Ren missed Republic City.

The city she was was in... a town, if she were less generous... was so unremarkable after the bustle of the capital. There were no late-night eateries, no smoky lounges with sultry singers, no roar of traffic... even if a majority of her time had been spent on Air Temple Island, the lights and sounds of Republic City were carried to her over the waters of Yue Bay.

This town though... the name escaped her; it was such a nondescript name, like 'Townsville' or 'Landplace'. She giggled to herself, thinking how Hangetsu would appreciate her joke, then just as abruptly frowned. Thinking about Hangetsu made her chest tight with sadness and anxiety.

Being an Air Acolyte outside of the city was curious thing. While she no longer had the resources of the Temple, being an Acolyte was, in a way, the best of both worlds; it cemented her nonbender status so she was left alone by those who were unhappy with current societal norms, but also showed that she was part of the 'nation' of Air Nomads which drew respect from a majority of benders. Remembering her transcriptions of Avatar Aang's lectures, Ren wondered if he would be sad now, to see the acrimony that plagued the nation he and Fire Lord Zuko had founded in the interest of peace and unity.

Blowing a strand of her ever-messy grey hair out of her face, she shoved her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. The morning was well underway, and she hadn't started on anything she had wanted to do.

Garbed in her slightly dulled, patched-at-the-hem golden robes, Ren tugged her red sash on over her shoulders, her sloppy braid swaying heavily with the motion. First stop was the local bookstore, Kai Leng's Book Emporium. She had bartered her scribing services in exchange for being able to borrow some books for light reading, and it was time for her to return her most recent haul. The proprietor of the shop was a surly young-ish fellow, but Ren didn't mind his demeanour. He spoke little and asked few questions, and that was just fine with her.

Walking through town was uneventful, as always. Ren was always surprised on her walks to realise just how much she missed the smells of the city, both good and bad. Sure, the main street had its shops and stalls but it was no where near the volume or the cacophony of scents any given street in the capital would have.

At last, she arrived at the bookstore. Nearly bonking her head on the top of the door frame (the doorways here were somehow much smaller than the doorways in the city, at least for a woman her height), she entered; there was another customer there already, peering over the directory. She walked past them and headed to the counter. "Good morning," she said, her husky tones seeming a little too loud for the bookshop's stillness. Ren placed the books on the counter and bowed slightly. "Thank you for the loan."

From between the covers of one of the books, she withdrew a folder with some papers inside. "Here are this week's transcriptions."

Wordlessly, she received the new list of things to transcribe. She smiled, and tucked the list into her inner pocket.

Turning on her heel, Ren made her way to the shelves. What to read this time? Walked slowly up and down the aisles, before the horticulture heading in the directory caught her eye. Plants! She loved plants, but had been cursed with the brown thumb. Perhaps books on plants would help bring a little greenery back into her home.

When she arrived at the section, she was startled to see the customer straining on tip-toe to reach a book on the highest shelf. She smiled, a bittersweet memory flitting through her mind and twisting her heart. She crossed over in long strides and plucked the book down from its lofty place.

"Here... here... here you go," she murmured shyly, holding the book out and blushing as her stammer returned. Being with Hangetsu had all but banished her tendency to stutter when flustered, but since being apart it had returned in full force. 


OOC: Mass Effect 3 reference? >_>

As he reached up, Johar wondered how he might look if someone were to come across him in that moment. He must look pretty silly, he thought, like a child trying to grab a toy. Even so, he wasn't about to give up. His goal was in his sights, and he wouldn't give up unless he had to.

Unfortunately for Johar, determination didn't make up for lack of height. No matter how hard he stretched, he could only just brush the book's spine with his fingertips. He contemplated jumping for it, but couldn't bear the thought of making so much noise. And what if he made a mess in the process? He imagined the scene, him standing in a pile of fallen books, clutching his prize. No, that would not do. He'd just have to figure something out.

Just then, a hand entered his field of vision, reaching up past his own arm to take hold of the book he was after. He watched as the book floated down toward him, then trailed his eyes down the arm that held it to identify its owner. He looked up at a tall woman, her face framed by grey hair, glasses perched precariously on her nose. "Here... here... here you go," she said, holding the book out to him.

