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olivetreehugger · 11 months ago

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introducing: dispatches from republic city

Hey any and all Bolin fans! I recently rewatched LoK and it reignited my love of this universe. About 10 years ago, I sort of latched onto a side character and shipped her with Bolin, but it never became anything until now. I have started writing this story, "dispatches from republic city" about Bolin and this side character, who I have named Tanana or "Nani" for short. I will place a link below for a separate post regarding this character and why I am shipping her with Bolin.

But for story's sake, I headcanon that Nani sounds like Susan Egan (she played Meg in Hercules and Rose Quartz in Steven Universe! Her singing voice is similar, but I also headcanon that she sounds like Annapantsu on Youtube-she's INCREDIBLE!). In the show, her height isn't well established, in some gifs she's the same height as the other girls, other times she is the same height as Tahno? So I'm dubbing her a solid 5'7, while Bolin started the show at a nice 5'8 and seems to have grown a bit taller? Just look at him compared to Mako in Book 4 and tell me he hasn't gotten taller! In my fic, he's 5'10.

anyways, moving on. This story takes place post-Book 4, but I've made some changes. I've always been a Makorra gal, don't get me wrong we love the gays in this house but frankly I never got the appeal of Korrasami. I won't get into why right now, I just always loved Makorra and that will never change. Oh, and call me bitter but in this world, Zuko and Katara got together *cough*. It really won't be mentioned, but it is my head canon and I'm sticking to it.

in this story, Mako and Korra have recently gotten back together, but the actual narrative doesn't focus on them too much. The story is strictly from Nani's perspective, with only one possible chapter dedicated to Bolin's POV. We'll see how it fleshes out!

See below for chapter one of "dispatches from republic city"!

dispatches from republic city

chapter one: once a wolfbat

rating: M for sex and violence, language and eventual S/A

The sound of the lunch gong split through the air like a cannon, just as Tanana barreled into the kitchen of Mama Chen’s Dumpling Joint. She hurriedly tied her apron around her waist.

She glanced up at the clock and winced. 15 minutes late!

Any minute now, Mama Chen would burst through the swinging door, ranting and raving about her repeated tardiness.

The scent of sizzling pork fat and vegetables wafted through the air, making Tanana’s mouth water. Her stomach growled knowingly. She hadn’t had single thing to eat today.

Slyly, she ducked past the fry cooks and swiped a bun from the platter next to them and stuffed it into her mouth so no one would see. She then glided towards the back of the kitchen, near the freezer, and spent a few quiet moments savoring her stolen meal.

This was now a daily routine. She’d work from noon until midnight—at least, that’s what her timecard would reflect. Tanana, or Nani, as she preferred--was usually at Mama Chen’s from about 12 pm to 2am the next day, spending an extra two hours clearing out the drunks, teenagers and straddlers while simultaneously helping to close for the next day. She would then stuff her bag with whatever leftovers (whatever she could hide, anyways), and walk to The Bookkeeper’s apartment where she stayed. She’d eat, leave the rest of in the ice box for the old lady, and then collapse wherever she could before waking up and starting the day all over.

All for two yuan a day, though if she charmed the right customer, she might get lucky and score a decent tip.

Ever since Kuvira’s mecha-weapon destroyed the downtown area, people moved in droves to the outer neighborhoods, meaning there was less of everything to go around-including work. For many, it was a struggle just to keep their heads above water. For Nani, it was an ice cold wake up call.

As she chewed and swallowed the rest of the salty dough, the brunette wiped a dribble of oil from her chin with the corner of her apron. Without missing another beat, she picked up a tray of discarded dirty dishes and began her work.

The mix of steam, oil, and body odor marinated in Nani’s hair and skin as she worked alongside the other unfortunates around her. She didn’t bother to learn their names, why would she? After all, Nani wasn’t here to make friends. And none of these people were “friend-material”, anyway.

They all seemed to have a silent agreement, though-as long as no one snitched on the other, they all kept to themselves.

Well, some of them did, anyway.

As another invisible fixture of the kitchen, Nani usually got a front row seat to the hushed confessions of the degenerates around her: the ones who cheated on their spouses, the ones who stole money from their parents to buy opium, the ones who got pregnant and left their babies in the woods.

Hearing such tantalizing gossip would leave a person reeling, bursting at the seams as they waited to regurgitate the story to another person, but not Nani. She’d learned a long time ago that being a snitch was a stupid form of suicide, and she had the scar to prove it.

Her life was otherwise an exhausting blur—what was a little gossip to pass the time? She would be lying if she said it didn’t give her a delightful thrill of power to know what made people stir at night, what made them ache from the inside out. To know that others were awful human beings meant she wasn’t as awful as she thought. And that was nice to believe, if only briefly.

