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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years ago

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Of Farms Fairs & Fame (Part 9)

The smell of corndogs, popcorn, and cotton candy perfumed the air. The better part of his very early morning had been spent in the kitchen with Kya. He only had a chance to leave it when Katara came in panting and huffing, declaring that, “that pump’in is too dang big.” Longing for an excuse to leave the kitchen he had shot a glance at his mother. She rolled her eyes and dismissed him from his kitchen duties. He was sure that his mother could handle it on her own anyhow. He stood over the pumpkin, it had to weigh at least fifty pounds. “How’d y’all even git it so big?” Sokka had asked.

Katara shrugged. “Suppose it’s all ‘bout luck.”

“And skill.” She had to have a green thumb to grow a pumpkin that large. “Now watch how a real man does it.” He wriggled his fingers before stooping over and trying to heave the pumpkin into his arms. He huffed, the weight of the thing hadn’t been the problem so much as the shape of it.

He flushed, finally admitting that he needed help too.

Together the siblings managed to get the pumpkin into the back of his truck and ready for the fair. The rest of his morning had been spent helping Kya arrange her stall at the fair. She vowed that she had finally made the perfect pie. She hadn’t unveiled it yet, but his nose certainly agreed that she had cooked the best pie.

Currently, Sokka walked next to Azula, listening to the crunch of gravel beneath her studded turquoise cowgirl boots. She wore a matching cowgirl hat that helped to shade her face. She stared at the ground, acting much quieter than usual. “Wan’ me ta buy ya some’a the popped corn or somethin’?” She hated when he called it popped corn, if that couldn’t evoke a response from her, then he didn’t know what would.

She shrugged, “I guess.”

“What are ya bein’ so quiet fer?” It occurred to him. “Y’all were able ta write a song weren’t ya?”

“Yeah, Sokka, I wrote a song…”

“Yer gonna sing it, right?”

“Course I’m gonna sing it.” She replied. “What’s the point ‘a writin’ a song if I ain’t gonna sing it?”

“Ya gonna sing it in fon’a people?”

Azula rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Sokka. That’s what I wrote it fer.”

He slung an arm over over her shoulder and guided her to one of the food stalls. He promised her the popped corn, he was gonna get her the popped corn. Hell, he even threw in a vanilla, chocolate swirl ice cream cone and a pretzel. Hesitantly, Azula took the pretzel and slid him a few dollar bills. “What’s this fer? I said I’d buy it fer ya?”

“Yer family ain’t got the money ta be spendin’ on someone who already got it.” She answered. “Thanks fer the thought though.”

Sokka sighed, she always did have a habit of making acts of kindness more complicated than need be. “I hear they’re havin’ a yodelin’ contest…”

She cut him off. “Trust me, I hear it too and I’d like to stop.”

Sokka rolled his eyes but laughed. “A’right, I take it ya don’ wanna git front row seats.”

“Not at all.” She confirmed.

“How ‘bout goin’ ta visit them piglets?” He offered. She turned her head and he knew that she was smiling. She had a soft spot for the piglets since they were children.

“Sure, we ken go ‘n see the pigs.”

“Good, ‘cause I wan’ed to see this year’s selection a goats ‘n cows… ‘n the chickens… ‘n the horses. Aw heck, I wanna pet em’ all.”

“Even the rabbits?” Azula asked. “Or are y’all traumatized?”

“Yup, e’en them rabbits.” He looked at the time, they only had an hour or two before the horse races began. He took hold of Azula’s hand and hurried her along. He sure hoped that things were going well for TyLee.

.oOo.

Azula let Sokka tug her through the crowd, mostly because she hadn’t exactly expected the oaf to take her hand. He was particularly chipper that day, leaving Azula with the impression that his family’s gardening endeavors were going well.

At last, Sokka came to a stop in front of the pigpens. “Look at this one!” He pointed. Azula followed the direction of his finger. Rolling about in the mud was probably one of the teeniest little piglets Azula had ever gazed upon. It had to be the runt of the litter.

“Ken we hol’ ‘im?” Sokka asked of the owner.

“Go right on ahead.”

Azula lifted the small thing out of its pen. “I oughta steal ‘im.” Azula whispered to Sokka.

“Don’ go ‘n do that!” He exclaimed. But Azula admitted that she wasn’t quiet listening. More or less, her focus was on the fuzzy, pink baby in her hands. She stroked his fur for the longest time, long enough for Sokka to warder on over to the goat stalls. Sparing the overhead clock a glance, Azula returned the piglet to its pen, albeit, a little bit reluctantly. She made her way back to Sokka’s side. “It’s almost time for TyLee’s race to begin.”

“Best head ta the track then.” He replied. He caught her eye. “Ya gonna tell me wha’s botherin’ ya?”