Blinking a few times, Johar took the book. He looked down at it, running his finger over the embossed gold lettering of the title. The smile returned to his face as he looked back up at his savior. "Thank you," he said, bowing his head slightly. Not wanting to stare, his eyes wandered, focusing in on the woman's gold robes and red sash. It took him a moment to recognize their significance.

"Um, sorry to pry, but are you an Air Acolyte?" he asked. Barely pausing, he spoke again, feeling the need to explain himself. "I've heard about the Air Acolytes, I've just never met any before. If—if you're not, though, I…sorry." Yup, that was him: Johar, master of conversation.


OOC: Yep, Mass Effect 3 reference.

OOC: I notice you've tagged my OOC name in this — can you modify your OP to correct the tag to the character name? This way we know what character the thread is for, since a single player may have multiple characters. Thanks!

Ren shifted uncomfortably. She had gone to help out of instinct, but now that the attention was on her she regretted it. For someone who hated being put on the spot, being garbed in bright yellow was not exactly the wisest move. If only Hangetsu were here!

"Erm.. yes- yes, I am an Air Acolyte," she said, looking down at her feet and fiddling with the hem on her sash. "I... moved here about a year ago..."

Her wood-smoke voice cracked and faltered; she bit her lip as she drew all her inner strength and banished the memory of that horrible day out of her mind. The smoke... the screams... the explosions...

Her hands trembled, ripping the fabric of her frayed sash slightly. Damn, she thought. Sewing wasn't her forte. She'd have to find a tailor or seamstress willing to make a minor repair for not a lot of yuans.

Johar was no mind reader, but it was clear that his question had upset the woman. Mentally he cursed himself as she murmured a response. The inner rebuke turned into a physical wince as her voice cracked. This was exactly the sort of situation he hated to be in, and it was his fault. He'd wanted to indulge his curiosity, but not if this was the result. He wished he were an Earthbender, so he could a hole in the ground and disappear into it.

He held his hands out, palms up in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry," he said, eyes fixing on anything but the woman's face. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with my question."

Silence stretched between them, Johar not sure whether to apologize again or just leave before he managed to make things worse. Then, he was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of ripping fabric. His gaze zeroed in on the woman's sash, which sported a brand new tear. His fingers flexed.

"Um…I can fix that for you," he said. "I know how to sew…kind of. I mean, I usually work on skin, and not fabric, but I'm pretty sure the principles are the same. If you wanted to come by my shop in Republic City some time, I could try my best..."

OOC: Fixed it.

They were apologising.

Ren twisted her sash more aggressively, shifting her weight from one leg to another in very obvious discomfort. "N-no, no, no, no, it's fine, it's fine!" It wasn't this person's fault they didn't know what had happened to the Acolytes. To her.

Then they were saying they could fix her sash, if only she would come to Republic City. Ren took an involuntary step backward, her hands flying up, palm out, as if warding off a physical blow. "NO!" It wasn't so much a shout as it was a horrified expulsion of breath, the word squeezed out of her lungs like the wheeze of air leaving a set of fireplace bellows. There was no volume to it, just force.

"...No, thank you," she said, this time more politely and socially acceptably. She dropped her hands and looked at her feet again. "I'm sorry, I'm... I can't... I..."

Her hands were back on her sash, twisting and pulling, lengthening the tear. "Can you-- can you-- can you fix it here?"

This was just going so well. They were getting along absolutely swimmingly. And all of this because he'd been too short to reach a book. He wasn't even sure he wanted the darn thing anymore, not if it came with all this trouble.

Johar nearly jumped out of his skin at the woman's sudden reaction to his offer to fix her sash. It hit him like a blow to the chest, knocking the air out of him. He had no idea what might have elicited such a reaction, but it was clear that Republic City was not somewhere this woman wanted to be. He wondered what might have happened to make that the case. It was unfortunate, whatever it was. Republic City had its downsides, plenty of bad to go along with its good, but so far his time there had been mostly positive. Maybe he'd just been lucky.

Johar's eyes fixed on the woman's hands as she continued, watching her twist the sash, tearing it further. If she kept fretting like this, soon there wouldn't be anything left to repair. As for an answer to her question…he tapped his fingers on his chin while he thought it over. "I don't have the materials I'd need," he finally said. "But if you know where I could buy a needle and thread in this town, we wouldn't have to go anywhere you don't want to."

