Defiance ❯ Atla

ᴠɪɪɪ. sᴘɪʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟ ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ ғᴏʀ ᴏɴᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ

"Will you please shut your air hole?!" 

Katara is screaming at Aang. There's a hurricane in her eyes that has Miko believing the girl is much more similar to her cousin than she'd initially thought. She's been high strung all day, ever since she first offered to teach the Avatar what little water bending moves she knows. Aang's a natural, which -- Miko suspects -- makes her feel inadequate as a water bender herself. Miko sympathizes. 

"Believe it or not your infinite wisdom gets a little old sometimes!" Katara throws her hands in the air, the water on the river bank splashing violently beside them. "Why don't we just throw the scroll away since you're so naturally gifted!?" The scroll in question is currently sitting on a rock nearby, left abandoned by the Avatar and water bender. They'd gotten it after stumbling onto a pirates' ship while shopping for supplies -- Aang and Miko had been seduced by the coolness. 

Among other things, the pirates had a scroll depicting ancient water bending movements; and Katara, after realizing they'd stolen it from a water bender in the Northern Water Tribe, had decided to steal it for herself. The theft resulted in a brief chase scene, which Miko and the others had only just narrowly escaped. They decided Aang would use it to start practicing his water bending, since he's been so worked up over not knowing anything. First, Katara wanted to get the hang of the water whip. Only she's not very good at it, and it causes her to snap when Aang tries to help instruct her, which is what leads to her little outburst now.

 Sokka glares at his sister from the rock he's leaning on. Miko's sitting at his feet, keeping her head down as she sketches in the empty book she'd bought back at the market. She does her best to tune out when there's shouting. It never leads to anything good, and she'd rather stay out of messes like that. Katara doesn't seem to like either of their reactions. She snaps, "What?" Then, she turns back to Aang. His lips are poking out, pouting and trembling; his eyes are watering, tears ready to spill over. He looks like a small child being reprimanded by his mother. Katara's expression softens as she realizes her rage is misplaced.

 "Oh my gosh, Aang, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." Her tone is much different now, quieter and genuine. Miko is taken aback. She's never seen someone change their attitude so quickly -- what's more she's never heard an apology that sounded so sincere before. Come to think of it, she's never even heard the words I'm sorry before. Not since she lived in the colonies that is. Her father, as far as her knowledge went, has never had a reason to apologize, always showing respect even to the lowest ranking individuals, but everyone else in the Fire Nation capital refused to repent for anything, always insisting it's someone else who's at fault. 

"But you know what, it won't happen again." Katara walks over to the scroll, rolls it up, and holds it out to Aang. "Here, this is yours. I don't want anything to do with it anymore." 

Aang takes the scroll, already looking better. "It's okay, Katara." 

"What about Momo?" Sokka holds his hand out to the lemur. He's rubbing his hind side, the poor creature having fallen victim to a rogue whip of water during one of Katara's failed attempts. "He's the real victim here." 

Katara bends down, petting the lemur. "I'm sorry, Momo," she says tenderly. 

Sokka presses his luck. "And what about me? There was that time you --" 

"No more apologies!" Katara's shout startles Momo, and he jumps on Miko. She in turn drops her brush, the bristles sliding over the page in a way that is less than desired; it leaves a long, dark line across the painting, effectively ruining the whole thing. Katara winces, and despite her proclamation, she says, "Sorry, Miko." 

Miko stares down at the painting one last time. It would take a bit of time, and she would need more paint, but it's nothing she can't redo. "It's alright. I will fix it later." She rolls it up and moves to stuff it in her hair before remembering it's no longer long enough for her to fit things in her braids. Instead, she opts to store the painting and her brush inside her boot. She pats her head again. It's the twelfth time she's done so since the Winter Solstice, but she can't help it. She's still getting used to the feel of it -- it's lighter now and somehow softer, foofier. It comes to a stop at her cheeks, the ends curving ever so slightly. She worries it's uneven since she cut it with such haste and with a tool not at all meant for cutting hair, but overall she doesn't think it looks so bad.