"Someone recommended succulents to me because they are — and I quote — 'hard to kill'." Ren laughed, resting her head on her hand. "I guess I am just naturally talented."

She watched in fascination as Johar demonstrated how to sew, her fingers twitching. She was very much a hands-on learner. He handed her the towel and needle, and she eagerly accepted. Her hands were quite still as she attempted to imitate his movements. It was harder than it looked; it was all there, in theory, but her stitches were uneven. Some too far apart, some tighter than others. She frowned, unconsciously scrunching her nose to try and wiggle her glasses back up her face as she tried again.

After a few attempts, Ren laughed. "You make it look so easy!" she said. "Why are my stitches not coming out even?"

It was strange, watching Ren try to follow his example. He was used to giving instructions to patients, telling them what medicine to take and when, or how to sit to give the best position in which to work, but this was new for him. He was always happy share what he knew, but he'd never actually tried to teach someone something before. He thought of his teacher then, a gruff, taciturn woman who had never wasted a single word when correcting him. She had been a believer in tough love, often shoving him out of the way to point out what he had done wrong and demonstrate the correct method he had failed to internalize. She had offered little encouragement, only more specific instruction and higher expectations. He missed her dearly.

So far, it was seeming like he would fail to live up to his mentor's expectations one more time. His first attempt at teaching was not going as well as he'd hoped. Ren's stitches weren't bad, all in a line as they should be, but she was right that they were uneven. He frowned at her question. "That's…difficult to answer," he said, reaching out to run his fingers over Ren's stitches. "Making stitches even takes practice. My teacher used to make me use a ruler when I started out, to make sure all my stitches were the same length. After a long while of doing that, I got an eye for it. I'd suggest trying that, if you've got a ruler handy."

Ren frowned, thinking. A ruler, a ruler... She got up (reluctantly) from the kotatsu and rummaged around in one of the kitchen drawers. "Aha!" she exclaimed triumphantly after a few moments, holding aloft a small ruler, about half the size of a standard one. "How lucky," she said, crossing back into the living room and settling back down. "The previous occupants of this unit left a handful of things behind when they left, for whatever reason. I saw this when I was putting away my own things and wondered what I'd ever use it for."

Slowly, painstakingly, she tried again; after every loop she stopped, laid the towel next to the ruler, and measured. A few minutes passed and at last, there was a small row of stitches evenly spaced. Some of the stitches were still tighter than others, but she figured that would change with practice. She ran her index finger over the thread.

"I remember when I first started with calligraphy," she said, her husky voice taking on that wistful quality of someone reminiscing. "It took forever to get used to just how much pressure to use with every stroke. My first sheets were such a disaster! I may as well have just dumped the inkwell over the paper."

She looked up at her new friend. "Would you mind doing the repairs on my sash?" Ren grinned sheepishly. "It's the only one I have, and I don't feel like I'll have mastered this by the time I need to wear it again."

Ren was quick to acquire a ruler, and as she went back to practicing her stitches, Johar settled back, reveling in the warmth of the kotatsu. Maybe he should offer Ren weekly lessons or something like that, just so he'd have an excuse to sit under her kotatsu again. He would enjoy that.

Fortunately (unfortunately?), Ren was not a slow learner. She made improvement with the aid of the ruler, and within a few minutes had achieved a line of almost completely uniform stitches. Johar eyed them with a critical gaze, then smiled. "That's very good," he told her. "You'll be mending your own clothes in no time."

He nodded at Ren's reminiscence about calligraphy. "I was the same way when I first learned to make medicines out of herbs. It took me forever to learn that 'a pinch' is actually a precise amount. I ruined countless concoctions before that sank in. I still have trouble with my measurements sometimes, especially when I'm tired."

Then Ren reminded his of his original reason for coming to her apartment. "Of course," he replied. He waited for her to hand him the sash, then ran his hands over it, gently fingering the tear. "This shouldn't be too hard to fix," he concluded. "It might take a little longer than what I just showed you, since I'll be using a different technique to make the stitches hard to see, but I shouldn't have to encroach on your hospitality too long." He winked at Ren, then took up the needle and thread and began to get to work.