"I don't have the materials I'd need," he finally said. "But if you know where I could buy a needle and thread in this town, we wouldn't have to go anywhere you don't want to."

Ren's hands paused. A small, appreciative smile turned up the corners of her lips, the movement sliding her glasses down her nose, stopped only by the tip. The effect of the smile was transformative, a ray of sunshine slipping out from behind the clouds on an overcast day.

"That would — would be wonderful," she said, her voice still a bit quavery. "There is a small corner store that sells odds and ends not too far from here..." She paused. "Ah... erm... I don't have any money, but I am a scribe so if you need any transcription services, or anything re-written into calligraphy, I can offer that as compensation for the cost."

A sigh of relief escaped him as the woman's hands stilled. She smiled, and suddenly she was an entirely different person, free from the nerves and fear that had gripped her before. Johar matched her smile with one of his own, glad that now they could start to leave the awkwardness of the interaction so far behind.

The woman confirmed that there was somewhere in the town where he might find what he needed, and he nodded. Then, when the issue of payment came up, his smile widened. "Don't worry about it," he told her. "Usually I just have my patients owe me a favor anyway. I don't know that I have anything I need transcribed right now, but I'll keep it in mind."

Thinking about transcribing reminded him of the book that had sparked this meeting in the first place. He glanced down at it, then back up at the woman. "I still need to go pay for this," he said. "Wait here?" Barely waiting for a response, he took the book to the front counter, where he handed five yuans to the taciturn shopkeep before slipping the book into the bag slung over his shoulder. That done, he returned to the woman.

"Ready when you are."

Ren timidly followed, waiting a small distance away for the customer to complete their purchase. When they were done she opened the door and gestured. "It's this way..."

They walked down the main street, Ren pulling ahead slightly to lead the way. The silence was uncomfortable, but not necessarily unpleasant. Still, she felt the need to say something. "I'm — I'm sorry about that outburst. I was at the Air Temple when... you know..." She trailed off again. After some more silence, she added, "I'm Ren."

The shop was small. Ren stooped to pass through the doorway, and led the way to the sewing supplies. There wasn't a wide selection, just a few needles and a handful of thread colours: black, white, and brown. Sadly there was no red thread; not that it mattered. Ren's robes were already a bit of a patchwork ensemble.

"Here you go," she said shyly. "I don't know what sort of supplies you might need. I hope this is enough."

As Johar returned to the street with a new book and a new companion, he wondered at his current situation. He had set out earlier that morning with no clear goal in mind, just the thirst for whatever knowledge he could find. And now here he was, walking side-by-side with an Air Acolyte, on a mission to repair her sash. It was funny, sometimes, how things worked out. The universe moved in mysterious ways.

That said, he welcomed the woman's company. Initial awkwardness aside, he liked her. Now that he wasn't making her uncomfortable with probing questions, there was a calmness to her stride, a stillness that he appreciated. He was by nature a less energetic person, fond of quiet moments. Walking beside this woman was one of those moments, and it left him feeling content.

Then, strangely, she apologized to him. He shook his head. "You don't need to apologize," he told her. "You were just expressing your feelings. There's no shame in that. Besides, I can't really say one way or another if your outburst was warranted. I came to Republic City after everything that happened a year ago, so all I have to go on are stories of what it was like. I can't imagine what actually going through over that was like…" Contemplative silence filled the space between them, and then the woman spoke again. Johar smiled. "I didn't realize we hadn't introduced ourselves. I'm Johar." He inclined his head slightly. "Nice to meet you, Ren."

True to Ren's word, they soon reached a small shop which was host to a small selection of sewing supplies. Johar surveyed his options, his lips pursed. He turned to look at Ren's sash, then back at the thread on the shelf. "No red," he pouted. "That's no good." He sighed. "Guess we'll just have to make do." His hand hovered in the air, fingers wriggling, until finally plucking the brown thread from the shelf. Grabbing a needle to go with it, he turned to Ren. "Looks like it's brown," he told her with a shrug. "Maybe, if I do a good enough job, you can just call it a weird design choice."

Ren pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose again, then smiled. Her glasses slipped down, rendering the previous action moot. "Patch — patchwork is my trademark," she said with a small, self-deprecating laugh as she gestured to her robes. If she stood next to another acolyte, the disparity would be obvious.

