Chapter Text
Knock, knock. “You’re awake, right?” Knock, knock, knock. “Bumi?”
Kya waits for a few moments at the door, but there’s no answer, not even the sound of movement. So she has to go inside. Great.
Taking a deep breath, Kya throws the door open as wide as she can before marching into the Dread Cave of Boy-Stink that is her big brother’s bedroom. She’s grateful that the open door lets in plenty of light, so she can navigate the piles of clothes littering his floor. Scrunched up in one corner of his bed under a tangle of sheets, Bumi would almost blend in, if not for his gentle snoring and unruly shock of dark hair.
She shakes him by the shoulder, which only gets a mutter out of him about the floor being lava before he settles down again. Still holding her breath, she claps her hands in his face. When that doesn’t work, she claps on his face, which finally rouses him.
“Ngah!” His eyes shoot open, but he doesn’t bother sitting up. “…Ky? What’s the standing ovation for?” He can only squint at her stupidly while she gestures at the door. It’s time to get up, obviously!
Her breath and her patience run out simultaneously. “I said I’d come get you for breakfast!” After a moment to process the air quality, she adds, “Yech! It’s like you sleep in a butt.” It’s a testament to his grogginess that Bumi doesn’t giggle at this.
“What? Ugh, I’ll just grab something later.” He rolls over, putting his back to her.
Before he can drift off again, Kya gives him a good shove. “It’s Tenzin’s birthday, remember? Dad’s doing a thing.” He just grunts and pulls the blankets tighter, so she tries her sweet little sister voice on him. “He’s really excited about it, and we’re all supposed to be there. Please…?”
To this, Bumi just makes exaggerated snoring noises, which is rude, frankly.
“If I have to be there, so do you!” That gets him up.
“You’re half my age!” he shoots back as he sits up to face her. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!”
“Nuh-uh! I’m turning eight in a month and a half, remember?”
“…I mean, no? Why would I remember that?”
Kya feels her lip quiver, a sign it’s time to retreat. “Fine, stay in bed! Dad’s the one who cares, not me!” She leaves in a huff, giving a pile of clothes a kick on the way out for good measure. It actually makes the room look cleaner, somehow.
Bumi can’t help but notice that she leaves his door wide open, which he supposes he can’t blame her for. That was a little mean of him. He contemplates closing it and going back to sleep, but he’s basically awake now, anyway.
After a good yawn ‘n’ stretch, he scoots off the edge of his bed and smacks his lips. Does his mouth actually taste like old socks, or is that just the ambiance in here? Sensing movement, his stomach gives a tremendous growl. Fine, breakfast it is, but not because Kya told him to.
He does a quick underwear check to make sure nothing too embarrassing is happening down there before he grabs a handy pair of pants off his floor and hops into them. This pair is only a couple of months old, and they’re already pinching at the hips and showing too much ankle.
It really is a raw deal, being a teenager. Just when you’ve finally made peace with the way you were born, your body gets crazy with the hormones and turns monstrous. Bumi’s in the middle of a big growth spurt, and he’s never felt more awkward in his life. Always lumbering around like a kid on stilts, his bones full of needles. He can only hope that when this is all finished his hands will finally be the right size for his body.
* * *
“I had this stuff all the time growing up at the Southern Air Temple.” Aang proudly holds up a fat glass jar of …something. It’s thick and white. Yogurt is Kya’s best guess. But why would Dad be this happy about yogurt? Is this just a dad thing, like cooking outdoors?
“Flying bison milk!” Okay, that makes sense. “It’s a rare delicacy now, but your dad pulled a few strings.”
“Sweetie, you’re the Avatar,” says Katara. “I’m pretty sure you can get whatever kind of milk you want.” She smiles at the acolytes as they set out two pots of hot tea.
“But this is special!” Aang’s grin broadens, and Kya knows what’s coming next. This is a Teachable Moment. “Say, would either of you happen to know why it’s so hard to get this?”
Kya glances over at Tenzin before saying the first thing that comes to her mind, even knowing it’s probably not the answer her dad wants. “Well, there aren’t a lot of them left?”