Johar winked at her, and Ren blushed crimson and looked back down at the towel in her hands. She was suddenly very aware that there was a man in her home, one that she had just met mere moments before she invited him in. Her heart ached as she wondered what Hangetsu might say, his protective policeman instincts kicking in.

"Mister Johar," she said softly, a slight tremor in her voice, "how is Republic City, lately?" The acolyte paused, uncertain if she should elaborate. It's none of his business! the emotional part of her said. But he won't know why you're asking! the rational part of her countered. Ultimately, the rational part won out.

"About — about a year ago, when Amon attacked the City, I lost touch with H... with someone very important to me. He was a police officer, and I can only assume that when the attacks began he was called away. I've avoided all news of Republic City since, afraid of what I might read, or hear. But it's been a year and I still haven't heard from him."

The towel in her hands blurred as her eyes watered. She shut them tightly, willing the tears not to fall.

"I don't have anyone else to contact in the city. My parents left when I did, to go back to our hometown. The other acolytes are too busy restructuring the temple to search for a single person. I've..." her voice dropped even lower. "I've been so afraid to go back. I can't stop smelling the smoke, or hearing the screams of the acolytes as we ran for our lives. Master Tenzin put himself between us and Amon's forces so we could escape. I know that I'll have to go back again, some day. I am still an Air Acolyte and my place is at the Temple. But I can't... if Han... if the person I care about is... is...." she trailed off, her voice catching.

Ren bit her lip, feeling her whole body tremble. The thought was too horrible, too unspeakable. She couldn't put those words out into the universe, couldn't breathe life into them.

"But I need to know. I can't live my life not knowing, and being afraid to return to where I belong."

There was a moment of silence in which Johar sat comfortably, feeling the warmth of the kotatsu on his legs, happily joining together the torn sections of Ren's sash. He was so absorbed in his work that Ren's question made him jump. Pain lanced through his hand as the jerking motion sent the sewing needle into the flesh of his thumb. He hissed and, setting the sash and needle down, stuck his thumb in his mouth before he could get blood on his clothing—or worse, on Ren's. It was looking like this that he turned to face Ren, and he felt completely foolish when he heard the way her voice shook. Looking sheepish, he removed his thumb from his mouth and wiped it on his pants. He took in a breath to speak, but Ren continued before he could.

As Ren continued speaking, a sense of panic slowly began building in Johar's brain. He could mend a wide variety of physical injuries, but had never been good at tending to emotional turmoil. And here he was, sat in a stranger's home, watching her try to hold back tears. And he had no idea how to help her. He raised a hand, thinking to put it on her shoulder, then stopped. He didn't know how Ren felt about being touched, and given how tumultuous her emotions were right now, he didn't want to do anything to make the situation worse.

Ren spoke of smoke, of screams, and Johar cursed himself for not coming to Republic City earlier. He had arrived soon enough to feel the effects of the events from a year ago—he heard the same whispers as everyone else, bore witness to the same protests—but too late to offer healing services to those directly involved. He'd never had cause to regret his timing before, but then he hadn't talked at length with anyone who'd actually been through it all. Sitting here now next to Ren, he felt the hot blush of shame.

"Ren, I…" his voice faltered. "I'm not sure what to say. I don't think anything I could say would make you feel better…" He sighed, wringing his hands. "But I can at least answer your question." He took a moment to collect his thoughts, eyes on the kotatsu table, not really seeing it. "Things in the city are…complicated," he said finally. "There haven't been any major events like…what happened, but tensions are still running high. Amon started something, and it's not finished yet. People are disappearing, and every day there are more and more rumors of some group called the Galgori Six that some people say are fanning the flames, influencing the government. Many people are angry, and those who aren't angry are scared. It's…not good," he finished weakly. He let silence take over, then. He'd said enough.

"I see," Ren said in a very small voice. So the chances of Hangetsu being alive were slim. A metalbending officer, not heard from since the battle, still alive in a city full of turmoil and anti-bender sentiment... and he had no family to speak of to search for him, to worry for him...

