Where Words Fail

Book Two: Escaping Ba Sing Se

Chapter 1: Thank God this moment's not the last

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is a fan fiction - nothing more, nothing less. It has been made purely for entertainment purposes, and is not meant for commercial gain. Avatar: The Last Airbender and all characters, places and concepts are copyright of Nickelodeon, Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. All original characters are copyright their respective owners and are used with their permission. The story has been illustrated by the talented and awesome SioUte, and this chapter's cover can be found here:

sioute(dot)deviantart(dot)com/art/WWF-2-1-130463674

SCENE DIVIDE

Now

Longshot waited for the rain to pass before suggesting that they make for actual land. Smellerbee agreed, albeit weakly; she still hadn't really recovered, although she did sleep for most of their stay on the sand bank. It made him just a bit nervous - watching her nod off, right on the sand like that. Only the subtle rising and falling of her chest differentiated Smellerbee of the contemporary from Smellerbee of the previous hour.

Though they still hungered, the water of Lake Laogai - tainted, as it was, by the Dai Li - was fresh enough to drink, and so absolved them of their thirst. Cold, and in its own context, delicious - refreshing. Then again, swamp water would probably have felt just as quenching. Even after a few handfuls of the stuff, Longshot's mouth still tasted like a wasteland. Food could wait just a little bit longer.

When the rain had cleared up enough, and the fog had lifted, Longshot gauged the best place for them to move next; the closest patch shore was a brief swim away, but he would most likely be carrying Smellerbee all the way there. It'd be hard - exhaustion had long since set in, and his clothes were damp and cold and uncomfortable, and despite how warm and balmy it was out here, he had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering. All he wanted was to sleep - to sleep and sleep and not wake up for days, but he couldn't let his guard down. The Dai Li would have assumed they'd died, so they wouldn't be actively searching for the two Freedom Fighters...but if one of them happened to stumble across them while they were unarmed and vulnerable like this, they'd be easy pickings. Even if it'd be a futile gesture at this point, because it's not like Longshot had the strength to take anybody on.

From the shore, it would be a short hike towards the city (although "short" was an objective term, given Ba Sing Se's grandeur); he wouldn't dare approach the walls spanning in the distance, though, not with Bee in tow. A shallow cave sat in the hillside nearby and didn't seem occupied by any wildlife; they would rest there, and, when his exhaustion passed, Longshot would go out to steal some food.

This time, the irony hit its mark, and Longshot felt a bitter smirk cross his face; they had come to Ba Sing Se in order to abandon that lifestyle, and now that a life of righteousness had gone sour, their "third chance" set them back down the same path they had begun on. As much as he hated the thought of stealing from Earth Kingdom merchants who were, by all means, just trying to make ends' meet as the two Freedom Fighters had been, it wasn't like they could simply go back to living in Ba Sing Se. Not after this. Not after Jet.

No - they had to leave this city of walls and secrets, the last safe-haven for Earth Kingdom refugees. If the Dai Li found out that Longshot and Smellerbee had survived...well, a second encounter (especially with the two Freedom Fighters in their current condition) would end much more decisively. They couldn't go back on the road without supplies or weapons.

"Nnf - ugh. Ow."

Longshot's eyebrows shot up; he cast his attention to Smellerbee, who shifted on the sand, wet and crunching beneath her weight. She flexed her arms, her back, before turning her attention to him, her eyes sunken and bloodshot. She hadn't slept at all, had she?

"Barely. But I feel less dead, so that's a start." She grunted and raised herself on her elbows; Longshot noticed how her back and her hair were plastered down with sand, the granules clinging to her body like a second skin. It'd be a pain getting all of that out.

"You're tellin' me. I got sand in places you don't wanna know about. And I hurt in places I didn't even know I had. This sucks." The ghost of a smirk flittered across her face for a second before turning into a scowl. She turned her attention away from Longshot - staring out, away, over the lake and towards the looming inner wall of the city, looming, imposing in the fog. "We have to go back there. We're not ready to travel like this."

Yeah. He knew.

She pursed her lips, sniffed at the air - smelled like freshly-washed laundry, cleaned in the river cutting through the forest. The rain hadn't abated just yet, though - he felt it in the air. She must have too - her wrists would tell her. At last, she turned her attention back to him and said, "Let's get to shore before the storm kicks back in. I'm tired of being soaked."

He heard her.

