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guileheroine · 8 days ago

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braided lines

two generations of Aang and Katara's family privately negotiate their mixed lineage in a world where bending makes it easy to get boxed in 🪢 | written for the last volume of @atlazine on the theme 'generations' | 2k | ao3

Kya planted herself in the doorway, hips square, face red from the heat and her own blistering indignation. Her mom seemed to find something about the situation funny, because every time Kya thought she was whipping around to put her foot down, Katara would instead pinch her nose as if trying not to laugh. Maybe it was Kya’s outfit: one of her dad’s undershirts, the airiest thing she could find. It hung off her like a kaftan, the armholes so roomy that most of her ribcage was out.

“Pleeeease!”

“For the last time,” Katara told her with straining patience, laying a hand on Kya’s shoulder. “I’m not going to shave your head.” Her hand rose to stay another protest. “No, I know it’s hot. But if I do you're only going to regret it! We’re going to the South next week and it’s the middle of winter down there.”

“But Dad—”

“He’s an airbender, sweetie. He’s got his ways of keeping warm.”

Kya puffed, blindsided by the cool rebuttal. It was so unfair that her eyes began to sting. Ever since Dad had let her touch his freshly shaven head on the veranda this morning, Kya knew it was all she ever wanted.

He had lifted Kya in his arms so she could see the heat shimmering off the courtyard. It was empty save for the robes set out to crisp on the jute clotheslines. They were strong enough for Kya to hang off, made to withstand the gusts that rolled off the bay.

Look, the ground’s airbending , Aang had said, before they giggled together, a more welcome warmth enveloping Kya. Barely morning, and it was already boiling . She waterbended a fresh bead of sweat off his shiny head, awaiting the impressed gasp. That was about all she could bend yet, but despite waterbending a million times better, her dad still acted like it was the coolest thing in the world.

Together with the excitement of her bending coming in, Kya had felt a pinch of regret for the door that closed with it. She’d never be an airbender now—you couldn’t do two, she’d checked. Obviously it was still miles better than having no bending like Bumi (though Mom and Dad got very stern and stony-faced if anyone hinted such a thing).

Still, she’d noticed lately that some of the acolytes had… lost interest in her. They adored her, but their eyes no longer held the same excitement her company once evoked. Being honest, she wondered if she’d have to forgo her near-permanent place on Aang’s hip in light of it all, especially now that Tenzin (ugh) was beginning to form habits other than crying. Kya hoped her dad didn’t feel the same way as those acolytes. Both her parents seemed elated. Katara glowed like Kya had thrown her a line strong as jute, connecting her and them and all her waterbending ancestors. It made sense for her dad not to react quite the same way, right?

Anyway, being bald was not only a great way to keep cool, but to look—feel—closer to him.

Kya fisted a hand in her mom’s skirt, her mouth wobbling. “I’m gonna get so hot and get sick…”

Katara sighed deeply. “Tell you what... Why don’t I braid your hair instead?” She got down to Kya’s eye level. “Come on. Something nice and tight. You’ll be as good as bald.” She sounded reassuring, though Kya could see her wince at those words, her mom with her long flowing locks.

She let herself be led, tentatively curious.

“I’ve been meaning to try this out on you, actually,” Katara said, sitting her on a mat under the shade. “Your grandma taught me this when I first began waterbending.” Kya could all but feel her mom’s hand flit to the necklace at her throat; a habit whenever she mentioned Kya’s namesake. She pulled Kya’s head straight from its quizzical tilt and began sectioning it with her comb. “I had trouble keeping things dry, my hair included,” she explained, “these braids kept it out of the way.”

“Never seen you do this one. Just your loopies,” Kya said.

Her mom laughed as she pulled together slim, tight braids in Kya’s hair. “Well, the loopies are a doddle. This takes a pretty bit of skill to do on yourself, and…”

Kya supposed there wasn’t anybody on the Island to do it for her. You had to go all the way to the city's tiny Little Water Tribe to find proper southern stuff, and she’d never seen any hairstylists among that crowd. Suddenly, Kya couldn’t wait for next week’s trip, not just for the prospect of testing her new powers amid endless ice and snow.

“Why don’t you teach me, then I can do it for you?” She offered gallantly.

Katara paused long enough to give Kya pause, but her voice was gentle when she spoke. “That’s very generous, sweetie—” She patted the top of Kya’s head before resuming, wrapping the braid she was on into a knot. “Er, maybe when you’re a little older.”

This was nobody’s ideal weather for the Glacier Spirits Festival, but Jinora rather appreciated it. The eerie silver morning under the weight of the misty sky, the way the vapours from her tea rose to join it. She finished her cup.

It was going to be a special one, even as far as trips to the Southern Water Tribe went. The minute they touched down on the frozen ground, Jinora felt it, elusive even to her finely attuned other-senses: the very air tasted different here without the tether of Gran Gran, like the place had somehow slipped farther from reach despite their very literal presence.

This year’s Festival—the first since Katara’s passing—was going to commence today with a commemoration of Master Katara’s life and work, complete with giant statue unveiling. Jinora had had to dust off her angry voice to dissuade Ikki and Meelo from going out last night for a surreptitious peek.

