Guo would never even consider asking him for help. (Like Boris, he chose right, didn't he?)
For good reason. They hate each other
...
She eyes the room for a moment as she takes a long drag from her pipe, contemplating the merits of allowing Guo to stall as she debates her contempt for all persons inside. She signals the young waiter for another glass of wine while she's at it. The boy nods and is off to the bar.
"Has the rat chewed on your knickers again, then?" she asks and enjoys Guo's blush. It doesn't reach his cheeks like it used to, but his neck turns a nice colour, as do the tips of his ears. How he still allows himself to be embarrassed by these things, Ranra doesn't know. They've certainly known each other for long enough that Ranra used to make a game of it, but it's in large parts lost its appeal, like most things. These days she exists as a creature of habit and little else. (Pathetic, like the rest of the abandoned world. Or not so abandoned, if the rumours about the Avatar are to be believed.)
"Thank the spirits, no," Guo says a little more forcefully than necessary.
"Then I don't see the emergency," the waiter appears at her elbow and exchanges the glasses without invading her space. He'll get a nice tip, that one. He's been working in this place for a while now, and never has he annoyed Ranra with smelly perfume, a horrible voice or spilling things. Must have grown up in a restaurant or something to know these sorts of things, he's too young to have been in the business for long otherwise.
"You never do," Guo is a little resentful at that. What does he expect? Ranra never cared much, won't start now.
"Hn," she says, smiles and adds, "Nothing to drink?"
Guo begins to snarl, then holds himself back. He needs something from Ranra, after all. "You arse. What a thing to ask someone who's trying to stop."
A light gasp from behind Ranra. Ah, the young ones are listening in. Good instincts for sniffing out interesting conversations. The waiter says nothing, but his posture shifts. Ranra thinks it might be amusement. Yes, a nice tip indeed.
"You weren't much of a drinker in the first place."
"Of course you think that. Because then you would have to admit that you have a problem," Guo really wants a fight. He often used to be like that, angry with the world, and often enough Ranra herself. Now what he wants is to vent and he'll do it passive-aggressively until he's gotten what he wants. Then, he'll be openly hostile and ungrateful. Ever the same. Ranra wonders how Nick will react to the presence of his father in the place he decided to hide from him in.
"Problems-"
"Are only opportunities. Heard that one before. Get us some bread and butter, will you?"
She raises a brow, Guo always likes hearing himself end that sentence more than when Ranra does it. The man only orders bread when he can't pick what he wants and when he can't decide, he is dealing with emotional problems of a magnitude Ranra doesn't care for. Never did. Guo is an imbecile at the best of times, but he gets worse when he worries. He's spent his entire life worrying. Ranra never did understand that. To worry is to hurt twice.
"Nick is missing," he suddenly blurts out.
Ranra smiles widely. Guo narrows his eyes.
"I spoke to him this morning just after breakfast. He wanted a place to stay. He should be in my so-called guest bedroom at this very moment," Ranra says coolly and wonders why she even left the place. Guo could've just said so and they wouldn't be having this conversation. (Maybe she wanted someone to pick a fight with.)
"And you didn't think to tell me?" the idiot knows perfectly well that Ranra doesn't care for alerting anyone about anyone's whereabouts. Especially when that 'anyone' can take care of themselves.
"Evidently not."
Guo's face twists, "You haughty miserable old hag!"
Ranra drags on her pipe and taps it against the rim of the ashtray. Then she looks at Guo again and sees that there's not much more of a rise to get out of him without risking a punch to the face. Guo would care little about the spectators. He's pesky that way.
The Dai Li doesn't get involved in domestic matters unless they 'disturb the peace'. Someone punching a middle-aged woman is hardly their concern. Then they would have to care about spousal abuse.
"Your son is fourteen. He goes to work. He knows which parts of the ring to avoid. You need to allow him some free reign over his own life before he decides it's too much and leaves," Ranra finally says, "Just think of how you were at that age."
...
