deercountry | it's the solstice

Entry tags:

it's the solstice

Who: Mako, Wu, & close CR
What: They might be in a different world, but the solstice is the solstice, and that means it's time to feed everyone you care about, if you're Mako
When: Night of December 21st
Where: Mako and Wu's loft above the Raccoon Room

Content warnings: Sadness from potential memory-share stuff, homesickness, mentions of Mako and Bo's dead parents

© TESSISAMESS

If you have close CR with Mako or Wu, in the days leading up to the Winter Solstice—December 21st—you may have gotten a small text invite in your inbox. A few simple lines inviting you to the Raccoon Room on the night of the 21st for dinner "because it's the solstice." Normally the Raccoon Room is closed early in the week, but on the 21st they've opened it up.

They're actually having people over in the loft above the Raccoon Room, and their living space is decked out in lanterns and candles to keep out the long darkness. Snow falls quietly outside, but in here it's warm and it smells like ginger and pepper. Wu's put on a few scratchy records in the background. Here and there, Winter Mournings are hung, not quite out of reach. It's very easy to accidentally or purposefully touch one.

If anyone comes in early enough, Mako is still at the counter with his sleeves rolled up, rolling dumplings, covered in rice flour. Maybe help him cook? He's looking better than he was early in the month: his skin is the correct pallor without that odd gray cast, and there's no smoke rolling off his body, so that... has to be good!

For the later arrivals, Mako's made dinner, which means hot tangyuan in gingery broth, an entire bowl of mushroom noodles for sharing, and a simmering pot of broth for people to cook things in, as well as a lot of a tangy sauce that Mako gets kind of cagey about when people try. Sit down, enjoy some hot pot! It's a time to be together, after all.

[ ooc: tag around, top-level, have a good time! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Bolin's footsteps are a known thing, like the particular way that fire curves when Mako's bending it or the feeling of dumplings sealing under his fingertips. And he'd figured Bolin would show, figured of course he would but there was that tiny frisson of fear that maybe finally they'd been wrenched too far apart because Mako was... an idiot.

Corrupt, he can't quite say, but it's true. He doesn't know what would have happened if Wu hadn't dragged him back, forced him into normalcy.

Either way: when Bolin's steps approach, Mako tenses up but doesn't stop pressing dough into little balls, rolling them like they're charms to ward everything away. He's been so disconnected, so far from home and everything he knows: every single of these tiny things feels like a bead on a string stretching back to Republic City, which is a stupid thing to think but Mako can't forget it.

He doesn't know what to say to Bolin, because there's so much he has to say (I'm sorry, please tell me you're somewhere safe, a hundred other things, and so Mako lands, quietly, on, ]

Come taste this broth?

[There's a small beat before Bolin does at he's told. A hesitation that speaks volumes in his silence: nervous, distrustful, aware that coming in would mean he is that much further from escape.

It isn't Mako's fault. That, at least, Bolin is sure of.

A little research and a long conversation with someone in a similar situation means Bolin has learned about corruption and that is a large part of why he'd come today. He is terrified that his brother will turn into a monster and end up an animal chained to the floor of a basement while his loved ones frantically search for a cure.

Seeing Mako now, focused and stressed but himself, is what prompts those fears away and moves him into the room.

He knows, too, that their mounting troubles have been just as much, if not entirely his fault. He was prideful and embarrassed and didn't ask for help when he should have. When he is normally so good at communicating his needs. Instead of being open, he slammed every door and window and it just... it isn't like him. He disguised executive dysfunction with aggression and stubbornness and even now he isn't exactly sure why he did it. A jealousy that Mako is finally with someone who makes him happy? Acknowledging that they really are growing up and making lives for themselves? But he wants that for them.. so why is this complicated? things have been so strange ever since he was in the forest.

Mako is everything to him... and Bolin pushed him away for nothing, then doubled down when his brother dared to care. And why? For what?

No wonder Mako was filled with corruption. No wonder trying to shelter his little brother became a hunt.

Bo carefully sets down his parcel wrapped in cloth before sliding off his new, chunky mittens, and crosses to the stove. Carefully skimming the spoon across the top, he blows on it a few times before sipping. His eyes close with a soft moan, instantly transported home. It tastes like hotpot nights in the rafters of the arena after a big win. It tastes like watching fireworks on holidays lighting up the sky in every color he could imagine. Like the steady drum beat of far away festival music and parades winding through the city's streets like an enormous dragon. The flavor is as complex and vivid as his memories and he stays there for another moment before opening his eyes and turning to face his brother, expression soft, dropping all the fear and anxiety he'd brought in with him. Mako is going to be okay because no monster could make this.]

