Ah yes, he spied what was possibly his favorite person. A lucky encounter, he thought, for he was wearing his pink flowers that day, and the pinkish, reddish, bah, he never could name the color. Perhaps it was only him that thought it, but he believed that Grandma liked that outfit of his.

But what was going on? He could see a police officer, but hearing was never his strong suit.

Once she beckoned him to approach, he didn't waste a second. Instead he probably took a minute to actually reach her.

The process was slow, exhaustingly slow. He pushed the few passerbys out of his way, some gently, for they moved immediately, some by poking them with his cane. Some yelped, others shouted at him. He heard them, but pretended he didn't.

And so he moved, very slowly, cane ahead, followed by his right foot, and then his left foot, and then repeat, and eventually he reached the scene of the commotion.

"Whaaat seems to be happening? Doesn't the RCPD have more important things to do? Why are you pestering this respectable woooooman?" He asked, or, he shouted, at the officer. As he glared at him, he gave a nudge at his friend. The very slow cavalry was there.

Ah, reinforcements! Old Pa nudged her, and Grandma renewed her chastising with vigor.

"This young man," she said very loudly, "believes I stole an apple, but there is no evidence!" A small crowd was beginning to form; Old Pa was another notorious elder in Republic City, and his antics were just as infamous as hers. She wagged her finger at the young officer, who was beginning to turn a dull shade of red.

Now, whether or not she did steal an apple was immaterial. Firstly, it was an apple. It sold for a fraction of a yuan, and if the vendor could not compensate for the loss of one apple, then they didn't have a sustainable business. Secondly, who could begrudge an old woman an apple (that is, if she did, in fact, take said apple, which there was no evidence of).

The flush becoming more pronounced, the officer bent a little at the waist to be closer to the two geriatric citizens. "Grandma, Old Pa, there's really no need to — "

"WHAT'S THAT YOUNG MAN?" she bellowed, leaning forward and cupping her hand behind her ear. "SPEAK UP." The young man looked flummoxed, so she pushed forward with no mercy. "Were the Six in that apple? Is that why you're so keen on finding it?"

A ripple went through the crowd; with the RCPD and Council denying all rumours on the existence of the Galgori Six, no one dared speak of them beyond hushed whispers — nevermind shouting them directly at a police officer.

She looked up at Old Pa, nodding her head sagely. "That must be it!" she said in what she thought was a conspiratorial whisper (it wasn't). "This young man found the hideout of the elusive Galgori Six!"

Old Pa didn't have the best hearing, that much was true, but even he noticed the lack of anything to hear at all. He was a bold old man, clearly, but even he hadn't dared mention the Galgori Six, at least not in public. However, he thought that fear is what decimates the masses first and foremost, and being afraid of them wouldn't make them go away. If anything, fearing them like a monster of legends gave them more power. What better thing to do than mock them? After all, it was only them that could. They were so old, they really had nothing to lose. He held his knobby cane with both hands, and with a slight cracking of his old bones, he stood up straight. Oof, he hadn't stood straight in a while.

"You heard her! Cat got your tongue?" He asked. He took a step forward and wagged his finger at him. "You play a tough game, officer, chasing after a respectable woman without so much as a sliver of evidence. What're you so afraid of now? She asked you a question. You might want to answer..."

His pause was followed by a cringe of discomfort. He looked at the ground in contemplation. After a few seconds, a loud fart escaped his bowels, and his face relaxed. Dodged a bullet, he thought.

"Pardon me, yes. As I was saying, she asked a question. It's your duty to answer, or leave her alone."

If Grandma noticed a change in the scent of the atmosphere, she gave no outward indication. The young officer, however, had a look on his face that suggested he was feeling faint and a little sick.

She burped, waving away the vaguely fruity smell. "Well?" she demanded, one hand on her hip.

Around them, the crowd seemed to have grown tired of the charade.

Come off it, man!
It was just an apple!
She's old cut her some slack!
Don't you have any REAL criminals to take care of?

The officer looked around for support, but finding none, he gave an exasperated sigh. Throwing up his hands, he shouted at Grandma and Old Pa, but whether in anger or because they were hard of hearing was unclear. "FINE. Have it your way!"

When he spun on his heel and left, boos and flying bits of litter followed in his wake. Grandma cackled as the crowd dispersed and looked up at Old Pa. "Pesky kids," she said, her leathery face full of mirth. She patted her friend's arm gently, eyeing his straightened posture. "When was the last time you did that?" She laughed again.