The hours seemed to fly by quickly as Nani scrubbed, wiped and swept every inch of the kitchen. She wiped a few drops of perspiration from her brow as Mama Chen shoved through the doors.

“You!” The older woman pointed angrily at Nani. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your tardiness today. This is the last day you dishonor me. You’re fired!”

Nani felt her face instantly turn red as the other workers turned to stare at her.

She didn’t expect that.

Biting back a nasty response, she tore her apron off and let it fall haphazardly at her feet. She pushed past Mama Chen and ignored her when the older woman screeched something about “making sure she never worked in another restaurant again!”

The cool autumn air slapped Nani harder than Mama Chen’s words, but it was a welcome reprieve from the congested, sweaty air of the kitchen. She sighed and inhaled deeply, her nerves on edge as she suddenly realized that she was once again out of a job.

How could she explain herself when she showed up at the store early and empty-handed?

She started down the block, racking her mind with excuses to tell the Bookkeeper, who would undoubtedly assure Nani she was doing her best and to not worry about a thing. Still, the young brunette knew the elderly woman would have to worry about her next meal and the concerning lack of customers.

Another sudden gust of wind burst forth, smashing a flurry of discarded newspaper and ads into her face.

Nani stumbled back, the wall of stray papers temporarily blinding her. She sputtered as she ripped the sheets from her face, only for one of them to catch her eye.

It was a flashy advertisement, adorned with gaudy colors and symbols, calling hopeful talents to appear on Shiro Shinobi’s new radio channel 54. The advertisement promised the potential winner a chance at hosting their very own show on the channel!

She reread the last sentence over and over, her grayish-green eyes widening at the prospect.

Could it be?

Suddenly, Nani was on a stage, a crowd of mesmerized onlookers chanting her name as she crooned into a microphone for them. The camera flashes caught the glitter of the jewels on her dress so perfectly, momentarily blinding her, but it didn’t matter.

She was star.

For a moment, Nani dared to dream about a future that seemed impossible just moments ago. This… had to be a sign. This opportunity quite literally slapped her in the face!

Feeling giddy, she hurried back to the shop.

----

Taking one last glance at the mirror, Nani grinned with satisfaction.

She looked good, really good, like that poster of Cherry Wong hanging in Mama Chen’s. She even emulated the famous singer’s makeup, dark red lipstick and sultry cat eyes to bring out the green.

One of the first, and most influential, performers in the United Republic- Cherry Wong wowed audiences with her stunning features and incredible voice. She had a talent that no one had seen in those times. She was known for taking old Earth Kingdom poems and transforming them into melodious harmonies. Her music was enjoyed by both old and young audiences alike.

As a child listening from the partially open windows of the clubs, Nani marveled at her talent and was utterly inspired by her passion. She spent most of her free time practicing her sonnets and ballads, hoping to find her voice like Cherry Wong found hers.

A crash sounded in the room next door, followed by a cry of pain.

Nani jolted, rushing to the sound. In the hallway, a massive grandfather clock had toppled over, pinning the Bookkeeper under its impressive weight. Shards of glass and wood lay scattered around her. Blood trickled from the elderly woman’s mouth.

“Oh…oh…” the woman whimpered, shaking as she struggled under the gargantuan fixture.

Nani gasped, nearly frozen by the grisly sight. She fell to her knees, cradled the woman’s head in her hands and cried, “I’ll call for help!”

She wasn’t sure if the woman was shaking from pain or simply nodding her head, but she spent no time discerning the difference. The brunette gently laid the Bookkeeper’s head down and jumped over the sea of glass shards that littered the floor. She sped outside and flung the door to the store open, shouting for help.

The rest of the morning was a blur of people, police sirens, ambulances and cleaning up glass. Nani breathed shakily as the medics strapped the Bookkeeper into the stretcher. She reached out and squeezed her hand.

“Don’t let them take my shop,” the Bookkeeper moaned, her bandaged face soaked in tears.

Nani couldn’t say anything with the massive lump in her throat, so she mustered a nod and watched as the medics took her away in a flurry of sirens.

The tumultuous morning events had shaken Nani terribly. A jagged feeling of guilt dug into her abdomen as she returned to her room, her gaze fixated on the poster she hung above her bed. She peeled it off the wall and folded it gingerly, setting it on the mattress.

She turned away, prepared to give up this dream once and for all.

Unless…

Nani’s eyes tracked round to the bed where the poster sat. After a moment, she reached for it and unfolded the paper, gazing at it intently.

Guilt be damned. She would be stupid to waste the opportunity.

Betrayal accompanied the sound of the clanging keys as Nani locked up the store and darted up the street, her purse and the poster in her arms. Waving wildly, she was able to flag down a taxi and hurled herself into the backseat.

