trans_9 | (no subject)

(no subject)

Curiously, one of the Sensoriums is running, but somebody's left the door propped open.

More curiously, perhaps, is that peeking in doesn't reveal a virtual world - rather, a short hallway, all made of paneled wood. Doors to the sides lead to bathrooms and showers and locker rooms, all warm and comfortable and stocked with all the essentials (and plenty of towels). At the very end of the hall, should someone open the door there, is revealed... a rather large, and very relaxing-looking, combination of sauna and indoor hot springs.

Wednesday's in there, stretched out on his back on one of the wooden benches—in a faint nod to modesty, a fluffy towel is laid out across his crotch and thighs, but otherwise he's nude. The guy's age means he's a bit worked over, certainly, but to a discerning eye that can see past the slight flab and the marks of age, he's still in surprisingly good shape...

Care to come in and relax?

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"I don't think I was alive then."

Past incarnations? Maybe.

"What are . . ." Zuko pauses, as he phrases his thoughts. "I've never met a spirit before. That I knew of. What do you . . . do, I guess?"

"If I asked you 'what do you do'," Wednesday says, moving to stretch out on the wooden 'bed' again, arms pulled up behind his head, "how would you answer?" He seems a bit honestly curious.

Give him a minute. The boy thrives on purpose.

"Until now, I served my father, the Fire Lord. I traveled the world, searching for someone who could stop him from taking over the whole world. I ordered my crew around and trained in firebending with my uncle - and when my father ordered for my arrest -" he clenches his fists, thinking of the time he spent in exile, still wishing desperately to reclaim the love of the man who sent him to it. "I kept searching for the Avatar."

"I'm still looking for the Avatar. But now, I'm looking for him because I've realized that my place isn't at my father's side, and the Four Nations aren't meant to be ruled by only one. Now I look for the Avatar so that I can teach him firebending, help him restore peace to the Four Nations, and reclaim my honor. Not in my father's eyes, but in my own."

He hasn't had a typical life, so it's an easy question to answer.

"Well, well..." Wednesday brightens up a bit at the story, visibly straightening. "A real, honest-to-good personal quest. It's been such a long time since I've seen one of those meant in earnest. —Not that I quite understood some your terms, but..."

One of his hands goes up to his face, his right eye—a little squeeze, and pop, and the glass eye (a spiderweb of cracks along the hidden back side) is held between his fingers, the empty socket closed. "I gave my eye for wisdom. That was a long, long time ago, but..." He shrugs lightly. "Most of my children are dead by now. I haven't had much to live for but myself... and my brother, sometimes, but he's a right bastard and we hardly get along."

"Mai and I are the only ones here from our world." Zuko has sat up on his bench, towel draped across his lap. He sits with his elbows on his thighs, fingers laced together. "I guess it's pretty . . . singular. Everyone else seems to be from more or less the same world -"

He peers at the eye, a little revolted, but hiding it well with fascination. His expression turns solemn, though, as Wednesday mentions his kids, and Zuko looks at his feet again. "I'm sorry. About your children."

He pauses before going on.

"My father never cared about me much -" his hands tighten again - "but my uncle cared for me as if I was his own son, after his son died in battle. He even went into exile with me when I was banished." He laces his fingers together more tightly. "And I wasn't a very good replacement son. It . . ." he lets out a quick sigh before going on. "It must be really hard, going on when your only family left does not love or respect you."

Wednesday pops the glass eye back in, blinking a few times to get it properly reseated. "Sorry...? No, no, m'boy, don't be." He smiles a little. "Most of them were idiots enough that I'm probably better off without them. My only son who was ever any good for anything, he was the one who killed me before..." He gestures in a vague, broad circle. Still, there's something a little pained in his eyes, enough to suggest that he might be exaggerating about the worth of his family members...

His eyebrows raise at what seems like a self-confession as much as anything. "That sounds like the sort of thing your uncle might like to hear, the next time you see him."

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