Longshot clambered up to his feet, his back protesting with a fierce howl, but - ugh, to tired to care. Sand crunching beneath his boots, he leaned over and slipped one arm under Smellerbee's shoulders, easing her up into a crouch. They lurched, for a moment, and he felt as if gravity would pull the carpet out from under him, sending both Freedom Fighters flip-flopping and crashing again into the sand, burning their flesh, scratching and grating and gnawing. He managed to regain his footing, the toes of his boots plastered with what could have been maple sugar, but he knew better. Sugar would wash off easily.

As he slung her arm over his shoulder, feeling her warmth at his side - even though they were both drenched and frozen - the archer found himself wrought with a mix of emotions. On the one hand, he a wellspring of gratitude and relief that his friend had come back, had not abandoned him to a life of solitude - that they could continue to be Freedom Fighters, plural, and that there would still be a person out there who could understand his unique nonverbal language - it swelled up inside him, and if he weren't so empty, he'd probably feel giddy. Their bond had persevered, and Longshot still had his best friend.

Conversely...shame riddled him like a tree full of arrows. He had given up; on her, on himself, because without Smellerbee (and without Jet), Longshot was simply a mute archer who had lost his weapons. What's worse, he had blamed her for her near-death; there was nothing that could have been helped, given their situation. After all, it was Smellerbee who had liberated him from his shackles, Smellerbee who had formulated the plan for escape. Without her, Longshot would probably have suffocated by now. She defined him, shaped him...saved him.

"Hey, Longshot...you okay?"

Bee's voice shook Longshot from his reverie, bringing the lake and surrounding shores back into focus; the archer turned his head slightly, meeting Smellerbee's gaze with one eye. The younger Freedom Fighter - her hair still flat against her head, sand stuck on the back and in her fringe - had both eyebrows raised so that they vanished under her headband, a disquieted frown scrawled on her face. He was tired as all hell and wanted to collapse on the spot, but other than that, he was okay. Why did she ask?

"I - you just don't seem right, is all," Smellerbee replied. Her gaze drifted down to her feet. "You look bummed. Maybe I'm being too paranoid..."

Longshot exhaled through his nose and felt a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth; he placed the fingers of his free hand beneath Smellerbee's chin and turned her head to face him again. The last thing he was, right now - seeing her, having her in his arms - was bereaved. Her standing at his side, talking to him? Blissful. Nothing better in the world.

Bee returned the smile with one of her boyish grins, nodding. "Right. I'm ready when you are."

Longshot nodded and drew his hand away from her face; the two turned towards the water of Lake Laogai again, shimmering silver due to the lingering clouds above. They started walking, the sand shifting under their feet for the first few steps; too soon did it change into a low, quiet splashing noise, and Longshot felt the familiar - now nauseating - sensation of water sloshing into his boots, once again numbing his toes, eliciting a disgruntled grimace from the archer. Maybe he'd take a little bit of time to dry off before returning to the city.

SCENE DIVIDE

Smellerbee hated sitting by and not doing anything while Longshot did all the work. It made her feel incapable, like he was pampering her. Treating her like a little girl all over again, being overprotective, like he'd done when she was a kid.

Okay, so that wasn't true, because Longshot didn't coddle her anymore (and 'coddle' was a bit too fluffy to describe any aspect of life as a Freedom Fighter), and really - every time she moved, even a little bit, her body would cramp up and split and it'd feel like a mongoose dragon had kicked her in the gut. Even sitting with her back pressed against the rugged wall of the shallow cave they'd claimed for themselves tired her out, and shifting her weight made her stomach burble and growl, nausea threatening to overcome her.

So, she watched, because that was about all she could manage at this point; watched as Longshot picked tufts of tall, dry grass that had grown in the cave's mouth and was sheltered from the rain, watched as he piled it all into a divot in the floor, watched as he slipped a pair of spark rocks out from his pants pocket, as he struck them against each other, as a glowing, tiny flicker of fire began dancing across the grass...

"Where'd you get those spark rocks from, anyway?" Smellerbee asked, a smirk playing across her face. "You didn't say anything about 'em down...down there. Are you keeping secrets from me or something?"

Longshot shrugged, a phantom's smile brushing his cheek. Oh, come now...she should know him better than that. Secrets are for people who talk. He didn't keep any skeletons in his closet.

"But you keep spark rocks in your pants."