“To Studio 54, please.”

----

Traffic was actually quite agreeable that morning. When the cab finally reached the studio, Nani tossed what little money she had left into the greasy palm of the cab driver and pounced from the backseat onto the pavement. The sound of the cab speeding away barely registered as the brunette gazed up at the building.

The studio itself had undergone quite a transformation. It used to be a simple office building in Harmony Park, but with Shiro Shinobi’s attention (and money), it quickly became the hub for all radio-based creativity and communications. People from all over the world could be heard from this very building. Their stories, their songs, their lives…spread across soundwaves and flowing indiscriminately to anyone who could turn a dial, only to become a daily, integral part of that person’s life. It was magical, really.

Bright red, towering doors were cast open, inviting Nani inside with their promise of fame and freedom.

When she walked in, she noticed the line for auditions was quite short. Only a handful of people were in the queue. Directly in front of her stood a broad-shouldered individual who was just tall enough to obscure her vision of the ticket desk at the front of the line. Hopping onto her tip toes, Nani got a brief view of the desk and noticed the alarmingly short stack of tickets.

Her stomach turning to stone, the brunette reached up and twirled a strand of curls between her fingers. It was something she’d done since childhood, whenever she was intensely anxious.

With every auditionee, the stack got shorter and shorter. She watched in despair as the ticketer handed over the very last one to the man in front of her. Nani took a defeated step forward, the last glimmer of hope extinguished as the ticketer merely shook his head.

“Sorry, toots. Gotta be quicker next time.”

Her shoulders sank and her eyes stung as the failure dragged her under water. Her gaze traveled to the group of auditionees filing into the audition booth, the forbidden space meant only for the most auspicious, blessed individuals favored by the spirits.

Nani, as usual, was not such a person. The spirits must’ve really gotten a kick outta this one.

She chewed on her ire and hurt as she trudged back to the shop. The stone in her gut had turned into a burning lump of coal. What was worse, the humiliation of being turned away from the one thing she’d always wanted, or the immense guilt of closing the store and setting the Bookkeeper back for a stupid pipedream doomed to flop?

When she reached the decrepit little book store, she hastily let her self in and slammed the door behind her. Her eyes caught the broken grandfather clock, now shoved into a corner where it could no longer fall on frail old ladies. She locked her jaw in indignation.

Marching through the shop, Nani found the tiny radio she shared with her elderly roommate. She tore it from its perch on the counter and chucked into the trash outside. She ripped the poster from her purse and tore it to bits, letting the pieces fall around her like confetti. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

There she was, once again in a hapless celebration of her own failures and delusions.

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?”

----

It was an unusually warm autumn morning as Nani walked into the Bookkeeper’s hospital room. Clasped between her fingers was a large bouquet of petunias, the old woman’s favorite flowers.

“What a surprise,” the Bookkeeper murmured, lifting her head from the pillow to see the young woman at the foot of her bed. “Come, come sit.”

A sad smile tugged on Nani’s lips. The Bookkeeper looked so much smaller than she remembered. Her face had become jaunt and skeletal, her eyes barely open slits, her lips cracked and bleeding. Her neck was so weak she could barely lift her head.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Nani offered.

“What lovely flowers,” the Bookkeeper said, as if not hearing Nani’s apology. “Find a vase for them, and put them in the windowsill. They like the sun.”

The brunette did as she was told and took a seat next to the old woman’s bed.

“I heard the most beautiful lady sing on the radio last night,” the Bookkeeper mused. Her eyes glittered with tears. “What a star she was. Did you hear her?”

Nani clenched her jaw. The audition was last week, so the stinging feeling of disappointment was still fresh. The Bookkeeper had unknowingly thrown salt right into her wounds.

The old woman turned her head weakly to smile at Nani. “I have no idea where she is,” she whispered, her tears falling down the side of her face. “She said she would be back, but I think she got lost.”

Concern set in as Nani watched the Bookkeeper’s face relax into silent, pleasant confusion. Her eyes settled on the ceiling, as though watching clouds in the sky.

It was later revealed that the Bookkeeper had cancer, and it not only ate through her bones, but it was actively chewing through her brain, too. Nani had thought it was simply senility easing its way in, a normal part of aging.

But this wasn’t normal aging. This was dying.

Nani sat at the Bookkeeper’s side for several days, comforting her as she cried out for people who weren’t there, moistening her lips with cool water, and mustering a brave face as she watched the woman who took her in waste away.

As the end drew closer, Nani knew what had to be done.

The woman deserved a proper burial at the very least. To sell the shop felt like betraying her, but what else could Nani do? She had no job, no support, and the shop hadn’t made a sale in months.