I would have thought that building up contact with the university as someone not with the inner circle of nobility and using a false name would be far harder. Because these are the young scions of the most wealthy individuals within the country, it's an atmosphere of snobbery that I don't like and don't fit into well. However, it's where I have access to knowledge that at least isn't Fire Nation propaganda. Not, that it won't be carefully regulated and certainly redacted to suit at least the nobility's narrative.
But I am here, through the passing interest of Professor Singh whose interest in Gorou's small sculptures and my various efforts at traditional Watertribe carvings led us to hold a conversation of some substance.
"These look authentic," he'd commented, wire-framed glasses slipping on his nose as he brought one of the carvings to his face to better insect it.
"That's because they are," I'd replied lazily, allowing my native accent to flow into my speech, curious as to whether he would catch it.
He had. "You made them?"
I'd shrugged, smiled. "I figure if I get to see the world, the world should get to see some of me."
He'd laughed. "How long have you been away from the North Pole? Were you at the siege?"
The question was slightly insensitive, I'd thought then, but all I'd done was nod and narrow my eyes at him.
It'd been 'clear that he'd caught how improper I'd felt the question was. Even so, he'd continued, in that unapologetic way nobles tended to have around those they perceived of a lesser social standing than themselves. I wasn't used to that sort of treatment, and so it rankled. "Would you be willing to give the university the opportunity to hear of the events first-hand? We haven't been able to get a decent account of it, since the Northern Watertribe doesn't have dealings with Ba Sing Se University."
My eyebrows had risen, and my tone made it clear what I thought of the way he'd treated me. "Didn't you get an official account from one of the representatives? You must have some contacts at court."
"There is a difference between what the King is told and what one might tell a scholar," he'd said. He'd been frowning as he continued, scrutinising my posture, as though re-evaluating who I could be. "The King takes no interest in what the university does beyond offering some interesting conversation partners when he gets bored with his pet bear," he'd been rather dismissive of his ruler, but I'd thought then that this man had to be aware of who actually ran the country far better than myself. "Your description of the battle would be of great interest to myself and a few select others."
"For the chroniclers? Well. I suppose that you'd want to document this, eh?"
The casual way I'd spoken in had confused him once more. "…Yes."
I'd openly scrutinised him, then. Assessing. This man had access to documents and people that I would find very interesting. Looking over the Fire Nation archived documents I'd taken from Omashu and forgotten about for so long had been very interesting indeed. "So long as I get to look over what's written down for the history books, I'm not opposed. I would also require several copies," I didn't think this would go beneath the Dai Li's notice, but this was a great opportunity, "So long as I get something in return."
"What is that? Beside the copies," the last part he'd said as though he thought they should be enough.
Business. Negotiations here tended to go in such a way as bartering did at the market. Ask for more. "Access to the university's library, unlimited – that includes what isn't necessarily available to other students. And someone to bother about questions that I might have about what I read."
"Done," he'd surprised me with the easy acquiescence. Then again, many of the documents were probably rather old, for which one needed to know the specific dialect of the time to understand them. Little did he know that I was probably one of the few individuals who was fluent in enough of them to get by. Pakku had done a number on me.
He'd continued, "Is next Monday alright for you? I can organise a team of scribes until then and have the colleagues sit in. How detailed an account can you give?"
I'd shrugged. "Monday works. I was there for the battle, the strategizing and I briefly met the Avatar."
His eyes had shone with a manic glint. "Monday, eleven o'clock, at the university gates. I'll meet you there."
Then he'd hurried off. And turned on his heel, almost running over another person behind him.
"Your name!" he'd exclaimed. My grin must have reminded him that I was rather shrewd.
"I am Professor Singh of Ba Sing Se University, Head of Historical Studies," he'd introduced, tone pompous.
"Kai, son of Utakata of the Northern Watertribe," I'd lied, thinking of the young, dead warrior I'd known long ago. "Until Monday, Professor."
Now I sit at a large desk in the library, in a far-off alcove, private and full of nostalgia for another lifetime. I'd always wanted to know what was known about the Air Nomads and how they could have been wiped out so easily.
...
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