Work Text:
"You like that one?"
A cloaked traveller looked up from the painting he'd been perusing at the shopkeeper's question.
"She's a pretty one, in't she?" the shopkeeper spoke again, remarking on the girl in the painting that the man had been studying. "Her name was Katori. Helped the Avatar save the world, you know."
The man nodded along to the shopkeeper's statement. "Did she."
"Yessir. She was a powerful bender, what I heard. Well, depends who ye'ask," he amended, crossing his arms. "With a face like that, I don' care how good a bender she was. It's clear why the Avatar kept 'er around." The shopkeeper grinned as he said this.
The man pursed his lips and turned his head back to study the visage of the young woman on the canvas. "What happened to her?" he asked, his tone mild.
The shopkeeper shrugged. "I'm not real sure, t'be honest. She didn't live too long after the war, though."
The man pulled his traveling cloak more tightly around his shoulders, as though there were a draft in the room. "I see."
His eyes swept once again over the swirled oils constituting the girl's lovely, youthful face. In his mind, the dull backdrop faded away and was replaced by lush, green foliage. Her carefully stroked, sea blue eyes became brighter and full of life. The sun caught her hair as she turned her face up to the treetops where jungle birds were twittering carelessly.
"Do you ever stop to think about what will happen if we don't survive this war?" she asked him, turning those bright blue eyes back to meet his own. "I do. Sometimes." Her face turned downcast and she dug the toe of her boot into the dirt in front of the log she was sitting on. "It's a very real possibility that not all of us will make it through this," she continued, the weight of her thoughts heavy on her features. She could never look ugly, but he thought he definitely preferred it when she smiled. "I guess that if I were to lose my life in this fight, I'd just want to be remembered, you know?" She frowned. "Maybe that's a selfish thing to say."
He was broken out of the memory when the shopkeeper cleared his throat. "So, are you lookin' to make a purchase today?" he inquired hopefully.
The man removed his eyes from the painting and shook his head. "I don't think that particular woman would appreciate being purchased." He turned his back on both the portrait and the shopkeeper. "There isn't enough gold in the world to afford her anyway."
He made his way to the shop door and opened it. Then he stopped, lifting a pale hand to the shaggy black bangs mostly hidden under the hood of his cloak to shelter his eyes from the bright afternoon sunlight. Not turning around, he added, "And her name was Katara."