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“No.”
They looked at her with what she felt to be both irritation and unyielding incredulity.
“You know you say one thing Sugar Queen, but the next thing we know you’re booking plane tickets for all of us to fly coach with a deal you found on some sketchy-ass website,” Toph objected rather lazily, half absorbed in whatever grime she was trying to pick out of her nail beds. Did she have to do that over her pillow? What’s more, laundry day was only yesterday, and Katara did not want her freshly washed sheets sullied just to haul another basket to an already overpriced college laundromat. She was practically drained of twenty-five cent coins.
“That was one time.”
“Yeah, and if Sparky here hadn’t flashed his black FNex card and landed us seats with the jumbo leg room—quite literally five seconds before the last flight of the day left, you best believe the only way we could’ve gotten there was by sneaking into the baggage hold.”
“Huh?” Zuko mumbled, plucking one of his headphone ears out interrupting a particularly heated Call of Duty game, earning a side glare from Sokka.
“Nothing Sparky. Just saying thank you for your daddy’s money.”
“Oh. No problem?”
“Mm.”
“Unbelievable,” she sighed.
“What’s unbelievable is you believing Lee from the Fire Nation would sell you tickets a fifth of the price with a free foot massage on the plane.”
“Oh my god! It just seemed nice considering it was an eight-hour flight!” Katara snapped rather defensively.
It really was a bruise to her ego given her extensive history of carefully collected and curated Groupons. She didn’t see them complaining when they enjoyed the buy one get two free deal at their local bubble tea shop.
“Anyway, I say we pass on this juvenile field trip that never brings us any good. Suki you with me?” she probed, pleading to her friend that always handed in her criminal justice assignments early and was the leader to plenty of extracurriculars. Suki’s face was plastered on all of Ba Sing Se University’s brochures and she was on track to becoming valedictorian. This pause seemed rather unnecessarily lengthy, her patience was wearing awfully thin.
“Well?”
“I don’t know Kat, isn’t it sort of tradition?”
“What, getting shitfaced and waking up to a lifetime of regret and missing passports? That’s tradition?”
“Tradition is basically a belief or behaviour that’s passed down through time,” Aang added, eyes lighting up with an index finger in the air accompanied by an innocent twinkle of pride that almost made Katara regret what she had said a second later. Almost.
“Hey remember when you bit into that beef the waiter gave you on accident instead of your beyond burger?”
...and just like that the candle of childlike merriment was snuffed out.
“Yeah. Maybe Katara’s right. Going to Hira’a might be a bad idea. Or at least a not-so-good one?” Aang snivelled, bringing his knees up to his chin, still recounting the horrors of his meal mishap. It was like he could taste the poor cow’s blood all over again. He shivered, still incredibly disturbed.
“So that’s settled. Now get out of my room, I’ve got a psych assignment to do.”
It is a week later and Katara is... at the airport? An hour earlier than she could’ve been actually, but she doesn’t want a repeat of last year. The burnt coffee hits the back of her throat and she reels over, having taken a sip much too fast. Pawing through her tote bag for napkins, Katara accidentally nudges her phone inside on.
8 new messages
sokka: hey y'all! there WAS a crash on the highway but the taxi driver didn’t take well to bribes to go over the speed limit. on the side of some random road finding a new one.
Sokka’s annoying ass has the audacity to send the text with a confetti effect that freezes her phone, forcing her to restart the damn thing. Katara would trade in her iPhone 6 for an 11, but consumerism and all that. Still, she’s been eyeing the pretty lavender on the website.
zuko: LMAOO PLSS was it awk asf
sokka: stfu. ur gay.
zuko: so r u
sokka: but i’m hot
zuko: i’m also your boyfriend but ok
aang: also my passport expired lol
Katara’s fingers are flying over the keyboard and she feels her heartbeat race. Even Zuko’s riches won’t get her friend out of international travel laws.
aang: jk kat, got you back
That wasn’t really funny. Dishevelled, she lugs her carry-on around to the nearby convenience store to get some gum for the trip, always getting the worst airplane ear.
“You what?”
“Going on vacation is a state of mind. I have to immerse myself in it completely.”
Katara looks at Aang’s hands. His Air Nation passport with his boarding pass sticking out, synthetic leather wallet, and phone. His fire island shirt of fire lily patterns seems like what her dad wears to brunch even if the club dress code says business casual.