With a furtive look around, Grandma then reached into her kimono sleeve and pulled out a satsuma and began to peel, letting the bits fall where they may. Somewhere nearby, someone snickered. She held up the small citrus to Old Pa. "Want a piece?"

He didn't guffaw at the officer when he left, but he flashed a huge grin. Kids these days...

When Grandma asked her question, he groaned and relaxed his posture once more, hunching like he used to. "Too long ago." He answered. "My bowels got all straightened up. Oof. Not doing that again. Felt like I'd just go right there in front of the officer." He added and laughed. "That would have been something he wouldn't like to write in those little reports of his. Good thing he left. More important stuff to do than pester us."

He smelled the satsuma before he saw it, and reached for a piece as soon as she asked. "Don't mind if I do." He said and dug in. He loved the slightly sour taste of those. He chewed it slowly to enjoy the juice and tapped his cane on the pavement, very pleased.

"Who did you take this from? Walrus-stache from the corner?"

The satsuma was juicy and sweet, which was a bit rare this late in winter. Thankfully though, other parts of the world had a different climate and delicious fruit was available year-round.

Grandma nodded. The fruit vendor did indeed have a walrus-like moustache, and wasn't particularly known for keeping an eye on his stall. "Where else?" she murmured. Of course, it wasn't really stealing. She had more than paid her dues to this city, and the occasional lack of payment for one measly fruit wasn't going to put anyone's livelihood in jeopardy.

Of course, she'd never take from anyone who was struggling; Walrus-stache was a rather successful business person, and the belly that stretched his vest tightly was pretty ample indication of his ability to feed himself. Not like, say, a fruit vendor down in the Dragon Flats District.

She glanced around, eyeing the hunched over bodies and shadowed expressions that had once more overtaken the passersby. "This city's going to the dogs." Her tone was sharp, and not quite the soft undertone she had intended. "Look at them, practically inverting themselves out of fear. I think a turtle-duck sticks its neck out farther." The old woman let out a string of unpleasant, impolite words next. " — ing beating 'round the bush with this Six nonsense. Unlike most people I still remember what the world was like when they were around and not acknowledging it could be them makes this city scared witless."

Or something that rhymed with 'witless', but not quite.

She passed the last slice of satsuma to Old Pa and jerked her head in the direction of the park. She had been fifteen when the Hundred Years' War ended, and she knew Old Pa had to be somewhere along those lines too, give or take. Like a proper gentleman, he never questioned her age, and she had afforded him the same decency. The slow clacking noises of her wooden geta were muffled by the sounds of passing vehicles and ambient chatter.

"How's your pai sho game lately?" she queried, steering the conversation away from politics. It wasn't so much she didn't care, but that she was old. What were the six going to do to her? Kill her? She could die tomorrow for all she knew.

He sniggered once she confirmed that it was indeed one of Walrus-stache's wares. He always had the best fruit around. So much, in so many boxes, it looked more like a buffet than a market. It was almost like he knew that Grandma was picking up a little something something from him every now and then.

Her indecent language didn't fall on deaf ears. Well, it did, but he still heard them and nodded. "The worst thing a society can do is make villains legends, rather than recognize them as humans, like me and you. No one wants to oppose a legend. Now, a man, that's a whole different story. Wars were waged by men, and now this Galgori terror is created by men, so we should smack them silly instead of talking in whispers about them. Rumors inflate their ego." He said and nodded sagely. "I'd do it myself, but by the time I get to their hideout, wherever it is, they'd be toppled and replaced by some other group of extremists that call themselves heroes. Bah. Got better things to do."

And that was the last he said of the matter before he jumped ship to the next subject. Pai sho was one of his favorite activities. Didn't require that much moving, and the chairs were very comfortable. "I'm as good as I need to be to not have to get off the chair when I want to take a nap." He explained and cackled.

Grandma's snort could be heard over the din of the street. "One day I'll find you in the park, face first in your tiles, with your spirit gone on."

One thing about being old was that one's own mortality — and indeed, the mortality of everyone around you — didn't seem so daunting. It was inevitable, after all, and every extra day was a blessing.

The tiny old lady shuffled forward, heading slowly towards the park. The market place had gotten boring, with everyone too afraid to even so much as breathe wrong. But, Grandma knew, once the real fighting actually began life would go on, as it always did. Not to be callous, but rather that it was simply in human nature to continue ever onwards.

Much like her journey to the park. Had the blasted thing always been this far from the market?