It tastes like home.

Edited (typosss) 2021-12-22 00:44 (UTC)

[ Mako barely breathes while he's tasting it.

This is the product of eighteen hours and a small breakdown: it's seasoned with all the desperation in him to recapture home, to keep just a little bit of that slippery place here with him in an alien world. Mako doesn't consider himself a sentimental person (who has time for sentiment when you're fighting the world tooth-and-nail to survive?) but maybe that's another thing he needs to reconsider in light of how strongly he dug his nails into the fragile memories from home and clawed them close.

He holds his breath, and watches emotion play over Bolin's face and when he finally opens his eyes with that look all the strength leaves Mako at once. He sags in relief, leaning against the counter with his heart in his throat, making his words quiet and strange. ]

I— you think? I couldn't find all the... I didn't...

[ Shit. Mako clears his throat, averting his eyes for a moment while he tries to pull himself together. ]

It's not exactly like, uh. Like mom's.

[Like mom's.

It's a punch to the throat, followed by a mean left hook as the thought settles and Bolin doesn't.. he doesn't remember what mom's tasted like. He can barely remember what she was like at all, actually... and that's terrifying. The guilt tips like a bucket of lead into his stomach and he swallows. Hard.

For a moment Bolin looks helpless, trying to respond but at a loss. Maybe the silence is enough. Mako will understand.

Another beat and he takes a breath. There are ten layers to this conversation and each of them need to be maintained very carefully.

On the surface, Mako's cooking.
In the middle are a million asks about health and well being. Worries wrapped in apologies wrapped in dumpling skins. They lay in beds of sweet rice asking for forgiveness despite lives full of trauma and hopes for a better future. Among bleeding fingers clawing for the right and broken backs to make it happen are golden lanterns filled with aspiration by young men who became too much and nothing all at once and far too young.
And deep, deep down is the solid, unbreakable bedrock of love, family, and devotion.

Bolin knows, then, what he needs to do. He waves away the pain between them and closes the distance without saying anything, arms tight and unwavering. When he does speak, it's quiet and into Mako's shoulder, but certain.]

Maybe not... but it tastes like yours. That's home to me.

[ It's not like hugs from Bolin are unexpected but this one still takes Mako by surprise, makes something sharp spike through him as Bolin crowds close.

He messed up this month, is the thing. Maybe more than this month: maybe for a long time he has messed up, made Bolin think he's not strong enough to handle things on his own so that he has to twist away from Mako to prove it to himself. Maybe he's stayed too close and then pushed too hard, maybe he doesn't actually know what he's doing at all—

But he hugs Bolin. Of course he does, a real proper hug, wrapping his arms around his brother's bulky form with his heart pounding in his throat and his eyes tight and pulling him closer, pressing his face into the side of Bolin's head as those words sink in.

Like his.

His is home.

Spirits, he really— Mako swallows around the lump in his throat but it stays there, making his voice thick and small. ]

'M sorry, Bo.

I forgive you.

[He says it in the silence, in his body language, in the trust and worry that brought him here. But sometimes that isn't enough. Sometimes you need to hear something out loud.

And this isn't one sided.]

I'm sorry, too. I don't know what I was thinking. I wasn't.

No, I—

[ Mako doesn't let go. Pulls him closer, actually, his breath hitching quiet. The scent of ginger is heavy in the air. ]

I should have asked. Not yelled.

And I should have listened.

[He rests his face in his brother's shoulder.]

I didn't mean for it to go down like this.. instead of admitting I needed help I pushed you away. Just...one thing lead to another.

[Kinda weak but.. true. He can admit that.]

Mako, I've been so scared I was gonna lose you. But you're better now.. What brought you back?

Wu.

[ Mako doesn't even hesitate. Wu's name is soft and full of feeling, gratitude he hasn't properly expressed yet. Wu is avoiding him, and Mako isn't pushing it. He knows he hasn't earned it. He wouldn't have blamed Bolin for not coming. ]

This whole thing is—it's stupid. I was trying to make mom's sauce and missing home and I... guess I wasn't... I don't know. I don't know, Bo. I miss home. It's stupid. It's a useless feeling, but I'm feeling it.

