#tddh

[bumirang]

Started this super self-indulgent accompanying art for my super self-indulgent longfic last year for my birthday and finally finished it off this year for my birthday.

It may take a while, but I'll hit all these beats. THEY. WILL. KISS.

[bumirang]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“So what’re ya thinkin’ fer supper?” asks Quyt into Akiya’s shoulder. Still in their work clothes, they’re snuggled up safely in their shared cot. Even without the security a door provides, it’s comfortable enough in the ladies’ bunkhouse. Shapes flicker like shadow puppets across the thin privacy curtain as other workers pass by, on their way to and from their own shifts. The evening is young, and there’s still plenty of money to be made, rubes to be had.

“Zaofu.”

“We’re better off savin’ up.”

“The monorail’s free while we’re in town. S’what I heard.”

“Hrmph…”

“C'mon! Zaofu has real food! Not just food; cuisine!” Akiya reaches up toward the ceiling with one hand, as if beseeching the heavens, and clenches her fist. “I swear, if I have one more deep-fried cabbage-on-a-stick, I'll barf myself to death.”

Quyt pushes herself up onto an elbow and smirks. “Fellas’d probably pay t’see that, actually.”

Akiya clenches her jaw to suppress a grimace. She doesn't do sideshows. Girls are always expected to get their tits out for extra cash, and hers have an exclusive engagement. Even shill work beats the sideshows. Before the ticket booth gig, her main job was tending the circus animals between sets. It was messy but straightforward, and none of the hog-monkeys ever asked her to take her shirt off.

“We can afford a night out. Look,” says Akiya, sitting up. She reaches into her jacket and pulls a tightly folded paper envelope from an inner pocket. As soon as it’s free, it pops open, sending loose change tumbling all over the cot. “Dangit!”

“Where’d ya get all that? Knock over a candy stand?”

Akiya snatches up a coin before it can roll off the edge and drops it back into the envelope. “Walk money, mostly. Not bad for a day’s work.”

“Mostly?”

“I found some of it on the ground.”

Quyt sits up and narrows her eyes.

“Hey, it’s not like I’m shortchanging anybody! If townies wanna leave a little cash lying around, it goes in my pocket, is all,” says Akiya. “Like a tip,” she adds with a shrug.

“Not so high ‘n’ mighty now, are ya?”

Akiya rolls her eyes. “I never said fortunetelling was wrong. I’d just feel weird lying to people like that.”

“You think that’s what I do all day?”

“You mean, what you do all day in the tent with the signs all over it proclaiming magical knowledge of the future?”

“That’s just some spooky showmanship. Gettin’ in their heads. Lettin’ their guards down.” Quyt cups her hands in front of her. “You think I’d get any customers if I walked up to ‘em holdin’ a bowl o’ oily water?”

“I dunno. I’d be curious.”

“Tell ya a secret,” says Quyt, leaning closer. Her big, turquoise eyes manage to gleam in the paltry light of their bunk. “The water’s the thing. The trick is gettin’ ‘em lookin’ at the shapes while I lookit them. You c’n tell a whole helluva lot about a fella if he doesn’t know he’s bein’ watched.” With a smirk, she leans back against the bunkhouse wall, and Akiya relishes the way her hair rustles like soft hay. “I tell ‘em what I see. Throw in a few educated guesses so they don’t feel cheated. They like it. They expect it.”

Akiya joins her girlfriend against the wall, shifting her weight carefully to avoid hurling loose coins off of the cot. “I seem to remember you telling that jerk-ass he was gonna have three kids. If that was an educated guess, then I’m a Dai Lee secret agent.”

Quyt giggles. “That was an outlier an’ shouldn’t be counted.”

[bumirang]

Turtle, Duck, Dragon Horse: Ch. 8 excerpt #2

As friends of convenience go, Heng and Solongo are alright. They buddied up in Bumi’s class just this week, a trio of misfits. Heng, the ex-Terra Triad bruiser. Solongo, the aging Zaofu socialite. And plain ol’ Hana.

It reminds her of elementary school, when every student just socialized with the classmates they sat closest to. But her two fellow novitiates are friendly and close enough to her age to have a decent conversation. Her only complaint is Heng and Solongo’s flirting, which has really ramped up the past couple of days. She’s played the third wheel enough times to know it’s not for her.