His eyes wrinkled in the corners - laughing, that subtle, silent laugh of his, and seeing it made Smellerbee's stomach jilt. In a good way, though - because, because it had been how long since she'd seen him laugh? Not since they got onto that ferry, and that felt like...like an eternity ago. A different lifetime.

Hmph. In that context, it made a lot more sense, huh...?

Longshot straightened up from the small grass fire, setting his fists against the small of his back and stretching. Besides, there hadn't been anything flammable down there aside from their clothes...and just striking the spark rocks would have lit up a few feet for a split second. And don't forget that fire sucked more air than Sneers did noodles.

"Good point." The swordswoman brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "If they couldn't find the spark rocks, then it's no wonder they didn't find the pin. Then again...why bother searching dead peasants, right?"

Longshot nodded, turning away from the fire - give him a second, he'd be right back. He saw some sticks outside that would make a good spit - they could hang their clothes up to dry over the fire.

He disappeared around the edge of the cave's mouth, hunting, scavenging...from outside, Smellerbee picked up the sound of rain hissing against the ground, splattering the lake's surface. It wasn't coming down hard yet, but it'd only take a few more minutes to pick back up again. Her wrists still seethed with that dry, razors-across-the-skin feeling, and if she took her gloves off and rolled up her sleeves, she'd see twin red rings on her wrists, about three inches wide. The shackles, stuck to her even now, rain getting caught between metal and flesh, irritating the skin, causing the rash. A lot of Freedom Fighters bore scars from their pasts, all a variety of different natures...mental, physical, emotional, you name it.

She was the only one whose scars faded as soon as the sun shoved away the rain. At least, so far as she knew.

Scuffed footsteps outside - Smellerbee tensed and her hand shot to the small of her back for the dagger that wasn't there, her fingers wrapping around air. Her back and arm hissed at her, her stomach lurching, and ow ow ow that hadn't been a good move, her mouth twisted into a scowl and...

Longshot poked his head around the corner, grinning sheepishly. Sorry about that; there was some tall grass right outside that tripped him up. There was nobody else around. But he did get some sticks!

Smellerbee smirked and rested against the wall again, rough and lumpy and cold at her back and not the least bit comfortable, but it was better than nothing. "Good. I'm tired of being soaked to the bone." She started peeling off her gloves, sucking at her skin, an arduous task made even more obnoxious by stiff, cold fingers that didn't work as well as she wanted 'em to. And - ah - yeah, there we go, the first one finally gave yielded. Grumbling to herself, it didn't need to be such a pain in the ass, she tossed the glove away, landing on the ground with a wet slap, a small explosion of sand bursting from the palm.

...Ugh.

"Okay, maybe we should clean 'em first." She cast a hateful glare at the discarded piece of clothing, irritation dragging tiny, obnoxious claws up her back. A low rumble of thunder rolled out from the distance, and the hissing rain picked up in intensity. "Grrn, I've got all this shit in my hair, too..."

Longshot smirked, crouching over the fire, propping up the two base sticks with some small, round rocks that glistened against the firelight.

"What's so funny?" She snorted.

He kinda figured she'd be pissed about that, and, well, it was a relief. He remembered thinking about it, distantly, when she...

Longshot drifted off and turned his head away, eyes sliding halfway closed, and for a second, Smellerbee picked up...regret? Shame? Hard to tell...and that bothered her. Usually she could read him no problem.

"Hey. Don't worry about it, okay?" She tilted her head to the side and smiled. "Don't make me go over there and punch you in the arm."

A ghostly smirk fluttered across his face. Alright. Only if she promised. He bruised easily.

She chuckled. "Okay, okay. I promise. Now help me get outta these clothes."

He whipped his head up - blushed, eyes wide - and Smellerbee laughed.

SCENE DIVIDE

Hours later, a drier, sorta-refreshed Longshot stood once again in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se.

He had decided to wait, after all; both Freedom Fighters were equal parts cold, wet and miserable, although the latter had more impact due to the intricate different meanings of the word; miserable because of Jet, miserable because their second chance had been pissed away, miserable because they were tired and hungry (and cold and wet).

Once dusk had settled upon their hiding spot, that's when he headed out; with the cover of night, the Dai Li were less likely to stumble across him. Smellerbee had protested - loudly and virulently - that she should go too, to cover Longshot's back, but the archer simply shook his head and fixed her with a sobering stare. She wouldn't be able to manage such a dangerous mission. Plus, it wasn't like he was helpless.