[Wu. Of course. Oh, bless you brother in law. Bolin makes a mental note to thank him later in private for being there for Mako when he wasn't. For keeping him from becoming like the thing Dean has chained in his basement.]

No, no I get it. Me too. I miss everything so much and it's all so far away.

[What he wouldn't give for a bending match right now. Hell, he'd marry Eska on the spot if it meant they could go back to familiar streets. This city is nothing like their home. In the blink of an eye they left a world where everyone was just like them and now? Now, they're it. Five people to represent a vast planet and all it's many cultures. It's devastating. Overwhelming. The food, the animals, their connection with the spirits.. it's all gone. Maybe that's why he's been having such a hard time letting go of Opal. She's one more piece of their world slipping through his fingers and gone forever.

Bolin tries not to be so sentimental but he can't help it. And it's hard to stay cheerful in the present when you long for everything in your past. He's normally good at putting it aside and setting a brave face but.. it's been hard. And lately? Almost impossible. There's no mission to complete, here. No problem to solve so they can go home and carry on with their lives.. it's just. Survival. He knows that this is their home now, and he's accepted that, but it doesn't stop the ache between his ribs. Their world wasn't perfect.. far from it, actually, but it was theirs. This new Otherness is suffocating.]

I have something to show you.

[But Spirits, he isn't sure if he can let go just yet.]

Yeah? What?

[ Immediate attention, like a dog to heel: Mako straightens up, pulls back just a little to search Bolin's face. He doesn't know what he was expecting. Bolin to laugh at him, maybe, and tell him of course he's being stupid? That's ridiculous. Wu might not be attached to Republic City or really their home, but Bolin is softer than Mako is, and cares maybe more about traditions and all the little rituals that have sustained them their whole lives.

He should have talked to Bolin. It's obvious now, but Mako's never been good at reaching out when he's having a hard time. It's another thing to get better at, to figure out in this new place, trying to be this new version of himself with softer edges. ]

[Next time. You'll know for next time. While Mako was busy guarding their lives he inadvertently gave Bolin guardianship of their hearts. He taught his little brother everything he remembered of their parents. Taught him how to thrive. Kindness. Curiosity. Loyalty. How to rise up when the time came. By taking the sharp hand of reality, Mako held space for Bolin to learn gratitude and tradition and ritual. Together they created memorials for their lost family. Together they forged traditions for themselves. Small, but vital gestures to keep them human.

Bolin doesn't realize this so candidly and he knows that he's been cruel to his brother int he past for making the hard decisions, so it isn't that big of a surprise when Mako didn't come to him. Plus.. obviously they've been fighting. So.

Next time. Ever onward.]

Here.

[That's when he pulls back and disconnects to turn and retrieve the pack he brought. Inside it are three paper lanterns made of thin, red paper, ready to be puffed up into shape and let go into the sky. Beside them in another layer of protective fabric is the glass Memory's Touch he was gifted in October.

It blooms over and over again and was recently a spider lily, but when he reveals the orb, fabric between the glass and his skin, it's a fiery lantern flower just on the cusp of bloom.]

This thing is like a little vision of home. A smell.. or a sound.. a taste.

[Which has been equal parts helpful and devastating.]

It changes every time the flower opens. I don't know what this one is, yet.

[ Mako's afraid to touch it, but he comes to hover near it instead, lifting a finger to hover over the tip of one brightly-glowing leaf. It looks like a real flower, all soft petals and pollen, like a little glimpse of home. They bloomed in the park. Mako had tried forever to bend fire into the shape of one, but that kind of precision was beyond his young fingers at the time. Maybe now he could pull it off.

Wu would love this, Mako thinks, and drops his hand to look up at Bolin. His voice is soft, a little hoarse with feeling apparently still crowding into him. ]

You... touch it. Right? To find out?

[Bolin nods, letting Mako take all the time he needs, understanding his hesitation without explanation. But he also knows that his brother won't allow himself to chicken out and so he holds his hand steady and waits.

Really, he should have brought it to Mako sooner, but it appeared only shortly before his encounter with that weird metal spirit and things had gone down hill very quickly after.]

These flowers always remind me of Mom..

Yeah? Why's that?

