pulling on your heart to push my luck

Kyoshi Island

"Ready, ladies, step left! Arms still in blocking position, now right one–forward! Fans should be closed! We are using them as an extension to block!"

She was talking about me, if not directly to me. My fan had flung open as I thrust my arm forward, something that had already happened several times over the course of this beginner lesson.

The whole hour had been humiliating. I thought that my self-defense and experience would translate, but as it turned out fighting in full Kyoshi Warrior uniform and only fans to defend yourself was harder than it looked. I'd never worn so much protective gear, not even in the workshop, nor had I ever fought with something so delicate. I'd gotten so used to using my father's Equalist glove that I was conditioned to compensate for the weight of it with more force, but with fans everything had to be calculated and controlled. If you weren't careful you ran the risk of having them open on you, or damaging them, something that I wanted to avoid given how near-sacred they were.

"Okay, that's enough for today," the woman shouted, clapping her hands. "Good work, everyone!"

She hadn't kept subtle her frustration with me throughout the whole session, but I approached her, hoping to make a good last impression.

"Hi, I'm Asami," I said, drawing her attention away from the bag she was packing, "I just wanted to thank you for today's session. I'm sure it's obvious that I've never trained here before, but I really enjoyed it nonetheless."

"You certainly made an effort today. Where are you from?"

"Republic City."

She chuckled. "That would explain your street-style technique. Where did you train?"

"I had a personal self-defense trainer growing up," I said, slightly offended at her assumption, "but most of my real-world fighting experience has come from sticky situations."

"Interesting!" She was surprised, but sincere. "I'm curious, what kind of situations are you referring to?"

"I've spent the past year and a half fighting with the Avatar," I said, not breaking eye contact.

She blinked. "Ah, you're that Asami."

"I am," I said, my voice flat, and I lowered my eyelids, just as Dad had taught me. It was scarier than a scowl. Scowls look forced, almost like you're putting on an act to illustrate your innocence, either by feigning surprise and hurt at the assumption made, or to make them think twice about pushing their luck even further. But when you lower your eyelids to squint down at them, a natural, slight scowl forms. It looks like you're trying to understand whatever ludicrous statement they just made. It offers a second chance: you're not mad just yet, but if they walk it back they can still save themselves.

"Well, Miss Sato," she said, and I nearly blew my cover trying not to wince at the sound of my own last name. "We're thinking of opening up a gym in Republic City someday, I hope to see you there."

"I'd love that," I said as she turned on her heel. "Hang on, sorry–is there a woman on the island named Ushi?"

She looked back at me. "Yes. She's leading the next training session, though that's a closed practice for upper-level warriors. Why do you ask?"

"I know her friend, Kya. I just wanted to say hello."

She nodded. "I'll tell her you stopped by," she said, and left to change out of her uniform.

I took it as a sign that it would be inappropriate to keep her (or Ushi) preoccupied and followed suit, making my way to the trainee changing room, and paused to look at myself in the mirror. My fighting skills might have been sub-par, but I had at least perfected the makeup on my first try. That had to count for something. I dragged my finger across my cheek–none of it came off, and I had no idea how I was supposed to wash my face.