"How was your New Year?" she asked. "Did you get a good fortune at one of the temples? My son didn't come home again, of course. Too busy galavanting around Ba Sing Se to remember his filial piety."

Whether or not Grandma really had a son was the topic of much idle gossip. No one could ever recall seeing him, and truth be told everyone had a hard time picturing her as a nurturing, loving mother.

He snorted in response to her remark. "Wouldn't be a bad way to go. As far as departures go, I'd be in a place I love, doing what I love, and it wouldn't take them days to find me. That would be bad, being all bloated and gross. More than usual, that is." He said and did a fart sound with his mouth and his hand.

He walked right by Grandma, his steps shorter than usual so that she wouldn't have to hurry and keep up with him. It's not that he was fast, but his stride was a lot longer than hers. They looked like penguins in the middle of the street, but everyone knew not to rush them. Not the pedestrians, and not whatever car they blocked with their elderly figure. There were some honks, most likely, but eventually they knew to go around them. They set the traffic, not the other way around.

"Got a better fortune than those that were at the Temple of Koh. The wine was good too, although short in supply. I think they were holding back on me." He always thought that they held back on him. No one knew if it was actually true.

"Eh, kids these days are too busy to visit their old geezers. I have my flowers to keep me company." His children probably didn't even know he was back in Republic City. The last time he spoke to them was before he went on his big journey. Didn't think to inform them he had returned. He was gone too long, in his opinion.

"And flowers don't talk back or have new-fangled opinions on how things should be."

Contrary to most old folks her age, Grandma had no problems with the technological advances prevalent in the United Republic. Indoor restrooms were so much nicer than trekking out-of-doors in the dead of night to sit in some bug-infested glorified hole; a telephone was far more quick and convenient than having to write out a damn letter and wait anywhere between a few days to a month for it to arrive at its destination; electric lights were far brighter and easier to manage than a dozen candles or gas lamps; satomobiles and taxis were a far more expedient and comfortable option than riding ostrich horses everywhere.

But what she couldn't cotton to was this idea that somehow nonbenders were inherently lesser than benders. It was as if they had forgotten the Kyoshi Warriors, or the stories of Master Piandao and his contributions to the Order of the White Lotus. Or even the hero Sokka, whose statue loomed over everyone outside of the Cultural Centre. It was stuff and nonsense, especially the part where they tried to appeal to her age, as if she could confirm that what they were saying was some timeless truth.

But Grandma, they'd say, When you were young the world was run by benders! This is how it's always been.

And her answer was always the same: I suppose the Earth King was a bender, then? And the Kyoshi Warriors? Or perhaps Master Piandao means nothing anymore? Besides, even if that has always been the case, then perhaps it was time that changed.

But of course, then her words were dismissed as the senile babble of an aging woman.

She shuffled alongside Old Pa in a comfortable silence, hardly noticing the vaguely irritated satomobile drivers inching carefully past them. After a time, Grandma spoke again. "The spring festival will be upon us soon," she mentioned casually. "Will you be entering your flowers into the annual contest?"

"It's not like anyone shares their opinions with me. They think I'm too old to understand. They're probably right, and if not, I'm definitely too deaf to hear them. Either way, flowers don't require ears, only hands. Less demanding." He said and sighed. No matter how much he tried to chase after each day with enthusiasm, people were always careful around him, like they were walking on eggshells. Sure, that had its benefits, like having kids run errands for him, but in general, he didn't like the whole "careful around the grandpa" attitude. He was old, not fragile. Well okay, maybe his bones were a bit fragile.

Sometimes they asked for stories from the war. He always said the same thing: The war is only for those that lived it, and you should be grateful you didn't have to. It sounded better than saying that he hadn't fought in the war.

No, no, flowers were better than most people. They knew to stay in their pots and not poke into matters that didn't concern them.

However, Grandma had a question that concerned them. He smiled once he heard it and nodded.

"Of course. Same as last year, and the year before. You never know, I might win this time." He didn't really care for the prize, but he'd love to snatch it from those professional gardeners that were rude to everyone just because they spent more time tending to their gardens than them.

"Pah, I don't know why you haven't won before." Grandma waved her hand in irritation. Old Pa's flowers were a sight to behold, even if he didn't use those new fangled gardening techniques that were all the rage. She also felt it was unfair to have professional gardeners allowed to compete. Obviously people with more time and resources who worked at a thing professionally would have a better outcome than some simple soul who gardened for their own sake.

The park was in view, and Grandma crossed the street unhurriedly, unperturbed by the honking of satomobiles and exasperated shouts from the drivers.

