The Monks of Koh soup kitchen was not a place Torana knew too well. However, her mother had promised the scarred woman more pocket money for sculpting clay if she made the delivery to the kitchen. It was a pet project of Zumara's to do charity work for the needy. Torana was not against the notion, she just did not like talking to people all that much. Bender and non.

With a yawn and a slow crawl out of bed, Torana drudged into the shower, then dressed for the day. A day she was meant to be off on, for once. Everything about the city, she loathed and Torana had to go if she wanted a better clay set. Her house was five minutes north (by drive) from the city - not far enough for her tastes. But she begrudgingly dressed in her green pats and slacks, put a brown fleece aviator cap on her head to cover her scars, and left the house buttoning up her brown pea-coat.

Moments later, she climbed into the loaded satomibile truck and turned the radio on to listen to the news. Mostly about a missing retired probender.

That coulda been me, she thought to herself with trepidation.

The early morning sunrise almost made the drive bearable. The orange and red collided with the stratus clouds in perfect balance. Knowing about benders being abducted, however, put her in a state of paranoia and nervousness. She did not need this added stress at all.

When she arrived at the soup kitchen, Torana drove to the back where the loading dock was. There she hopped out of the truck carefully. She did not feel safe at all, and her darting eyes made that very apparent. She could of tried to track with her bending, to see if anyone was about. That would mark her as a bender though. Plus, her tracking pulse was severely muted, like all her bending skills of late were.

She sighed in longing. Molding with her bending was the only thing she liked, where being muted and slow actually worked with her bending disability. That's what Torana called it, at any rate.

"Best to get this over with," she sighed aloud as she climbed up the steps of the loading dock and walked to the back door of the soup kitchen. There, she knocked, her eyes constantly looking about as she waited impatiently. Fear of being caught off-guard again loomed over her like a sickness.

The stream of people coming in slowed a bit, and Yuji glanced about. Many of his co-volunteers had prepared enough for a larger group. Unfortunately, it seemed as though a lot of the busywork had been completed. The young man tapped one of his associates and muttered, "Hey, take over for a second." The woman nodded and stepped into his place, and Yuji walked towards the back.

He was checking the clipboard in the store room when a small knock came from the door by the loading dock. Yuji hadn't expected a delivery, but when he looked around, no one else seemed to notice. Frowning, he flipped over a page or two, looking for some sort of ledger or order sheet and couldn't find one. None of the Monks were milling about either, not that he saw. He sighed and told himself that it wasn't a big deal - volunteers must take deliveries sometimes, right? They were a pretty organized group, but nobody's perfect. Things were bound to slip through the cracks... right?

He turned on a heel and walked over to the door. Yuji took a second to lift his cap and scratch the crown of his head, then slapped the brim back over his brow and opened the door.

There stood a rather nervous-looking woman. A cap shaded part of her face, and if he didn't know better, Yuji would almost think she was some street urchin. But no, she must have been his age or older, and she appeared to be the driver of the truck. He only appraised her for a moment, though - just because he was an early riser didn't mean his brain functioned better than anyone else's.

"Good morning," he said politely. Cold air was sweeping into the back hallway of the soup kitchen, and he shivered without his coat. Still, he was pleasantly surprised to see it was a pretty morning: over the tops of the buildings, the sky was bursting with color. He shoved his arms beneath his apron and his cold fingers under his armpits to warm them. "Sorry to do this to you, but I don't have an order sheet for today."

Unfortunately, because it was so early, he knew the truck was almost certainly full. Of what, he had no earthly idea. Generally, truckloads were either the goods of a single company, or a mishmash from multiple stores trying to save a buck on shipping costs by using the same truck. He shrugged and asked, "Any idea what you're supposed to have for me?" He held back a shiver and stepped over the doorjamb, pulling the door almost closed behind him to prevent even more cold air from rushing in.

"Lady Zumara asked me to deliver the goods," Torana shrugged off as she opened the back door of the dull grey truck. "Supposed to be twenty bags of fifteen pounds of rice, thirty heads of cabbage, a hundred pounds of various fruits, peppermint whistle sweets for the needy kids that come in, seven boxes of blankets, four boxes of small teddy bears, and three racks of water tribe coats for winter."