Recycling clothes was one of the ways the Acolytes followed the Air Nomad tradition of leaving behind material possessions. If robes were still serviceable in some manner, they were saved for scrap and added to other garments that may have had holes, rips, and tears. Of course, that's not to say that they never received new material! It was simply that when Ren arrived they had no robes that fit her in length, so the hems of her robes had been lengthened using scraps. The previous owner was still several inches shorter than Ren, and had long since given the robes back as he grew in width. The cloth was faded next to the more brilliant golds of newer robes, and the seams where holes and the hem had been patched were — while expertly done — still obvious due to the colour difference.

With everything going on that year with the Avatar and Master Tenzin's family, new robes had simply been of very low priority. And, of course, once she had escaped from Air Temple Island it was pretty much inevitable that she would have to salvage what she could out of her clothing. She was able to come away with the important things: three sets of robes, her calligraphy set, an extra pair of sandals, her backup pair of glasses, and — in a moment of sentimentality — the small box of silk ribbons she had purchased during a festival with Hangetsu.

Over the last year, she had taken extra good care of her robes; when she was at home, she mostly sat around in her underthings so they wouldn't wear out faster, or that she wouldn't accidentally spill ink or food on them.

As she gazed over the sewing supplies, she had an idea. "Do you think," she said suddenly, oblivious she had been silent for several moments, "it — it — do you think it would be possible, Mister Johar, to teach me how to sew?" She smiled nervously, rubbing the back of her head. "It occurs to me that you won't — won't always be around to get me out of a pinch."

As Ren made it clear that clashing aesthetics didn't bother, Johar realized that he hadn't yet gotten a really good look at what he was working with. Now he did, and wasn't sure what to make of it. There was a very clear dominant theme to Ren's robes—beautiful reds and golds—but it wasn't consistent. Near the bottom of the ensemble the colors faded, and patches of not-quite-matching fabric were strewn throughout. The sash itself, though, was mostly one color. The brown would clearly clash, even as just a thin connective line.

Johar pouted. He hated working with inadequate tools. There was only one result that could come from it. He wasn't a perfectionist, necessarily, but it was important to him that, when providing a service to someone, especially a service as important as healing, everything was as good as he could make it. This drive had sent him out hunting for herbs in the freezing hours of the morning and the dead of the night. He was dedicated to his craft, and would not accept shoddy workmanship on his part if he could help it.

Unfortunately, in this particular situation, it was out of his hands. A town this small was unlikely to have more than one store with sewing supplies, and he really didn't feel like disturbing the locals to request their personal supplies of red thread. Johar thought of his shop back in Republic City, of the cabinet full of threads in every color he could think of, and cursed the distance from there to here. He had no choice. Much as it frustrated him, he would have to make do.

He had been stewing in silence, and had almost forgotten Ren. When she speak, it startled him. He jumped, then looked up at Ren, suddenly alert again. It took him a moment to process her request. "Teach you how to sew?" he repeated, blinking slowly. He chewed his lip as he thought it over. "Yes, I could probably do that," he finally said. "Sewing's not too complicated. Long as you've got steady hands, you can join just about any two pieces of material. I'd be happy to pass on what I know." He smiled.

Ren held out her ink stained fingers with a smile. "Calligraphy ink," she explained. "I have very steady hands."

Gesturing, she lead the way to the counter where a friendly young girl stood ready to check out their purchase. Money was exchanged, the goods bagged, and Ren gestured again and led the way out of the store.

"I hope you don't mind going to my apartment for this," she said, oblivious to the concept that it might be inappropriate to invite a total stranger to her home. "There isn't a local Acolyte branch here, and I am sure it would be inconvenient to make any repairs to my sash in the middle of the road, or at a restaurant."

Her apartment was located above a small greengrocer. The narrow staircase leading up to her portion of the building was narrow, dimly lit even during the middle of the day. She unlocked the door and stepped inside.

"Please take your shoes off," she requested politely, doing the same. The floor was a small step up from the entry way; once her shoes were off she stepped up on to the floor. She pushed forward a rather large pair of house slippers and offered them to Johar. "I don't have an extra pair, I'm afraid," she said apologetically.