That’s what Nani told herself when she found a buyer. The guy was skeezy, but he paid a decent amount that would cover the Bookkeeper’s funeral and then some. He seemed rather excited to take the shop off of Nani’s hands, and frankly, she was eager to wash her hands of it.

The exchange went well, leaving her with a hefty envelope of cash under her arm and one less guilt trip to carry around.

Still, her eyes filled with tears as she watched the flames flicking at the funeral pyre. The Bookkeeper was kind and generous. She never badgered Nani for rent. She never judged or shamed her when she lost a job. She was just there…a trustworthy, safe fixture that Nani could rely on.

When the last of the flames died and the old woman’s ashes were collected, Nani walked to her grave site and placed the urn in the ground before piling a mound of loose dirt over it. She sighed, wiping her hands on the hem of her dress and sat back on her heels.

The sky was gray as she dipped her head and pressed her palms together, murmuring a final prayer for the old woman’s soul.

“Well, ain’t that a pity,” a male voice drawled behind her.

Nani tensed. She must’ve not heard the footfalls coming up behind her. She used to be good at that.

A disappointed clicking noise left the man’s lips. “Can’t say hi to an old friend?”

Nani’s heart pounded in her chest as sweat began forming on her brow. Reluctantly, she turned her head to see the tanned, curly haired man looming over her. His hands rested on his hips as he stared her down.

“M-ming.”

Her voice betrayed her as it cracked. She didn’t mean to, but the very sight of him had her frozen to the ground where she sat.

The earthbender smirked at her, his soulless gray eyes boring through her body.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart. Tahno had us looking everywhere for you. After a while, we just assumed you died with the other poor souls in the tunnels,” he said, his voice devoid of any concern.

Nani gulped as he lent down on his knees, meeting her eye to eye.

“Turns out, you’re just good at hiding,” he cooed, reaching out to caress her cheek.

The young woman gasped sharply as she jerked away, glaring at the man with a mix of terror and disgust.

A few moments passed as she tried to compose herself. “W-what are you doing here?” She questioned.

Ming glared at her intensely. “What do you think?”

A shiver ran down her spine as she digested his question. Wolfbats were known for being possessive of their mates.

Nani’s hands wandered behind her, grabbing fistfuls of grass before finally finding a rock. She swung her arm around, clocking Ming in the jaw with it.

“I’m not going back!” She screamed.

He went down with a loud grunt, and Nani took off. She didn’t dare look behind her as she darted away, lurching over tombstones, urns and dead flowers, desperately running away from the life she left behind last year.

As she zig-zagged through the cemetery, she could hear the sound of heavy stones whooshing past her, some just barely grazing the tips of her hair.

“You chose the wrong place to pick a fight with me, baby!” Ming taunted, his voice echoing not too far behind.

Nani’s heart pounded against her ribcage. Her eyes fixated on the iron gate at the entrance, hoping to clear its threshold before her attacker could reach her. Her legs ached as she pumped forwards, her breathing ragged. With every distressing step, the gate grew closer.

Suddenly, two tombstones came flying from opposite sides, sandwiching Nani between the slabs of rock, slamming her into the ground.

Ming was right. It was stupid to challenge an earth bender in a cemetery.

“Agh!” She cried out, her ribs cracking under the weight.

She could hear the sound of grass being trampled and winced when Ming’s face came into view. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

“You were always such a stubborn broad,” he lamented.

Like an act of mercy, the stones fell away and the pain swiftly disappeared with them. Nani blinked, staring up at her old compatriot.

“Just kill me, then,” she panted. “I’m not going back to Tahno!”

Ming dropped to her level again, this time cruelly yanking her forward by her hair. She yelped in pain.

“You knew that shop was drowning in debt, didn’t you?” He questioned, quiet but threatening. “The bank sent a letter threatening foreclosure four months ago. You let my uncle buy a foreclosed business!”

Nani wasn’t sure how to respond. Since when did Ming have an uncle? Was this not about Tahno?

“I didn’t know!” It was true, she didn’t know just how bad the debt was. All she had were a few bills and the deed to the shop. And, damn, if she’d known San Ho was Ming’s uncle, she would’ve never sold the shop to him. Now, she’d really done herself in.

Ming pulled harder on her hair, and Nani cried out, clawing at his forearm as she squirmed under his grip.

Eventually, he released her. Nani fell back, gasping for breath as she watched Ming, petrified.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Normally when someone pathetic and nameless crosses San Ho, they get whacked. But, we’re old pals-wouldn’t you agree?”

Nani diverted her gaze from him. ‘Pals’ was a strong word.

Ming flashed her a sinister grin. “When I heard about your little transgression, I had the option to send my uncle’s goons out to find you. But those guys, they aren’t exactly known for their self control, if y’know what I mean.”