“You decided that means just... not bringing anything.”
“Duh.”
“You amaze me.”
He walks away—hands in his pockets—content. Katara watches him in such a state of shock that she doesn’t notice Suki sliding up next to her. Whatever, she’s not the one sharing a room with him. Let him dig his own grave of sweat and beer splashes that will build up.
“I packed a duffel bag of clothes for him,” Suki whispers, careful not to let Aang hear, lest he starts on a rant about philosophies he’s learned from GuruPathickTips on Youtube. He’s definitely a glass half-full kind of guy.
“You absolute legend,” Katara could practically kiss her.
She did once, tipsy on wine coolers as a first-year uni student. All she remembered the next day was CVS cherry chapstick. The speakers above them at the gate waiting area blare and call them to board.
“This is the final boarding call for Sokka Kuruk for flight 524A to Hira’a. Please proceed to gate 7 now. I repeat, this is the final boarding call for Sokka Kuruk. Thank you.”
There’s an acidity in the flight attendant’s voice that she can’t help but chuckle at behind the Vogue magazine she found in her side caddy. The group had left Zuko to buy the tickets and she can’t say she’s not enjoying the first-class experience. She’s swirling her bubbling champagne flute in her right hand, sinking into the cushioning against her back barely registering the thumps along the soft carpeted hallway.
“Hey sissy! I’ve made it!” her brother booms, with a lopsided grin that makes her want to slap him silly.
They’ve attracted the attention of the whole cabin now, businessmen clad in tailored suits shooting them glares as cold as back home. Katara can hear a sea of tsks as she hisses and drags him by his tank top neck into the seat next to her.
“I—“
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Rude,” Sokka snips back with a roll of his eyes.
“Like how you were with the taxi driver?” she adds, smug.
Her brother only pauses.
“That’s you.”
She follows his pointed finger stuck firmly on her seat movie player in front, the pixels skewed to be specs and streaks of neon pink, green and blue under the pressure. The scene playing from Korra in Wonderland just so happens to have the Cheshire cat front and centre.
“...Bitch.”
“..Kat”
“Kat.”
He’s shaking her arm so hard she can’t tune him out anymore. Ready to swing at him, she whips off her silk sleep eye mask and squares her shoulders, eyes blazing.
“What?”
“Do you have a charging cord?”
“No,” she replies, lids already closing as she tries to slip back into unconsciousness.
“Come onnnn, I know you have it,” Sokka whines, spying her bag resting on the floor he knows to be packed full of amenities—from earplugs to even a portable clip-on book lamp.
Seeing her not budge at all, her brother leans over down stupidly ignoring (or not noticing at all) the tray table still folded out. As he rises with the cord in hand, the top of his giant head collides with it making the plates rattle and the glass of wine tip.... and spill onto her white blouse. The silence is deafening. Neither of them moves even as the wine stain settles more and more. Katara regrets not putting the divider between their seats up as she resists butting his face only inches from her knee.
She takes a much-needed deep breath, the air blowing out of her nose forceful and loud. Ever so slowly Sokka slinks back to his seat not even daring to glance at her, trying hard to stare into space.
This isn’t working, she thinks extremely peeved. Perching over the bathroom sink, the stubbornness of a spot won’t even ease up with infinite amounts of hand soap and vigorous scrubbing with sharp nails. The fabric of her shirt is stretched and tiny wispy tendrils of the cotton form given how rough she’s been. Defeated, she slumps against the counter, the shuddering walls roaring in her ear.
Two hesitant knocks on the thin door make it shake.
“Hi um... I’m not rushing you or anything, I’m not like in a hurry but just wanted to ask—”
Not thinking straight, she swiftly slides the latch to the side with a click, unlocking the door and turning the vacancy sign from red to green outside. With all her might she pulls the folding doors back a bit harder than she needs to.
Oh.
A boy her age, give or take. Possibly a head or two taller? Chestnut shaggy hair that sweeps so low she wonders if it pricks at his eyes. An awkwardness surrounds them, his hand still curled in fist mid-air before he drops it abruptly by his side. She notices his widened eyes at something she can’t quite figure out. Resorting to looking around her, she comes to a painful realisation.
Her shirt was now practically see-through due to being soaked from rogue splashes, which meant her sarashi was dreadfully visible.
“Oh my god I am so—I didn’t even keep track of time in there...” she trails off, a babbling and incoherent mess.
