Egg & Koji Scribbles

No words.

No thoughts.

His breathing uneven as the world falls to nothing more than her.

No! I’m not doing this again. I don’t have time for dating, he mentally chastises himself, but his body betrays him. He can’t turn away; locked on her.

Young. His age, maybe. She has to be to pull off that dress. A floor-length satin gown in a rosy cream color with intricate ivory crystals; colors paler in contrast to the hints of warm tan skin. Lacy long sleeves with a high neck and dangerously low open back. His eyes trace the soft curve of her exposed shoulder blades and his mouth dries up like he sucked on a pair of cotton socks.

She’s short-too short to get noticed by a couple of big wigs and she darts to avoid being sandwiched between. Her little bounce to get noticed by a bartender causes a ripple in her gown that pulls the fabric tight around her healthy waist and generous hips.

For a shameful moment, Mako wonders if she’s wearing the strappy heels with the ribbon around the ankles that he likes. Heat crawls up his neck and face. Damnit...

A giddy reporter doesn't notice the girl and she gets shoved to the floor with a furious pout. Blame it on biology or his deep-rooted need to be a protector, but Mako jumps in to rescue the damsel-in-distress. Cool-under-fire. He bends a knee to help her up. “Excuse me, Miss, are you alright?”

“Mako? I didn’t think you’d be here.” Asami’s voice behind him brings him to a halt.

The dream girl turns her face in his direction. Her annoyed, puffy cheeked pout fades.

What. The. Fuck.

“H-hanai?!”

"Expecting somebody else?" she asks then stands to fix her gown. The bartender leaves a dark whiskey on the glass top that she grabs and brushes past a paralyzed Mako without a second glance. That's... impossible. There's no way! She's so... beautiful-No! What the fuck is wrong with me?! This is Hanai! S-she can't look like that! Or so he tries to convince himself.

But his traitorous body turns as Hanai joins Asami standing with Mr. Guo. She hands her father the drink and takes a flute of champagne from a passing platter that she sips while trying her best to avoid the firebender’s extremely obvious and extremely rude open-mouthed gawking.

“Mako, did you hear what I said?” Asami asks him concerned.

“No,” he whispers, then clears his throat but chokes. Mr. Guo holds out his whiskey, but Mako flails his hand to deny it. “I-I’m fine, thanks! What, uh, what did you say Asami?!”

“You hate events like this. Did Korra invite you and Bolin?” The heiress looks over the people to try and find his brother or Korra.

“Uh, yeah.” His eyes linger on her friend quietly sipping her drink. Greedy blazing eyes etch every unnoticed feature onto his brain like a red hot brand. Her affectionate doll-like face with an adorable stubby nose and wide cheekbones. The deep arch in the bow of her top lip and the softness of the plump bottom. And those eyes...

Her father pulls his focus away as he says, “the city is in a buzz about the Avatar’s daring infiltration of the rally. It’s difficult to believe Amon is capable of such terrifying power. I am relieved your brother was not harmed and for not believing your claims of his kidnapping, my daughter and I owe you both and the Avatar our sincerest apologies.”

The businessman’s daughter looks up at Mako and for the first time in years, the cool-under-fire pro-bender is anything but.

Daunting storm clouds gather in the depths of guarded slate blue eyes. Gentle chestnut waves fall over one of her shoulders as she copies her father’s low bow. Dark lashes fan wide cheekbones from her lowered gaze.

Geez with looks like that, why should the rest of us have bothered dressing up? As if she needs another hit to her decreasing self-confidence, Korra realizes one of them is Asami.

“Korra,” Tarrlok says, “it is my pleasure to introduce to the beloved wife and daughter of Republic City's most famous industrialist, Yasuko Sato, and Asami Sato."

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Sato, and actually, Asami and I have already met a few times,” Korra says with a cheerful grin.

“You look great Korra,” Asami says and smiles at her.  

When Korra was a little girl, her mother used to say, 'the best way to know if someone is genuinely happy is if their eyes smile when they do. It’s how you know they mean it.'

Something about Asami's eyes makes her want to hide away with her tail tucked between her legs as if someone shouldn’t be that happy to see her; not when she's done nothing to deserve it.

“I-thanks,” Korra says with an awkward crooked grin, “you two look...wow, amazing! I...sort of... feel out of place.”

“Oh, nonsense, you look appropriate,” Mrs. Sato’s breathy laugh could bring men to their knees. “You know my daughter had much to say about your daring rescue for your friend.”

“Really?” Korra asks, surprised. “Well, she was supposed to help us, but the driver came to get her.”

Asami’s eyes wide-eyed as her mother arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow and says, “oh...I see. Well, regardless, we're all expecting great things from you.”

At the reminder that she has yet to accomplish anything worthy of the Avatar's title, Korra meekly replies, “Right….greatness…”

Mrs. Sato bows to her before inclining her head to Asami then walking away. Her daughter follows like a disobedient child about to be scolded.

Korra whispers, “Did I just get you in trouble?!”

“I don’t know,” Asami stops to whisper back. “My mother isn’t a fan of me doing anything remotely adventurous .”

“I am so sorry!” she groans and grimaces.

Asami waves her concern aside with a gentle smile, “It’s okay.”

"You do know there's a front door, right?" his brother smirks at her.

She grumbles something incomprehensible and stomps over to gear up then joins them for warm-ups.

Korra catches the medicine ball and groans, "What's the big idea with making me train this early in the morning?" She bends her elbows to toss the ball to Bolin and dips her voice. "The morning is evil."

Bolin catches it and shrugs. "We're the rookies so we get the worst time slot in the gym."