“True, but what’s the big reason?” He looks at little Tenzin expectantly while Katara pours the tea.
“Because we’re trying to make more,” answers the Golden Child. “Lots of babies need lots of milk, so every drop is presush.”
“Precious,” corrects Kya under her breath.
She’s surprised at how glad she is to hear the distinct patter of Bumi coming down the stairs. She turns to see him push past the gaggle of acolytes crowding the doorway and shoot them a wary look. It’s times like this when they both realize how deeply weird it is to grow up surrounded by your dad’s personal fan club.
Katara smiles at Bumi, despite his unkempt appearance, and pours him some tea. “Good morning,” she says in that sugary sweet Mom voice of hers. It practically kisses you on the forehead.
Bumi plops down in his seat, and Kya is leaning over to let him know what he missed when his odor assaults her. “Blugh!” She rears back, pinching her nose melodramatically. “Don’t you sit next to me!”
Undeterred, Bumi smirks and leans closer, and Kya knows he’s doing this on purpose. His hair is somehow even messier than usual, flat on one side where it was smashed against a pillow, and he’s obviously wearing dirty clothes off of his floor. His shirt isn’t even buttoned all the way!
“Get used to it ‘cuz that’s the smell of manliness!” says Bumi with no small amount of pride.
“Mom, make Bumi wash his pits!”
“What, and miss birthday breakfast?”
Aang’s cheerfully oblivious, as usual. “Hey, since we’re all here for a change, let’s just dig in, huh?” He dollops a generous portion into everyone’s bowl, himself last. “It’s especially good for when the weather gets cold because it’s packed with fat!” he adds, like that’s just the coolest thing ever.
For someone who didn’t want to get up ten minutes ago, Kya’s almost startled by Bumi’s sudden enthusiasm for breakfast. He doesn’t waste any time, grabbing up all of the serving bowls and tossing ample amounts of berries, toasted oats, and chopped nuts into his own, before giving it a good drizzle of honey. His first heaping spoonful is halfway to his mouth when Kya asks him, “Don’t you wanna know what that is?”
“Is it poison?”
“No, don’t be dumb.”
Bumi shrugs and starts shoveling. When he notices Kya watching, he can’t help but ask, “Oh crap, it is poison, isn’t it?” through a mouth of half-chewed food. He’s either suicidal or trying to be funny because he doesn’t actually stop eating. If anything, he speeds up.
Kya rolls her eyes and turns her attention to Tenzin, who’s sniffing his own bowl of milk with apprehension. Of course, this gives her an idea.
While Aang is busy tossing the proper amount of toppings into Katara’s bowl, Kya leans over and whispers conspiratorially, “Psst, Tenzin.” He looks up at her with such trusting, innocent eyes that she almost feels guilty when she says, “Dad really loves this stuff, huh? I bet he’d drink it all by itself when he was a kid.”
Tenzin blinks. “Yeah?” His brow furrows. “Hm.” To Kya’s delight, he turns to his bowl with determination and lifts it to his lips. She nudges Bumi, and they both watch as the birthday boy takes a big gulp of plain flying bison milk, with spectacular results.
It’s a battle of willpower against instinct as Tenzin struggles to keep from heaving the milk right back up. He’s on the verge of a triumphant swallow when his stomach revolts, but with his mouth clamped shut, the only place left for the milk to go is out the poor kid’s nose.
Which it does. Explosively. “SSSNNRRRRT—”
“EEEHEEEHEEHEE!”
“PfftHAAAAHAHAHAAA!”
Both Kya and Bumi are helpless with laughter, all rivalry forgotten in this moment of shared joy.
“Bumi!” Katara glares across the table at her oldest as Aang does damage control.
“What?! I didn’t do anything!” He points at Kya. “It was her!”
“I did not!”
“You did something! I was minding my own business!”
“Yeah, well, you stink like an old dead butt!”
“You stink!”
“Nuh-uh! I smell clean and pretty.”
“I meant metaphorically.”
Deciding that “metaphorically” must mean something especially horrifying, Kya’s about to argue back when Tenzin’s sobs finally register in her ears. Aang’s cleaning him up as best he can, but the shame won’t wipe off as easily.