The apartment itself was a small studio. The farthest wall led to a small indoor bathroom. The kitchen and dining area were separated from the living room by a small half-wall. The living room in turn doubled as the bedroom. In one corner was a large traditional-style futon. In the centre of the room was a kotatsu. In the farthest corner next to the bookshelf was a small table, piled high with papers. Nearby was her calligraphy set; it appeared as if she had left in the middle of a project, but in fact Ren was just terrible at remembering to clean up after her supplies.

She sat at the kotatsu, indicating Johar should do the same. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, lighting up the entire apartment. "Please, sit."

The sight of Ren's hands was encouraging. This wouldn't be the first time Johar tried to teach someone to sew, and how well that went really depended on the individual. The last person he'd tried to teach had had a tremor in his hands. Johar had been reluctant to teach the man, fearful that he'd just hurt himself accidentally, but the man had insisted. Johar had tried his best, but his student had still left Johar's shop with most of his fingers newly bandaged. Hopefully Ren would avoid suffering the same fate.

Ren led the way to the counter, where Johar purchased the sewing supplies, and then they were outside once more. He nodded at what Ren said as they began to walk. "I don't mind, if you're willing to have me," he replied. "Anywhere would work if I were just sewing your sash, but since I'll also be teaching, it'll be good to be somewhere quiet."

Johar was not an adventurous person usually, preferring to stick to what he knew. His biggest excursion had been when he left his home to see the world, and he had only done that after months of careful consideration. Today, he'd set out on a hunt for books, and now was about to enter a stranger's home to teach her how to sew. This was strange, but exciting. He always enjoyed sharing his knowledge with others. And sewing was such a valuable life skill to possess. Ren seemed eager to learn, and Johar was eager to teach.

The trip to Ren's apartment was short, and though Johar nearly tripped on the stairs, he made it there in one piece. He took his shoes off as requested, but dubiously eyed the slippers Ren presented to him. He didn't want to be rude by refusing them, but it was clear that Ren's feet were quite a bit larger than his own. Luckily, it did not look like he'd be going long distances with the slippers on. If it was just a matter of making it to the kotatsu, that he could manage. So, he thanked Ren with a smile, slipped his feet into the slippers, and flopped his way after her.

As he made his way to the center of the room, Johar made sure to take in his surroundings. "You have a beautiful home," he told Ren, his gaze lingering on her calligraphy supplies. He was used to supplies sitting out. Often he would stay up late while working on an herbal remedy for a patient and fall asleep while a concoction was brewing. Most of the time he managed to rouse himself before his work was ruined, but it was always a gamble. He really needed to work on that.

He sat at Ren's indication, taking note of the way sunlight streamed in through the windows. The light fell across the center of the room in just the right way to give Ren a glowing outline. It was mesmerizing, and it took Johar a second to come back to himself as he stared. "Um, so…" he started. He rummaged in his bag to retrieve the sewing supplies, setting them on the table. "Do you have any spare pieces of fabric you could practice on? It's probably best not to use your sash for that…unless you want it covered in new stitches."

Ren frowned in thought. She hadn't figured on needing to practice, and it's not like she had a lot of spare clothes lying around. "Hm...."

She looked around the apartment slowly, chewing her lip... what to use, what to use...? Then the dishtowel caught her eye. With a soft excuse me, she retrieved it and presented the cloth to Johar. "This is all I have, I'm afraid," she said, a flush rising to her cheeks. "I have another in the wash bin, so it's okay if we practice on this."

Ren turned to go back to her place, then stopped. "Are you chilly?" she asked. It was the fall season after all, and the air was crisper as of late, especially this close to the coast. She had been so pleased to find the unit included the kotatsu, and she spent the last winter falling asleep under its warmth. Unfortunately, this kotatsu was not a modern electric one, but still used charcoal. She had a half-full bag leaning up against the wall and she gestured. "We can heat up the kotatsu, if you'd like!"

Johar looked around along with Ren, hoping to spot the perfect things to practice sewing on. Ren spotted something first, leaving and returning with a dishtowel. Johar eyed the towel, picked up his newly acquired sewing needle, and poked the towel with a few times. There was a bit more resistance than he was used to when working with finer fabrics, but no so much as to present a hindrance. He looked up at Ren and nodded. "Yes, this'll work."