The three of them are leaving the dining hall one evening when Bum-Ju appears right in front of them, which is normal behavior for most spirits but not for him. Solongo’s busy giggling at something Heng just said, so Hana’s the first one to notice the spirit’s frantic gesturing.

“Something wrong?” Bum-Ju nods, followed by a series of chirps and trills. He stops when she holds her hands up. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t understand. Can you just—” And off he goes, a cyan streak down a nearby footpath. Without a word, Hana follows, using her gust-skipping technique to pick up speed.

It’s as dark as the bottom of a well when she catches up, at a spot on the path far away from any lamps and beneath trees that block the moonlight. With only Bum-Ju’s gentle glow to rely on, she doesn’t see Bumi at first. He yelps when she bumps into him.

“Oh, sorry!”

“Whozzat?” As her eyes adjust, she sees him doubled over, hands braced on his knees with his butt in the air. It’d be hilarious, if not for the pain he’s obviously in. His legs are trembling with it.

“It’s, uh, Hana.” She hears two sets of footsteps close behind. “Solongo and Heng should be here in a sec.” She’d worry about them tripping in the dark, but unsurprisingly, most airbenders are good at avoiding that.

“Aw, c-crap.”

She crouches down, close enough to make out his clenched jaw and sweaty brow. “Are you hurt?”

“M’back.”

“Chirrrup!”

“Not helping, Bum-Ju,” he snarls through gritted teeth.

“Oh, what’s happened?” asks Solongo as she steps into the light.

“Was pettin’ a baby lemur,” explains Bumi, miserably. “Threw my b-back out.”

“Wow, a baby?!” says Hana, like an idiot.

“It ran away.”

“Oh.”

Hana stands back up as Heng steps forward. He takes one of Bumi’s hands and says, “Okay, teach, let’s go.”

“N-n-no, not not not— Ssss!”

“You’re hurting him!” says Solongo.

“I’m helping! We can’t just leave him here.”

Hana places a hand on Bumi’s lower back and understands. Whatever the problem’s root cause may be, the muscles there are spasming something fierce. Trying to walk him to safety will be torture if he can’t relax. “It’s okay,” she reassures him, moving her hand lower. She pokes her thumb and forefinger into a pair of pressure points near the base of his spine. There’s a subtle click, like releasing a clasp.

Bumi groans and eases himself upright, to Heng and Solongo’s surprise. After his miraculous recovery, he protests as they all escort him to the dining hall, but they still do it. Anyway, it’s not like they can see where they’re going without Bum-Ju.

“Well, you can say you rescued an old man for your nightly chores, if anybody asks,” says Bumi as he eases onto an outdoor bench. Bum-Ju immediately settles on his lap. As Hana and Solongo sit to either side of him, he scoops the little spirit up in one arm and cradles him, rubbing his fuzzy little belly with a thumb. “Thanks for the reinforcements, buddy,” he whispers. Bum-Ju purrs back, which Hana finds both adorable and slightly uncanny.

“Oh, but helping you isn’t a chore,” says Solongo.

“Yeah, and you’re not old,” adds Hana.

Heng gives a little huff. “Don’t argue with the man.” Standing over them with his arms crossed, he exudes a macho confidence that reminds Hana of her dad, and she likes him a lot less all of a sudden.

Bumi squints up at him and says, “It’s fine, Heng. We’re all friends here.” Then he turns to Hana. “And you’re sweet, kid, but I know what I am.”

While she has no intention to argue, Hana can’t bring herself to think of Bumi as old in the “elderly” sense. He’s much older than she is, obviously, but she’s never met anyone else even half as full of life. In the brief time she’s known him, he’s always approached every day as a shiny new opportunity, like a little boy. How could such an exuberant, happy-go-lucky person ever get old?

“Y’know, when I was a young man, I never got sick or tired or hurt, aside from some scrapes and bruises,” says Bumi. “Maybe it’s all finally catchin’ up to me.” He scratches a sideburn, and Hana watches his expression go soft and wistful. “Did you guys ever hear about the time I trained to be a commando in the United Forces?”

All three of them shake their heads, and Hana grins because it’s about to be Bumi Story Time.

