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A Cup of Kindness

Fandom: Avatar: Legend of Korra

Relationships: Bolin & Mako, with background Bolin/Iroh

Rating: PG

Word count: 700

Summary: Bolin was still dressed in his party clothes, shiny jacket with the silver piping, the sort of thing that could get you in trouble in a place like this, but nobody bothered him at his corner table. He's just a kid, Mako had told Iroh, but he wasn't, really. It was hard for Mako to remember, sometimes. The words I told you so died on his lips.

In which Mako has to carry Bolin out of a sake house, again.

Note: This is a missing scene from Rikku's make me your radio. You probably don't need to read make me your radio in order to work out what's going on here; you just need to read make me your radio because it's really good.

Mako hadn't been there when it happened. He'd been on the other side of the immense hall, talking to some boring old lady about corporate sponsorship. Korra didn't like the idea—Remember what happened last time we had a sponsor? Korra accepted Tenzin and his family's generosity as unthinkingly as a flower accepts the rain. But Mako had been taking care of himself and Bolin since they were kids, and he hated depending on anybody's kindness. If that meant getting an Omashu Oatcake tattooed on his chest, well, at least he knew what was expected of him in return.

So all he'd seen was an odd flash of fire, like summer lightning, from a nearby window. And then he'd started hearing the whispers.

General Iroh, really? I didn't think he was the type . . .

Yes, and that friend of the Avatar's, what's his name, Baleen?

Back in my day, we used to at least find an out-of-the-way coat closet before we started that sort of thing.

I can't believe the boy walked out on him. If he'd kissed
me like that . . .

Mako didn't know what he said to the lady he'd been talking to, but he was pretty sure his chest was safe from Omashu Oatcakes for the foreseeable future. He felt heat building at the ends of his fingers. He was going to kill that smug, fancy, lecherous—

Did you see the way the boy was shaking when he walked out?

He was going to find Bolin. Firescum Iroh would just have to wait—somewhere out there, Mako's baby brother needed him.

The finding proved harder than Mako had expected. The landlords and customers at Bolin's usual sake houses just shrugged and shook their heads. Mako finally caught up to him in a dive deep into Agni Kai territory, where Mako had sometimes gone when he was a kid looking for a fight. It didn't mean anything now, with the Triads still reeling from Amon's attacks. Didn't mean anything but that Bolin wanted to drown his sorrows where no one he knew would see him.

He was still dressed in his party clothes, shiny jacket with the silver piping, the sort of thing that could get you in trouble in a place like this, but nobody bothered Bolin at his corner table. He's just a kid, Mako had told Iroh, but he wasn't, really. It was hard for Mako to remember, sometimes. The words I told you so died on his lips.

"Hey." Mako pulled out a chair, sat down next to Bolin. Bolin didn't look up. "I'm . . . I'm proud of you. Should've know you wouldn't let some flash prince treat you like a toy. You're better than that, bro."

"Huh?" Now Bolin did look at Mako, and blinked owlishly. "Nonono. 'Snot like that. He didn't mean . . ." Bolin's fists clenched. The building's foundation shook slightly. Mako hoped the landlord hadn't noticed. "Didn't mean anything. Stupid prince. Stupid honor." Bolin poked moodily at the table, making circles with his finger in a puddle of spilled sake. "Just . . . I thought he liked me," he muttered, barely audible. "Stupid Bolin."

"Bo, no. You're smart, you're funny, you're—" Better not get into gorgeous— "Why wouldn't he like you? Everyone likes you."

"Ha, right." The circles Bolin was doodling had turned into United Forces collar insignia. "I'm the rock that the Avatar's team is built on."

Mako recognized the clipped, formal tones that Bolin was imitating. The next time Mako saw Iroh he was going to burn his face off. My grandfather this, my grandfather that, let's see how he liked looking like him.

Bolin pointed at Mako suddenly, dripping finger nearly touching his nose. "You told me. You did. Korra's not for you, Bolin, Iroh's not for you. Well, you were right. You were right about everything. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"No," said Mako. "No, it sucks. I'm really sorry, Bo."

"'Snot your fault." Bolin lowered his finger and let his shoulders slump. "You're just looking out for me, right? You're my brother."

Mako stood up and held out a hand to Bolin, who took it and stood, staggering. "I'll always be your brother," he said. "C'mon, let's go home."

Fairy Reel

Fandom: Chronicles of Chrestomanci

Characters: Cat, Tonino, Angelica, Marianne, and Klartch. Henceforth to be known as Cat Chant's Five-Man Band.

Rating: G

Word count: 450

Summary: "Er," said Cat. "Are you sure about this? I had those violin lessons when I was small, but I was never very good."

Cat has been summoned by . . . something, and Tonino has an idea for how to communicate with it.

This one's for: Elycien aka ninelifed

"Er," said Cat. "Are you sure about this? I had those violin lessons when I was small, but I was never very good."

"I thought I was done with this nonsense when I left Caprona." Angelica's glare traveled around the conservatory and settled on Tonino. "You know I'm tone-deaf."

"It's all right," said Tonino. "There's nothing wrong with your sense of rhythm. You can be the percussionist."

Marianne had already seated herself at the piano and started playing, just a scale exercise. Motes of light began to gather in the air around her, growing thicker as she moved to something more complicated and swingy, and sheering off when she hit a wrong note. "It's been years since I've played," she said with a sheepish smile, but beneath the sheepishness she looked pleased, almost electrified. The ends of her hair practically crackled.

"Don't stop," said Cat. Tonino had been right, sadly; this was going to work. And they did need some way to communicate with the creature—people—whoever it was who had summoned him. He just hated performing. There was a violin case on one shelf, and he fetched it resignedly and undid the clasps.

"All of these instruments seem awfully small," said Klartch.

Angelica looked up from the drum kit she was assembling with a wicked grin. "The tuba's about your size." Klartch glared at her. Angelica stuck out her tongue, which was another thing Klartch couldn't do with a beak.

"Try the harp," Tonino suggested.

"I've seen Miss Rosalie do this," Klartch said doubtfully, but fitted his shoulder into its curve all the same, and began plucking at the strings with delicate claws. Somehow, his experimental fumblings fit in with the tune Marianne was playing, and the light in the air grew brighter and begin to take shape. Not human shape, or plant shape, or any shape Cat could give a name to, but shape.

He tucked the violin under his chin and drew the bow across the strings, and felt the magic of the whatever-they-were move through him. It wasn't like the musical magic of Tonino's family, which was a human thing, and involved practice, and discipline, and a certain minimum of talent. This was wild, and came from outside.

Angelica was keeping up a furious beat, and Tonino was singing—Cat's Italian was passable, but he couldn't understand a word when Tonino sang in a formal style like this. Words weren't the point. The point was the shape of the song—

I've been summoned by a song?

The song had its own shape, which Cat couldn't change. But he poured his own meaning into it, drawing on the strength of his friends.

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