Growing even redder as the boy suddenly starts tugging and pulling his grey hoodie over his head, she tries to stop him, ridiculously waving her hands around.
“I really can’t!”
“I insist, especially because you’ll have to walk back out there.”
“And you? Being shirtless isn’t worse?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Either way, I’m choosing to be a gentleman,” he jokes with a mock bow. “I’ve got a jacket back at my seat, so don’t you worry. It won’t be a free show the whole time.” he winks.
“Thank you...”
“The name’s Jet,” he states as he sticks a hand out for her to shake.
“Katara,” she smiles, firmly clasping her hand in his.
“Well, m’lady I’m gonna do what I gotta do. Pleasure meeting you!” Jet salutes to her with two fingers, a swaggering air to him.
“Since when were you a Boulder Direction fan?”
“Huh?”
“Your hoodie?” Aang gestured confusedly at the rock group merchandise.
“I better be hearing that wrong Sugar Queen, seeing that you rejected my invite to go to their concert last year,” Toph remarks next to him.
“Ugh. It’s a long story. I’ll see you guys after we land!” she calls back, already heading back to her seat rows behind.
“So... Zuko, I guess this was a family-funded trip after all,” Suki muses, amused at the armada of hulking bodyguards in reflective Ray-bans and uniform standing around a long-stretching limousine.
They stood outside the airport with the bulk of their luggage around them. Even though Katara normally disapproves of any lavish spending, the sweltering Fire Nation summer heat beats down on her.
“I tell my sister one thing...” Zuko mutters before rushing over to question the group of security escorts.
Katara knows Zuko’s family obviously includes his father Ozai, a notorious Fire Nation tycoon that seems to own everything, including the Fire Flakes brand Sokka is snacking on right now. He has ties into the elections of the nation, whoever he seems to endorse comes out victorious every time. Zuko’s mother, Ursa, was the sole inheritor of her family's chain of Ember hotels. Later marrying Ozai, the controls went to him and their accommodations dominated the world, especially Hira’a, the hub of glitzy entertainment and rolling bets. Zuko’s sister, Azula, is the heiress to this whole prolific legacy after Ozai found Zuko to be ‘incapable’, her friend claiming himself to be the black sheep of the family.
Returning, Zuko groans and says his mother has laid out arrangements for their trip. The rest of them, too exhausted to argue, climb into the vehicle without hesitation. Half an hour later, wrecked by jet lag, everyone else is napping, her brother leaning on the crook of Zuko’s shoulder. Gazing outside the window, Katara admires the strip of gold-adorned towers of resorts and casinos galore. Billboards advertising shows of intricate acrobat acts to renowned music groups draw her attention. A myriad of glittering windows panes in the sun and dancing fountains of water are still naked of any lights and lasers. A replica of the Agna Qel’a palace, scaled small, is full of tourists clamouring for a picture.
Sin city indeed... Katara thinks.
The car ride has her going through a change of attitude. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be that bad, for all one knows this could be the trip she finally lets loose instead of making sure Toph doesn’t end up fighting anyone. Her unusually cheery outlook has all of them doing a double-take. A lovely concierge asks if she would like to book a complimentary spa appointment courtesy of the Agni family. Looking to Zuko for approval he nods carefree and things can only look up from here.
Getting settled in her premium suite she’s sharing with Suki, Katara curiously grabs the remote and turns on the TV.
“Suki Kyoshi and Katara Kuruk welcome to Ember Resort: Hira’a Branch.”
The screen displays the WiFi password and this is much, much nicer than last time. The two king beds have immaculately steam-pressed linens with unreasonably high thread counts she can’t comprehend. Katara feels indescribably little on the huge beige sofa that lines a whole half of the living room. The bathroom Suki is in unloading her toiletries is fully marbled with even a tv facing the deep tub. They have a full view of Hira’a in all its flashy glory as dawn arrives, unleashing a whole different side to the city.
The group had agreed to meet downstairs in one hour. Stepping out of the shower, now blow-drying her hair Katara has to decide just what in the world she’s going to wear.
I could wear a simple tube top and a skirt, no that’s too—It just won’t work. Hell, jeans? No... but she did pack a—
Before making any rash decisions, she scampers out to consult with Suki who is lounging on the bed nonchalantly in a hotel-provided robe sipping on a soda.
“Okay. I’m gonna try something on and I need you to—”
“Yay or nay? I got you,” Suki replies downing the last of her can.