[ His finger hovers, frozen in space and time above the little thing. It's moving practically more than he is. It's a good idea, right? Touching this thing, getting reminded of home. What it yanks him right back into that awful headspace, feeling like the fragments of his past were slipping from his hands the harder he squeezed? He can't do that again: he's patched things up with Wu but it's a fragile peace and Mako feels sort of pasted together, like his cracks are visible to anyone looking.

He might be stalling. ]

[He's definitely stalling but that's okay. Sometimes you have to break before you can grow.

Bolin considers the question for a beat like he isn't entirely sure.]

I have this memory of fabric.. skirts I think? I can remember the way they moved across the floor. I think it was her. These remind me of that, I guess.

[And it goes unsaid but lantern flowers were always blooming when they held their yearly memorial and it's all fused together in his head.]

Dad used to tell her she was going to trip on her skirts.

[ Something Mako's never really brought up before. His voice is soft, almost absent: a memory half-there that he hasn't thought about in years. He stares at the flower for a moment longer, then looks up, his face set. ]

...touch it with me.

[It shouldn't hurt so bad to have a memory confirmed. It shouldn't... but it does. But maybe in a good way?

Bolin presses his lips together, chewing them for a second while he thinks about those skirts. The few, thin memories he has left of long hair and singing. Feeling safe against someone so much bigger than him and knowing- absolutely knowing- that he was safe.

He swallows hard and nods, raising his other hand to hover in tandem.]

Count of three. One.. two.. three..

[ They press their hands down together.

What they're given isn't a visual thing. It's not a sound, either: it's a smell, ginger and garlic and tart tamarind, something more savory and deeper. Not just the sauce but all the things that go with it, broth and spices and battered vegetables. It's the scent of their kitchen at the solstice, a blend of Fire Nation spices and a sauce from Ba Sing Se that they'd mixed together into their own little thing. Mako sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes closing entirely without his say-so. It's like he's there, swinging his legs on the counter next to their mom as she stirs, telling him about all the spices she's putting in and how their dad used to do it wrong, how she rescued him with Ember Island peppercorns from languishing in a spiceless wasteland. ]

[It hits hard and nostalgic, mixing into the air around them that smells so very, very similar. Bolin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tensing his shoulders a little to stay balanced as he takes it all in with a small whine.

it's like the flower knew where they were. What night it was. It's like their mom was waiting to offer one last guiding hand.]

It's the pepper. That's what's missing.

[ Mako says it like he's in a dream, his eyes still closed. ]

Mom... toasted it, I think. Got them from Ember Island. They're called ice pepper because they're kind of cold, too, remember?

Best when toasted in the hand of a firebender.

[Rhetoric popular with vendors and chefs. He's heard the slogan many times but associates them more with bang-bang komodo chicken than he does their mom. Not that he would ever tell Mako that. Not now, not ever. Whilst Bolin is the keeper of their traditions, he stays in the present as a coping mechanism. And while it means he's usually grounded and centered and pleasant, it also means he has to sacrifice object permanence and his memory is short. Too much has happened to them, and those two years of age between him and his brother aren't much now but it was miles when they were kids.

And that's what they were. They were just children.

But how can he say he barely remembers anything before their parents died? Just wisps of skirts and lullaby and strong arms. Sometimes he wonders if he's just making those up, too.

Really, this gift couldn't have been better. He's remembered so much since he woke up with it next to him.]

Do you have anything close?

Edited 2022-01-12 02:55 (UTC)

Red pepper gets pretty close, but it doesn't have the same...

[ The smell is fading, a little, and Mako leans down closer to the ball like that will bring it back, his nerves spiking all at once. He can't lose it, he has to remember—to sear it into his head, cauterize it so it stays untouched on a shelf there. ]

It's just the one? The one memory, in this thing.

It's the same until the flower dies, then something new will appear. You can touch it as many times as you want. Here-

[Reaching to offload it into Mako's hand. He'd only kept a barrier between himself and the orb because he had a feeling that whatever this new flower held would be something for Mako and he didn't want to experience it first.]

I think this one was for you.

[ Mako curls his palm around it like it's a fragile flower itself, breathing in the renewed smell of that sauce. His lungs feel too big for his ribs, like they're going to overflow and spill between the cracks. He swallows around the lump in his throat. It doesn't go away. ]

Where... did you get this, bro?

it's the solstice

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