Azula held her silence for a while longer. “She’s still havin’ trouble ridin’.” It was easier than admitting that she was nervous about her own upcoming performance, but it was true enough. “Ain’t matter how much she practice, she can’t go that fast with her leg the way it is…”

TyLee told her as much the last time she visited. Apparently, her doctor had advised against riding at all, lest the bumps and leaps rattle her fragile bone more.

But TyLee had a stubborn streak in her to match Azula’s own.

“I’m purtty sure Ty ken handle ‘erself.”

“Yeah. I sure hope so…”

.oOo.

TyLee squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t even supposed to be here right now, her mother had made that clear as rain water in a bucket. She sure hoped that TyLao was playing her part convincingly. At least there was one perk to having six siblings that looked exactly like her. Though, it might have been more practical for TyLao to fill in for her. But there was no pride in that, what was the point of a blue ribbon if she didn’t win it for herself?

There was a pulsing in her injured leg, but that might have been the product of her imagination and stress. She drew in a few deep inhales. She heard the shot of a gun and the clamor of metal against metal as the gates swung open. She gave Kahnim’s reigns a flick.

The first few furlongs went well, she could feel the mid-autumn wind tossing her hair and the familiar trills of freedom that came with it. Intermingling with the breathy hiss of air was the sound of cheering and yelling. She tried to put that out of her mind, tried to tell herself that it was just she and Kahnim running through another practice round.

His hooves pounded promisingly on the gravel.

He had all the power he needed.

All the power that she had trained him to use.

The weakness lay in TyLee herself.

And the weakness displayed itself halfway through. A mist of tears hazed her vision as each jolt and bump, each hoof fall became rougher on her bad leg. She gritted her teeth and pushed on. She was clinging to second and pushing for first and she wouldn’t lose that to an ill-timed injury.

Perhaps she should have just accepted second place.

Instead she flicked Kahnim’s reigns, urging him to go a little faster, at least enough to pull ahead during the final stretch. Such a feat was no problem for him. For TyLee, it was another matter, one that made itself known the moment Kahnim picked up speed. The sharp pang that shot up her leg came with intensity so forceful she let go of the reigns. She only managed to just grasp them in time to keep herself from toppling to the ground.

Though she had jerked Kahnim good with that one. She heard the gallop of a dozen passing horses, but it didn’t matter because, by the time her own had slowed himself, she was dangling precariously from his saddle.

She didn’t even want to look at her leg.

She definitely should have settled for second place. TyLee didn’t know if she had cried out in frustration or in pain, it was probably a combination of both. A rare occurrence where she couldn’t muster a shred of optimism.

Faintly, through a fog of pain, she could hear the announcement that called the race to a halt amid the sympathetic moans of spectators. And that was just it, it was all over. She knew it was when they carefully moved her from the discomforts of the track gravel and under one of the shaded tents where stood her mother, Mai, and Azula--who leaned some onto Sokka--all looking every bit as somber as one another.

“I blew it…” She mumbled.

.oOo.

The look on TyLee’s face. That soft crack in her voice. The bleakness in her eyes. It all followed Azula backstage. She truly tried not to dwell on it, TyLee had told her not to worry about her. But she did. She did because, deep down she still knew that she had a pretty decent hand in how things unfolded for her friend.

She gave her lyrics one last once over. Was she really going to sing this one? Sokka kept his distance, he knew her moods well enough to do so. Part of her wanted to approach him, to try to alleviate his concern, but she didn’t much feel like standing at the moment. Evidently she felt rather sick. Seeing TyLee on a stretcher for a second time had done her no favors.

She listened to the careful drawl of Yue as she sang through her last verse. Honestly, the girl’s voice was heavenly and she noted that she wasn’t even trying to make a career of it--that it was just something she did as a hobby.

“Good luck.” Sokka smiled warmly, she allowed the boy to pat her back once or twice.

Azula picked up her acoustic guitar, checking once more to make sure that it was in tune. She spared Sokka a final backwards glance as the announcer called her to the stage. Sokka gave her a bright grin and a thumbs up. The curtains parted and she played the opening cords.

She opened her mouth. They were there, the lyrics, right on the tip of her tongue. She knew them well, all she had to do was let them go. But somehow, with a couple hundred onlookers, she couldn’t seem to do so. A couple hundred strangers didn’t need to know that her mother had taken up a drinking habit because of her. They didn’t need to know how that made her feel.

They didn’t need to know any of it.

She wondered just why the hell she hadn’t just written a song about a dumbass farmer who was trying to protect his ma’s garden from rouge rabbits. Hell, would have been better off taking Sokka’s suggestion to write lyrics about a grasshopper.

It would have been better than the nothing she was spouting now.

Had her head been clear she might have settled for at least giving an instrumental performance.

But between a very vivid image of the angle of TyLee’s leg and the weight of her nerves finally coming down full force, she could only think of a quick retreat.

Azula wasn’t one for fleeing, but she knew when to call it quits. Knew when she had been beaten. She best surrender with what little honor she had left and hope that her father didn’t regret buying her that guitar.

#Avatar #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #TyLee #Mai #Fanfiction

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