Instinctively, Nani pressed her legs together tightly.

“Believe it or not,” the earthbender continued, “I was real down when you left us, Nani. I don’t think Tahno ever gave you credit for how talented you were, but I saw it.”

Drops of rain kissed the top of Nani’s head, soon becoming an overpour. The heavens above seemed to pour out their disfavor of her, thunderously crashing down like a typhoon in the spring. If she even dared to run again, the mud would only make the chase more difficult. Ming would capture her again, and would likely break a few bones to drive home his point.

She’d lost, Nani told herself. If tears rolled down her cheeks, Ming didn’t see them.

“Once a Wolfbat, always a Wolfbat,” she murmured, echoing Tahno’s words.

Ming shook his head, snickering. Nani snapped her head up to look at him through a curtain of sopping wet curls.

He chuckled at her confusion, replying, “Like I said, Tahno was a fool to ignore your talent.”

Apparently, he had other plans.

Nani would have to sell her body again, but not in the way most girls on the streets did. San Ho, Ming’s very rich and very corrupt uncle, owned a lucrative brewing company as well as a few dozen opium dens throughout the United Republic. He had quite a few connections with the Terra Triad, of which his nephew was an avid participant. His customers were often high-profile businessmen and women who liked getting drunk and high while being, well, serviced. Everyone appreciated good music and dancing, and Nani would provide. It was abnormally merciful, but who was Nani to refuse?

After all, Ming teased, there were worse ways to put her mouth to use.

----

Nani sighed as she picked up the cheap, shimmering silver fabric of the dress laid on the chair of her “dressing room”, i.e. a dimly lit walk-in closet with a futon on the ground coated in mysterious dried fluids.

She slipped out of her old maroon dress, undid her brassiere, and slid the new dress over her head. She shimmied and danced a bit until she was able to get the cloth over her hips. Eventually, the dress was on, and it actually fit pretty well, considering it had belonged to someone else. Nani’s breasts and back were very much exposed , however, leaving very little to the imagination. Even the most salacious lingerie wasn’t this provocative, but Nani knew her “audience” would appreciate it. Even more so, Ming and his uncle would be pleased.

As Nani rummaged through the box of costumes in front of her, she pulled out a feathered, boa-like head piece with a glittery band that matched her dress. She wrapped it around her head, careful not to disturb her curls which she’d smoothed down with gel earlier.

A heavy-handed knock startled her.

“Come on now, let’s see it.” It was Ming.

A deep sigh left her lips as Nani threw open the door. The earthbender was leaning against the frame, his eyes trailing up and down, a stomach-churning grin of satisfaction on his lips as he drank in her appearance.

“You look good enough to eat,” he muttered.

Nani didn’t look him in the eye as she walked past him, the look of disgust apparent on her face. She made her way to the long mirror in the hallway and stared at her reflection. The ridiculous headpiece, the exaggerated makeup, the scandalous outfit.

She was a show girl. An indentured show girl.

A mirthless laugh left her mouth without warning. You want fame? The spirits asked. Here’s your fame.

Ming sauntered into frame and put a cold hand on her shoulder. It took everything in Nani’s being not to recoil from him.

“The madame wants to meet you before you take the stage,” he said.

In another room, one more decadently decorated and much cleaner, sat the Madame. She was a tall, middle aged woman with a heavily powdered face and nails like knives. She was dressed in a silk red and pink kimono and a glossy black wig. She was pouring tea into a small cup.

“Madame Yoshino, I’ve brought your newest act, as promised,” Ming announced, keeping his fingers tightly curled around Nani’s shoulder as he led her into the room.

The exquisite woman stood from her cushion, cup in hand. She approached Nani with narrowed eyes. She barely looked at her before turning away in disgust.

“She’s dark,” she spat.

Nani’s eyes widened at the unexpected jab. Her hands balled into fists, nails digging into her palms.

Ming patted her back, replying confidently, “You’ve got plenty of porcelain dolls, why get another one when you can have a bronze beauty instead?”

Madame Yoshino glowered at Ming for a moment before turning her attention back to the young woman. She raised an inquisitive brow at her. She studied Nani’s figure, pausing over her chest and then her face, where she lingered for a long time.

Nani gulped as she tried, and failed, not to look the frighteningly intimidating woman in the eyes.

The madame grasped her chin and forcefully jerked her face from side to side.

“Open your mouth,” she demanded.

Nani gave her a hateful stare but complied when Ming slapped her ass with stinging force.

She bit back a yelp and let the Madame inspect her teeth.

“Hm…a few cavities, but overall not bad,” the older woman commented. She tapped Nani’s jaw as if to signal her to close it.

Shrugging, Madame Yoshino took a sip of her tea and settled her gaze on Nani again. “Where are you from, little miss? North or South?”

