Sokka Thunderaxe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
markofthewise) wrote2012-12-10 01:02 pm
markofthewise) wrote2012-12-10 01:02 pm
Entry tags:
Sokka the 75th - [Action] (Backdated to the 10th)
[Introspection]
It's an interesting thing to reflect on life in Luceti. Sokka remembered hearing it phrased as the "Luceti education". It certainly was some education. Looking back, he could scarcely believe some of the things that had happened to him. He'd fallen in love with two girls thanks to the annual love event. He'd been convinced he was a father. Not only that, but he was the father of those two very same girls. He had partial memories of living the life of an Avatar, one that granted him a unique set of memories of a mother he had barely remembered before. He had faint memories of what his entire life would be like if he had been a girl. More complicated than that, he'd spent a month as another girl in Luceti with the concern that he could be stuck like that forever. Maybe that was the oddest thing of all. He certainly tried to not ever, ever think about that horrible month.
But it wasn't all weird. Some of it was just horrible. He'd lost friends, seen people die, and watched as everyone from his world came and went with the sole exception of him and his sister. He had fought monsters in Luceti, far beyond his ability to ever stop. Some of those monsters were his friends. He'd been sent into wars, bloody wars, where he fought enemies that could not be reasoned with. He'd grown accustomed to killing his enemies. It was easy now. Too easy. He'd died, too. Not long enough to gain a death penalty, but it happened. It still haunted him. And he still couldn't bring himself to tell more than a small number of people.
He'd loved. Loved and lost. And he got her back. But it wasn't the same. Sometimes he wondered that it might never be the same. He'd grown into a man, but not in the way he ever expected. It was the Luceti education. Everyone was hurting. Everyone. The education was that you learned to pretend like it didn't hurt. You threw parties, you played games, and you spent each and every day acting like maybe one day you'd get back home and that would be a good thing. Eventually, whether it was months or years, people realized that 'going home' wasn't as good as it seemed. They weren't the lucky ones. The sum of their experiences and growth was being ripped from them, in an instant. They were sent home with a wound they didn't know they had. Everyone eventually was doomed to be returned to what they were. Lesser. Smaller. Without the things that now made them who they were.
Sometimes that didn't seem so bad anyway.
[Action]
Three years. That's how long it was now. Sokka sat outside the house, snapping his finger as he tried to summon a spark of Eferin's fire. As he expected, he'd lost it. Not for good, perhaps. But he'd stopped practicing and stopped communing with the spirits. It was little surprise. It was tapping into Tsinku's power that got him toasted. He'd spent so much time invested in other things, that he just lost his connection with the spirits. With a small bit of reluctance, he relied on his zippo lighter instead. It was sufficient to start the fire. It was nothing much, really. Just wooden scraps, paper, cardboard, and other accumulated materials that had started clogging up parts of the house. Most of it was Sokka's own junk. So rather than just throw it out and let the Malnosso deal with it, he decided to just make a fire instead. He realized, of course, he was doing it in the same fire pit that he had used when Suki went home.
Three years. Today was a normal day. Sokka spent the first half of his day at the smithy. With Hiccup on the mend after that particularly painful surgery, it left Sokka as the only one who did the maintenance on the weapons. New Feather season was, at least, gone and done with. He hadn't received any commissions in a while, so it left him with time to start on some new projects. Things he expected would be gifts later. For lunch, he put extra jalapenos on his sandwich. Just like Elisa made them. The nice thing about the smithy was that despite how cold it was, you could sit outside in front of the open door and still be warm from the radiating heat of the furnace.
Three years. Sokka spent dinner at home, as he was supposed to. Then he did some alchemy research at the library. It left the evening free, but he figured there was a particular girl who would be occupying his time. That was the nice bit. It was a long trail and a heavy education. But you could forget when you were around a person who didn't know it yet. Then it was just another day. The twist was that he didn't mind. Education or not, Sokka was happy enough.
((ooc: This post is just a typical 'day in the life of' sort of deal. This is what his schedule looks like. Mostly it's self indulgent. Sorry about that!))