The table in front of her blurred again as she clenched her hands, long nails digging into the flesh of her palms.

"Avatar Aang talked about the Six, you know," she said, her voice shaking. "I remember transcribing some lectures about the War. He only knew about their existence because of a Galgori-turned-ally, and that man wound up disappearing forever. His wife took over, and no one knows what happened to him. But what Avatar Aang thought happened was pretty clear, even if he didn't say it."

She looked up, her hazel-brown eyes wide with fear. "Who does that to one of their own? What could he have possibly done to just ... just be obliterated from history? To be no more than a footnote in the greatest battle of recent times?"

Ren sat in silence for a little bit, absently playing with one of the many strands of grey hair that escaped from her perpetually messy braid. Her path was clear, then. She had to return to the city, to look for Hangetsu. Otherwise, she would never be at peace. But even as she accepted this, anxiety made her chest tight. She closed her eyes and tried to take a steadying breath, to put all the meditation techniques she learned into practice. It wasn't working. Abruptly, she stood and crossed over to the window, flinging it wide open. She took in a deep, shuddering breath. Then another. The crisp air pained her skin, but the pain drew her focus, turned the prickling, antsy feeling of her skin into a known sensation.

After a few moments, she turned back to Johar, but stayed leaning up against the window sill. "I'm sorry," she said. "That's been happening for about a year now, every time I think about returning to the city. All I had there were my parents and Ha-— and that person. And now..." Ren shook her head, her braid slapping against the nearby wall with a thwack.

Johar noticed as Ren's hands clenched in response to his words, and felt frustration surging through him. To see someone hurting and not be able to help them like this was infuriating. But he was at a complete loss as to what to say or do. Living on his family farm most of his life, he'd never experienced true tragedy. And he'd come to Republic City after everything that had happened there. This was uncharted territory. He was so used to the ease of treating obvious physical wounds, he'd forgotten about the potency of emotional ones, which were far harder to cure.

Then Ren was talking again. As she spoke of the Six, of their power to remove those who opposed them, Johar suddenly felt very small. He'd heard the same rumors as everyone else in the city, seen the same protests, but had thus far trying to ignore it all. He'd labeled his shop a safe space, and thought that enough to permit him to go about his life, willfully turning a blind eye to the discontent all around him. Even describing the situation to Ren, he'd summed it up as "not good." Ridiculous. A sudden downpour was not good. A train being late was not good. This was far worse than that, and it was time he acknowledged that fact.
Johar drew back in alarm as Ren suddenly stood and went to the window. Still sitting there under the kotatsu, he fidgeted. Should he leave? At this point, his presence here was clearly not a source of joy for Ren. But he wasn't quite finished repairing her sash. And she hadn't yet asked him to leave…he decided to wait and see what happened. The cold breeze blowing in from the open window tickled his skin.

Momentarily, Ren turned back to him and…apologized? Johar shook his head. "There's no need to apologize to me," he told her. "You've done nothing wrong. Thinking about the city is hard for you, and you should express that when you need to." He was quiet for a moment. "Ren…have you thought about visiting the city, maybe just for a couple days? That wouldn't be as large a task as moving back entirely. You could use that time to start looking for your parents and your police officer friend. You could…you could stay with me, if you wanted. I have an extra mattress for when patients need some time to rest before they can return home…" As he spoke, his voice got quitter and quieter, his eyes on the table, on the wall, anywhere but Ren.

Ren didn't see Johar's discomfort; she was staring out the window, staring at the faint outline of the Republic City skyline off in the distance.

"I... I hadn't thought about it, no." Well, that wasn't wholly true. She had, but in small passing thoughts, immediately followed by the heaviness in her chest. The crisp air had lessened the crawling feeling in her skin, replacing it with that stinging pain one gets from being a little too cold; the pain was preferable to the crawling feeling, as it had a source and a reason rather than just an abstract feeling of needing to something.

