markofthewise | Sokka the 77th

[On February Twenty-Fifth, Sokka turned nineteen. On the Twenty-Sixth, he left on a routine mission to work as a mechanic on one of the Malnosso's three space vessels high up in orbit. There was no battle, this time. Just good honest work, people to relate to, and a small bunk to call his own. Seven days, just like that.

On March Fourth, one of the mechanics triggered a malfunction on the hangar doors. The crew quickly fled, just as the power went down. They needed to close the hatch leading to the hallway. But without power, it could only be closed from one side. The one about to be opened up into space. The hero, the stupid hero, closed the door. In those brief moments, he thought that maybe if he reached a Tyr Fighter, he could climb in one of those. He ran. Hard.

He didn't make it.

Today, he fell into the sea, nearly drowning, and was saved by the Avatar. It distracted him from what happened, but now that she was off exploring town, he had the chance to go in his room, get dressed, and collect his weapons. It was a good thing he chose not to bring them. They'd be out floating in space right now, otherwise. One thing was strange, though. He wasn't upset. He wasn't distressed. He could only look back on it and regret that it even happened. That was a week's worth of points he wouldn't be getting. Damn Malnosso cheapskates.

After a bit of cleaning up, he went to go approach this new day. He'd be gone from Luceti for two weeks. People would probably miss him. But his first destination was the smithy.

The only problem was that once he got to the smithy, he found himself looking at the walls. They were barer than he left them. People had been picking up some of the weapons he'd made. Well, that wasn't going to do. He wasn't running a charity here.]

Hey Luceti. Looks like I got back in time for the new feathers to roll in. I'm Sokka. Hope you guys are settling in fine! I run the Slash 'n Crash, the local smithy and weapon shop. I make most of the weapons here. I do take commissions if people want stuff. But since there's no money, just talk to me and we can work out a trade. No point in breaking your back for nothing, right?

Anyway, did I miss anything important?

[For the rest of the day, Sokka can be found at the smithy. Later he does about an hour of catch up work at the library, before going home to dinner. Remarkably enough, he doesn't feel like drinking today.

Today is a good day.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I'm serious. This? This is grounds for friendship annulment."

She merely accepts his lack of remorse for what it is: friendly playing.

"Well I'm keeping Katara. I've known her longer."

"Can I not maybe have her on some holidays? Y'know. Joint pal custody."

"I'm sorry, but we don't actually share any of the same holidays. Sooooo. Probably not gonna work out so well."

"...Horse hockey," she said, in the lamest example of invective yet.

"I... have no idea what that is."

"And now -- with us not being friends and all -- you may never find out. Sucks to be you, Thunderaxe."

"Somehow, I think I can live with that."

"Nuh-uh. You're in too deep. You've got the Earthism itch. What are you gonna do without my steady supply of slang, huh? You're hooked; the withdrawal will be awful."

"You're not the only person from Earth around here, Buffy. Maybe I'll find a new one. Maybe a younger one, more my age. Pretty and possibly brunette. Possibly single."

"...Gentlemen prefer blondes. And you know no one gives better slang than me."

Yahtzee.

"I won't know that unless I shop around. I haven't given others a fair chance yet."

"Oh, they'll lure you in with their dangling modifiers. But you know what you'll get for all your trouble? Loose vowels. Spliced commas. Itchy portmanteaus."

Slangually Transmitted Infections.

"Possibly. Or maybe they'll just be more culturally sensitive. It's been known to happen. With other people. People not you."

"Do you really want some gal who's gonna tip-toe around the big questions?"

"It'd be a nice change of pace."

"...Oh, for all of three minutes."

"I'm sorry, Buffy. But the fact is, you're yesterday's news. A man has needs. And those needs are young and peppy."

Edited 2013-03-23 16:32 (UTC)

"I ooze pep. Pep is in my veins. Or -- well -- it normally is."

Harrumph. It's hard to make the argument that you're a peppy person when you've lately been a big old loser, but: "And twenty-seven is still plenty young."

"If that's what you need to tell yourself."

"Besides," she pouted -- venturing into a boast she'd never go near if she wasn't bantering with a close friend and sometimes-confidant, "you haven't even factored in Slayer stamina, y'know."

He raised an eyebrow. "Buffy. Are you hitting on me?"

"What?"

Was she? Buffy took a step back. She re-evaluated her life choices. "No. God, no. You're so--"

She frowned. "We just got caught up, y'know? In the moment. The bantery moment. That's all."

"So what?" Now he wanted to know. For science.

"Young. Good. And nice. I mean -- you're a big jerk and all but you're..."

Nice. Nicer than anyone Buffy would ever normally wind up with, certainly. That was her latest conclusion in life.

"But mostly young. Which I now realize is almost the same thing as saying I'm too old. And that's depressing."

Edited 2013-03-23 16:47 (UTC)

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