“Well, this was when I was maybe 21. Lemme tell ya, I was a piss poor soldier. Sloppy. Mouthy. A little crazy. Probably the main reason I didn’t get discharged is a couple of my stunts made my squad look real good. And I could make the staff sergeant laugh. That guy loved some slapstick.”

“So you were, what, the mascot?” asks Hana. Then she covers her mouth, suddenly sure that was a very rude thing to say.

Bumi just smiles. “Heh. Not far off.”

Solongo chimes in, “Would they really have discharged the Avatar’s son?”

Heng shifts his weight impatiently, but keeps his thoughts to himself.

“Avatar’s son? Who, me? Nah, I was some nobody named Bato Watermoon.”

Hana snorts into her hand. “Wait, wait,” she can’t help but interject, “you lied to the military?”

“Hey, I didn’t want any special treatment!” Bumi flutters his free hand for emphasis, bending a tiny gust that ruffles his hair. “Anyway, the commando thing. I heard about it from this one gal in another squad, since she was applying. Thought it could be my calling, or something I could at least be good at. There was some… other stuff, too. Not important. But getting away from my old squad sounded pretty sweet.”

Hana makes a mental note to ask about the other stuff sometime.

“Gave me a physical as part of the application. I’d had normal check-ups every year, but this was something else. They were really insistent on checking my butt for some reason. Must’ve liked what they saw, since I passed with flying colors. I think it got me fast-tracked ‘cuz I was outta there in a couple of weeks. Got sent to this special training camp that made boot camp look like a tickle party. Barely had time to think between the psych tests, teamwork exercises, contests, physical trials, and more medical check-ups. Over a month of that, just to see if we were up to snuff. Only half of us made it to orientation, and then Hell in a Handbasket.”

“Wh—” Hana shakes her head, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, what? Handbasket?”

“S’what we called it. The real training. Everybody who made it through orientation got shipped to another, specialer camp and put in units. It was just, ugh… months of the most grueling crap, with a team of psychos chewin’ us out the whole time.” Bumi grimaces at the memory, then perks back up. “But I kicked ass! I really went for it, just to see if I could. I maybe wasn’t so good at memorizing protocol, but I got top marks in every practice run. By the end, they had us running on a few hours of sleep a night. There was a lotta mindless marathoning. Swimming, jogging, rock climbing, y’know. All in full uniform. But we executed full mock missions, too. I don’t actually remember a lot of it… Pretty sure if I tried it now, I’d just keel over and die. One guy almost did!”

Bumi pauses for dramatic effect, glancing around at the three novitiates hanging on his every word. Hana’s sure she sees his eyes actually twinkle.

“Yeah, this guy Vo. He was in a different unit, but we were doing the same trial that day. Deep sea diving. Water colder than milk from a witch’s tit! Hah! I’d finished, so I was taking a breather when he came up. He was barely moving, so they had to drag him to shore. I watched him throw up what must’ve been a gallon of bloody phlegm. A full gallon, at least! I swear!”

“That’s simply awful,” says Solongo.

“Yeah. It was. Yeah. It got everywhere.” He shudders. “Everywhere.”

“But he was okay?” asks Hana.

“He didn’t die.” Bumi shrugs. “But he was dropped from the program. And so… for the next swimming trial, I swallowed a buncha seawater, bit the inside of my cheek open, and got myself dropped, too.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and swirls it around, waiting for their reaction.

“You took a dive,” says Hana flatly.

“Ah, wordplay! I like it. 17 points.”

“You quit?” asks Heng. He looks genuinely confused. “But you were the best.”

“Yeah? And it turned me into a miserable asshole. I got so focused on being on top that I didn’t care about everyone else struggling to keep up. I had to see a guy almost die to understand how bad it actually was. No, I got scooped up by the rangers instead. Good thing, too.”

“You could’ve been a great commando, though.”

“I, uh… dunno about that. By that point, I’d figured out I wasn’t a killer. Could never work up a bloodlust, or go in cold, even. ‘Cuz that’s what a commando does. When they get sent in, it’s because someone up top decided it was time for bad people to die.”

“So you never killed anyone?” asks Heng in a tone bordering on the incredulous. Hana almost tells him to shut up, but she’s curious, too. Bumi’s expression doesn’t actually change, but the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth seem to deepen. Maybe it’s just the moonlight.

“…Not on purpose.”