The nervous woman did not make eye contact out of fear of being recognized. Instead, she began to hastily unload the truck, starting with the food stuffs.

"Just let me know where you want this stuff, Sir."

Torana knew she was not the friendliest but she tried her best, given her severe discomfort of the neighborhood and climate she was in.

The woman mentioned the stuff was from some “Zumara” person. Yuji just stared at her blankly, neither recognizing the name nor what made her a “Lady”. Perhaps he just wasn’t well-versed. But as the woman began rattling off the list of goods and pulling crates and boxes out of the truck, the nonbender had a strange feeling that something was off.

“Just let me know where you want this stuff, sir,” she said. Yuji stared at her for a long moment, disliking the way that the woman wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was like she was in a hurry, but he couldn’t imagine why. He wasn’t even sure that she could move everything herself – many deliveries used a combination of a few strong men and Monks of Koh to unload truckloads like this. It was definitely suspicious…

Still, if this was a legitimate delivery, Yuji didn’t have any idea where half of it went. He didn’t even know they provided blankets and coats. He only really prepared or served the food, in all honesty. “Hey, look…” he started, but trailed off, unsure. He shifted his weight to his other leg. “Just, like, slow down for a second. I just help out around here – I don’t even know where all this goes.”

He tilted his head to one side and stared at the truck. Stuff was piled up to the ceiling. “Can you even move all of this by yourself?” He knew he wouldn’t be able to, not that he was about to say that. “Where’s your crew?” Yuji wouldn’t mind helping, but this was definitely a job for more than two people, no matter how strong, and he didn’t plan on exhausting himself carrying a few hundred pounds of junk inside without knowing if it was supposed to be there at all. He wasn’t a fan of taking this shady woman at her word.

“I mean, do you want me to get a couple of Monks out here? They usually help with all of this stuff…” He leaned against the door to glance inside and see if anyone was around (and felt a ping of annoyance when the warm air hit him), then pulled it almost closed again when no one was in sight. He didn’t move to help the woman, not yet. Getting a few Monks to help would also give him a better idea if this woman was for real. There were a lot of con artists out there lately, and this woman seemed awfully nervous... “You’re going to hurt yourself doing it like that.”

Torana paused, took in his statement, and sat one of the heavy bags of grain on the dock.

"I can wait. Sure." The short but strong woman tried to stand still as she waited. "My mother is the wife of a plant manager... She does things like this... Nonbender, she is. Likes to give back to nonbenders."

Torana cleared her throat nervously as she looked around the alley. Conversation was not her strong point.

The woman plopped a grain back on the loading dock and said she'd wait. Which was good, Yuji supposed, at least for now. He could keep his eyes on her. He glanced back in through the crack in the door but still couldn't see anyone coming to his rescue. He left it cracked, hoping the cold air flowing in would alert someone to come out. As much as he might want to walk in to get help himself, he didn't trust the woman enough to leave her alone.

She mentioned that her mother was the wife of some plant manager, which Yuji really didn't care too much about, until she kept going. "Nonbender, she is. Likes to give back to nonbenders."

Yuji turned to stare at her, eyes narrowing as she glanced around the alley. Not only was she potentially a thief, she was a bender to boot. Nonbenders didn't refer to each other as nonbenders. "Hold on - what do you mean 'give back' to nonbenders? Did she take something from us, from one of her own?"

His upper lip curled in distaste. "Or is she making up for you?" Yuji unfolded his arms from beneath his apron and took a step towards the bender. "Is there something wrong with having a nonbender establishment, or does she think she's above the rest of us because there's a bender in the family?"

He pointed at her, accusatory. "I bet you're here to steal from us as soon as I turn my back. Why else would a bender like you be so nervous?" He almost wanted to ask where her bending buddies were, what her signal was for them to jump out of the shadows, but decided against it. If she had pals, she wouldn't be so antsy - by now they'd already have arrived and raided the place.

