(A/N)- SO in addition to filling the prompts for Kataang Week via fanart, as I have done traditionally in the past, I also decided to pull double-duty by writing fic. (Oh boy, what have I gotten myself into?) This short drabble/one-shot collection will be the second official foray into the Avatar ficdom for me so I apologize in advance for any sucky characterization I may do. Still kinda new at writing Avatar characters. Constructive criticism on this regard is always appreciated. And uh... any other kind of comments will do too. Except for flames. I will just laugh at flames.

With no further adieu, I present Prompt Number One of Kataang Week 2009.

Disclaimer: I was watching Avatar episodes the other day and thinking about how it would be really awesome if I owned them but then I had to face reality and admit that, currently, I don't.

Mischief

The child's wide blue eyes gazed up at the shelf longingly. From his vantage point all he could see was the ornate wood paneling on the underside. But on it, somewhere, he knew, was a pale blue and white porcelain jar, roughly oval in shape, narrowed at the top where the lid sat delicately.

But the jar itself was of no consequence to him. No, he was interested in what was inside the jar.

Two dozen gooey slices of sugarpastry. Freshly baked. The smell had been tempting him the whole afternoon, ever since he'd come inside after playing and wandered into the kitchen to find his mother baking them. He dashed to his room to wash up—mother was very firm about everyone's hands being clean before they handled food—quickly splashing the water in his little basin across his palms and fingers and making sure to get his face too for good measure. He hurried back to the kitchen, shoes padding the wood and carpets dully, but by that time his mother had already finished up and left the room, having stowed the treats in the jar. The boy looked pitifully up towards the shelf.

Of all the cruel injustices to be four years old and short.

The youngster craned his neck at an awkward angle and pondered his dilemma. The shelf was wide and flat and affixed to the wall, situated about seven feet off the ground. Far too high up for his meager reach. Even when he jumped he could not even manage to brush his fingertips against the edge. The counters, something he was a little more skilled at clambering up onto, were of little use as the shelf hung out over empty space rather than over one of the cabinets.

Wait a minute… the cabinets!

The thought came to him like a sudden flicker of firebending. The cabinets were full of cooking supplies; pots, pans, recycled crates that had held fruit… he could make a stool!

He trundled over and pulled open one of the doors, dragging out one of the crates and several pots and pans. He stacked them carefully, the crate on the bottom, a deep round pot on top of that, a shallow pan, another deep pot. He stepped back and considered the stool for a minute, looking between it and the shelf, and then he added another pan, balancing it upright on the top of the stack.

Very carefully, taking a deep breath, the lad began to clamber up his make-shift ladder. He stepped up onto the crate, took hold of the handles on one of the pots. His knees bent and his small feet climbed up the narrow footholds on the edges. He reached the top and wobbled precariously for a terrifying millisecond before regaining his balance and looking out towards the shelf. He reached, straining.

It would figure after all that trouble his arms couldn't reach. He leaned out even further, face scrunching in effort and concentration. He could touch the edge of the shelf now but the jar with all its delicious pastry was out of range.

He huffed.

If he was a waterbender like his older sister he could've made himself an ice staircase or something and gotten the sugarpastry ten minutes ago.

As he leaned out even further, extending his arm as far as he could, the stack beneath his feet suddenly shifted. The top of the tower tipped over and went crashing down to the floor and he yelped as his feet dangled in the air. He managed to get his arms overtop the edge of the shelf and hung on for dear life as the pots and pans made a loud clattering sound. He cringed at the noise, knowing someone was bound to come investigate soon.

But his heart also leapt for now his goal was more accessible. Bracing his feet against the wall, the boy shoved and propped himself up so that his front half hung over the shelf. He gave a triumphant smile.

"Kenai!" his mother's voice barked sharply from behind him. "Get down from there!"

His glee vanished. Eyes wide and desperate the boy grabbed for the lid of the jar, fingers just barely closing around the handle before he felt strong gentle hands close around his sides, lifting him away from the shelf. His wilted expression bade the jar a sad farewell as it slid from view.

Katara sat him down on the floor and turned him to face her, wiping the sweat and grime off his face with her sleeve. "You know the rule about climbing in the house!" she scolded.

The boy sniffled and nodded. "Yes mommy," he acknowledged submissively.

Katara tilted back, glancing curiously from the mess of scattered pots and pans on the floor to the shelf where her youngest had been clinging like a flying lemur moments before. "What were you doing up there anyway?" she asked.

Kenai rubbed his eye with the back of one of his hands. "I wanted a sugarpastry," he confessed softly.

The waterbender's eyes went to the jar and she laughed. "Oh sweetie," she said, standing to her feet. "If you wanted one you could've just come to me and asked and I would've gotten the jar down for you." She shook her head at her son as she lifted the lid off the jar. "I swear, you're just like your father."

"What about me now?" a new voice asked playfully. Katara turned with a smile to face her husband. Aang was fully swathed in voluminous Earth Kingdom robes, having just returned from a meeting with several high-ranking dignitaries. Katara thought the myriad shades of green and gold silks and brocades suited him exceedingly well. The diplomatic conference had gone on all day and though Aang's bright eyes and soft smile were the same as ever, Katara could see the tiredness in his face.

"Our son has inherited your mischievous streak," she told him, the corner of her mouth turning up wryly.

Aang shrugged. "Someone had to," he told her, grinning.

Katara returned the gesture before bending over towards her son's level. Kenai's eyes were bugging out with excitement and he reached out for the pastry in her hands. The waterbender held up her palm to stop him, holding the treat a little ways above his head.

"Ask politely," she admonished.

Kenai dropped his arms and clasped them behind him, giving her a pleading face. "Please can I have a sugarpastry mommy?" he begged.

"That's my boy," Katara crooned, lowering the treat to him. The child's eyes lit up as he took it and immediately began scarfing it down. His mother patted his head affectionately, mussing up his hair. Kenai munched contentedly as Katara picked him up by the waist and moved to give her husband a welcome home hug. His strong gentle arms encircled her waist as hers wound around his back. Kenai looked up briefly from his chewing, mildly unruffled by their affection and the heavy sleeves suddenly surrounding him.

"How was the meeting?" Katara asked, pulling back a little from the embrace.

"It went about as well as it could have," Aang replied, sighing wearily. "The room was really hot though, and these robes don't really breathe that well. I kept wanting to bend some cooler air into the room."

Katara adjusted herself to get a better hold on her son, then traced a line of gold-thread embroidery in Aang's tunic. She lifted her eyes to his with a half-lidded, sultry look. "If you'd like, we can go out to the back garden and I can…" She brought her face close to his, breathing on his skin with her whisper. "…help you cool off," she murmured.

His eyebrows went high up on his forehead and he wiggled them at her. "Was that a come-on?"

She gave a small shrug. "Perhaps," she hedged.

"You naughty girl."

Katara cupped his jaw with her free hand and brought his lips to hers for a long, deep kiss, which he happily returned.

Kenai looked back and forth between his mother and father, a tiny remaining sliver of sugarpastry still in his small hands, feeling very confused.

Fortunately the implications flew straight over his little four-year-old head and his parents were allowed to continue their mischief undisturbed.