The Girl With the Bread

The Train

For a few moments, Sokka and Toph take in the scene, still fighting to keep in their laughter. Their mentor sits contentedly on the ground, eyeing the situation around him and smiling like someone had just given him a basket of goodies. Obviously he isn't much, but he's all that they have. Sokka thinks maybe they should treat him a little better.

"Er..." He coughs and offers his hand to Iroh, who takes it gladly and eases himself to his feet. "Um. So, ah..."

"Thank you," Iroh says, brushing himself off. "I lost my footing in a momentary sense, but I'll be all right now."

Toph snorts behind him, her arms crossed over her pretty green dress. Sokka finds himself staring at her more than is really necessary.

"Well!" He claps his hands together, bringing Sokka back to earth. He shakes his head. Toph is a threat. She is no longer his friend. She is his death sentence. "Shall we discuss you both over a new pot of tea?"

He snaps his finger, and an Airbender comes rushing over, a steaming teapot in her hands. Iroh takes it, and Toph wrinkles her nose as she feels the girl rush past her. He can't blame her - Airbenders make him uncomfortable, and anyone from District 12 would say the same. They're so... formal. It doesn't make any sense to him.

The girl leaves, and he, Toph, and Iroh are left alone. He sits on one of the plush couches, gesturing for them to do the same. Sokka does. Toph does not.

"Ah, yes," Iroh sighs, and he knows he must have realized what a problem it would be guiding a blind tribute through the games. It's bad enough that District 12 hasn't had a victor in twenty five years, but she has absolutely no chance, however painful it is to admit. "First order of business - Toph."

"What?"

He strokes his beard, looking thoughtful. "We'll have to work something out for you so you can, er, 'see' in the arena."

"I can manage," she says stiffly.

"Yes, I'm sure you can," he continues, swift as a fox. "But there is nothing wrong with taking precautions. I will arrange for a walking stick to be placed at the Cornucopia." He winks, but of course she can't see him do it. "It may even have a few tricks up it's sleeve."

"I don't need a special stick," she snaps, her fists clenched. "I don't need anyone's help."

Sokka rolls his eyes. She can't seriously think that she doesn't need help? She won't last a day in her condition. He won't even last a day, and he has his sight. She doesn't. How can she be so snippy with Iroh? Doesn't she want a chance at life?

The truth hits him with a slap. She doesn't.

That's why she's here. She didn't ask for this, she volunteered. Why else would she? There can be no other reason. Toph must have a secret death wish. Why, he has no clue. What could possibly be wrong with her rich and haughty life?

Though he's never included Toph in image of the rich and haughty. She never seemed to run with her parent's crowd, with her father's crowd. She gave him pity bread, after all. They might not be friends, but they weren't just nothing. She has shared talk with him, shared secrets. She kissed him on the cheek today. That was something her father would most certainly not approve of. She has a rebellious streak, and Sokka has to admire that about her. There must be something he does not know.

"Ah, but you do," Iroh says. "I'll have the stick added to the weapons immediately."

"I told you. I don't need any help. I'm strong enough for this."

"Accepting help is it's own kind of strength," he says quietly, and Sokka snorts involuntarily. He can't be serious. That isn't strength, that's   charity. No matter how flawed his father is, he knows he would rather die than accept charity. It simply isn't done in District 12.