Not Too Far from the Yew Tree (an ATLA fanfiction)

The Grasses Unload Their Griefs on my Feet as if I were God

She wondered if the heavy atmosphere could really be mid-morning after all. They were seated at barstools under an awning with only a few feet behind them to the half-curtain-draped entryway. On the narrow bamboo-wood bar the cook slammed their bowls down without a word then returned to stir the next customer's order in the cast iron wok. The stand was filled with cough-inducing fumes smoky with onion and capsaicin blocked in by the steady rain. The dirt floor puddled with rivulets streaking across.

The zha jiang mian was rough and hearty but amazingly good after a night of drinking, the noodles freshly made and the ground pork crisp in glossy rich sauce. The liquor had been watered down—the reason both that it was so cheap and that she was spared a hangover. Tea in footed heavy mugs was thrown down in front of them, sloshing over the rim. Apparently the typical customers gave the owner trouble and he'd long ago abandoned all sense of hospitality and gentleness. Despite the frequent state of rain, it looked like the chef hadn't known the touch of water for months. His apron was more oil stain than fabric and set wrinkled over his prominent round gut. He cracked an egg to fry and put his hand on his waist, not bothering to wipe the trace of eggwhite-slime off first, watching it sizzle in the oil like it was a criminal.

Zuko had found them both outfits in rough Earth colors of muted green and beige. He certainly looked like he fit into that atmosphere with various scars, his eye covered and other set into a habitual scowl whenever they weren't alone, and black hair thrown into a sloppy bun he wouldn't let her fix. Their cloaks were draped over the backs of their chairs. He didn't want everyone in the harbor town to know she was a waterbender, so she had let the rain soak them both helplessly to keep in character.

The rain didn't let up. By afternoon they'd bought everything they could want for the trip and left it piled on their bed, the only safe area of the shared room. Jet, in a rage that Azula (actually Zuko) had called for a maid, was doubling down to filth it back up in record time and had started smashing the furniture and upturning their luggage, shouting every slur and curse he could think of at her while she smirked at him from the safety of the bed knowing he dared not actually touch her. Zuko shook his head as they slipped back out, though it was a question if, in his state of fresh noon drunkenness, Jet had even noticed their visit.

"He'll die of a self-inflicted ulcer at this rate," he said as they returned to the inn's entryhall, eyeing the still-falling rain. "If he starts drinking again tomorrow I'll have to beat sense back into him."

"Can we do anything in this rain?"

"There's nothing much in town except food and booze. Apparently no one in this place has heard of an umbrella. It rains three quarters of the year and they just walk around in it like it's business as usual."

She replied, "Not even waterbenders enjoy being perpetually drenched." It was afternoon but so dark it could have passed for late evening. With such a heavy meal in their stomachs neither would feel hungry again before dinner and there weren't much in the way of luxury services like hotsprings or gardens for entertainment. "Let's just go for a walk and enjoy the fresh air."

With their hoods up and keeping to cover when possible, the rain wasn't intolerable. Most of the structures were built of local wood and, in that humid environment, moss grew on every surface, which they routinely had to scrape off as it would slowly decompose the construction materials it lived on. The harbor was pitted by heavy raindrops on the water's surface and reflected the grey of the sky. Window-shopping killed an hour parsing through odds and ends and foreign imports, half of which were likely stolen or fraudulent in some capacity, and the portside market district was the only draw of the town as it held few residents who were not involved in the trade or providing services to the sailors. Frogs croaked in flooded-out seasonal ponds and mushrooms sprouted with frequency, growing to large sizes. She'd seen the same species used in the local cuisine and thought they must harvest whatever grew of its own accord. Pig-chickens wandered loose, grazing on scraps from the restaurants and picking worms from the soaking-wet soil as they surfaced to escape the flood and breathe. Small hutches for them had been built into spare spaces but were in disrepair.