Lying awake that night in her hard, hard bed, Hana plays the scene back in her mind again and again. Maybe she’s looking for something, some precious clue in the story or the way he told it. But a clue to what?

Had things gone a little differently, that strange man she’s become so fond of could’ve made a career as a killer. Instead, he chose peace. Whatever darker things he may have seen and done in his life, that’s still worth something.

“Your dad must’ve been so proud of you,” she whispers, wishing she’d said it to him for real.

Maybe tomorrow.

[bumirang]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Finally, a new chapter, and it's not a novella this time.

As she trots up, rubbing juice from her face, Hana doesn’t see any customers, just an old man and a young woman fighting behind the counter like a demented puppet show. At least, that’s what she assumes when she sees the woman—with short cropped hair so uneven she must’ve done it herself over the bathroom sink—smacking the flailing man on the face with a rolled up magazine. Then she sees the tiny spirits buzzing in a furious cloud around his head.

“Augh! There’s one in my ear!” The woman swings back her arm as far as she can in cramped quarters and smacks him on the side of the head. The man yelps and collapses, barely holding himself up with one gangly arm slung over the countertop. Newspapers tumble onto the pavement.

“Grampa! I’m sorry!” With a pained expression, she leans in and seems about to swat him again, but backs off. “It’s not helping!” The grandfather lets loose a blistering string of obscenities that seems to further agitate the spirits. They don’t seem fully dark, just pissed.

“Uh.”

The two of them freeze and glare at Hana, who realizes she’s just been staring like an idiot this whole time instead of helping. With no water or salt at the ready, she has to improvise. Over the edge of the countertop, the old man’s eyes go wide when Hana reaches for her fan. It opens with a loud, satisfying ZAK.

Before anything else, she twists it in the air, letting the midday sun glint off its blades. Then she holds a vision of clear running water in her mind and waves the fan, slowly, above and around the man’s head, at least the part she can reach. Calmer now, the spirits drift up in a lazy swarm, which Hana circles and scoops toward her.

“Shhh, it’s okay…” If she were any good at whistling, she’d try that, but speaking gently is nearly as effective. The spirits seem to shed the last hint of negative tension, and she gets a good look at them in their natural state, like silvery one-eyed cuttlefish. That’s a type she’s never seen before, but the Spirit Wilds must be full of exotic species. She grins at the thought.

Hana lifts up her fan and softly blows the spirits into the sky, where they shimmer out of sight. “Go in peace, little guys.”

Still grinning, she hooks the fan back onto her belt loop and tries to remember what she was just doing.

“Did you see that, Grampa?!”

“A saw a bald girl with a muddy face banish a hundred tiny demons, if that’s what ya mean.”

[bumirang]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The illustrated misadventures of two disaster gays in Omashu...

Akiya and her girlfriend dash out of the alley hand-in-hand, stifling their giggles as they pass darkened cottages. The world outside Quyt’s sphere of influence looks unreal in the downpour, distorted through a shell of water that seethes like molten glass. It’s only appropriate. This isn’t their world, after all. It’s just another drowsy hamlet, not much more than a small cluster of shops and houses at the confluence of some family-owned farms. Not a bad place, but their business here is done, and they’ve got big plans. Far too big for the local economy to support.

Only once they’ve cleared the edge of the community do they relax, slowing their pace and admiring their handiwork. There’s little-to-no danger of their being spotted on this dark country road. It cuts through mulberry fields as far as the eye can see, which isn’t very far at the moment. It’s almost dawn, and sheets of warm rain are still drenching everything in sight. Just a day ago, these crops were parched and withered, a step or two above kindling, but now they tremble in their rows like the sea at storm. The rainclouds will disperse once the sun rises, but the soil here has gotten a much-needed drink. It’ll see this community through the rest of the dry season, with any luck.

The road they’re following climbs steadily, rain tapering off as they leave the valley. When they reach the crest of the first hill, they can look back and practically trace the rainstorm’s edge with their fingers, but they don’t bother. Seen it once, seen it a thousand times.

[bumirang]

Turtle, Duck, Dragon, Horse: Ch. 8 excerpt

It’s a chilly afternoon when Bumi sits in on Hana’s worst training session since she arrived at Air Temple Island.