She moved among those eating with practiced grace, like a chef's cut through supple matter. Her brown trench coat made her look like the needy and destitute.  In a sense she was.  Her home and the office of her practice both ashen piles, the tall, almost stately seeming woman had spent plenty of nights under the stars instead of a roof.


Yawai Hono glided along, bang covered eyes darting about from person to person, unobserved behind their onyx curtain.  It was hard to tell what she was regarding exactly.  Their clothes, their food, their faces...or maybe she was just looking for an open seat.  Regardless, she went about her way with unimpeded strides before finding a free section of wall.


She hovered there, letting people pass her by, and watching the establishment in all its bustling life.


Something that might have been a ghost of a smile surfaced briefly on Yawai's thin lips before she turned her attention to one of the servers ladling the day's free meal into the bowls of the needy.  She got in line.  Walked lock step. Heard the stomachs growl.  And she shook her head.

The city was never perfect.

Things had reached a new low though.

Thoughts wandered to bright sands, and rolling blue waves.

A home Yawai really didn't belong to anymore.  A home that wasn't really even there.  No going back on history, things had played out as they would, with input and inferences from ambition and will.

Ambition and will.

Those two were dangerous.

"Miss, you need to grab a bowl; I can save your spot in line if you move fast enough..."

Reverie dispelled by the server, Yawai didn't miss a beat, pulling out her license from the interior pocket of her trench coat.  The lady with the ladle skewed at it for a moment when Yawai held it up at eye level, blinking with curiosity.  She looked from the papers to Yawai, and back to the papers.


"I am Yawai Hono, private investigator.  Is there a manager I can speak to?"

The woman with the ladle looked flighty, almost panicked.

"If this is about the stale bread incident several days back, I can assure you that only happened once and only once; we will never take deliveries from Cabbage Corp cafeteria consignments ever again!"

Waving a dismissive hand, Yawai silenced the server.

"No, I need to speak with the person who manages this kitchen in the mornings."

The server looked relieved.

"Thank passed Avatars!  May I ask why you're here?"

Yawai produced a small picture.

"Kind looking girl."  the server said presently.

Nodding, Yawai withdrew the picture, secreting it back into her obi.

"Have you seen her here before?"

The server shook her head.

"Can't say that I have...she missing or something?"

No reply came from Yawai as the man behind her made a low grumble.  The server knit her brow, thinking deep.

"Yuji may have seen her."

Tossing her hair, Yawai looked the server dead in the eyes with her golden wells.  The server blinked again, realization dawning.

"Oooh!  You're THAT Yawai Hono!  Is this a missing bender case?  A kidnapping?!"

Sighing, Yawai stepped out of the line, the man behind her taking up her position, bowl in hand and looking eager.  Yawai thumbed passed the server.

"Yuji in the back?"

The server nodded.

"May I?"

The server nodded again, excitedly.

****

"Fire benders did this to my face, to the point of losing my own skills!! So I've no love for my own kind, or people like my mom that have their own agendas. But I'm here. To deliver goods your people need, so I can then go and get what I need to survive the day. Take the stuff or deny them, I don't really care!!"

Yawai had walked into some sort of drama, and waited to see who was going to reply back.  When no reply came from either after the outburst, she inserted herself into their field of view.  Yuji spotted Yawai before Torana registered her presence. Yuji turned instinctively as Yawai bowed to him.

"I am Yawai Hono, private investigator."

And Yawai held up her credentials again, withdrawing them into her trench coat after Yuji and Torana had a good look.

"Forgive my intrusion...but..."

She turned to Yuji after a quicker, shallower bow was given to Torana.

"Would you happen to be Yuji?"

One of many Monks moves through the building, pausing briefly to inquire after after a few regular visitors to the kitchen. Those who frequent the establishment happily answer, though nearby new comers are taken aback and slightly unnerved.

A small gathering of three piques their attention, and a faceless mask turns to observe, quietly, and from a significant distance. There are too many other Monks milling about to notice this one has stopped their task, but the atmosphere of the room shifts subtly.

[OOC note: Edited - thank you all for being so accommodating!]