He smiled at Ren's suggestion of heating up the kotatsu. It had been getting cold of late, and sewing would be more difficult if done with stiff, chilled fingers. "I'd like that," he said, watching as Ren went off to light the kotatsu. He waited for her to come back, idly fiddling with the dishtowel as his eyes wandered. Again he was drawn to the calligraphy supplies in the corner. He cleared his throat. "You said you're a scribe, right Ren? What's that like? What do you usually find yourself writing?"

Pleased as punch — she had quite wanted to heat the table, but didn't want to if it would inconvenience her guest — Ren busied herself with filling the little heating container that attached itself to the table with charcoal, then grabbed a match and lit the stones. She blew on the charcoal gently, fanning the embers into a low, steady heat before placing the container back under the table. She took a seat to Johar's left, being left-handed herself, and snuggled under the futon that was draped over the kotatsu frame and held in place by the table's surface. Insulated, the underside of the table became comfortably toasty.

"You said you're a scribe, right Ren? What's that like? What do you usually find yourself writing?"

Ren shrugged, resting her upper body on the table. The downside of kotatsu use: the desire for a nap increased tenfold. "It depends. At the temple it was always one of two things: re-writing content from decaying scrolls into newer books, or transcribing recorded audio from Avatar Aang's lectures. Now..." She shrugged again, her eyes fluttering. "... it's just little stuff. Not many people have use for traditional calligraphy, so mostly the local gentry ask me to transcribe their poetry" — here, Ren extricated an arm out from under the futon and made a quoting gesture with her fingers — "from their block type to something they can display in their homes for bragging purposes."

Now that she was in familiar surroundings, speaking of familiar things, her nervous stutter had disappeared. "I don't really write anything for myself, though. I will readily admit I am no poet, and the creation of fictional works eludes me. I became a scribe because I wanted preserve the words others had already said for generations to come."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. How lofty and arrogant she sounded! Feeling wrong-footed, she shifted the conversation away from herself.

"What about you, Mister Johar?" she asked. "Are you a tailor?" Ren paused, remembering the book on horticulture. "Or perhaps an herbalist or greengrocer?"

Johar's study of medicine had mostly been practical application, but his teacher had made him brush up on history as well, to be sure that he understood the foundations of all he learned. In his time spent reading textbooks and historical records, he'd come to see how many incredible things humans had invented over the centuries. There were countless ways to fix what was broken and improve lives, each more impressive than the last. Johar had developed an appreciation for human ingenuity, a longing to contribute to his species' creativity in his own way. But as he sat beneath the futon, wriggling his feet in appreciation of the warmth that washed over them, Johar came to a realization. No matter what he created, it could never match the sublime pleasure of the kotatsu.

He was so lost in bliss that he nearly missed Ren's answer to his question. He managed to refocus just in time, though, to catch her answer. He watched Ren as she spoke, and it was clear to see how speaking of calligraphy put her at ease, how much she enjoyed the work. Johar always enjoyed hearing others talk about what made them happy. Joy had a way of lighting up people's faces that nothing else could match. As far as he was concerned, his mission in life was to spread as much joy as possible, any way he could.

"That's a noble ambition," he remarked as Ren finished speaking. "It's a good thing people like you exist. There's so much we can learn from the past, and it would be a shame if any of that knowledge was lost simply because no one thought to write it down and preserve it. You do important work."

Then, the conversation turned to him. He wasn't sure how to feel when Ren called him "Mister Johar." He recognized the respect inherent in the honorific's use, but still squirmed a little internally. He was far too young to be a "Mister," and nowhere near important enough. All he did was own a shop, after all. "Mister" was a term for important men with important careers. But, at least he could appreciate the respect Ren afforded him.

"Yes, I'm an herbalist," he nodded at Ren's guess. Automatically, his right hand went to his left wrist, which boasted a tattoo of a leaf. His healing mentor had given him the tattoo just before they had parted ways, to signify his graduation, of sorts. He cherished the mark, and often found himself looking at it when his spirits were low, as a reminder of his capabilities. "I own a tea shop in Republic City, and also offering healing services to those in need every night after the shop closes. That's where my sewing knowledge comes from; sewing clothing and stitching skin share the same basic principles."