Johar mentioned that he had a spare mattress, if she needed it while she searched. "That's a kind offer," she said. "I'll think about it, at least." She could stay at the temple, really, but the thought of it was difficult. If only thinking about the temple invoked such vivid memories of the battle, then how could sleeping there be any comfort?

"My parents are all right, though," she corrected gently. "They left the city and returned to our hometown. It's just ... my friend who is missing."

Feeling better, she returned to the kotatsu. She left the window open, so the room was cool, but the kotatsu served as a buffer against the cold. "Thank you for your kindness," she said smiling awkwardly at Johar. "I... It's a lot to put on a stranger out of nowhere, but somehow I find you very easy to talk to." Ink-stained fingers lifted the practice towel gingerly. "Would you like to move on to a more pleasant topic?"

It was a strange way of moving on, but Ren didn't want Johar to think she was being abrupt.

He had just invited a complete stranger to stay in his home. The more time that passed after those words left his mouth, the more the enormity of them sank into him. What was he thinking? He wanted to make Ren feel better, offer what help he could, but he'd only just met her. She seemed nice, but lots of people seemed nice. That didn't mean it was a good idea to invite them all to spend the night at his place.

Fortunately, he didn't have to grapple with the full consequences of his rash offer just yet. Johar let out a small sigh as Ren said she'd think about it. He didn't regret making the offer, really, but was glad he had more time before he might actually have to honor it.

"That's good," Johar said when Ren clarified that her parents were okay. As she went on to mention her friend again, Johar began to suspect that this person was a bit more of a friend to Ren. But, that was none of his business, and so he did not ask. Ren could have whatever relationships she wanted with whomever she wanted, and was entitled to her privacy. He would respect that.

Johar wasn't sure how to respond to Ren's thanks. Saying "you're welcome" didn't feel quite right. He had only done what he thought was needed—which, when it came down to it, had mostly just been letting Ren talk. He was good at letting others talk. It was easy, he found, to just sit and listen. When people were free to speak as much or as little as they liked, it was easier for them to unburden themselves. And with an endless number of outside sources of frustration and pain, it was good to have the opportunity to relieve oneself. Now he just needed to get better at processing what he was told.

He smiled when Ren suggested a change of topic. "Yes, please." Letting silence creep in to ease the tension a bit, he picked up the sash and returned to his sewing. He was about half done with the repair. "Ren," he began. "What was life with the Air Acolytes like? I've heard much about them, but never been sure what it is they do."

Back into comfortable territory, Ren's demeanour visibly picked up "Oh, it's wonderful," she breathed.

"Well, you see, Avatar Aang established the Acolytes to preserve Air Nomad teaching. Since he was the last airbender, it was vital to preserve the Air Nomad way of life in order to ensure that they would return." The grey-haired woman launched into an animated explanation about the effects of spirituality on bending ability. Air Nomads, she informed Johar, had a one hundred percent bender-to-person ratio. "Because they were so spiritual," she explained. "At least, that's what Avatar Aang thought."

She continued, explaining that Avatar Aang's hope was that by passing on the spirituality of Air Nomads in combination with intermarrying with his family, that the Air Acolytes could help usher in a new era of airbenders.

"Of course," she concluded, "that's the theory anyway, and the overall goal." Ren absently pushed her glasses back up onto her face as she continued describing the various duties of acolytes — from feeding the air bison, to teaching meditation and martial arts, to scribing. "That's my job, of course," she said, beaming a little.

"Overall though, life at the temple is — or was, at any rate — very peaceful. Many people visit the temple to try and get some peace of mind, but a good number wind up staying. The hardest thing was probably learning how to give up meat. I struggled with it something fierce the first few months, but once you get it out of your system it's a lot easier than you'd think. I find that eating meat nowadays winds up making me feel ill."

Looking down at her practice cloth, she frowned. In her eagerness to share about acolyte life, she had completely flubbed up all of her stitches. "Oh dear." Painstakingly, she started over again.

"What about you, though, Mister Johar?" she asked. "What made you want to become a herbalist?"