Aang holds up a napkin to the five-year-old’s flushed face. “Here, just blow it out. Not too hard.” A honk and a snort. “See? It’s okay.”
“I-I-I’b sorryyyy… Dun’t be mad…”
“Whoa, I’m not mad! Just a little spilled milk. That looked like it hurt, though.”
“Y-yeah… I din’t b-b-bean to w-waste…”
This is too pathetic to bear. With a sigh, Kya confesses, “I just thought he could try drinking it.” That’s as much as they’re getting out of her, anyway. She folds her arms, daring her parents to punish her, but Aang just shakes his head.
“This could’ve gone better,” he says. “I guess it’s an acquired taste. Don’t feel bad if you don’t like it.” He glances at Kya and Bumi, perking up when he sees the latter has already finished. “Wow, way to go, Bumi!”
Bumi stops licking his bowl and looks up. “Huh?”
“The flying bison milk! You like it?”
“Oh!” So that’s what he’s been eating. “Yeah, it’s, uh, really bison-y.”
With his keen five-year-old powers of observation, Tenzin senses that he’s in danger of not getting his fair share of praise this day, so he wipes his nose and grabs hold of his bowl as Katara tries to take it away. “No, Baba, I’b goink to eat that.”
“You sure, buddy? We can get you something else,” says Aang, but Tenzin is adamant. Dad scrapes the last of the milk from the jar to replace what was lost. “It’s your special day, okay? Let us know if you change your mind.”
As Tenzin starts adding copious amounts of toppings to the dreaded milk, he gives his siblings a sullen side-eye. It’s somehow important to express his hurt feelings, yet he won’t give them the satisfaction of a full glare. Truly, this is the way of an Air Nomad.
Aang hesitates before starting in on his own meal, clacking his spoon against the bowl’s edge. “Truth is, I really wanted to be able to share something I loved growing up because, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not great at birthdays.”
“Oh, you’re doing fine,” says Katara reflexively.
“Well, it’s… Air Nomads didn’t really do this stuff. Everyone got a year older on New Year’s Day, and we’d celebrate that. No individual birthdays. Back then, it made sense because we did it as a community, but not so much now…” Aang glances bashfully at Katara.
“So that’s why you were so excited, huh?” she cooes. “Oh, you big sweetie…” She takes his head in her hands and plants a bunch of kisses on his cheeks, nose, lips. The mighty Avatar is putty in her hands.
Bumi’s torn. On one hand, he wants to get far, far away from the sight of his parents acting like a loving couple, but on the other, he’s still hungry as hell. He surveys the table and spots an untouched stack of barley flatbread next to a wheel of yellow cheese. Those and this condiment bowl of spicy stewed veggies would make a great sandwich or ten.
Kya’s chews thoughtfully while Tenzin busies himself with drizzling as much honey into his breakfast bowl as he can get away with. “What about Water Tribe?” she asks. “What kind of birthday stuff do they— we do?”
“Hmm.” Katara tilts her head in thought. “I know that the Northerners have their own set of traditions, but it was always a pretty simple affair when I was growing up at the South Pole.” A nostalgic smile. “When it was someone’s birthday, we’d try to make sure that person got a bit of rich, tasty food. If berries were in season, we’d make akutaq. If not, then they’d get muktuk, roe, or sweetfish. Whatever we had. There wasn’t always much to go around, but we did our best.”
She stops and glances back at Aang, sharing the brief, mildly panicked expression of “maybe let’s not bring up the horrors of war we experienced as children right now.”
Katara puts on her sunniest voice as she continues. “But the best part was the music! There were drums, and we’d dance until we fell over! If they wanted to, the guest of honor would sing their ayaya for us.” The joy in her voice is infectious, and even Aang is listening in rapt wonder.
“Ayaya?” asks her husband, suddenly as curious as a child.
