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01 March 2008 @ 03:04 pm
Laconic I [Avatar Drabble Series]  
Title: Laconic (I)
Character: Cabbage Man
Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender
Genre: General
Rating: G
Word Count: 250

The cabbage merchant had a name. But after years of selling vegetables, he was just known as the cabbage man (merchant only on polite terms). And eventually, even his own deceased wife saw him as so. At least she was affectionate when she said it.

He spent the time in between harvest and spring in a shop. He cooked and cleaned and the like. He had lived once, with vigor and energy and knew love too. But that was a long time ago and now, he simply reconciled himself with his trade.

“How about a game of Pai Cho?” the stranger asked.

And the storekeeper grinned (and revealed all the gaps in his mouth, where teeth once gleamed back). “Maybe just one.”

It was quiet that winter, the time lulling and lingering between two dreads. Illusions trembled and danced, but they didn’t bother or challenge him—not now, not in his old age. Not when he couldn’t care less.

“How about one more?” the stranger asked again, collected the tiles together in the tabletop’s middle. The stones shuffled, muted and dull, like soft feet treading on fallen leaves.

“Maybe just one more.”

 


Title: Laconic (I)
Character: Azula
Fandom: Avatar the Last Airbender
Genre: General
Rating: PG
Word Count: 300

there is no such thing as mercy…

Azula was born in fury, in fire, in ire. Her mother was terrified, thinking she’d just kissed a monster. But her father and grandfather were ecstatic, all because Azula didn’t have a soul and that was such a wonderful thing.

“She has talent, that one,” Azulon remarked.

Talent and more. She could whisper out flames caked with deceits and make puppets dance till they’re drunk with glory.

And they would all applaud thinking they’ve been blessed, by a little demon soon to be weaving tangles of lies and stringing them in with pretty words and charm.

-x-

When her mother left, Azula laughed. (See, she can smile like everyone else.) Ursa left without warning, without her little, killing daughter. Ursa left without regret.

Azula did too, left her grandfather to die as the venom slowly sank in, slithered along his veins and laced around the blood. With Azula hoping, praying that he would die just a bit quicker.

“Sorry, Grandfather, that wasn’t really tea. But I’m sure you know already.”

Then, Azulon died, teetered over without dignity and grace, just some withered old man. Some old man who happened to choke in his sleep. An accident, of course.

Then Ozai was crowned Fire Lord, but Azula couldn’t have any of that.

“He is weak,” she told herself, chanted and chanted defiantly as if saying it aloud made all the difference in the world.

And so, she waited for a moment, for an instant where he was blind, to strike (him down and bloody). But now, she had to be good and sweet and congratulate her father on his cleverness, on how it must be fate for him to rule.

“Just you wait,” Azula hissed and went away grinning big and fake.