There was something magical in listening to someone talk about something they loved. Whenever he was working on a patient, Johar would ask them questions about their interests to take their mind off of what he was doing. This usually worked well, especially when it came to children. He'd once spent a good twenty minutes listening to a little boy list off every variety of fish to be found in Yue Bay. The child had been so engrossed in his explanation he'd entirely forgotten about the needle and thread closing a gash in his forehead. Really, he'd been a much better patient than some adults.

As Ren spoke, Johar sent occasional glances and nods her way to show that he was really listening. Mostly, though, he kept his gaze focused on the sash so he wouldn't mess up his work. He settled into a comfortable rhythm, Ren's explanation forming a pleasant soundtrack to which to sew. It was clear that Ren had loved her life on Air Temple Island—still did. That made him sad, for her and for the rest of the Air Acolytes, that their peaceful way of life had fallen victim to hate and fear. He hoped that Ren found a way to get back to the life she prized soon.

Johar glanced over as Ren exclaimed over her stitches. He offered her a small smile. "You'll get it," he assured her. "You just have to keep practicing. And really, it's my fault for distracting you with my question."

Then it was his turn, as Ren asked about his profession. His smile grew. "Shortly after I left home a few years ago, I had a run-in with a boar-q-pine. I wandered into the wrong cave while trying to get out of a rainstorm. I guess boar-q-pines don't like strangers in their homes." He shrugged. "Anyway, I quickly got out of there, but not before I'd earned some scratches and gotten stuck full of quills. I found a healer in the nearest town to help me, and after I got over the fever that the rain decided to inflict on me, I begged her to teach me."

He paused for a moment, absentmindedly tapping his sewing needle against his chin. "You asked me why, though...I guess I just wanted to help people. I knew Waterbenders could do amazing things with healing, but before then I'd never seen healing done through more natural means—at least, nothing beyond home remedies that might or might not actually work. The idea that I didn't need bending to be able to heal people was…well, I suppose it just felt like I'd found what I was meant to do." He shrugged again.

Ren smiled at her towel, her hands slow and steady as she stitched. "That sounds wonderful," she said. "I suppose I can relate. I felt a little lost before I joined the Acolytes but once I got there, it just felt... right."

A chilly breeze wafted through the open window; Ren snuggled a bit further into the kotatsu. "I never thought of healers not needing to be benders, honestly. I mean... it's not exactly the first thing that comes to mind." She frowned, not out of unhappiness but in thought. "It's kind of strange to think about, isn't it? That, despite not being able to bend, the first instinct is that something must be done by a bender. Which, I guess in a way translates to the first instinct being that we're unable to do it because we can't." It was an uncomfortable notion, one that was reminiscent of the fliers the Equalists had passed around a year ago.

She shifted uncertainly. Truth be told, the Equalists had a point, at least before Amon showed his true colours. But where did the Air Acolytes fit in with that? How could she reconcile being an acolyte — spreading the teachings and ways of a society of benders — with also agreeing that there was a definite skew in favour of benders in the world? She didn't follow politics closely as of late, but it was impossible not to notice the obvious: an all-bender Council in the city, up until recently; a police force whose officers were entirely comprised of metalbenders; most of the affluent and influential people of the world being benders themselves....

Lost in thought, Ren's hands fell still.

It seemed like they were more alike than Johar had initially thought. He nodded as Ren spoke of finding what was right for her. He'd set out from home at eighteen, with no clear direction in mind, no end goal. He'd almost literally stumbled into the art of herbal medicine, but as soon as his first lesson had started he'd known that he'd found his path. He was fortunate, he realized, that it had been that easy for him. Plenty of people went through their lives without ever finding what they were meant to do. The universe moved in strange ways.

As Ren continued speaking, a cold breeze blew in from the window. Johar turned his face toward it, enjoying the way the sharpness of the air contrasted with the soft warmth of the kotatsu. Ren's words brought him back from that moment of delight, though. It was sobering to think that many nonbenders likely thought of themselves as unable to achieve their dreams because they hadn't been born with the ability to spit flames or move rocks with their minds. "Well," he began, his forehead wrinkling as he thought through what he wanted to say, "It doesn't really help that certain jobs and hobbies are reserved exclusively for benders. Something as simple as powering machines in a factory requires you to be able to control lightning. That's a difficult pill to swallow." He sighed. "I guess all any of us can do is discover our own talents and do the best we can with them."