“Oh, um. That’s a special tradition every branch of the Water Tribe upholds. It’s like a personal song or poem. The story of your life. You write it as you go, keeping it in your heart. It’s a living thing, and every one is unique, just like every person is unique.” She laughs. “I remember! Gran Gran’s was so long and beautiful. I loved hearing her sing it, even though I couldn’t understand half of it.”
Everyone at the table is watching Katara expectantly, but she demures. “I can’t sing it. Sorry. An ayaya only lives as long as the person it belongs to. But! Bits of them do get passed down as lines in new songs. That’s probably why some lines in Gran Gran’s sounded so strange. They were written hundreds of years ago! Isn’t that wonderful? ”
Kya’s practically glowing with excitement. “Can we hear yours, Mom?”
Of course they’d want to hear an example after talking it up like that. Well, there’s nothing for it. Katara looks down for a moment and bites her lip. “…I don’t have one, snowflake. When it came time to start mine, it just… made me too sad. After my mother—” She glances up and sees Kya’s sweet little face. “Your Uncle Sokka, he’s got a really funny one.” Her voice quavers. “I-I’m sorry, can we change the subject?”
Bumi wonders if a well-timed fart would lighten the mood but decides against it.
“Why dun’t we get milk from Appa?” asks Tenzin, still a little stuffy. He’s making slow progress on his bowl of honey and fruit, with some milk in it.
“Because Appa’s a boy, and boys don’t make milk.” Bumi snorts at this but again decides not to interrupt. He should really win a medal for how well-behaved he’s been this whole morning.
“I got it from the acolytes at the Southern Air Temple. That’s where they’re busy making bison babies.” Aang points at the food Bumi’s been inhaling. “That butter, too.”
“This is butter?! I thought it was cheese.” He looks at his sandwich in amazement, shrugs, and scarfs it down like the rest.
“Can we go see the babies?!”
“Not right now, Ky, but when it’s time for Tenzin to pick his own bison, you’re welcome to come along.”
“But me and Bumi don’t get bison?”
Aang has the decency to look apologetic. “Since they only form lifebonds with airbenders, I’m afraid not.”
“That’s not fair.” Aang can only offer a half-shrug that says, “hey, it’s not up to me.”
“No, Ky,” says Bumi, “you’re a waterbender, so you get an otter-penguin.” Then under his breath, “And I get jack squat.”
“Mom! Mom! Mom! Otter-penguin! Can I?!”
“No one’s keeping an otter-penguin on Air Temple Island. It would be cruel.” Katara’s tone brooks no argument.
“We should be allowed to have some sort of pet, right?” Kya looks to Bumi for back-up.
“Ooh! A goat-dog!” he suggests through a mouth of food.
“Yeah, the only thing that’d smell worse than you!” She giggles at her own witty jape, but quiets down with a look from Katara. Bumi doesn’t take the bait for once and just keeps chewing. Does she want his support or not? Make up your mind, girl.
“Look, sweetie, the milk was a hit!” Katara gestures around the table. Even Tenzin’s forcing down his last couple of spoonfuls.
Bumi realizes he’s utterly demolished the flatbread and condiments, as well as most of the butter. But he’s finally, wonderfully full. He stifles a burp and nods. “S’good, Dad!”
Not to be outdone, Tenzin composes himself as much as his willpower allows. “Yes! The milk was… very good!” Kya notes the hint of nausea in his voice as she nods along.
“Whew, that’s great! I promise it’ll be a special treat every birthday from now on. How about that?”
Tenzin’s nose twitches almost imperceptibly. “Oh… Yay.”
* * *
Where to start? Maybe when Kya was born, or right before. He was what, six-and-a-half, almost seven then? Feels like a good place, since no one wants to hear an epic poem about the exploits of toddler Bumi, except maybe his parents. And even then…
Bumi vigorously towel-dries his hair and runs a comb through it, more as a formality than anything. The stuff can’t be tamed by any earthly means, short of shaving it off. Of course, shaving it, or even cutting it short, is out of the question. It feels too much like a concession to his Air Nomad parentage. He’ll never measure up, so why bother pretending? Anyway, Uncle Sokka calls it his “wolf’s mane,” which Bumi’s always thought has a nice ring to it.