Nani understood her question, as many had asked the same. And she answered the same as she always did.

“Neither,” she replied boldly. “I’m from Republic City.”

Ming cleared his throat and pinched the back of her arm. Nani squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying out in pain.

Madame Yoshino set her teacup down, waving her arms in the air with disdain. “No, no, no! That won’t do. From now on, you’re a Northern girl, you see?”

Another slap to her behind from Ming, this time less vicious. “Our little arctic fox,” he teased.

Nani bit her tongue until it bled. Hatred burned in her veins as the two continued to talk about her as though she weren’t in the room. To them, she was just a piece of meat to be devoured later, then regurgitated and devoured again…until she was completely unrecognizable.

Madame Yoshino dug her dagger-like nails into Nani’s arm as she dragged her onstage.

The brunette’s eyes darted around the room. The atmosphere was thick with the familiar scent of opium and sweat. The dim lights were a blood-red hue, blanketing everything in a sort of sensual, dangerous anonymity.

Her gaze turned to the door in the very back of the room. If she tried to make a run for it, Ming could easily block off the exit with his earth bending, or smash a rock into her head with a swipe of his hand.

Madame Yoshino took the microphone and introduced her as a “Northern Snow Princess”.

A stage light shined jarringly in her face, blinding her for a few seconds. As her vision adjusted, Nani took in the environment around her.

Various paintings and portraits of people engaged in lewd sex acts decorated the walls. Well-dressed men, and a few women, sat on various couches and cushions, pipes and sake glasses in their hands as young courtesans fawned over them. Their clothes were still on, but a few had their shirts unbuttoned, dresses turned askew, shoes missing.

This was nothing like her daydreams.

The clientele hummed in surprise and intrigue, a few even clapped. Nani couldn’t stomach looking at them directly, instead focusing on a portrait to the right of her. It was a photograph, blown up on a poster, of a naked woman, her large breasts like two moons shining bright in the night sky, with a green and pink folding fan splayed out between her legs, just barely covering her sex.

Somehow, that woman was using her sexual prowess as a form of power. Somehow, she was able to take hold of the narrative that she’d been sold into. It was in her eyes. Her body was hers, and no one could take that away.

Nani longed to be half as brave as the woman in the photograph.

An upbeat, jazzy tune began playing behind her and her hands trembled as she took the microphone.

Just sing, she told herself. It’s like riding a bicycle.

The words tumbled from her lips on cue as she timed herself to the music. It was a song about falling in love, or something silly like that. It wasn’t the most appropriate song for a brothel, but somehow it got people going.

As the song continued, Nani sashayed her hips to the melody, waving her arms in a rhythmic swaying motion.

The crowd was pleased, clapping along and cheering. Their enthusiasm would’ve been intoxicating had it not been for the fact that she could see them getting grabby with some of the courtesans.

She did her best to keep singing, to pretend it didn’t bother her. She murmured out a few more notes, humming along and dancing away, but then she saw it:

An older gentleman had his hands around a girl’s throat as he straddled her, his knee forcing its way between her legs. The girl was around Nani’s age, but her face was caked in geisha makeup to make her look older. Her eyes were wide with panic and terror, until they rolled back into her head. Her body went limp in the man’s grasp, but he didn’t let up.

All the while, the cheery cacophony of saxophones, trumpets, bass and drums continued their happy tune as Nani watched this man choke a dead body. Her voice had long been drowned out by the music. Or maybe she’d stopped singing altogether, she didn’t actually recall.

Her eyes were glued to the man’s hands. He just kept going.

The music got louder, the cheers got louder, everything sort of blurring together in the chaos.

It was in that moment that something buried deep inside Nani exploded.

A wordless, enraged shriek tore itself from her throat. She leapt from the stage, grasping the microphone stand in her hands. As she charged at the man, she held the pole over her head and brought it down on his face with a sickening crack.

He crumpled to the floor.

Nani’s hands shook as she dropped the microphone stand. The music came to a screeching halt. The looks of awe and wonder morphed into terror and disgust. Nani could feel Ming and Madame Yoshino’s eyes burning into her back, but all she could do was watch the man stir, trying to push himself up with his hands. Nani brought the pole over her head again.

But before she could deliver another blow, the thick scent of sulfur and ammonia filled the air.

Smoke seemed to pour from every orifice of the building, creating a cloudy miasma that rapidly replaced the oxygen in the room. Panic settled in, screams tearing through the atmosphere as everyone scrambled to escape.

Nani coughed as she tried to fight the smoke, stumbling over the bodies of the clientele as they dropped like flies around her. Her eyes and lungs burned as the smoke seared into her mucus membranes. She gasped into the crook of her elbow, but the fumes were too much. She staggered towards the exit, when something caught her ankle, causing her to lurch forward.

