"Go slower." Hama ordered, deliberately taking even longer to finish her own form.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, go slow, so you can get every little bit right." He rolled his eyes and pitched his voice high and mocking, and Hama wondered who exactly he was supposed to be making fun of. He certainly didn't sound anything like her. "I know how to practice forms."
"You go slow so that you don't catch the guards' attention." She thought the fact that she restrained following it up with "you idiot" was very kind of her.
He flushed, and slowed down, properly chastened.
~*~
But it didn't last, not that Hama thought it would. He was a child.
"Stop moving," she breathed. Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be so worried about the guards, she wondered.
But her warning didn't come soon enough, and the guard shouted out as he rounded the corner. "Hey you! Stop that!"
The boy stumbled in the middle of his leap and crashed to the floor of his cage, legs askew beneath him. Hama slumped back against the bars of her cage and watched, eyes blank as she could make them.
As the other guards sprinted from their posts to the prisoner, lying sprawled in his cage, the first guard unlocked the bolt on the boy's cage and yanked open the door. "You, boy," he shouted, grabbing the boy and threw him out onto the prison floor. "Were you trying to bend?"
"No!" he yelped, cowering against the ground. "I swear, I was-"
"Shut up!" the guard yelled, shaking him until his head rattled up and down on his neck.
It was then that the other guards began to catch up. The prisoners, trapped in their separate cages could only watch, their eyes boring into the guards, as the first kicked the boy in the ribs. The air in his lungs spilled out into the room. Years Later, Hama would swear she had felt it, even though she knew there was no way she could have.
Some of the prisoners clutched the bars and screamed out. Hama heard them as if through layers of snow. The guards kicked the boy, and hauled him up in their arms to punch him, and dropped him back to the ground to kick him again. His moans, louder in Hama's ears than the screams all around her, gurgled out of him with flecks of his blood.
~*~
All through the night, Hama sat awake, pressed against the bars of her cage and listened to the air bubble in and out of his lungs. She snaked her arm out of her cage to grab his own hand, left dangling out of the bars, and felt him grip her back. So she was the one to hear his breathing stop, and feel his hand go slack in hers.
~*~
The next morning, a guard poked the boy's body through the bars. "Hey, guys, he's not moving!"
Hama listened to the recriminations, the you-weren't-supposed-to-kill-hims, and the well-it's-your-fault-for-kicking-his-ribs, and the everybody-just-shut-ups, and found that she didn't care at all about what they were or weren't supposed to do.
~*~
The moon rose in Hama's blood. She opened her eyes, dispelling the fitful sleep she had been chasing, and twisted her hands into claws, and waited for a guard to pass near enough to her. She was escaping, and she was, she decided, doing it alone, so that nobody else could mess it up.
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branchandroot
Hama - Katara wasn't her first pupil pt 2/2
Date: 2012-12-10 02:59 pm (UTC)"Go slower." Hama ordered, deliberately taking even longer to finish her own form.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, go slow, so you can get every little bit right." He rolled his eyes and pitched his voice high and mocking, and Hama wondered who exactly he was supposed to be making fun of. He certainly didn't sound anything like her. "I know how to practice forms."
"You go slow so that you don't catch the guards' attention." She thought the fact that she restrained following it up with "you idiot" was very kind of her.
He flushed, and slowed down, properly chastened.
~*~
But it didn't last, not that Hama thought it would. He was a child.
"Stop moving," she breathed. Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be so worried about the guards, she wondered.
But her warning didn't come soon enough, and the guard shouted out as he rounded the corner. "Hey you! Stop that!"
The boy stumbled in the middle of his leap and crashed to the floor of his cage, legs askew beneath him. Hama slumped back against the bars of her cage and watched, eyes blank as she could make them.
As the other guards sprinted from their posts to the prisoner, lying sprawled in his cage, the first guard unlocked the bolt on the boy's cage and yanked open the door. "You, boy," he shouted, grabbing the boy and threw him out onto the prison floor. "Were you trying to bend?"
"No!" he yelped, cowering against the ground. "I swear, I was-"
"Shut up!" the guard yelled, shaking him until his head rattled up and down on his neck.
It was then that the other guards began to catch up. The prisoners, trapped in their separate cages could only watch, their eyes boring into the guards, as the first kicked the boy in the ribs. The air in his lungs spilled out into the room. Years Later, Hama would swear she had felt it, even though she knew there was no way she could have.
Some of the prisoners clutched the bars and screamed out. Hama heard them as if through layers of snow. The guards kicked the boy, and hauled him up in their arms to punch him, and dropped him back to the ground to kick him again. His moans, louder in Hama's ears than the screams all around her, gurgled out of him with flecks of his blood.
~*~
All through the night, Hama sat awake, pressed against the bars of her cage and listened to the air bubble in and out of his lungs. She snaked her arm out of her cage to grab his own hand, left dangling out of the bars, and felt him grip her back. So she was the one to hear his breathing stop, and feel his hand go slack in hers.
~*~
The next morning, a guard poked the boy's body through the bars. "Hey, guys, he's not moving!"
Hama listened to the recriminations, the you-weren't-supposed-to-kill-hims, and the well-it's-your-fault-for-kicking-his-ribs, and the everybody-just-shut-ups, and found that she didn't care at all about what they were or weren't supposed to do.
~*~
The moon rose in Hama's blood. She opened her eyes, dispelling the fitful sleep she had been chasing, and twisted her hands into claws, and waited for a guard to pass near enough to her. She was escaping, and she was, she decided, doing it alone, so that nobody else could mess it up.