Avatar the Last Airbender: Jedi Outcast - Book 1 - Prodigal Butcher

Chapter 2 - Forgotten Power

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Chapter 2 - Edited

The aged hands of Old Man Bill glided across the worn bar stand with a steady rhythm, a testament to the countless years he had spent scrubbing and serving on that same counter. Each line etched into his weathered palms told a story of hard labor and perseverance.

Bill, a hulking figure, strained against the edges of his white shirt that strained to contain his muscles, accentuated by the light blue overalls he wore. His swollen and sinewy legs, a common trait among earth benders, commanded attention. The sunken gray eyes peered out from their sockets, as if searching for secrets in the flickering glow of the fireplace that cast an ethereal radiance upon his bald head.

Observing the scene before him, Bill absorbed every detail with his keen gray eyes. This bar, the solitary haven in the colony, hosted the same cast of patrons who had frequented it since its inception. He watched them intently, attuned to the clinking of glasses as weary miners and lumberjacks trickled in after a long day's toil. Occasionally, fortune smiled upon him when a noble from the Fire Nation or a skilled bender walked through the door, carrying with them the promise of generous tips or a chance to wager.

As Bill's eyes traced the grooves in the wooden floor, the soft creaking of the door jolted his senses. A presence washed over him like a tidal wave, instantly commanding his attention. His fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the table, leaving deep imprints as he studied the figure approaching. Muscles coiled, legs primed to spring into action, a hidden stone concealed in his pocket, ready to quell any sign of trouble.

With rudimentary laced brown worker boots, leaving trails of ash in their wake, the young man strode forward, captivating Bill's focus. Bill exhaled a weary sigh, torn between curiosity and indifference, as the youth began sifting through the assortment of bottles. A palpable energy emanated from him, but Bill dismissed it, shaking his head, determined to ignore the unsettling aura.

Clad in a brown jacket that clung to his frame, the emblem of the Fire Nation displayed proudly over his right chest, Ben's hand raked through his long strands of hair, sweeping them away as he settled onto a bar stool. Bill placed a glass of watered-down ale before Ben, his bulky form adjusting the seat to accommodate his imposing size. Bill leaned in, planting both hands on the table, his gaze firmly fixed upon Ben's face.

"Ah... hell, Ben. What the devil happened to you?"

Ben snorted, his fingers instinctively reaching up to his nose. The shock of discovering the blood trickling from it after Rin's punch seemed to startle him momentarily. But in an act of defiance, he shot Bill a thumbs-up, as if to say, "I'm alright," before wiping away the errant droplet of crimson.

Shifting his weight, Ben sought a position of comfort on the torn, leathery seat, remnants of years of neglect inflicted upon the bar by the Fire Nation, who cared little for its upkeep. His gloves, an unusual sight after a day's labor, remained steadfastly on his hands. Bill knew all too well the scars and burns etched beneath that leathery facade, souvenirs of a life marked by hardship and sacrifice.

Ben downed the booze with a swift, practiced motion, a warm glow spreading through him, accompanied by a mischievous grin that tugged at his lips. As he finished his drink, Bill hurried to refill his glass. The first one was always on the house, but from then on, it would be added to his ever-growing tab.

A flicker of flame danced before Ben's eyes, prompting his hands to dive into his pocket, retrieving a neatly rolled piece of tobacco. Green tendrils of mist clung to its frayed edges as he nonchalantly placed the roll between his lips, allowing the dancing match to ignite the tip.