drunkenpandaren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
drunkenpandaren) wrote2008-04-13 12:34 am
drunkenpandaren) wrote2008-04-13 12:34 am
Element Water - More Scenes
Woot for inspiration!
‘Dojo’s Dojo,” read off Omi to himself. Shrugging, he stepped inside.
The smell of hard wood grain caught his nose. Familiar smells of chalk, wood grain and stone came to him and Omi almost felt at home. At the front of the class, Master Fung strode, often correcting a stance here and there of the large class of nameless students.
Setting his bag down, Omi pulled out the familiar black and red of the monk clothes he wore for many a year. The only difference was that his Wudai belt was missing, replaced by a traditional black sash.
“It is not the same,” Omi said to himself, pulling the sash tight before stepping out onto the floor, pausing to bow in the tradition.
Falling into place amidst the students, Omi slipped into the old forms. His body however was awkward, and not as limber as he should be, and often fell on his face from a complex manoeuvre. Soon however, Fung called for a break and he motioned Omi over. “Omi, you seem distracted today,” said the kindly man. “Is something amiss?”
“I have been bothered all day, Master Fung,” admitted Omi, taking a swig from the sports bottle that was provided to him. “It is nothing.”
“Perhaps nothing to one man, but to another a whole different story,” said Fung sagely. “Come and see me in my office after class Omi.”
The end of class couldn’t come fast enough as Omi towelled off, sweating more than he had ever done before. “I am most out of shape,” panted Omi. “And to think, I play Baseball in this world? Hah!”
Draping the towel around his neck, Omi knocked on the door of the office, entering when Fung called out to him. Inside was a simple desk, carved wood. To the side was a statue of a Chinese Dragon, although the facial features were familiar. Sitting down on the comfy chair, Omi folded his hands in front of him as Fung stood up after gazing at the young man. “Omi, is there something you’d like to say today?”
“Yes Master Fung. I feel confused,” admitted Omi. “It is a tale of strangeness. But to me, it is all that I know.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” said Fung. “Perhaps then we’ll find out what is bothering you.”
Omi took a breath and launched into a condensed version of what he had been through. How Chase Young was not his father, how the Shen Gong Wu were there for them to protect. He told Fung about Kimiko, Clay and Raimundo his friends, and of Dojo the dragon. All of this and more Omi spoke of and more and more Fung listened.
“…when I woke up this morning, everything was wrong Master Fung. Some people are here, but some are missing! No one knows of our mission, or what we must do!” Omi heaved a sigh. “I feel so lost.”
Fung considered the young man in front of him thoughtfully. It was true Omi had a great imagination, but the way the young man spoke of his problems and of this world that should not exist by his knowledge, it was impassioned and full of emotion.
“Omi,” said Fung finally, “I believe you.”
“You do?” exclaimed Omi, happily.
“Yes I do,” smiled Fung. “In my years of being a family friend to your parents, I have never known you to lie. The emotion that is brought forth when you speak of your friends, adversaries and family cannot be disguised by mere tales. I do believe you Omi, with all my heart.”
Omi’s eyes watered and he threw his arms around Fung’s legs. “Oh thank you Master Fung, thank you!”
Fung coughed, embarrassed. “In any case Omi, we should be keeping an eye out for these things. What did you call them again? Shen Gong Wu? If what you said was true that Raimundo Pedrosa was looking for a Wu that could cross worlds, perhaps you can use it to get back to your world?”
“Raimundo, of course!” exclaimed Omi. “He must have the Cutters on him! Master Fung, I must thank you for your honest acceptance of my situation! I must go!”
“Omi? Where are you going?” inquired Fung, surprised at Omi’s sudden enthusiastic escape from his office.
“TO RIO DE JANERO!” shouted Omi, running out the door.
Katara let the water sink back into the puddle that she had located. After the day, she needed a place to sit and think.
It had begun normally until the Prince of the Fire Nation showed up. Prince Zuko. Despite her memories of him being obsessive and an odd ally to them due to mismatched events going horribly wrong, he was as happy as a clam. Accompanying him was the Lady Ursa, Queen of the Fire Nation. Thankfully, Azula nor their father was in the entourage or Katara would have had to restrain the urge to hurl an ice spear at them.
What really chafed at her was the way Zuko greeted her, like they were romantically involved. Certainly he was attractive without the horrible burns on his face, but at the same time he was a complete momma’s boy. None of the hard edge that would have made him attractive to women (in some odd fashion) was there. Instead there was nothing but mush.
It made Katara sick and she excused herself from lunch early.
In the garden, she found time to practice her waterbending. While substantially weaker as if she hadn’t done it in ages, the flow of chi was there, always swirling around in her body like a tempest.
Once, twice, three times she made the water fountain upwards and on the third, froze the water with a flick of the wrist.
Melting it down into the pool at her feet, Katara jumped at the voice that interrupted her thoughts. “You’re Katara right?” Turning to the owner, Katara fought the urge to jump into Aang’s arms. But even though the voice was familiar, the person was not.
