[OOC: Sorry for the wall I've got here. At least I finally got the thread up, right?]

The ‘mission’ definitely was not an accomplishment—not even close. It was an absolute failure; success had been missed by a longshot. There was no softer way of putting it. In hindsight, the plan sounded so perfect, though. All Sigan had to do was take a couple hundred of his own hand drawn fliers, take them up to the Tower, and throw them off of the very top! Other than a wind-swept hat and a loss of footing, nothing had gone wrong. He did his part; nature and gravity had done theirs too, and every single one of the papers had touched down below without a problem. With that in mind, the plan still sounded perfect to the young Earthbender, even now. It was the Metalbending Police Force who didn’t see it the same way.

Entire days had passed since then, but as he walked down a sidewalk and away from the police station after his ‘daily appointment’, he could still hear their voices. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” they whined. “Your disregard for your own safety is distracting us from more important duties!” they cried. “You’re littering!” Technically, none of the statements were inaccurate. Him climbing the Tower did distract them away from other things. His disregard for his own safety did almost get him killed. Throwing papers carelessly into the wind, regardless of where from and for what intention, was littering. For the first two offenses, Sigan knew exactly what he was getting himself into. Climbing always carried the risk of falling, and risk-taking almost always attracted spectators, this time metalbenders included. But littering? The accusation was far-off from what he actually planned on doing, honestly. What he ‘threw away’ wasn’t even trash—it was advertisement. How else did this city expect him to get his name around? He tried plenty of alternatives; all of them just ended up being fruitless. With about as many yuans in his pockets as there were purposely thrown in garbage cans, this was the only idea he could come up with that didn’t cost him anything.

It just so happened that this idea was unexpectedly the most costly of all—not in money, but rather in time. Because of his ‘perfect plan’, the metalbender cops robbed the boy of that, and his equally perfect good mood. It had been wishful thinking to assume they would’ve just let him off the hook. They never let anyone off the hook, save people of equal authority, and it bugged Sigan how adamant they were being about the entire situation. It wasn’t that big of a deal. When people saw a cloud of papers fluttering down from the sky and eventually scatter about the streets, they’d be inclined to pick them up. Even if no one did, didn’t the city pay people to clean it up anyway? Threatening to jail him or take him all the way to the council for something so minute was ridiculous! Anyone who posed a similar threat, but lacked a similar authority would’ve received a disinterested shrug or a reassuring smile. The police force could not be resisted the same way that his parents could, though.

Against his best efforts to convince them not to, Sigan was now pitted against seventy-two cumulative hours of community service as punishment for his ‘crimes’. Dark circles had since overtaken his eyes from the early mornings and late nights, as returning hunger seemed to become default as well. That was punishment enough, even without having to lift a finger. Every now and again, it made Sigan wonder: was this was what having a job was like? There was no way he could have known, but he imagined it could not be much different.

Thankfully, the worst had passed for today. Returning tomorrow to chisel just a little more time off his sentence was an inevitability, but for now he was free. It was a liberating feeling. Despite his sluggish and unresponsive body, a sheepish smile wouldn’t disappear from his face. Always, the first thing he did when he got off from service was grab something to eat, and today would be no different. By now, it was about noon—a time when many people took time to eat lunch, but for him it would mean breakfast.

The restaurant he had in mind was just a little Fire Nation noodle bar on a street corner—so little in fact, that one could easily miss it amongst all the taller buildings that seemed to root it in place on each side. It didn’t even have any windows or doors in the front, just curtains of paper with the characters of the restaurant’s name written on a different sheet that draped half-way to the floor. With only the ability to seat about seven or eight, it looked more like an oversized kiosk than an actual eatery. Upon approaching the restaurant, Sigan wasted no time pushing the curtains aside to enter and taking a seat at the centermost stool. Few other patrons were here, as the lunch hour was still fresh, and so the boy saw it as a direct opportunity to engage the employees directly in conversation.

“Hey you! Miss!” he said, beckoning over a woman who had just passed off a dish to another customer. “Nice little shop like this must get loads of customers throughout the day, right?” She gave a hesitant nod, yet it was still a satisfying answer for the boy regardless. He continued speaking. “So you must hear a lot about probending!” Sigan broke his gaze from hers for just a moment as he ruffled through his pockets, searching for the scrunched up piece of paper he dared once call advertisement. He pulled the flier out and unfurled it as quickly as he could, then thrust it up towards the waiter, effectively replacing his own face and hat with the cartoon ones he had drawn. “You see, I’m looking to form a team. Know anyone looking to do the same?”

This time she shook her head, still hesitant. It seemed like anyone he asked only yielded the same response: a big fat no, though some were bigger and fatter than others. Sigan heaved a sigh and his posture slumped even more. “Oh well. In that case, I’ll have a bowl of your spiciest noodle soup.” At least he had that much to look forward to.