This had met with a bristling fit of rage on her part. "Are you tellin' me I'm too weak to fight?" She'd howled, her face going red and her mouth curling into a fierce scowl. Despite an imminent threat to his well-being, Longshot gave a sheepish smirk, running his hand through the back of his hair. Of course she was too weak - but not because she was a girl, or young, or any of the usual reasons people would have stuck their foot in their mouth over! She just hadn't recovered. Upon realizing Longshot's true meaning, Smellerbee backed down, but her irritation hadn't vanished; she was frustrated, tired of being unable to help, and even though they'd both managed to get a little sleep, she still hadn't really improved. She had offered him a grudging apology in return, and the argument - short-lived as it was - had brought back some old, dust-laden memories that allowed Longshot to leave the cave in lifted spirits.

Longshot shifted his weight, trying to find a better angle from which to gauge the street in front of him, feeling his tunic settle against his back; while not soaked, the cloth was damp and to a degree uncomfortable. It was a small sacrifice he decided to make, only because lingering any longer than they already had meant more opportunity for the Dai Li to find them again. (Also, they were hungry, the sort of hungry where comfort was a cost-effective exchange.) Though night had fallen and the sky hung heavy with storm clouds - again - the streets themselves had been lit up, torches casting an orange, flickering glow beside the doorways of the multi-tiered, dingy apartments that too many people called home. Though not tall, the buildings were clumped so close together as to feel claustrophobic, the narrow streets clogged with detritus and people trying to find their way to their hovels...assuming they had one. It wouldn't surprise Longshot if a lot of refugees simply didn't have a place to live here; no matter how many houses the government crammed into this place, there always seemed to be too many people to live in them. It bred a slew of unpleasant odors...poorly-maintained shops with rotted fish and souring apples, the natural pungency of animal stalls, the overwhelming, gagging body odor from the majority of people here who opted not to bathe...and dirt. Even the air reeked of filth and disgust.

Most of these buildings were made of stone, gray and dusty. They appeared second-hand - under the circumstances that the notion even existed (Longshot doubted it). A handful were made of wood - in an enclosed place like this, it was a fire hazard waiting to happen. Regardless of construction, scalloped brown shingles covered the slanted rooftops, a tongue-in-cheek insult to the class of the people living down here. Hell, you couldn't even call it 'living,' really, not so much as it was 'getting by.'

A place like this - it was too stiff, too normal. Bland, unappealing, and the fact that there wasn't any overhead cover unnerved him more than it should have. This place was nothing like Hong Ye.

(The forest - Smellerbee's insecurities - a pattern began to formulate in the back of Longshot's mind. All old things, yes - from life before the trip to Ba Sing Se - but something still felt missing about the notion. He pushed it out of his immediate thoughts and tried again to focus on the surrounding area.)

With the torches casting their brilliance along the street, Longshot could make out a few old mercantile stands, as rickety and filthy as the surrounding buildings; to his dismay, all the stands had been closed for the night, and unlike a certain occupied Earth Kingdom town from so long ago, there was no bazaar in the Lower Ring. Longshot drew a deep breath and expelled it through his nose. Damn.

The Lower Ring of Ba Sing Se was reserved for three kinds of people: the poor, criminals, and refugees (the latter of the three, Longshot had noted during his stay here, often went hand-in-hand with one or both of the others). It surprised the archer to see that some merchants even left their stalls out, despite the merchandise and cash boxes being removed; it wouldn't be below some of the seedier types to take the cart and try to sell it off elsewhere.

The thought gave Longshot pause; he'd come into this knowing he'd have to steal from someone, but many of these merchants were no different from himself, Smellerbee and Jet. They were just refugees - trying to find a new life, a safe-haven away from the Fire Nation. Even though money was scarce and living conditions were abominable, it was all they could get. They hadn't truly needed anything else, and neither did these people.

Longshot remembered their too-brief stay with a furrowed brow. Uncomfortable sleeping arrangements in a drafty, claustrophobic room - between the three of them, before Jet had gotten taken prisoner by the Dai Li, there was only one bed with a creaky frame and a lumpy, hard mattress, and a rickety wooden chair that felt about ready to fall apart, no matter how tenderly he sat down in it. He half-wished he was still that person, immersed in becoming normal, forgetting the Freedom Fighters, the forest, Smellerbee's ragers - that the wool was still over his eyes, that he was still safe in this behemoth dystopia controlled by Long Feng and secret police.