“I’m not sure about this one but it could work? I don’t know—“
“Fuck me right here and right now.”
“I’m serious... Will it work?” Katara says while giggling.
“You look smoking hot babe.”
“I’m just gonna have to trust you on that one.”
It’s eight-thirty and the two of them are in the lobby all ready to go. As expected they’re the earliest to arrive. Katara’s dressed in a ruby bodycon dress with quite non-existent straps that hug her curves so tight it leaves almost nothing to the imagination. A long split runs down her thigh and the neckline plunges to reveal just the slightest of cleavage. Her hair is in large voluminous curls Suki did with her travel curling iron and sterling silver hoops hang from her ears. To tie the outfit off she’s wearing sleek stilettos she’s trying hard not to wobble in (for the most part succeeding) to match. Her makeup is done with a blended smoky look and coral is painted on her lips. Self-conscious, she pulls at the hem of her dress trying to pull it a bit lower but failing, earning a pointed look from her friend. She hears a sharp whistle and looks back with a snap.
“Yeah, yeah,” she softly chides Aang.
“Damnnn,” Zuko drawls, getting a playful smack on the back of his head from Sokka.
“Well? Are we breaking the bank or what?” Toph exclaims eagerly.
The abundance of kaleidoscopic strobing lights from floor to ceiling makes her doubt whether she’ll be able to stay here any longer than ten minutes before passing out anyway. Strings of slot machines whirred as people kept feeding them with change. Endless half-moon tables of muted green where stacks of chips the colours of the rainbow are passed back and forth. The spinning clicks of the roulette wheel determine whether Aang should’ve bet all on black. The scent of faint cigarettes and pumped-out artificial citrus aromas coat the air, leaving her dizzy. This isn’t exactly her first time, but it feels so terribly foreign that she heads to the bar first. Nothing more trustworthy than liquid courage.
“Vodka tonic please.”
“Hitting the hard stuff already?”
Maybe it’s the way Jet’s familiar face is oddly comforting or maybe the way it’s not her first drink of the night, and the warm fuzzy haze is welcome as she wraps her arms around him like a best friend she’s known since infancy. Much to her relief, he returns the favour saving her any embarrassment even if it wouldn’t register immediately if he didn’t.
“Why are you here?” she asks over the smooth jazz and chattering around them.
“Saw a pretty girl over by the bar.”
Simpering over the exchange she can feel herself swaying in the exuberance of the mood already. Jet offers an arm she happily slips hers through and enquires,
“Where to?”
They near one of the many poker tables Jet decides to try his hand at. He sat at a chair with Katara’s hands on his shoulder supportingly (or in an attempt to stable herself, who can tell).
“Full house. Kings and Aces,” the dealer declares.
The jargon flies over Katara’s head and she’s so muddled having zoned out somewhere in the third round. The only thing she’s sure of is that Jet has lost considering his lighthearted frown.
“Do... do you actually know what’s going on?” she teases in his ear.
“No!” Jet whisper-shouts tongue-in-cheek.
They’re helplessly reduced to fits of raucous laughs and hysterics. Jet is clutching his stomach and she’s tugging at his jacket at the sheer ridiculousness. Katara is having so, so much fun. It is incredibly freeing, the act of such spontaneity with a random stranger, something she would never dream of doing before.
“Funny how a loser still impresses his girlfriend.”
A grating, sultry voice that is a jibe not loud in itself but it is all she can hear at the moment. Affronted, she’s sure it translates on her expression as she peruses the person that is very misunderstood.
Katara ponders if she’s actually in the presence of one of those femme fatale characters in film noir movies she watched for a media studies class once. Long, lean legs crossed over each other confidently, the red-soled heels impossible to miss. An onyx velvet ruched dress that snatched a thin waist. Exposed collar bone that glowed under the light. A gold chain shoulder bag embossed with logos that screamed wealth. Effortlessly striking features. Full crimson lips already in a taunting smirk. Guileful aureate eyes accompanied with razor-sharp eyeliner that sears into her, sending rousing shivers down her spine. Gleaming raven hair pulled into a sleek high ponytail with two strands impeccably framing the face.
“Excuse me,” is all she can utter.
“You heard me. What a pity that he’s the best out of the both of you.”
Okay. Screw the girl and her stupid face. All is fair in love and war.
“Is that so? Then you certainly won’t mind when I beat you,” she retorts, huffing.
