For the ask game: Agen Kolar
“I expected you to be an earthbender,” Faie says, flat. “Since your personality is…like that. Sir.”
It is, Agen reflects, likely an improvement, given that Faie wouldn’t have said anything at all a few months ago. Agen taking over the battalion from Krell managed to change that much, at least.
The sir tacked to the end of whatever bit of insubordination Faie decides to test on him is always amusing, at least.
“Earthbenders being stubborn is a vast oversimplification of a large group of people who are all individuals,” he says, guiding a thin tendril of metal back into the heat with a gesture. “Whatever one’s personality is, there is no proof it is linked to the element they control.”
Faie gives him a flat and deeply unimpressed look from across the makeshift forge, though his gaze doesn’t leave the whirling curl of metal for long, flickers back almost immediately. “You’ve met Bly,” he says blandly, and then, like he can’t stop himself for even a moment longer, “You don’t bend like he does.”
Maybe that’s the reason for his attention. Or maybe it’s the secret, vicious joy the clones take in their own bending, their hunger for any information, any new skill they weren’t allowed or provided with on Kamino. Faie isn't any type of earthbender, but he’s been watching Agen's bending since the moment they were first deployed together, like Agen's metal holds secrets that will feed his firebending.
“The metal can move like water. Moving it like stone seems a waste,” Agen says, and draws the glowing strands back, sweeps them up and back down, reaches for his hammer. When he brings it down, the metal solidifying just before the ringing blow strikes, Faie's breath catches, and the sparks whirl in his dark eyes, a spray of molten light in the darkness.
The parts are meant to repair several of the walkers, but—
There will be pieces left over, when Agen is done. Enough to make a pair of vambraces, a few patches for worn places on Faie's armor. He may not accept them, but offering feels right, when he’s so caught by the act of forging.
“Hotter, if you can manage, Commander,” Agen says, and Faie breathes in, breathes out, and the fire leaps higher.