Traffic roared back to life behind them once she and Old Pa stepped onto park property, though Grandma paid it no mind either. The tok tok sounds of her geta were muffled by the dirt paths and expanses of grass. From somewhere on her person, she pulled out another satsuma and began to peel, leaving a trail of orange bits in her wake. Wordlessly, she handed a slice to Old Pa before taking one for her own.

There was something to be said about being able to share a piece of fruit in silence with a friend, and not for the first time Grandma wondered if the art of not speaking had been lost for the next generation.

It took a special kind of self-understanding to be able to walk without a care in the world. He had been practicing for decades. Everyone was always in such a rush, so stressed, but Old Pa didn't give a squat.

He dug in to his slice of the fruit he was offered and grinned with glee. He was in his favorite place with one of the few people that knew not to treat him like glass. Didn't need more than that. He'd love some tea too, but that's about it.

As he walked, he offered his elbow for Grandma to hold on to.

With a wizened grin, Grandma slipped her small leathery hand into the crook of Old Pa's arm. They walked side-by-side, in silence, ignoring the shouts of playing children, the angry yelling of protesters and counter-protesters, the squawks of the turtle ducks; it was hard to penetrate the calm of two people who had lived through the biggest war in history.

Something was brewing in Republic City, that was for sure. Her bones told her it wouldn't be an all out war. She was old enough to remember the stories of the old Galgori villages, marked with warnings and skull-and-crossbone images on bender-created maps. The stories about benders who accidentally wandered in but never came out.

But of course, who on earth started those stories? How did one go about marking a village on a map that supposedly killed all outsiders? How would you know such a village deserved such a marking unless you tried to enter? And then how did you get out? She snorted then and she snorted now. It was stuff and nonsense. There was no question that the Galgori had been formidable, but like all legends they grew with each retelling. Once a man told her that a Monk of Koh could see through a person and know if they were a bender — balderdash. The Monk probably just looked at someone's eye colour and acted all mystical about it.

There was a sudden breeze and a rumpled leaf of paper fluttered to her feet, slightly damp from the melted snow puddles. Slightly runny ink blared the weeks old headline at her: EXTRA!! EXTRA!! POLICE CHIEF MURDERED!!

She kicked at it, sending it along its way again. "You'll come along to dinner sometime, yes?" she asked, her ancient voice shattering the silence and carrying across the stream.

What kind of tea would he like, he wondered, and the answer changed with each step. Jasmine tea? Some spicy black tea? Green tea for extra hydration? Chamomile would make him sleepy, so he crossed that right out. Lavender tea would do the same. Some mint tea would be nice, cool and warm at the same time. Then again, some warm red wine would be better. It wasn't that cold for him, but he wouldn't mind getting a bit warmer.

He looked at the turtle ducks as they waddled around. He always found them cute. He would try to pat them, if they didn't run away from him every time he approached.

His thoughts were interrupted by the paper that flew to them. He counted on the younger generations to put a stop to the mindless deaths, but he wanted them to move faster.

When Grandma extended an open invitation, he grinned. "All you need to do is ask. I always enjoy not having to cook for myself." He always ate whatever simple thing he could make. He didn't want to spend too much time struggling to make something refined, only to eat it in one day and then having to cook again the next. "I'll bring flowers in exchange."

Grandma rewarded Old Pa with a big toothy grin. "I'm making my world famous winter stew with pork and bitter melons at the end of the week," she announced proudly. 'World famous' was probably arguable, but who was going to do that? "Come on over, you know where it is. And your flowers will brighten up the house quite nicely."

Winter was ending soon, and Grandma was less than happy. You would think that a firebender would be happiest in warmth, enjoying hours of sunlight but she was quite the opposite. She loathed the heat, and the first thaw — which was inevitable any day now — was like the first alarm bells that the blasted heatwaves would be making her life miserable shortly thereafter.

But winter, winter was beautiful. The crispness and bite of the morning air, the silence of nature, the way the world was transformed under a blanket of white...

She sighed and looked up at Old Pa. "Yep."

The snow crunched under his shoes. He always enjoyed that sensation, ever since he was a kid in his tribe. He never understood those that complained about the cold. Sure, it's inconvenient, but you can always put on more clothes. The heat was inescapable and he would never prefer it over the cold. He moved his foot to the side to crunch more snow before taking one more step forward.

Ahead he saw the all too familiar carts. Food carts, tea carts. He looked at Grandma and then dug into his pockets for some change.

"Might I interest you in some tea?"