We’d like to get this up and running, so in the interest of… that, our 100th follower will get a customized graphic for the fanfiction of their choice. Awesome.
Mako shot Bolin a horrified look, his hand coming to rest on his pocket where he’d stored the yuans. It was all the money he had until who knows when. He couldn’t give it up.
“Cut the garbage. Are we gonna stay here and beat our gums all night, or are you gonna give us what we want?” the goateed teenager rough handling Bolin demanded, his tone irritated, his body tense and jumpy. There was a slightly crazed look in his eyes, one Mako had occasionally recognized in his own. The guy was starving, probably hadn’t eaten in a week or more, which made him all the more dangerous.
“I’m sorry, Mako. I was just hungry,” Bolin cried, his lower lip trembling.
“Shut up!” The stocky one punched Bolin in the gut and that’s when Mako attacked. He went into defender mode, bending the flames he’d formed in his hands to lash out, first at the one who was holding Bolin, then at the one who had punched him.
“Shit, he’s a bender!” the one with the cigarette cried out, ducking away from the flames as the one holding Bolin let him go.
“Do it, Bolin!” Mako yelled, swinging into a roundhouse kick at the tallest boy, hoping to hit him in the neck and knock him over, but he missed and was thrown to the ground.
Laughing, the tall teen and the smoker were about to pummel Mako when a block of earth extended so violently out of the ground that Mako heard the tall thug’s jaw break, blood and broken teeth spilling out of his mouth as he screamed in pain. The smoker’s own jaw dropped in surprise, his cigarette falling to the ground as he turned and ran away, his oily haired friend at his heels. Scurrying to his feet, Mako threw a punch at the shorter teen, bending fire out of the heel of his palm, scorching the boy’s coat. Bolin had his brother’s back, using his earthbending to throw rocks at the thug.
There’s nothing. Nothing catches, no trickle of other-worldly energy, no force and grace weighted with centuries of age. Korra breathes in, breathes out. Still nothing. Her fists are pressing so hard she feels like she’ll break her fingers, and her teeth are clenched, and there’s nothing. She pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls, feels the ground under her feet rattle with her anger; her blood boils in desperation, and her breath chokes in her throat, and there’s nothing.
Her eyes fly open, and she turns, seeking Tenzin out in the crowd. “I can’t find it!” she gasps, before she has a moment to think about whether or not she can admit this on city-side television, before she thinks about any of the implications. “Tenzin,” and her words are breathless like she’s forgotten how to airbend, “I can’t find the Avatar State.”
It’s, like, impossible to be a fan of Mako’s today. Or yesterday. Or the day before. But whatever, she has to be about the peace, the harmony, and the extreme sensibility of her supposed-nature. She promised to play nice for Bolin, anyway.
But after Tahno, she is so not in the mood (she feels pretty guilty, okay?) and for once, in the fast open space that is the Island, she just wants ten minutes to herself to blow things up. Problem is it never works out that way.
“You’re not okay,” Mako calls.
“Ugh,” she groans, her hands dropping to her sides. The footing is lost. The panels are on the other side of the house; today she’s usually actual dummies that she actually just wants to set on fire. “Seriously, you need to work on your terrible timing. I am now convinced it’s a thing.”
“You’re not okay,” he repeats.