“Let’s go.”
Thankfully, spite is eminently sobering. The two of them are finally betting against each other after taking turns to fold. Her opponent’s eyes are scanning her all over, a vulture looking to pick and exploit any fault Katara exhibits.
So—going all in—she hopes that this manoeuvre will work. A flex in her jaw one would only notice if one were searching for it. Three rapid blinks in a row. Darting eyes in a split second. Creasing the cards. Subtle biting at the inside of her cheek.
It all falls into place like well-designed dominoes as the other takes the bait, pushing her remaining chips forth violently driving them to topple and scatter off. Quite the flair for the dramatics.
Katara’s cards are revealed first—a royal flush—and she watches her competition pale. Jet cheers as she’s announced as the winner but all she can focus on is the seething stare meeting her triumphant one. Walking away victorious, she stops at the defeated’s chair. Bending down, the girl refusing to acknowledge her under the pretence of scrolling on her phone,
“It’s just math,” Katara purrs, even if it couldn’t be further from the truth. She doesn’t have the mental capacity to count cards.
Following her newly earned badge of honour, Jet naively claiming she had a lucky streak now convinces her to try her hand at blackjack. It does not work out and they cut their losses after losing the majority of the extra money from their previous endeavour. It’s all in good fun though and they exchange numbers before bidding farewell after she notes the time (with a wristwatch, of course, there are no clocks in sight).
She’s in a bathroom stall finishing up when she hears the door slam open with a harsh bang. Tentatively opening the stall door, Katara steps out.
It’s her again. Currently reapplying that enticing shade of lipstick. Tracing her lip line with sharp nails, her mouth slightly ajar, she glimpses at Katara through the mirror who has stopped in her tracks. Collecting herself, Katara tries to keep her eyes low while walking forward to wash her hands. She hears the cosmetic case snap shut and the ravenette starts fluffing her cascading locks that are down now. The fact that the golden-eyed is blocking both the hand dryer and paper towels is proving inconvenient.
“...Excuse me.”
“What a catchphrase for a girl like you.”
“What does that mean?!”
The girl only turns, holding her gaze strong, unwavering.
“You know you think you’re all high and mighty, like you’re always right no matter what. Well, guess what, I won fair and square and you acted like a sore loser and that’s the truth,” Katara blurts, feeling her chest grow tighter and tighter.
The tension is so heavy that it makes her giddy. She’s peering up at the girl searching for any response, it’s infuriating how she’s a few inches shorter. They’re so close that Katara can feel the girl’s hot breath on her.
“You know you didn’t even guess right. I don’t even have a boyfr—”
She doesn’t get to finish her sentence as lips collide and she can taste an intoxicating mix of brandy and lime. She doesn’t know when exactly she ended up with her back against the wall, probably too preoccupied with the pure electric divinity she’s utterly absorbed in. Tongues sneak in and she has never kissed anyone like this before. There’s a hand gently tipping her chin and one firmly grasping her waist, skin tingling.
Breaking apart, the two of them catching their breath, she thinks she sees a glint flash over the girl. Suddenly, there’s a tickling sensual sensation turning into a fierce sucking at her neck sending her to cloud nine. Heavenly spiced fragrance invades her senses as Katara tangles her fingers in hair tidied just a minute before. The girl continues higher now, at her jaw until settling to playfully nip at her ear then kissing her final, deep, and of want. The thrill makes her weak in her knees.
“Mine or yours?”
“Yours.”
“Alright.”
They walk out wordlessly, and she can’t help beaming.
“Kat!”
“Suki?”
“What took you so long? Ready?”
Shit. She had forgotten that she had texted her friends prior to this whole incident with the intention of joining back up with them.
“Who’s this?”
The girl tilts her head teasingly.
“Girl I beat at poker.”
She scowls now.
“Zula’?” Zuko mutters, emerging.
“Hi, Zuzu.” Azula walks up, giving him a kiss on his cheek that he returns.
“How’d you find me?”
“Wasn’t hard. You know you should really come home. Mom’s getting annoying and I don’t want to deal with her. As to how—Dad has eyes everywhere.”
“I’m Sokka.”
“Welcome to the family. I suppose I’ll be taking my leave now. Ta-ta,” Azula quips, leaving Sokka blushing as she saunters her way back towards Katara, coy with a sway in her hips.
“Room 628. See you later.”