It's an interesting thing to reflect on life in Luceti. Sokka remembered hearing it phrased as the "Luceti education". It certainly was some education. Looking back, he could scarcely believe some of the things that had happened to him. He'd fallen in love with two girls thanks to the annual love event. He'd been convinced he was a father. Not only that, but he was the father of those two very same girls. He had partial memories of living the life of an Avatar, one that granted him a unique set of memories of a mother he had barely remembered before. He had faint memories of what his entire life would be like if he had been a girl. More complicated than that, he'd spent a month as another girl in Luceti with the concern that he could be stuck like that forever. Maybe that was the oddest thing of all. He certainly tried to not ever, ever think about that horrible month.
But it wasn't all weird. Some of it was just horrible. He'd lost friends, seen people die, and watched as everyone from his world came and went with the sole exception of him and his sister. He had fought monsters in Luceti, far beyond his ability to ever stop. Some of those monsters were his friends. He'd been sent into wars, bloody wars, where he fought enemies that could not be reasoned with. He'd grown accustomed to killing his enemies. It was easy now. Too easy. He'd died, too. Not long enough to gain a death penalty, but it happened. It still haunted him. And he still couldn't bring himself to tell more than a small number of people.
He'd loved. Loved and lost. And he got her back. But it wasn't the same. Sometimes he wondered that it might never be the same. He'd grown into a man, but not in the way he ever expected. It was the Luceti education. Everyone was hurting. Everyone. The education was that you learned to pretend like it didn't hurt. You threw parties, you played games, and you spent each and every day acting like maybe one day you'd get back home and that would be a good thing. Eventually, whether it was months or years, people realized that 'going home' wasn't as good as it seemed. They weren't the lucky ones. The sum of their experiences and growth was being ripped from them, in an instant. They were sent home with a wound they didn't know they had. Everyone eventually was doomed to be returned to what they were. Lesser. Smaller. Without the things that now made them who they were.
Sometimes that didn't seem so bad anyway.
[Action]
Three years. That's how long it was now. Sokka sat outside the house, snapping his finger as he tried to summon a spark of Eferin's fire. As he expected, he'd lost it. Not for good, perhaps. But he'd stopped practicing and stopped communing with the spirits. It was little surprise. It was tapping into Tsinku's power that got him toasted. He'd spent so much time invested in other things, that he just lost his connection with the spirits. With a small bit of reluctance, he relied on his zippo lighter instead. It was sufficient to start the fire. It was nothing much, really. Just wooden scraps, paper, cardboard, and other accumulated materials that had started clogging up parts of the house. Most of it was Sokka's own junk. So rather than just throw it out and let the Malnosso deal with it, he decided to just make a fire instead. He realized, of course, he was doing it in the same fire pit that he had used when Suki went home.
Three years. Today was a normal day. Sokka spent the first half of his day at the smithy. With Hiccup on the mend after that particularly painful surgery, it left Sokka as the only one who did the maintenance on the weapons. New Feather season was, at least, gone and done with. He hadn't received any commissions in a while, so it left him with time to start on some new projects. Things he expected would be gifts later. For lunch, he put extra jalapenos on his sandwich. Just like Elisa made them. The nice thing about the smithy was that despite how cold it was, you could sit outside in front of the open door and still be warm from the radiating heat of the furnace.
Three years. Sokka spent dinner at home, as he was supposed to. Then he did some alchemy research at the library. It left the evening free, but he figured there was a particular girl who would be occupying his time. That was the nice bit. It was a long trail and a heavy education. But you could forget when you were around a person who didn't know it yet. Then it was just another day. The twist was that he didn't mind. Education or not, Sokka was happy enough.
((ooc: This post is just a typical 'day in the life of' sort of deal. This is what his schedule looks like. Mostly it's self indulgent. Sorry about that!))
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Said sack was quickly squonched onto the countertop.
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Perhaps there was nothing wrong with them at all. But he didn't quite trust Jack Sparrow with a bag full of fruit.
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This might be lucrative.
"How much?"
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"I'd offer you all the money I've made here, but I gave that to Nami as a birthday present."
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Anchors. And a bell. A pretty bell."
He lifted the bag of oranges and let it squodge down on the counter once more. A threatening squodge.
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"An anchor? Wouldn't just the bell be enough? A small bell?"
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Jack might be fairly practiced at woodworking by now, but he'd never cast a bell before and couldn't begin to pretend that it was something he was capable of doing or that he wanted to do.
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"This small?"
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1/2
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