during the walk home before being a hostage within her own home. She once argued that she only needed to conceal her power in the day and everything would be fine, but the one time was all Kya needed. She was growing defiant, the young water-bender, and too curious for her own good. Blood-bending is on an entirely alternate tier of water-bending, Kya reminded Katara. While her water-bending neared Cheif-esque levels, blood-bending was dangerous even if she had years into the practice. Katara was her own mentor, which held a plethora of room for mistakes were she to make any. They could even verge on the line of murder if she was not careful. Even walking at night brought suspicion, luckily, no one concluded that their change in blood pressure was due to the sole-survivor of the Water Tribes living alongside the rest of Ba Sing Se — and the rest of the world.
"I'm sorry, mother." Katara said, passively. "But I really want to see if the —"
"—If the Blue Spirit goes out again tonight?" Her mother said while letting out a small chuckle. "I'm sure he won't miss out on his favorite spectator for one night. Besides, I don't think he'd appreciate a witness."
"I don't think he'd appreciate a witness," Katara mocked, laughing at her own admiration for someone she had never met nor even know who or what was under the blue and white mask.
Kya stepped out the doorway, holding the door just enough to inform Katara that her night would not go anticlimactic after all.
"You have one patient left, honey," Kya reminded. "He requested that no one be in the building but the healer. He even gave us more than the difference for the inconvenience of clearing out before three in the morning."
No one but the healer?
"Take care of him well," Kya added with a playful wink. "You might like this one." She closed the door behind her and whisked away into the evening. She was always pushing for Katara to find outlets other than heal the broken, this one probably was an indication of friendship or more — despite everyone around her needing to seek refuge. It was an honest — albeit, dangerous — concern, in spite of it coming from a sincere place.
Lights flickered down the hallway Katara had peered into right before her work earlier that evening. Her eyes fixated on fear as blue walls reflected off the dying lightbulb and into Katara's view. She kept her footwork light and concise, creeping closer to her private clinic room.
A patient….in my room?
Katara's throat clenched as her muscles tensed up. Her fighting stance shifted to offense as she reached the room's doorway. Hands shaking, her fingers pressed against the screw-on cap of her canteen, the water bubbling faintly inside.
She turned, shrinking away her hand to the side, away from the canteen. There he was. Broad shoulders, muscular arms resting against either side of a bed-like hospital cot, and loose finger-waves that cascaded the top of his mysterious mask. Had he not been a person, Katara would have passed him off as a statue with how much he lacked in movement. He lifted his chin, his eyes meeting Katara's.
Her cheeks flushed and her eyes beamed as Katara affirmed her possibly-misplaced wonder. "You're…the Blue Spirit."