Yuji watched the woman’s outburst with a cool detachment. He must have hit a nerve of some sort – rarely did people change their mood like that at the drop of a yuan for no reason. At least the young man now understood the purpose of the cap: anyone who had such gruesome burn scars on their face would certainly want to hide them. He almost felt bad for her… until he considered that she was probably living a decent life with her parents, not having to worry about when her next meal would come or how she was going to afford rent. Why else would she be doing something she didn’t want to because her mother told her so? “Losing” her skills? She probably never considered the fact that millions of people didn’t have “skills” to begin with. Did she expect him to feel sorry for her?

Still, he wasn’t faced with such raw anger very often, and he hesitated. He didn’t have a chance to respond before the door suddenly opened behind him and a person approached. Finally… he thought, turning to face the newcomer… Until he realized that they were not one of his fellow volunteers. In fact, he didn’t recognize this person as patron or volunteer. In fact, he might have guessed that she was fresh off the boat from the Fire Nation, with her coal hair and formal, rigid posture. No trenchcoat could hide such distinctive features, and Yuji assumed that he’d see gold beneath her bangs. He stepped back, trying to put some distance between Miss Angry and Bangs Lady.

It was way too early in the morning for him to deal with this.

Bangs Lady introduced herself as Yawai Hono, some private investigator. Yuji crossed his arms, trying his hardest not to shiver, and frowned. First a random delivery that apparently no one knew about, now some half-baked cop. Well, she wasn’t exactly a cop, but she was certainly a bender like the rest of them. She held up some sort of paperwork. Yuji glanced at it and promptly ignored it – most likely, all it said was that she was who she said she was. Strangely, she barely nodded a bow to Miss Angry, almost as if the delivery woman wasn’t there. After a moment, he knew why.

“Forgive my intrusion… but… Would you happen to be Yuji?”

He rolled his eyes, annoyed. Didn’t these people realize that he was just some random volunteer? Still, he wasn’t sure what sort of authority private investigators had, and his run-ins with the cops in this city… well, they weren’t all that enjoyable, that was for sure. He was starting to regret answering Miss Angry’s knock.

“Well, there’s about a hundred Yujis in this city, and I happen to be one of them. I can’t guarantee I’m the one you’re looking for.” He shifted his weight, feeling impatient in the cold air. “If I say ‘no’, will you let me get back to work? I was having a riveting conversation with this fine lady here.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he gestured towards Miss Angry.

"Is there a problem?" A placid voice interrupts the conversation. One of the Monks that was stationed outside seems to appear as if from nowhere, their footsteps silent despite the concrete grounds of the loading dock. A blank mask studies each of the trio in turn for a moment. Inside, the Monk that had stopped their work has disappeared back into the sea of brown robes.

The mask lingers longer on the woman with dark bangs. "Is there a problem?" the voice repeats quietly, shifting slightly to step in front of the young man, a known face and regular volunteer. "How can the Monks of Koh be of service?"

Somehow, there suddenly seems to be more Monks in the area. It is strange no one noticed how many there were before, each of them moving with purpose and occupied with a perfectly valid task. The Monk by the trio indicats no notice of the increased presence of their fellows.

OOC: My apologies, Yuji; I'll make sure to contact you first next time before barreling in on ya like this.

"Where did this one come from?"

Yawai's eyes darted about quickly.

Everything seemed okay.  Seemed the same.  Was there always this many monks around?

A chill went down her spine.

It was hard to tell whether there was an uptick of monks, whether it was purposeful or not.  Yawai remembered a setup with a boardwalk gang, the Pier Side Brawlers, several years back. Their men were employed in various positions at local watering holes, and would converge on potential threats to their front men by bussing tables or drinking with clientele nearby.

As soon as violence was threatened, they ended the threat.

Brutally.

Again, Yawai wasn't sure if this was staging or natural progression, or whether anything was even afoot.  She just suddenly realized that monks were about when she didn't even notice them there before. Haunting. But she'd been in the business long enough to go with gut feeling and visceral reads on her immediate environment. If bells and whistles were going off, she was going to heed them, and extricate herself fast.  But she still needed to ask the one question she'd been asking in just about every shelter and kitchen she had been to over the last twenty four hours.  All these things calculating in a breath, Yawai, unperturbed by the sudden intrusion of the almost otherworldly seeming monk between her and Yuji, produced the picture she was going to show him.