Under Jinora’s supervision, she and six other novitiates were walking the circle in a coordinated effort to create a sphere of solid wind nearly twice her height. Intimidating, but she’d managed it before. She actually wasn’t doing too terribly, until she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. Maybe it was excitement or performance anxiety or just the distraction, but that’s when it all went wrong. She immediately fell out of step with the others, but the more she tried to correct for it, the more unstable their formation became, until the sphere was a roiling squall-ball they were struggling just to contain.

Master Jinora stepped forward and summoned a gust with thought alone. “That’s, uh, impressive, but if you’ll slow down and back away, I can safely disper—”

Then it exploded, with a roar like a thunderclap in reverse. Thankfully, they were shielded from the worst of it by a barrier whipped up by their teacher, but it was a close thing.

Hana’s ears are still ringing when she makes in Bumi’s direction, ignoring the accusatory glances from her fellow novitiates. It’s obvious to all of them who messed things up, but they can’t prove anything, so whatever. Bumi, in contrast, just waves happily, absentmindedly petting Bum-Ju on his shoulder.

She stops five feet away from him and plants her hands on her hips. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hi to you, too,” he replies, slightly offended.

“Sorry, that sounded… I mean, did you need me for something?”

“Nope.”

“So, what, you popped by to watch me be a screw-up?”

“Well, I like to get a feel for where the newbies’re at. Didn’t think you’d be out with ‘em.”

She deflates a bit. “You saw how hopeless I am. I’ll be stuck with the newbies forever at this rate.”

“Nooo, no… Your bending’s just, uh, chaotic.” His smile is wide but not very convincing. Oh no. He’s trying to be nice. Her face burns at the realization. Pity is the last thing she wants from him, of all people.

He continues, “Form was great, though. Right, buddy?” He glances at the dragonfly-bunny, who shrugs. “Yeah, he thinks so, too.”

“…Thanks.” She stares past him, at the ground, wishing she were anywhere else. At the same time, Bumi’s easily her favorite person on Air Temple Island, and it’s usually such a treat being the focus of his attention. If only she could be anything other than a pathetic misfit in his eyes.

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, kid, don’t get hung up on it. We’ll figure it out.” His voice has gone all serious, worried.

“You don’t have to… be nice to me.”

“…Huh?”

“Because you feel sorry for me. I don’t want…” She feels her eyes flood with hot tears. In a panic, she slaps a hand over her face, harder than she intended. “Ow.”

Bumi clears his throat and calls over her head, across the courtyard, “Hey, Jinora, gonna steal Hana for a bit!”

“Oh, we’re all done!” she calls back, sounding less rattled than she probably feels. “No theft required.”

“Great! Seeya at dinner!” His hand slides down to Hana’s arm, sending a wave of goosebumps shivering along her shoulders and neck. She almost jumps when he mutters into her ear, “I know a good place to talk. No lookie-loos.”

Then they’re hurtling through the air, and she forgets about her shame for a sweet thirty seconds. His grip on her arm is firm, but she latches onto him anyway. Just survival instinct, she reminds herself, as she hears him laugh with her ear against his chest. He wraps an arm around her then, and she feels safer than she ever did on the ground.

Bumi sets them down in a little grassy clearing on the eastern edge of the island. It’s not far from one of his favorite places to have class, but without any obvious paths to it, you’d have to survey the island from the air to even know it exists. Or just know its layout like the back of your hand. It’s late afternoon, leaving most of it in the shade from nearby trees. What sunlight there is glows gold on dead grass. Framed by two stunted trees jutting from the cliff’s edge is the skyline of Republic City, painted gold as the grass. Bumi pulls a little ta-dah pose in front of it, which gets a smile out of her.

“That’s more like it,” he says, wearing his own smug grin. “Now what was that about you not wanting me to be nice?”

“I just meant…” She grasps at the air, like the words she needs to complete her thought are buzzing around her. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to go out of your way. For me.” It seems like a moot point now.

“Why not you?”

“I’m not cut out for this. You’re wasting your time.”

He laughs softly to himself and crosses his arms. For a moment, Hana’s terrified that he might be mocking her, but when he looks back up at her, his eyes are kind, and a little sad. “I know how ya feel,” he says with a shrug.

“How could you poss—”

Bumi just raises an eyebrow at her, and she slaps her hand over her face again. It stings worse than the first time, but she figures she deserves that.