The rest of him, though...it was hard to believe he'd even started that metamorphosis. This place wasn't home any more than any camp site while on the road; they'd slept here, ate here, and worked here (which could be equated to hunting, breaking camp, maintaining supplies, and so on). The longer he walked through these streets, the more alien it felt. There was nothing natural about the place, and free speech was nothing but a very exclusive privilege. Longshot missed the golden bark of the trees, the crimson-colored leaves sighing in the wind...the scents of honey or cinnamon or something delicious that couldn't quite be placed wafting on the air. Moving on the boughs, using ziplines to get from one place to the next...

The pattern he'd noticed earlier started taking a more definite form, and Longshot felt his chest tightening a bit. Brushing past a stooped man with bushy, graying eyebrows, the archer tried to put a finger on the sensation - but it wriggled away, staying just out of grasp, a bit of the past obscured by the present, by the stench of unbathed refugees and the bustling, shuffling, chattering cacophony jamming the air up.

There was no point - no moral alignment, no way to justify himself - to resupplying from anyone in the Lower Ring; he may as well have stolen a dumpling from Smellerbee's plate, a coy, teasing tradition from the forest (that place again) that had not transited to here, because food was too scarce and the money to pay for it even moreso. That left the Middle Ring and the Upper Ring; if what he'd heard from his time in the Lower Ring had any accuracy, the Middle Ring was clogged with businessmen and government officials, while the Upper Ring had all the rich bastards in the world, who had too much money or status for their own good.

Longshot ducked back in between two apartment buildings as they passed by, lowering his head. Turning, marching north, boots scraping the stone and dirt, he weighed his options: the Middle Ring would have what they needed, but probably wouldn't have any easily-accessible supplies. They'd close down once the night fell, just as the Lower Ring - the lifestyle of government workers given form. The Upper Ring would likely have better supplies that were more accessible, but it was also more likely to have Dai Li patrolling the area...not like they weren't down here, either, as Longshot had seen them around before the thing with Lake Laogai, but with so many snobbish, fat, lazy people of high import in one area, policing them would take priority.

Kinda backwards if you asked him. You'd figure the bigger, crime-ridden part of the city would have been more important to keep in order.

He allowed himself a small shrug and reached up towards his head - adjusting the brim of his hat, out of habit, only remembering that the Dai Li had knocked it off once his fingers pinched the air. He sighed, and shook his head; it'd be best not to linger. Upper Ring shops would be open and supplied, and he had to take that chance.

It'd be a long walk.

SCENE DIVIDE

Smellerbee snorted and stared into the crackling flames, her arm propped up on one knee. Its heat splashed her bare legs, torso and arms, washing up against her like waves of the ocean...only not as soggy. And more comforting. And you couldn't drown in it.

"Blech." She made a face at the fire, poking her tongue out. The orange, flickering light cast its glow across Smellerbee, the cave's walls, and her clothes - which hung suspended from makeshift spit Longshot had put together. What wouldn't stay on the spit had been set next to the fire, including her gloves, headband, and all the other little this-and-thats that made up her armor. There wasn't a whole lot of that left now.

Before - in the forest - Smellerbee had never had a problem bathing with other Freedom Fighters. It didn't matter that she lacked the laughable, awkward appendage that some of the others had; she was still One Of The Guys, and even then there were just too many Freedom Fighters and not enough hours in the day. None of the core group ogled her, made her feel like she didn't belong...aside from The Duke when he'd first joined, who, for all his book-smarts, had been too young to know better - something Smellerbee would later confirm when she and Jet had to awkwardly explain where babies came from (which Jet had laughingly dubbed "The Birds and the Smellerbees;" he'd earned himself a good punch in the arm for that one). In return, she pretended not to notice the way their muscles would ripple when they moved, and the way that some of the Freedom Fighters were, ah, appreciatively bigger than others.

Even so...something had felt a little awkward here - with Longshot, and nobody else. Sure, she'd been half-teasing him when telling him to help her strip down, but - that process, then going back out to the lake in the middle of the rain, with him, both naked, to wash away the sand...with just him, the entire experience felt more intimate than it ought to have been. Thoughts like that had never crossed her mind in the forest; one simply had to bathe, and there wasn't enough time for her to go separately from the others. As she and Longshot had sat in the cave with nothing on but skin, their backs respectfully turned to one-another, the cave's cool, dirt floor at her butt, she couldn't help but feel a heat in her cheeks that didn't come from the fire.