She was unconscious before she hit the ground.

----

The sound of jingling keys and steel-toed boots woke Nani up. Or maybe it was the raging, fume-induced migraine boring into her skull. She wasn’t quite sure, yet.

“Wake up, miss,” a deep voice beckoned.

Nani groaned as she opened her eyes. She slowly lifted her head, squinting as the figure of a uniformed man came towards her. Behind him, she could see a set of bars. Her mind quickly registered the cuffs around her wrists and ankles.

Eyes snapping open with alarm, Nani jerked away from the officer. She held her arms up to shield herself, but that, unsurprisingly, did nothing to stop him.

“Let’s go,” the officer said, grabbing hold of her arms and pulling her up.

“No, no, no,” she begged. “Please don’t do this!”

She writhed against his iron-grip as he dragged her out of the jail cell and through the halls of the precinct. In her peripheral vision, she saw Ming being carried away by two officers, except his cuffs looked different, like they were wooden—probably so he wouldn’t try to metal bend his way out of them.

Relief washed over her for a second, but only for a second. She then realized she was in a showgirl’s outfit, in a brothel, surrounded by opium, prostitutes and rich people who were above the law.

“I-I don’t belong here!” She said nervously. “You have to believe me.”

The officer scoffed at her. “You know how many times I’ve heard that before?”

She ended up in an interrogation room, sitting across a young detective with enigmatic amber eyes and dark hair. He had his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes; he just looked at her.

She covered her chest with her arms, suddenly very self-conscious of her very exposed body.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Nani finally muttered, her voice hoarse.

The detective leaned forward, his elbows on the desk in front of him, as though eager to hear more. “Well, a statement, for starters,” he responded.

Nani shook her head, her glittering headpiece tilting down to one side. “What is there to say?” She retorted. “You found me in a brothel. I know what you do to women in brothels.”

The man raised one sharp brow at her. “Oh?” He replied, as though inviting her to continue.

A tickle started in Nani’s throat, reminding her that she was quite dehydrated. “Can I have some water?” She asked.

Nodding, the detective left the room. In seconds, he was back with a glass of lukewarm water, but Nani didn’t care. She threw her head back and gulped down the whole thing.

When she was finished, she placed the glass in between herself and the detective.

“I’m not some skirt,” she said flatly.

The detective nodded. “I know.”

“How?”

He swiftly laid out several photographs across the table. Nani leaned forward to examine them. There were photos of San Ho, Madame Yoshino, Ming, and several young women and men she did not recognize. Evidence of drug, alcohol and sexual paraphernalia was wantonly displayed in the images. There were also images of the brothel and other buildings within the Red Light District. Nani was surprised to see those pictures had been taken some time in the morning. They didn’t look so frightening in broad daylight.

The detective explained, “We’ve been watching this group for years-even had a few of our officers infiltrate their ranks to find information that could help us bring them down. They knew every face that walked into that bordello, except yours.”

Nani glanced at the detective and then back at the photos. She couldn’t stop looking at the faces of the young sex workers.

“We did however hear about an unsavory purchase that San Ho had made,” he continued. “Something about a foreclosed book shop?”

Her knee jerk reaction was to scream, “It wasn’t my fault!” but Nani held her tongue. Instead, she looked away.

“The woman I was staying with died,” she muttered. “She owned the bookstore. On her deathbed she asked me sell it.”

That little lie stung. Nani knew it was wrong, but it was better than the truth. The Bookkeeper had begged her not to let anyone take away the shop. Perhaps in her demented, cancer-ridden brain she knew the bank was going to take everything.

Leaning back in his chair, the detective appeared to take this in.

“Okay,” he started slowly, as though he was working out a puzzle in his mind. “So you sold the deed to San Ho, and then he somehow found out it was foreclosed. Then what?”

Nani sighed loudly. “Do I really have to walk you through every little detail?”

Reaching into his coat, the detective pulled out a yellow notepad with one hand and clicked a pen with the other. “Yes, please,” he responded. “Let’s start with your name.”

“Tanana, my friends call me Nani…at least they would if I had friends.”

“Is there a last name?”

“No.”

“Where are you from?”

“Born in Republic City.”

“Ok. Do you have any family we can contact?”

Curls shook furiously. “No family. Just me.”

The detective nodded. “How old are you?”

Nani bit her lip, hesitant. “I-I’m not 100% sure. Between 20 and 23, I think.”

His eyes flew up to her face, filled with confusion and possibly even concern.

“You grew up on the streets,” he responded, as though filling in the blanks. Despite her not asking him to.

The brunette’s expression was stone-like. After a while, the pity gets old.