Mako huffs as it gets passed to him. "And you're the rookiest of us all. We gotta get you up to speed if you want to survive in the tournament." He tries to push away intruding thoughts from his mind and accidentally tosses the ball back to Korra with unnecessary roughness. "Deal with it!"

"You deal with it!" She tosses the ball back to him, and he's knocked completely off his feet.

He lands skidding on his back. Don't. Say. Anything. She's the Avatar and she will kill you.

“There are my little hardworking street urchins.”

Mako picks himself up as Butakha strolls in and introduces himself to Korra, then he replaces his hat and reaches into his coat for a fat stack of Republic City yuans he hands to a grinning Mako. “Here's your winnings from the last match.”

Perfect, a few more wins and we can get out of-

“Ah-ah! Not so fast,” Butakha wags his thick sausage finger at him. “First, you owe me for the Avatar's new gear-” a few bills disappeared from the top “-gym and equipment rentals for last month.”

Mako reaches for his pocket, but the slimy coordinator stops him, takes payment for rent and a new, new to him at least, personal loan for groceries. He’s left empty-handed and snaps an angry pout at his little brother. “A grocery loan?”

“What?” Bolin shrugs and rubs his stomach. “I'm a growing boy!”

“Oh! And one more small item of business. The Fire Ferrets need to ante up thirty thousand yuans for the Championship pot,” Butahka adds nonchalantly.

“Thirty thousand yuans!?”

“Sorry, kids. You've got till the end of the week to come up with the dough, or else, you're out of the tournament.” He pats Mako on the shoulder, then leaves the gym.

Bolin cranes his head in Korra’s direction. “You wouldn't happen to have a secret Avatar bank account, overflowing with gold, would you?”

Her mouth twists into an awkward grimace as she turns her pockets inside out to show that they're empty. “I got nothing. I've never really needed money. I've always had people taking care of me.”

“Then I wouldn't say you have nothing,” Mako says in an indifferent tone. He picks up the medicine ball and packs it into an equipment bag.

“Sorry, I didn't mean…”

“No, it's alright,” Bolin says with a meek smile. “It's just... ever since we lost our parents, we've been on our own.”

“I'm so sorry. I didn't know.”

Mako zips the bag and throws it over his shoulder. “So anyway, I can see if I can pull a double at the plant if you two keep up with drills.”

“Oh oh or I've been thinking I could maybe see if any of the construction sites need a cleanup crew!” Bolin claps.

“I thought construction companies only wanted metalbenders?” Korra asks.

“Yeah, but they hire regular earthbenders to clean up after jobs when the metalbenders are too tired.”

Mako sighs, “you tried that once and got fired because you made Pabu a mini Republic City. Come on, Bolin, be serious.”

Bolin lowers his gaze and brings Pabu close to his body. “I was serious…”

“Don't worry. I'll take care of it.”

His supervisor allows him to take the extra shift but says it will reach his limit for overtime the owner is willing to pay this month. It might be enough to complete the thirty thousand needed for the pot if he adds all of their savings to it. With Korra on the team, they might have a better chance to win this year. It’s another year of being stuck in the attic if they don’t.

Mako leaves his jacket and scarf in the employee locker room and grabs a thick leather protective apron, rubber gloves, and a forging mask. He and the other lightning generating firebenders line up to enter a large open factory floor with several ceiling-high electrical capacitors in the middle of the room. Pairs of firebenders and earthbenders manipulate flames and coal into roaring boilers while the lightning generators file into single strip rows on both sides of the machines.

He stands in front of his station, his partner on the other side who waits for his green light. A few of the council issued “morale” posters reflect on the glass visor of his mask. Pin-up girls clad in all types of risque swimsuits riding giant bolts of lighting. Showgirls clutching onto dim-witted, grinning Lees snapping lighting from their fingertips. All with slogans like: “The City needs it’s Lightning Champs” or “Dames love a Man with a Spark”. Bullshit, it’s all propaganda...

His station light shines red and his partner charges up his hands then releases his bolt. Mako inhales through his nose and on the exhale he points his index and middle fingers together to launch his. Now his partner. Then back to him.

Inhale. Charge.

Exhale. Release.

Back and forth for hours, passing the whistle for lunch and the whistle for shift change. He gets a new partner and the process repeats itself. Sometimes the guys chat while they work; about the latest game, about their wives or girlfriends-sometimes both. One guy always complains about a funny itch he gets after seeing some of the girls around Dragonflats Borough. Sometimes they try to talk to him. Other times they don’t. They know by now he’s too serious. Too focused. On his job, his team, his little brother.

No time to waste thinking about cute girls who return home from a long time away from the city.

The steam whistle sounds. His shift ends.

A quick stop to get dinner for himself and Bolin, and he’s back at the arena by sunset. He drags himself up the stairs and calls out, “Bo! I'm back! Picked up your favorite dumplings.” Mako groans and his body hits the couch with a thud. He stretches his neck over the edge of the couch. After a snap and a few pops, a wave of tension rolls away from his shoulders. The still warm dumplings call to him. He flicks open the paperback and shoves one of the fluffy bundles of meat and barbecue in his mouth. Strangely the sound of the bag rustling didn’t send his brother or Pabu flying down from the loft. Mako slows his chewing to call through a mouthful, “Bolin? You here, bro?”

No answer or sound except traffic outside.

“Huh.” He swallows and reaches for another one, but the briny smell of Yue Bay catches his attention. He twists to look out at Air Temple Island behind him then smirks. “Figures, I bet the little lovebird is making a house call.”