Alone now, Smellerbee snorted and pursed her lips. "Okay, clothes. How dry are you?" Climbing up onto her knees, her strength slowly but steadily returning in no small part to actually getting a few hours' sleep, she reached up with a long, skinny arm, pinching the fabric of her shirt between her fingers; while it had dried out considerably, the cloth was still just a little too damp for her to deem wearable. The more she prolonged getting wet again, the better. She scowled and plopped back down into a sitting position, staring out into the night sky beyond the cave's mouth.

With rain forthcoming, it came as no surprise that the sky above Lake Laogai had turned an angry, enraged black, pregnant with the storm it begged to unleash. The lake itself reflected this bestial hatred, appearing as a great abyss that swallowed up the land if it dared dip too far downward. Smellerbee heard the waves lapping against the shore, as well as a breeze whispering by the cave's mouth; in the distance, the great wall of Ba Sing Se rose up, swallowed only partially by the gloom - a massive fortress meant to keep intruders out, and prisoners in.

Grunting, Smellerbee clambered to her feet. After wrestling with her equilibrium, during which she almost stumbled and fell down on her stomach, she planted a hand on the mossy wall of the cave to maintain balance. She shuffled towards the cave's mouth - her stomach would protest with a discomforting animosity if she tried moving at any faster of a pace - her hair hugging against the sides of her head, the ground rugged and cold and dry under the soles of her feet. While the cave was shallow and the trip only took about twenty seconds, it may as well have been an eternity; she was used to moving and moving fast, dammit. This was nothing more than a pain in the ass.

At least you can move, Smellerbee. Chiding herself, the young Freedom Fighter shook her head and continued onward. Finally reaching the edge of her temporary sanctuary - being able to see the lake and shore and walls with more clarity - Smellerbee's thoughts started to drift. The fire's heat licked at her back, but the distance between her and it reduced the comforting warmth to a flickering memory. Another breeze whistled past, and without the protection of the cave, it scraped Smellerbee's skin raw, making her shiver.

"Damn you, Jet," she muttered, staring out over the lake's surface. Her voice didn't carry - swallowed up by the wind. The onyx surface of Lake Laogai didn't yield any comfort. "We were so close. But you couldn't give it up, could you...?"

SCENE DIVIDE

Then

Frigga frazza fergen derglers...Smellerbee cradled one hand in the other, a gauze bandage wrapped around it, her mouth curled down into a scowl. Stupid job. Stupid dishes. Stupid broken dishes scattering all over the stupid place, cutting her stupid hand and stupid stupid stupid stupid. A small, crimson stain seeped through it at the base of her thumb - it was a small wound, it'd heal up in a few days, but there'd been enough blood that the gauze wrap had been necessary, and now the entire washroom had splatters of crimson on the floor, the counters, that darkened even now, even as she and Longshot marched away from the stupid kitchen with the stupid people and the stupid manager and argh. It still stung, in no small part due to the alcohol Longshot had poured into the opening. She hissed and glared at her hand as if it had personally betrayed her. "Just so you know, Ms. Lefty, I blame you for all this," she growled to it.

Heh. Longshot's mouth quirked beside her, keeping his attention focused on the street; people milled around, going from one place to another, their exact destinations unimportant to everyone but themselves; their feet, booted or covered in flimsy leather but mostly bare, scuffed against the ground, and the place stunk to high heaven and back again. Didn't people of the Lower Ring bathe? Granted, the dingy apartment she shared with Longshot and Jet didn't have a wash basin of any sort, so they had to take turns using buckets of ice-cold, grungy water and cloths stained brown from constant use...but the effort was there, at least. Hygiene completely escaped most of these people, and she had grown up in a forest full of other children. (Momma Marlin was the oldest of the lot, and even she didn't pass too much for an adult.) Cleanliness had just formed as a matter of habit amongst the majority of Freedom Fighters, though watching Skillet trying to wrangle Mortar or Telltale into the lake never stopped being funny...