“Fu— Nngh! I’m such an—” Hana drops down onto her haunches, holding her throbbing face in both hands. Maybe with enough pressure, she can shove the tears and snot back where they belong. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”

She hears him sit down across from her. “M’not mad, kid. Like I said, I’ve been where you are. More or less.” She steals a glance at him, seated maybe a foot away and wearing the city itself like his own personal aura. “I see you busting your ass to do what comes so easy to others, and I know what that does to ya. Shame and doubt. Anger. A lot of anger. It can make ya feel worthless…”

She nods and eases into a cross-legged sit, mirroring him.

“S’not true, though. Everyone’s worth something. You’re worth a lot. Trust me, I’ve got an eye for talent.” Bum-Ju, who’s been hovering at a respectful distance, picks that moment to park himself on her head. “See? So does he.”

Hana wipes her runny nose, trying to hide it at first, but Bumi’s expression is so genuinely affable that she feels silly for thinking he might judge her. He’s on her side. A goopy face won’t change that. For lack of better options, she wipes up with a sleeve.

Hands dry, she reaches up, tentatively, to pet the dragonfly-bunny. “Is it okay if I…?”

“That’s up to him.”

The spirit doesn’t flee at her touch. In fact, he leans into it. She gasps as she runs her fingers through his fur, which is easily the softest, silkiest texture she’s ever felt, like yarn spun from cloudstuff. To her surprise, he gives a happy little chirrup and plops into her lap, landing on his back.

“He says to tell you he wants belly rubs.”

“Heh. Okay.” Petting Bum-Ju is supremely soothing, like lemonade on a summer’s day. His quiet little chirps merge and blend into a purr, and she smiles again. How could she not?

“It… It’s humiliating. I knew training wasn’t gonna be easy, but this is like being a little kid all over again.” She runs a finger along the edge of one of the spirit’s strange insectoid wings. Like the fur, it doesn’t feel entirely substantial. “I was supposed to be an earthbender, y’know.”

“Yeah? Says who?”

“…My dad.”

“Hah! Ain’t that always the way?”

“Heh…”

“You don’t give me earthbender vibes at all. You’re too… squishy.”

Her head shoots up to glare at him, and she notices how the sunlight’s shifted since they arrived. Twilight’s creeping up fast. “Did you just call me squishy?”

She’s caught him off-guard, and he blushes at the unflattering implications of such a word choice. “That’s to say… Well, the way rocks aren’t, right? Does that make sense?”

“No…?”

“You’re, I dunno, airy.”

“So I’m squishy like air…?”

Bumi runs a hand through his hair in actual frustration. “Forget I said you were squishy!” He looks relieved when she giggles and clues him into her teasing.

“My point being,” she continues blithely, “I may be the worst airbender here, but I had no earth talent whatsoever. Dad was not pleased. I never even wanted to do it, except to please him.”

“Sorry.”

“I have a little brother, though, and he’s brilliant with earth. Stone, glass, metal. You name it. Guess it worked out for Dad in the end, but I always… Even though it was crazy, I always wanted to fly. Not in an airship, but like the birds do. It never seemed fair.” She winces at how naive that sounds. “After Harmonic Convergence, I thought, y’know, finally. This is who I’m supposed to be.” Sympathy fills the lines around Bumi’s eyes and mouth, and she looks back down at the fuzzy spirit in her lap. She gives him some experimental chin scritches, which seem to go over well. “But it’s been more than three months now, and I’m still… I’m just a screw-up.”

“You’re the best teaching assistant I’ve ever had.”

Hana blinks. “Aren’t I the only one you’ve ever had?”

“Nah, I used to spend summers teaching new recruits arts ‘n’ crafts.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Says somebody who has no idea how boring it can get on a tour of duty! Keeping your hands busy staves off Sea Madness. And fistfights… Well, that is until somebody badmouths another guy’s macramé. I’ve been called as a witness at some crazy court martials, lemme tell ya.”

“I… Wow, okay. I guess you’d know.”

“And before I forget, let’s get one thing clear,” says Bumi, leaning forward and pointing right in her face. “I like being around you. Aren’t we friends?”