Aang was old; older than she was by several decades. His body was lean and fit, as benefiting the master of Air and elements. He lacked any hair on his head, his Airbender Tattoos shining in the light, but he wore a silly little goatee that looked completely out of place on his older face, the hair trimmed so that it was a straight line from his lower lip to just under his chin. Clad in blue of the Northern Water Tribe, the Avatar stepped down and floated on a cushion of air. “I’m sorry to have startled you,” he said, and she found herself flushing at the same voice, but so much deeper. “I was told that the priestesses of the moon stayed in this part of the royal palace.”
“No, they’re all out attending the dinner with the Fire Nation,” replied Katara. “You know who I am though?”
“Of course,” smiled Aang. “You’re Lady Katara, daughter of the Chieftain Hadoka. It’s a pleasure to meet the up and coming lady of the moon.”
Briefly Katara thought to her history lessons. Before the war, the waterbenders were subdivided into two groups. There was the Shaman who divined the nature of the water they lived on, be it either stormy and menacing, or bountiful and ready for a harvest. Then there were the Ladies of the Moon, the ones closest to the ebb and tides of the moon. They were the ones who were granted the healing powers that were said to have only flowed within the daughters of those chosen in the moonlight, or born on a full moon. “Oh, well thank you for the compliment Avatar,” said Katara, bowing.
“It’s not a problem, and please just call me Aang.” Said Aang warmly. “I must admit, I have not seen such raw skill before in my lifetime.”
“It sort of comes naturally to me,” admitted Katara, pleased that Aang paid so much attention to her, but at the same time crushed that the boy she was in love with was a man so much older than she was. “So does the healing for that matter.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing it,” said Aang.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I haven’t really practiced or anything or—EEK!”
A ice lance had lifted up and gouged itself into Aang’s arm and melting away instantly. He grinned easily. “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad or that deep.”
Katara felt the urge to slap him silly, but instead maintained her composure and brought up hands glittering with water. “This might sting a little,” she warned, working her hands across his well-muscled bicep.
The wound closed and the blood cleaned. Aang flexed his hand and checked his arm. “Well done,” he said, still smiling. “You’re a great priestess.”
“I couldn’t have done it without some motivation,” glared Katara. To which Aang laughed heartily. “It’s not funny! What if you missed and hit something important?”
“Then I suppose I would have had a cute nurse to patch me up,” chuckled Aang. Katara’s face turned absolutely red in embarrassment.
“You… JERK!”
In two seconds, the Avatar found himself on his backside, nursing his cheek from an astoundingly strong punch as Katara ran out of the pools, face flushed. “I think I deserved that,” he muttered to himself, still grinning.
I think I'm going to like 40-Year-Old!Aang. He's a cross between Jack and Han. Scary.
‘Dojo’s Dojo,” read off Omi to himself. Shrugging, he stepped inside.
The smell of hard wood grain caught his nose. Familiar smells of chalk, wood grain and stone came to him and Omi almost felt at home. At the front of the class, Master Fung strode, often correcting a stance here and there of the large class of nameless students.
Setting his bag down, Omi pulled out the familiar black and red of the monk clothes he wore for many a year. The only difference was that his Wudai belt was missing, replaced by a traditional black sash.
“It is not the same,” Omi said to himself, pulling the sash tight before stepping out onto the floor, pausing to bow in the tradition.
Falling into place amidst the students, Omi slipped into the old forms. His body however was awkward, and not as limber as he should be, and often fell on his face from a complex manoeuvre. Soon however, Fung called for a break and he motioned Omi over. “Omi, you seem distracted today,” said the kindly man. “Is something amiss?”
“I have been bothered all day, Master Fung,” admitted Omi, taking a swig from the sports bottle that was provided to him. “It is nothing.”
“Perhaps nothing to one man, but to another a whole different story,” said Fung sagely. “Come and see me in my office after class Omi.”
The end of class couldn’t come fast enough as Omi towelled off, sweating more than he had ever done before. “I am most out of shape,” panted Omi. “And to think, I play Baseball in this world? Hah!”
Draping the towel around his neck, Omi knocked on the door of the office, entering when Fung called out to him. Inside was a simple desk, carved wood. To the side was a statue of a Chinese Dragon, although the facial features were familiar. Sitting down on the comfy chair, Omi folded his hands in front of him as Fung stood up after gazing at the young man. “Omi, is there something you’d like to say today?”
“Yes Master Fung. I feel confused,” admitted Omi. “It is a tale of strangeness. But to me, it is all that I know.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning,” said Fung. “Perhaps then we’ll find out what is bothering you.”
Omi took a breath and launched into a condensed version of what he had been through. How Chase Young was not his father, how the Shen Gong Wu were there for them to protect. He told Fung about Kimiko, Clay and Raimundo his friends, and of Dojo the dragon. All of this and more Omi spoke of and more and more Fung listened.
“…when I woke up this morning, everything was wrong Master Fung. Some people are here, but some are missing! No one knows of our mission, or what we must do!” Omi heaved a sigh. “I feel so lost.”
Fung considered the young man in front of him thoughtfully. It was true Omi had a great imagination, but the way the young man spoke of his problems and of this world that should not exist by his knowledge, it was impassioned and full of emotion.