Clearing his throat, the detective asked Nani to give her statement as truthfully and clearly as she could.

Eager to be done with it, Nani explained the events in the cemetery and the brothel, up until she met Madame Yoshino.

“I thought I was doing a show,” she explained. “But then I looked around, like really looked around, and I realized where I was.”

As she spoke, the detective scribbled furiously onto his notepad.

“Were you asked to perform any sexual acts?” He asked, his eyes not leaving the pad.

“Oh, no,” she responded nonchalantly. She noticed a dusting of pink on the detective’s face as he paused writing for a second. “But I saw quite a few people getting their rocks off in the audience.”

The writing paused momentarily, and then resumed. Nani watched the detective quietly as he wrote. His features just screamed with familiarity, but for some reason she couldn’t place it.

Seconds later, the man looked up and noticed her watching at him. “…I’m listening,” he prompted.

Nani shrugged, “I don’t have much else, sorry.”

Pursing his lips, the detective clicked his pen before stuffing it and the notepad back into his coat. He scooched his chair back and stood.

“Thank you for your statement,” he said curtly, resuming an air of professionalism. “My officers will be in here shortly to undo your cuffs and bring you your belongings.”

Nani nodded in response, watching him as he turned to leave. She almost let him go, but something nagged at her incessantly.

“Detective?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Yes?”

Rubbing the inside of her palm, Nani stared at the files in his hands. “What happened to that girl? Did she make it?”

A look of recognition flashed across his face, followed by somberness. Nani grimaced knowingly.

“No….she was one of ours,” he admitted soberly.

“Spirits….I’m sorry.”

A few seconds of uncomfortable silence lingered in the air.

“Me too,” he responded, closing the door behind him.

----

Less than thirty minutes later, Nani was freed. She wasted no time fleeing downstairs to the front lobby with her purse in hand, covering her chest. As she made her way down, she noticed a group of officers crowded around a radio, howling with laughter.

She paused, simultaneously amused and annoyed, wondering what they were listening to that was so funny.

“Turn it up, will ya?” A stout officer exclaimed, shoving one of his companions.

The taller, thinner one obliged, chuckling as he playfully punched the first officer back.

Nani lingered in the lobby of the precinct, her ears perked to the sound of Shiro Shinobi’s voice:

--“AAAANNND welcome back ladies and gentlemen to Channel 54 Radio. I’m your host, Shiro Shinobi, and tonight do we got a program for you!”

“Tonight, I am pleased to announce the premiere of our newest program, ‘Dispatches from Republic City’, hosted by the one, the only…

“MISTER BOOOOOOLIIIIIIN!!!! ALSO KNOWN AS NUKTUK: HERO OF THE SOUTH!”--

Nani’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. Her mind went back to the day of the audition. The man in front of her….did she ever catch a glimpse of his face? Then she remembered, he’d said his name to the ticketer.

Bolin.

A festive, over-the-top jingle played over the soundwaves as the officers whooped and hollered in front of Nani. A tiny, likely overworked and underpaid intern scrambled behind her, spilling a week’s worth of paper shreds around her like a burst of confetti.

It would’ve been comical...if it weren't absolutely maddening.

Nani didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the program. She stared blankly ahead of her as she marched out of the precinct and into the chilly night air. She was burning with so much rage the cold actually felt good on her skin.

For a few seconds, she watched a slurry of satomobiles pass her by and contemplated walking into traffic. And she might’ve done it if she hadn’t looked up and saw a faded Nuktuk poster plastered on the wall of the building beside her.

No, she told herself. You’re not going out like roadkill.

She glared at the actor’s face, memorizing the face of the man who’d stolen her dream from her. Oh, she knew him. Maybe not personally, but she remembered him from her days with the Wolfbats.

He was a cocky Pro-Bender with a pet rat, big whoop. He got his fame when he starred in the movers, even bigger whoop. Who was he to steal audition spots? Didn’t he get his fifteen minutes?

Nani took one last look at the poster before tearing it down and ripping it to bits. People walked past her in the streets, staring at her like she was crazy, but she couldn’t give a rat’s ass if she tried.

She was furious, mostly at herself for giving up so quickly after the audition but also at the universe for favoring that big, dirt-pushing lug over her when it knew how badly she needed this.

Well, no matter. If the spirits could play tricks….then so could she.

She hurried towards the nearest hotel, intent on getting some decent beauty rest. She’d likely have to dip her fingers in some poor sap’s pockets to fund an outfit change. She wasn’t sure about the hair and makeup, but she would find a way. She always did.

After all, she had to look good if she was going to meet Nuktuk, hero of the South.

#legend of korra #bolin #makorra #lok #bolin headcanons #bolin x reader #bolin x oc #wolfbats #whitefalls wolfbats #probending #korra

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