What’s the appropriate response to that? “You… friend… with me?” Well, it’s definitely not that. “I guess I didn’t… I thought you were just trying to figure me out. What’s wrong with me, I mean.”

“That, too, but hey! We have fun, right?”

“Yeah?”

“There ya go! Friends!”

She laughs. She can’t help it. Seeing the way Bumi’s face lights up only makes her laugh harder. Bum-Ju launches clear of her lap as she doubles over. Collapsed on the grass, she finally admits, “Okay! We’re friends! I guess!”

“So…” Only when she sees his shoulders relax does Hana realize how tense he’s been this whole time. “You always wanted to fly, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. More than anything. Thought I could grow up to be a bird if I put in the effort, but I was forced to develop an overactive imagination instead.”

“Sounds like a fun story.”

She pushes herself back into a sitting position and picks bits of grass out of her hair. She could do with a trim, now that she’s thinking about it. “Not a whole lot to tell. I was basically a toddler, and I don’t remember much.”

“Yeah?” Bumi’s grinning at her. He grins a lot, to be fair, but he has a different style for every occasion. Goofball, smart-ass, encouraging, nervous, and so on. This is a pure look of amused contentment, just for her. It makes her feel all gooey inside, but in a nice way, no snot involved.

“Hm. Well, okay. Mom did tell me about one time she found me eating worms out of the garden.”

“Hah! What’d it taste like?”

“Slimy dirt, probably? I only know it happened from Mom. Like I said, toddler.”

Bumi scratches his neck and looks off to the side, like he’s debating something with himself, then says, “I jumped off cliffs a lot.”

“Wow. Dark.”

“Into the water! Got pretty good at climbing. Diving, too, but that’s just, y’know, falling with style.”

“Umbrellas.” He looks at her expectantly, eyes glittering like chips of ice. They might be the palest she’s ever seen, and if they aren’t the most beautiful, they’re definitely in the top five. That’s a strange thought. Despite his age, he’s actually quite handsome. In fact, the wrinkles themselves emphasize his features in a way she didn’t realize she appreciated until just now. They tell a story of a life well-lived.

A quirk of his eyebrows reminds her that she’s in the middle of a conversation, during which she’s just said “umbrellas” and stared at him for ten seconds.

“W-well. Um. I saw this character in a storybook who flew around with an umbrella, so I found the biggest one I could and ran down the street, screaming my head off the whole time.” Hana feels herself blush at the admission. “That part seemed important for some reason. I was, like, five.”

“How’d that go?”

“As I recall, I broke the umbrella, and several people called the cops. They thought I was escaping from a murderer or something. Can’t imagine why.”

Bumi just laughs. Hana revels in it until he quiets enough to keep telling him embarrassing things about herself.

“Then there was the time I spent a month collecting loose feathers around my neighborhood and stuffed them all in my shirt,” she says, with a bit of added pantomime. “Was gonna jump out the apartment window, but I chickened out.”

“So… it worked?”

“Shut up. You are horrible, and I hate you now.”

“Minus 57 points for disrespecting your elder.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault they dress me like a giant baby.” She tugs at a corner of the scarlet shawl sewn around the shoulders of her standard-issue Air Nomad pajamas. They both snicker.

Then Bumi sits up straight like he’s been struck by lightning. “I got it!”

“Hm?”

“A wingsuit. Try one on!”

“That’s not really allowed unless you’ve qualified, though.”

“Eh, if you get in trouble, I’ll smooth it over,” he says with a little hand wave. “It could be just the confidence boost you need to get over whatever mental block is tripping you up.” He gestures at his own outfit. “Think about it. The right uniform can totally change how you see yourself. And I should know.”

“That’s a good point, but…” Hana shrugs and makes various non-committal noises. What she doesn’t mention is her discomfort at the snugness of the wingsuit’s fit. As ridiculous as the pajamas look on her, they’re at least loose and comfortable. Squeezing into a skintight flight suit to practice—probably clumsily as ever—is just another humiliation waiting to happen. It does give her an idea, though.

“Remember when I told you how I’ve had a bit of Kyoshi Warrior training?” she asks with a little smirk.

“I remember you not flipping me, even after I asked nicely.”

“Well, I might still have my fan lying around somewhere…”

[bumirang]

NEW TDDH CHAPTER TOMORROW!

Chapter 5! Finally! Here's the header image...