"No problem at all, devout one, in fact, I was hoping one of your volunteers could help me identify someone, but perhaps you could instead...put a name to the face even..."

Holding up the picture to the monk, Yawai regarded the mask, the robes, whatever else she could note; it was hard to size up someone in a robe, and hard to read someone's demeanor when it was hidden behind a mask.  No eyes to see with, judging by the mask, Yawai held the picture at eye level anyway, hoping Yuji, or the woman he'd been having a heated conversation with would feel compelled to look at it too from over the monk's shoulders.

The picture showed a young woman, late teens, maybe early twenties.  Long haired, big, kind eyes, and a radiant smile.  She was wearing coveralls, implying a vocation of being a factory worker.  She held what appeared to be some sort of monetary note in her hands.  Her form looked to be lean, athletic.  She was happy, and proud.

"Have any of you seen her?"

A truck rumbles up to the loading dock, their regular shipment of flours and baking supplies. More Monks seem to appear, materialising out of thin air to aid the volunteers in unloading the many boxes and crates.

The Temples always make their own food, attentive to the dietary needs of their daily visitors. This particular Temple, being a larger city temple, also offers an upper floor equipped with sleeping cots for those who have nowhere to go during the chilly fall and winter months. As a result, many occupants are now awake and filtering into and around the building.

The Monk speaking with the investigator turns their attention to the piece of paper with a woman's picture. It is impossible to gauge whether or not the Monk recognises the individual in question. Another Monk joins the group, apparently called over by the first; together, they peer at the paper through eyeless masks, completely silent. It's enough to make even the more seasoned Temple visitor uncomfortable at the very least.

The Flicker Street Cultist House.


That was spooky.


A fist fight on top of a falling, burning Airship.


That was white knuckle tense.


High speed satomobile chase, and her wrestling for the wheel against her captor, a psychopath that liked to scar parentless individuals over one eye so they would resemble Fire Lord Zuko, all the while swerving narrowly around other vehicles.

Heart pounding.

In all those situations though, she had a sense of control.  Had her wits about her. This, this on the other hand was surreal...awful...horrifying.  It somehow robbed her self control. She felt herself overwhelmed at what seemed impossible.  Even in her dizziest of prideful daydreams she couldn't fight so many.  No one could.

Could she even fight one?

She didn't feel like fighting.  She felt like fleeing, and fast.  Yawai's steadiness, a testament of her character and will, was tested to the limit; not by violence, but by unnerving silence.  By hair raising placidity.

"What are you?"

Yawai didn't speak it, but her mind cried it. Eventually, her lips found words.

"H-have any of you seen her?"

"I work in an assembly line most days," Torana replied irritably as she started to unload once more. The faster she was away from the crowd of nonbenders, the better. "Don't know many folks these days and the ones do, lost their bending to the Equalists."

She of course referred to many probenders. Many who never did wrong to anyone. But they likely did not know that and she did not care if they did. All Torana wanted was modeling clay, so she began to unload the heavy bags of rice once more.

"Don't know many folks these days and the ones do, lost their bending to the Equalists."

Any excuse to look away from the faceless things looking back at her. Were they looking at her? Were they even looking at the picture?  Yawai turned her gaze to Torana, and felt better already for it. Oddly enough, she continued to hold the picture up for the monks to see. She tossed her bangs aside with a quick flick of her head.

"Did you know anyone from the Saito & Lee Screw Corp.? The woman in the picture was a line worker there, quality control;  her and the rest of the morning crew used to hit the nearby gyms or watering holes after shifts. Grey coveralls,  loud and gregarious, but otherwise harmless. They were a hard lot to miss."

Looking back to the monks, Yawai suppressed a shiver.

"Any of you ever meet factory workers from Screw Corp.?"