“Omi,” said Fung finally, “I believe you.”
“You do?” exclaimed Omi, happily.
“Yes I do,” smiled Fung. “In my years of being a family friend to your parents, I have never known you to lie. The emotion that is brought forth when you speak of your friends, adversaries and family cannot be disguised by mere tales. I do believe you Omi, with all my heart.”
Omi’s eyes watered and he threw his arms around Fung’s legs. “Oh thank you Master Fung, thank you!”
Fung coughed, embarrassed. “In any case Omi, we should be keeping an eye out for these things. What did you call them again? Shen Gong Wu? If what you said was true that Raimundo Pedrosa was looking for a Wu that could cross worlds, perhaps you can use it to get back to your world?”
“Raimundo, of course!” exclaimed Omi. “He must have the Cutters on him! Master Fung, I must thank you for your honest acceptance of my situation! I must go!”
“Omi? Where are you going?” inquired Fung, surprised at Omi’s sudden enthusiastic escape from his office.
“TO RIO DE JANERO!” shouted Omi, running out the door.
Katara let the water sink back into the puddle that she had located. After the day, she needed a place to sit and think.
It had begun normally until the Prince of the Fire Nation showed up. Prince Zuko. Despite her memories of him being obsessive and an odd ally to them due to mismatched events going horribly wrong, he was as happy as a clam. Accompanying him was the Lady Ursa, Queen of the Fire Nation. Thankfully, Azula nor their father was in the entourage or Katara would have had to restrain the urge to hurl an ice spear at them.
What really chafed at her was the way Zuko greeted her, like they were romantically involved. Certainly he was attractive without the horrible burns on his face, but at the same time he was a complete momma’s boy. None of the hard edge that would have made him attractive to women (in some odd fashion) was there. Instead there was nothing but mush.
It made Katara sick and she excused herself from lunch early.
In the garden, she found time to practice her waterbending. While substantially weaker as if she hadn’t done it in ages, the flow of chi was there, always swirling around in her body like a tempest.
Once, twice, three times she made the water fountain upwards and on the third, froze the water with a flick of the wrist.
Melting it down into the pool at her feet, Katara jumped at the voice that interrupted her thoughts. “You’re Katara right?” Turning to the owner, Katara fought the urge to jump into Aang’s arms. But even though the voice was familiar, the person was not.
Aang was old; older than she was by several decades. His body was lean and fit, as benefiting the master of Air and elements. He lacked any hair on his head, his Airbender Tattoos shining in the light, but he wore a silly little goatee that looked completely out of place on his older face, the hair trimmed so that it was a straight line from his lower lip to just under his chin. Clad in blue of the Northern Water Tribe, the Avatar stepped down and floated on a cushion of air. “I’m sorry to have startled you,” he said, and she found herself flushing at the same voice, but so much deeper. “I was told that the priestesses of the moon stayed in this part of the royal palace.”
“No, they’re all out attending the dinner with the Fire Nation,” replied Katara. “You know who I am though?”
“Of course,” smiled Aang. “You’re Lady Katara, daughter of the Chieftain Hadoka. It’s a pleasure to meet the up and coming lady of the moon.”
Briefly Katara thought to her history lessons. Before the war, the waterbenders were subdivided into two groups. There was the Shaman who divined the nature of the water they lived on, be it either stormy and menacing, or bountiful and ready for a harvest. Then there were the Ladies of the Moon, the ones closest to the ebb and tides of the moon. They were the ones who were granted the healing powers that were said to have only flowed within the daughters of those chosen in the moonlight, or born on a full moon. “Oh, well thank you for the compliment Avatar,” said Katara, bowing.
“It’s not a problem, and please just call me Aang.” Said Aang warmly. “I must admit, I have not seen such raw skill before in my lifetime.”
“It sort of comes naturally to me,” admitted Katara, pleased that Aang paid so much attention to her, but at the same time crushed that the boy she was in love with was a man so much older than she was. “So does the healing for that matter.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing it,” said Aang.
“Oh no, I couldn’t. I haven’t really practiced or anything or—EEK!”
A ice lance had lifted up and gouged itself into Aang’s arm and melting away instantly. He grinned easily. “Don’t worry, it’s not that bad or that deep.”
Katara felt the urge to slap him silly, but instead maintained her composure and brought up hands glittering with water. “This might sting a little,” she warned, working her hands across his well-muscled bicep.
The wound closed and the blood cleaned. Aang flexed his hand and checked his arm. “Well done,” he said, still smiling. “You’re a great priestess.”
“I couldn’t have done it without some motivation,” glared Katara. To which Aang laughed heartily. “It’s not funny! What if you missed and hit something important?”
“Then I suppose I would have had a cute nurse to patch me up,” chuckled Aang. Katara’s face turned absolutely red in embarrassment.
“You… JERK!”
In two seconds, the Avatar found himself on his backside, nursing his cheek from an astoundingly strong punch as Katara ran out of the pools, face flushed. “I think I deserved that,” he muttered to himself, still grinning.
I think I'm going to like 40-Year-Old!Aang. He's a cross between Jack and Han. Scary.