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31_days2006-11-18 09:36 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-11-18 09:36 pm
[Nov. 18] [Avatar] Souvenir
Title: Souvenir
Day/Theme: November 18 - bergamot and vetiver
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Bato
Rating: PG
You look around you and there are so many things that should remind you of home, but don't. When Hakoda and the others left, they made sure you had what you needed to remember who you were and where you came from. Various artifacts, large and small have been hung around your shelter with a careful eye as to placement. There is a mask just like that one on your wall at home, in pretty much the same place. Your stash of weapons--some practical, some not--are ready to hand just as they were on the boat coming up here. You even have some of the right food, carefully preserved and jealously rationed. The pelts are the same, as are the clothes, the tools, the robes.
But the walls they hang on and the floor they lie on are made of warm and yellow stone, not pale and shimmering ice. Things that should look familiar are made strange by their new context. They remind you that you're not where you're supposed to be. They make you wonder if you really remember what home is like, and if they will now look strange when you see them against the whiteness of ice.
Other things, though, do remind you of home. They remind you of home because they only serve to underscore that this place is very much not home.
The steadiness of the land tells you that you are not at sea. The quiet voices of the women from the abbey are nothing like the raucous, familiar voices of the men of your tribe. The sound that lulls you to sleep every night is that of crickets, not of waves lapping against the side of your ship.
At least you're not lonely. The sisters at the abbey are kind, and you suspect you will miss some of them when it is finally time to leave. You should have died from your wounds, but they--somehow--managed to patch you back together. They were skilled enough and patient enough that you still have the use of your left arm, something you'd thought was impossible at first. (You are certain that when you think of this place, this time, you will always remember the pressure of strong, gentle hands, the warmth of the ointment that burns and cools at the same time, the damp weight of the bandages. The soft smell of roses, the sharp smell of mint, the smoky smell of sage, the earthy smell of vetiver, and the fresh smell of bergamot--these surround you and drown out all other smells, including your memory of the smell of the sea.)
When two children of your tribe unexpectedly show up, it's like a little bit of home arriving. It's a chance to revisit the old stories, tell the old jokes, and live the old ways. It all comes to life again, and you would swear that it was just yesterday that you and Hakoda pulled that prank on old Kanna, that's how fresh the memory feels. For a moment, the smell of the sea rises up over the smell of roses.
The only problem is, the Sokka and Katara you meet are not the Sokka and Katara you remember. They have grown, and grown strong. Their travels have changed them as yours have changed you. They remind you that things are no longer the same, and that things will never be the same, and that the home you return to is no longer be the home you left, just as the home you left is no longer the home you knew as a child.
Eventually, it comes time to leave. You say your goodbyes and set sail down the river that will lead you to your people. In time, you can smell the sea on the evening breeze, and something within you soars.
But still, when you set anchor for the night and stretch out on your pelt, you are enrobed in the scents of the abbey that have permeated deep into the fur, and part of you hopes you will always be able to remember the soft smell of roses, the sharp smell of mint...
Day/Theme: November 18 - bergamot and vetiver
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Bato
Rating: PG
You look around you and there are so many things that should remind you of home, but don't. When Hakoda and the others left, they made sure you had what you needed to remember who you were and where you came from. Various artifacts, large and small have been hung around your shelter with a careful eye as to placement. There is a mask just like that one on your wall at home, in pretty much the same place. Your stash of weapons--some practical, some not--are ready to hand just as they were on the boat coming up here. You even have some of the right food, carefully preserved and jealously rationed. The pelts are the same, as are the clothes, the tools, the robes.
But the walls they hang on and the floor they lie on are made of warm and yellow stone, not pale and shimmering ice. Things that should look familiar are made strange by their new context. They remind you that you're not where you're supposed to be. They make you wonder if you really remember what home is like, and if they will now look strange when you see them against the whiteness of ice.
Other things, though, do remind you of home. They remind you of home because they only serve to underscore that this place is very much not home.
The steadiness of the land tells you that you are not at sea. The quiet voices of the women from the abbey are nothing like the raucous, familiar voices of the men of your tribe. The sound that lulls you to sleep every night is that of crickets, not of waves lapping against the side of your ship.
At least you're not lonely. The sisters at the abbey are kind, and you suspect you will miss some of them when it is finally time to leave. You should have died from your wounds, but they--somehow--managed to patch you back together. They were skilled enough and patient enough that you still have the use of your left arm, something you'd thought was impossible at first. (You are certain that when you think of this place, this time, you will always remember the pressure of strong, gentle hands, the warmth of the ointment that burns and cools at the same time, the damp weight of the bandages. The soft smell of roses, the sharp smell of mint, the smoky smell of sage, the earthy smell of vetiver, and the fresh smell of bergamot--these surround you and drown out all other smells, including your memory of the smell of the sea.)
When two children of your tribe unexpectedly show up, it's like a little bit of home arriving. It's a chance to revisit the old stories, tell the old jokes, and live the old ways. It all comes to life again, and you would swear that it was just yesterday that you and Hakoda pulled that prank on old Kanna, that's how fresh the memory feels. For a moment, the smell of the sea rises up over the smell of roses.
The only problem is, the Sokka and Katara you meet are not the Sokka and Katara you remember. They have grown, and grown strong. Their travels have changed them as yours have changed you. They remind you that things are no longer the same, and that things will never be the same, and that the home you return to is no longer be the home you left, just as the home you left is no longer the home you knew as a child.
Eventually, it comes time to leave. You say your goodbyes and set sail down the river that will lead you to your people. In time, you can smell the sea on the evening breeze, and something within you soars.
But still, when you set anchor for the night and stretch out on your pelt, you are enrobed in the scents of the abbey that have permeated deep into the fur, and part of you hopes you will always be able to remember the soft smell of roses, the sharp smell of mint...