With the sun hovering in the sky, sinking gradually towards the horizon at their backs, the streets were bright enough for them to navigate without trouble. The Lower Ring was a freaking maze of people and rickety stalls and filthy, fourth-rate buildings and stink and stupid, and it didn't matter if she had been the best tracker the Freedom Fighters had, finding their apartment was nothing but an awkward nightmare. The kitchen they slaved in, standing on their feet for hours, until every muscle burned from misuse, earning a pittance and nothing more, ought to have been a fifteen minute walk away from where they lived, but the damn streets twisted and turned and twisted again, so much, so frequently, that they'd had to set out half an hour early over the last four days to get there in time. The pair were lucky enough to have found the job in the first place, and though their manager was a nice enough guy, they didn't want to give him any reason to fire them. Especially since there were plenty of other refugees seeking work here.

Bee...if she really wanted, they could always go topside...find their way from the rooftops. Longshot gave her a sidelong glance, hiking one eyebrow. It'd take even less time than it was supposed to - cut a straight line from point A to point B, you know? It'd be a lot easier, too - just pick a direction and set a certain distance.

"Hmm..." Smellerbee craned her head back - glancing up, to the silhouetted apartments, masked by the sun in the distance. Roof-topping it...? It was actually pretty tempting - tantalizing even, she could see herself doing it - running, leaping from one building to the next, crouched down, wind at her face, hair thrown back, breath hot and heavy and pulse hammering in her chest, her ears, ecstatic, electric...but. Something about that didn't feel right - like this place didn't give her even the remotest amount of context for that. Like it was taboo.

She sighed and shook her head. "No...we shouldn't. We're done with living like that." Smellerbee pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. "Feh. We never hadda worry about that sorta thing in the forest. I call bullshit."

The forest. Not home, not anymore. Just a thing of the past, something that, a few years from now, would become dusty and ashen and burnt at the fringes, just like every memory. The forest was the place for running, jumping, moving without restrictions, finding even the simplest freedom in that sort of thing.

Ba Sing Se sucked...but this was home now, and at least they were safe.

Longshot didn't reply; instead, they carried on in silence, boots shuffling the ground, kicking up dust, worming around and between people without the common decency to take care of their bodies, the stench oppressive and stifling and suffocating. It took a few wrong streets, missed turns, and a couple points where they had absolutely no idea where they were supposed to go, but eventually they found their new living space - one apartment set in the ground floor of a ramshackle cluster (they were all ramshackle, but theirs seemed especially so), stacked three houses high. A small courtyard had been situated in the center of the property, giving the building a blocky C-shaped structure, cluttered with peoples' discarded food and half-finished masonry. Coming back here always left the smell of dust and mildew in the back of her throat.

Yeah, home.

She hated it here.

"So, how much you wanna bet Jet still hasn't gone out to find work...?" Smellerbee murmured, rolling her eyes. "He's so hung up about Lee and his uncle."

Well, maybe he went out to do some surveillance. Longshot shook his head and thumbed the brim of his hat back, arching his eyebrows. The pair stopped at the door, and the archer slid it open; it was nothing more than rickety wood cobbled together slipshod, and it made a hollow rattle as it hit came to a stop. The two Freedom Fighters - that term was so ill-fit now, since a pair of wage slaves and nothing more hardly fought for any sort of freedom (aside from the prospect of liberty from poverty, a lofty goal indeed but lacking a greater meaning) - crossed into the gloom beyond. None of the candles had been lit and all the window blinds had been drawn shut. What meager furnishings they had (a lumpy old bed, a rickety chair that could barely hold her weight, let alone Longshot or Jet's, a haggard night stand barren of decoration) soaked in the shade, looming reminders of what they'd chosen for themselves...and what they'd left behind.

"He probably did," Smellerbee murmured, sliding the door closed behind them. "He doesn't realize how bad this could be. Making waves after we've come this far - you'd think he'd learned anything from the dam! He's lucky the Avatar didn't, jeez, I dunno - air slice him in two or something."

Aang didn't seem like the person to do that sort of thing.

"It doesn't matter - if he didn't do it, then Ponytail or the floozy could have done the job for him. Or they could'a sicced their bison on him. The point is, we have a good thing going here, and if he doesn't pull his head outta his ass - "

"What happens if I don't pull my head outta my ass?"

Erk.

Jet stepped out of the shabby closet situated beside the bed, boots clopping against the wooden floor (he didn't drag his feet like so many people on the streets did), his mouth set into a straight line, eyes narrowed.