They had had a brief interlude of more pleasant discussion, but here they were again, talking about the intricacies of the bender/nonbender conflict. It wasn't surprising, really; the subject weighed heavily on everyone's minds. But still, it was unfortunate that, even on a pleasant day like this, with as good of company as Ren had turned out to be, the tension was inescapable.

Not sure where to go from there, Johar, turned back to his sewing. Completing some last few stitches, he pulled the thread taut, brought it to his lips, and used his teeth to sever it. Smoothing his hand over the stitches, he admired his handiwork. "Not bad," he muttered to himself. Turning, he presented the sash to Ren, its torn edges now joined together by a thin line of brown stitches. "It's done. What do you think?" He watched her anxiously for a reaction.

Ren started a little when Johar turned his attention back on her. She blinked at him a few times over the rim of her large glasses before her brain kicked in. "Oh! Yes, sorry!" She took the sash in her hands, peering at his handiwork closely. And by closely, she was looking very closely. The glasses on her face might as well have been non-existent, and her face was mere finger widths away from the cloth.

"This is amazing!" she said, her voice full of admiration, the kind that usually creeps into a person's voice when they are unable to do a task themselves. "The stitches are so neat, and uniformly tight." The tall woman held the sash at arms length, absently scrunching her nose to wiggle her glasses back up into their proper position. "You can't even tell it's there unless you're really looking for it!"

She beamed, the smile lighting up her face. "Thank you," she said. "What can I give you in return? I can't let you do this for free."

Time stretched. What was likely only about a minute or two felt like days as Johar waited for Ren's evaluation of his work. As he waited, he realized that this task, small though it was, made him more nervous than his regular habit of stitching wounds. When he was closing a wound, his patients didn't care how the end result looked; they just wanted to be able to walk around without their insides exposed to the world. But this carried so much more weight than that. Not only was he repairing a visible article of clothing, it was an Air Acolyte's sash. As far as he was concerned, it was a near-sacred garment. If he'd done a poor job, if Ren didn't like it, he might never be able to forgive himself.

"This is amazing!"

Relief flooded Johar's body, the warmth of it greater even than that of the kotatsu. She liked it. That was all he needed to be happy. A smile to match Ren's spread across Johar's face as she complimented his stitches. "Thank you," he mumbled, blushing at the praise. His face twisted into a look of confusion, though, when Ren asked how she could compensate him. His brow furrowed, his nose crinkled. "I…I don't know," he replied, shrugging. "This wasn't a large enough task to be worthy of money, and I don't need anything transcribed…" He leaned on the kotatsu table, his chin resting on his upturned palm. His fingers drummed quietly on his upper lip.

Finally, he turned back to Ren. "This may sound strange," he began, "But how about a promise to come visit me in Republic City? Not now, obviously," he added quickly. "But…whenever you're ready. You don't have to stay with me or anything as complicated as that. We could just have tea. Owning a tea shop does make that very easy to do. Just, you know…a thought."

"I...."

Ren paused, thinking, her head tilted slightly to the side. It wasn't an unreasonable request, but she wasn't sure she could make the journey if she had to be the one to bring herself to the city. She knew she'd find some excuse, some reason not to go, if left to her own devices. After all, that's what she'd been doing for the past year.

"That sounds lovely," she said finally, her voice obviously shaking. "I mean, it." She laughed, but it came out more like a hiccup. "I still have my... worries, of course," she added in a hefty understatement, "but... perhaps, if it wouldn't b- be — be — be too much trouble, you could — could fetch me?" Her hands were wringing themselves again, but Ren didn't seem to notice. "I... I think I'll back out, if you don't."

OOC: I'm fine w/ starting a new thread in RC if you want?