Hm, that might be something he can use. “Mane” rhymes with lots of other words.
Back in his room, Bumi throws on some of his last fresh clothes. As he searches the floor for his jacket, he has to admit how much of a mess it actually is in here. In one corner of his room is an overturned basket, which he grabs and starts filling with dirty clothes.
Ayaya, sis boom bah
Couldn’t see my own floor anymore
But before Mom blew a gasket
I grabbed this basket
And swore I could conquer any chore
He snickers. It’s probably not the best poem about cleaning your room ever written, but it’s the best one he’s ever written. That’s not nothing.
Bumi’s glad he thought to check all his trouser pockets when he finds a piece of forgotten jerky in one, probably weeks-old by now. But that’s a nice thing about jerky; it’s still good, no matter how old. Good thing he found it now. The last time some of that went in the wash, the whole load came out smelling like smoked pork. Not that it bothered him, but Dad and the acolytes are pretty squeamish about the whole meat thing.
The jacket uncovered, he throws it on, tucks the jerky away, and carries the heaping basket down to the laundry room, where he leaves it for some overeager acolyte to handle.
“Oh, hey, Mom. Ky.” He spots them in the kitchen, helping the acolytes wash up after breakfast. It’s not something they really have to do, but it is good, useful waterbending practice for Kya. “I’m thinking of dropping in on Uncle Sokka today. He’s been promising to teach me how to throw knives!”
Katara beckons him over. “Let me have a look at you.”
“Maybe I’ll ask about that ayaya thing, too.” Bumi apparently passes inspection because she smiles and runs her fingers through his damp hair, and… “Aw, Mom, don’t—” …sucks out the remaining water with a flick of her wrist. His hair floofs in every direction, like it always does when she waterbends it. He hears Kya giggle.
He’s doing his best to slick his hair back when Katara scampers past him. “Wait right here!” Now it’s just him and Kya. And the acolytes, natch.
His little sister looks him up and down and gives him a series of sniffs before smiling. “Oh! You smell okay now.”
“Yeah, so do you. Metaphorically.”
Katara reappears in the doorway, holding a money clip. “You know, your father is planning to take Tenzin over to see the statue up close. They’re leaving in just a bit, and I’m sure they could give you a lift.”
Bumi shrugs. “Nah, I’m fine taking the ferry.” And it’s actually true, too.
“All right, but before you go…” She puts the money clip in his hand. “As long as you’re heading into the city, this is for a few new clothes. For school. Nothing too garish.”
“Okay, love you, bye!” He sprints to the front door before his mom has time to rethink giving her unsupervised eldest child a wad of cash. “I’ll be back before dinner! Probably!”
It’s actually a pretty long walk from their home to the island’s only dock, but that’s as it should be. Bumi likes the time it gives him to think, as he crosses temple grounds and shuffles down the stairs. He supposes he could skip it if he were an airbender, but he doesn’t mind putting in the effort. He enjoys the feeling of his muscles doing their work. He is alive.
Bumi takes note of the White Lotus sentries as he passes. There are a few more than normal today, probably because of the special occasion. Not that it’s likely that enemies of the Avatar would crash a five-year-old’s birthday party, in his estimation, but the White Lotus is nothing if not devoted. They’re stationed in out-of-the-way corners of the grounds, as usual, but Bumi always notices them.
He breaks into a jog and turns his mind to the promise of today. The breeze off the bay is sweet, and the trees are a riot of autumn colors. Even the odd lemur dropping has a certain charm as he skips over it. There’s actually a bounce in his step by the time he makes it to the telegraph shed to call a ferry.
“Ayaya, sis boom bah.” A scruffy teenage boy sits at the end of a dock, a breeze tugging his long hair this way and that. He gazes out at the newly finished statue of his father Aang in his youth, late-morning sunlight glinting off its bald copper head, then past that to Republic City’s skyline, which seems to grow every day in awkward fits and spurts. He knows the feeling well.
The wind and water sing in his ears. The grassy tang of bison butter lingers on his tongue. The muscles of his legs burn pleasantly.
His senses filled, Bumi has a moment of peace.