"Um, Jet, I - " Smellerbee's chest tightened, and, oh man, he wasn't supposed to be here! What was he doing, lurking around with the lights out like this - spying on them? Cheeks hot, ears alight with an insatiable itch she didn't dare scratch, she cast a quick glance to Longshot, but the archer had his gaze affixed to their leader. Turning back to Jet, she said, "We didn't know you were here, we figured you'd be - "

"Out. I know." Ouch. His voice had that sheen of ice it took whenever any Freedom Fighter had earned his personal ire - the kind where he knew he was right and you were wrong, and standing against him cut him to the quick. His wheat stalk curled down, and suddenly, the must and grime of the apartment closed in on her, clogging her nose, making her throat thick and hot. "But where have you guys been? I need a little help - Lee and the old man work erratic hours at that tea shop, and I haven't been able to find where they live."

This time, Smellerbee felt Longshot's eyes on her; she turned to meet it, saw the ghost of a grimace pulling on his lips. What do they say...?

"The truth," the swordswoman murmured. She looked back at Jet, his mouth curling down - he was getting impatient. "We've been at work! You know, the whole thing about a fresh start? This place isn't gonna pay for itself, and we can't steal food to get by anymore. We're trying to go straight - to do things right. If anything, we need your help more - with what we're making, Longshot and I can barely keep up with our expenses! Jet, you gotta pitch in. We've come this far together; can't you turn a blind eye, for our sake if nothing else?"

Jet scowled, bared his teeth - a white crescent carved into his tan face. "That's not important! There's Fire Nation in Ba Sing Se. People are supposed to be safe here, and they don't realize that the enemy is right under their noses!"

"Because they don't care!" Smellerbee threw her arms up. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe Lee and Mushi are here for a second chance, too? Come on, Jet, if we go out now, I'm sure we can find a job for you."

Jet's eyes glossed over for a second - and Smellerbee swore they oozed venom for the briefest of moments, at her - but the sensation quickly passed, and Jet hung his head, raising his hands up into the air. "Okay. Okay, you're right. I'm sorry. I should've been paying more attention to what's going on here." He brought his gaze back up to her, and it had softened - warm, the same way he should look in the presence of his friends...natural. He approached the swordswoman and archer, slipping his thumbs into his sash - and, and he must have spotted the bandage on her hand, because his brow furrowed, frown pulling down on his lips. "You okay?"

Oooh that jerk. He hadn't need to say anything, but Smellerbee knew what he'd implied. Idiot automatically thought the Fire Nation was behind everything now, and he'd defaulted back to the protective older brother routine - something Smellerbee hadn't had to seriously endure since she was eight. That was alright, though. She knew how to volley this.

"Yeah, fine," she responded, shrugging - nonchalant. "I dropped a plate at work and cut myself picking up the pieces."

He nodded - believed her, she could tell, but the niggling doubt still lingered in the back of his mind. It musta been like a whispering child tugging at the back of his tunic; he could ignore it, but it was still present, and it'd seep into his thoughts no matter what. "You guys had a long day - don't worry about me. I heard there's a shipping depot that could use a hired hand."

With that, he was past them, out the house, gone - and Smellerbee sighed.

"He's not going to apply for it," she murmured.

No. He wasn't. Longshot laid a hand on her shoulder, fingers tightening against her shirt. Don't worry about him. They'll find some way to get him in line.

"Yeah...maybe next time we should just be more assertive."

SCENE DIVIDE

Now

Only they hadn't been. The next time they found him, it was in that alley, in front of the tea shop where the two supposed Firebenders had been working, and they'd attempted to talk Jet out of it...but in the end, they only pushed him more. As if their protests had isolated him, made him feel like he was alone, and that it was up to him to reveal the truth.

In essence, all of that was right. In deciding to turn away, Smellerbee and Longshot had abandoned. That didn't mean he had to pursue the matter - he could have walked away, and let everyone carry on with their lives. Then stupid Jet got arrested by the stupid Dai Li and she and Longshot had to go to their stupid job and barely keep up with their stupid necessities.

They didn't see him again for two weeks - and their reunion would be short and bittersweet. If Smellerbee had known that the tea shop thing would be the last time she would get to speak to him so explicitly - if she'd just tried a little harder to get him to turn away from Lee and Mushi - then perhaps he wouldn't have died, and the three of them would continue to go on forging a new life for themselves.

"Stupid, stupid Jet." Smellerbee hung her head. She turned and made her way back to the rear of the cave - back towards the flickering orange heat, back to the warmth and safety.