The P.I. doubted she would get an answer from the silent, expressionless figures before her, but when in doubt, ask questions, even small ones.

“Is there a problem?” came a soft voice, and almost by habit Yuji recognized it as one of the Monks. He glanced over to the source and watched the Monk basically materialize before them. Yuji was hardly bothered by the Monk – he was quite used to their sudden appearances, like over his shoulder, behind his coworkers, right in front of him… But the Monk brought some friends, Yuji noticed when he peered around. The loading dock and back alley suddenly seemed crowded as the volunteers milled about with their duties.

Yawai answered for the nonbender, which he wasn’t a huge fan of. But hey, she was the intruder, not him. She asked about a young woman. It piqued Yuji’s curiosity, but only briefly. The Monk remained silent (Typical, he thought, amused) and another truck began to roll into the loading bay, and the concrete platform started to feel a lot smaller. Another Monk glided up beside the first. “H-have any of you seen her?” the investigator asked a second time.

Yuji watched the woman. She didn’t look visibly disturbed, but her stutter betrayed her. He had to admit, even he felt the back of his neck prickle with presence of so many Monks. Their silent treatment absolutely wouldn’t help, what with their dead-eye masks hiding who knew what. Then again, she wasn’t in a place she belonged. As she flicked her bangs, Yuji saw the glint of gold he expected. If Yawai wasn’t a firebender, he’d eat his hat.

Miss Angry answered, in any case. Oddly, she reminded him of his sister, in a way… Though his sister was far less prone to outburst, and didn’t have wretched scars across half of her face. She also wouldn’t out herself as a bender to a stranger. From Yuji’s experience, it probably wasn’t the smartest move to mention Equalists in front of so many Monks. It always seemed like benders used the term to justify violence against nonbenders, and this was a mostly nonbender establishment…

But Yawai blabbered on about the girl. At least Yuji knew it wasn’t her, not Mei Ling. She was too smart to be caught up in an assembly line, though from what he saw of the picture, she looked somewhat similar. He ignored the investigator’s question for the moment and turned to the two Monks. The masks had been difficult to get used to, but Yuji had grown to almost enjoy talking at them. Despite their ominous demeanor, they were generally selfless and hardworking, tireless in helping others, and he had a deep respect for that.

He gave a respectful (if brief) bow and requested of them, “Is there any way that we could get a few helpers to unload this woman’s truck? She doesn’t have a crew with her, and I’m concerned that she’ll hurt herself. And I couldn’t find the ledger for her shipment.” No reason to out her as a bender – for one, the Monks had an uncanny sense for benders. And if her words rang true, they’d probably consider her nonviolent. Angry, for sure, but not threatening by any means.

Then he addressed the investigator. “Look, lady, I see a lot of faces come in and out of here, and I sure can’t remember them all. But this is a soup kitchen, not some bar. Not a whole lot of big, loud groups come in to have themselves a grand old time after work. A lot of people don’t or can’t even work.” He rubbed at one of his tired eyes, stifled a yawn, and adjusted the brim of his cap. “So unless you have some reason to think she’d be here, you'll get better luck asking around elsewhere. And, as you can see, there’s a lot of work to be done around here.” He stepped aside to let a box-carrying Monk pass.

Yawai nodded emphatically, secreting the picture back into her obi. Then she bowed.

"My apologies, I did not mean to imply as such. You are absolutely correct,  Mr. Yuji. Absolutely correct. The woman is one of the missing,  missing since all this upheaval started."

She stuck her thumbs into her obi, looking around at all the activity.  Nodding again, she looked passed the monks at Yuji directly.

"Forgive my intrusion...with hope, all this means is she found a friendly roof other than the one I see here. Sorry for troubling you all..."

Bowing to the monks in front of her, then a quick bow directed towards Torana, Yawai bowed once more to Yuji before turning on her heels to leave.

Each step made her feel better.

This one, strange case was now closed with this last, also strange, soup kitchen she visited. But she couldn't help but wonder if she was leaving a far stranger mystery behind.

She wouldn't take it.

There wasn't enough Yuans in the United Republic to make her want to investigate the Monks of Koh.