She slipped back into their guesthouse, hearing the distant voices of Korra and of Aunt Kya, who was bringing them their special Southern garb for the opening banquet. It was an important gesture, considering they were here both as family and as dignitaries, guests of Chief Tonraq.

Jinora gasped in delight when she saw Kya’s hair loopies.

“I know, right!” Ikki tried to yell, a pin held between her teeth, as Kya grinned. “She’s wearing Gran Gran’s necklace too.” Ikki was trying to fix her hooded cape in place with Korra’s help. It already looked gorgeous, the rust and charcoal colours of the warp and weft surprisingly harmonious together, the long fringed hem spilling behind her like a train. Korra’s gown was spruce blue and next-level, a single piece combining dress and cape.

“It felt right,” Aunt Kya said. She tossed a fine clothbound bundle in Jinora’s direction. Jinora’s heart ached at Kya’s bittersweet smile. She wondered if she’d like to come stay with the rest of the family once again, at least for a while.

Jinora unpackaged her new gown, eager to see what the seamstresses here had fashioned from the measurements she mailed off months ago. What slinked out of the bundle was a more beautiful gown than she could have imagined: mist-silver, made of sinuous close-trimmed fur. There was an otherworldly glint to it that transported her with a glance.

“I think we’re done,” Korra said, stepping gingerly from Ikki’s shoulder.

“Technically, it’s your great-grandmother’s necklace, you know,” Kya was saying. It took Jinora a moment to recover the trail of the conversation over their overlapping voices. “I guess I’ll pass it on to one of you,” Kya continued warmly, reading the question on Ikki’s ever-readable face. “Since I’ve got no immediate children.”

The notion surprised Jinora, though it really shouldn’t have. She felt strangely undeserving as she turned to put the outfit on.

She straightened her cuffs. The pattern of this bead inlay, she recalled, was particular to Gran Gran’s family, hearkening to a spirit whose special charge was the village their ancestors hailed from. The wolf-spirit for whom Wolf Cove was named. No others in the capitol here would be wearing it. Most of the living people who could didn’t even live here.

Regrettable, to be sure. Far away and ever more occupied with helming the Air Nation, Jinora knew she and her siblings had drifted from their Water Tribe roots. Perhaps, she supposed, their dad could have done more to keep them in touch with both their storied bloodlines. He tried, in his way, hauling the brood south every few years. But ultimately, he was pretty overwhelmed with being the custodian, and then the leader, of an entire culture.

Now that he could share that burden—with herself, Jinora thought wryly, since there was no denying she’d fallen into her father’s patterns—even he had found his way back. He’d spent months down here in advance of Katara’s passing, and several since, helping Aunt Kya to put affairs in order.

By now, Kya had sat Ikki down before her, having promised to do some elaborate traditional updo at Ikki’s behest. Korra was braiding her own hair while handing them extra ribbons at intervals. This was Ikki’s last opportunity for a while, as she was scheduled to get her tattoos in the spring. She was not looking forward to the ceremonial shave.

“It was Mom who taught me to do this,” Kya said. “During the legendary heatwave of 120 A.G., I’m sure you guys know of it.”

Jinora tuned out their voices again as she surveyed herself in the mirror. The velvety fur, the bun she’d chosen to wear so her hair wouldn’t interfere with the sumptuous hood—it was all so different from her usual style. Unaccustomed though she was, the more she drank in the details, the more she felt like she was unlocking some long-neglected part of herself. Ikki, Korra, and Kya’s mundane chatter continued behind her, but something light and numinous danced on the other plane.

“Satisfied?” Kya interjected, noticing her gaze. “I was just telling these girls—I had them use some of your Gran Gran’s old tunics to line your gowns. She suggested that to me before she passed!”

Then, these were definitely special garments. Jinora gave her a grateful, knowing smile, running her fingers over the sigil on the cuff, aligning her mind to its gentle thrum. Most of all, she sensed Katara’s protective presence enclosing her, and she felt right at home.

Her pensive mind rifled with purpose now. She was scheduled to have a consultation for an updated wingsuit when she got back home—maybe she would discuss whether some Water Tribe inspired design elements could be incorporated into her next suit. It would no longer match the others’, and she’d be flouting some unwritten rules of egalitarian principle, but surely she could have some leeway on the uniform as their de facto leader. A silken fringe along the qi-lines, a discreet pop of colour. Maybe Korra would like that, too, and support her pitch. Jinora had always observed a terrific Southern pride in Korra, which drew her and alienated her at once: a reminder of Jinora’s hesitancy to the claim.

A quick glance found Korra fastening her necklace, a string of small and cloudy beads, nonetheless in four unmistakable colours. That would go down a treat with the attending journalists, but Jinora knew it was worn in earnest, reflecting Korra’s affiliation with the nations of her mission and her former lives as much as that of her birth. To Jinora’s knowledge, the woman hadn’t a drop of Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom, nor Air nomad blood in her, yet she expressed the fullness of her sort-of heritage with greater pride than Jinora did her own ancestry.

But things were about to change.

Jinora dug her notebook out from her trunk, scribbling down her thoughts on a new airsuit before they lost their shape to the flurry of the impending day.

#atla #lok #katara #aang #kya ii #jinora #**#written in response to how weirdly... bifurcated cloudbabies are down to skintone in lok. its weird

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