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Mick glared at the bandits surrounding him.
The leader, a skinny boy with the ghost of a beard over a pimply face, sneered at Mick. "Give us your money, old man, and you won't get hurt!"
"Beat it," Mick growled. He really wasn't in the mood for this shit.
The leader took a slow step forward with his wooden stick bared, falling just short of menacing. "Don't make me ask twice! We don't tolerate any disrespect around here!"
"Yeah!" called another bandit standing somewhere behind Mick. "This forest is ours! You don't wanna mess with us!"
Mick had better things to do than indulge self-important small fry. Fire leapt up from his feet and lunged for the bandits surrounding him, causing shrieks of fear and surprise as they jumped back.
"Firebender!" one of them cried.
Balls of flame formed in each of Mick's hands. He threw them at his assailants, grazing of few of them and spreading panic.
"Run!" screamed another bandit.
"Retreat!" the leader yelled, as if it made a difference.
The bandits vanished back into the woods from whence they came. Mick let his fires go out, already missing the burn of them.
"You're a firebender!"
Mick spun around, fire wrapping around his fists. A young man, a few years older than the boy bandits, was peeking his head out from behind a pine.
"You got a problem with that?"
"No, no, of course not! I'm a firebender too, see!" The man stepped out from behind the tree and raised a palm. Tiny little flames sprung up from the tip of each finger, like candles. They wavered violently in the light breeze before finally being blown out.
Mick put out his fists, snorting. "That was pathetic."
The kid flushed red and looked away. "I need your help."
"With what, bending?"
"Yes! I'm doing something wrong, but I don't know what! I try to bend but it doesn't come out right! But you're a real firebender! You can teach me!" The man was looking at Mick again, his eyes intense and pleading.
"I'm not really the teaching type, kid. You're better off finding someone else."
"There is nobody else! Nobody ever comes here! You are the first firebender I've ever met in my entire life! Please! Please teach me!"
"I don't actually know any proper techniques or shit like that. I'm a brawler."
"That's fine! I saw what you did with the Lost Boys. That was amazing!"
Mick rubbed the back of his neck as it heated with a blush. "That was nothing, really."
"I can't do anything like that!"
"This just doesn't seem like a good idea."
"Do you have anywhere you need to be?" the man asked anxiously.
Mick had been thinking of maybe heading south to Kyoshi Island. He'd heard real good things about the Kyoshi Warriors. But other than that he had no real plans. He'd been wandering aimlessly for a while now. "No."
"If you teach me, you can stay with me at home! Free room and board, free food, for as long as you want!"
"You don't know me." Mick was tempted. He was tired of the road. Of camping. Of hunting and foraging. He needed a break.
"I'd like to," breathed the man, voice soft and sincere.
Mick shrugged, suppressing another blush. "Fine, let's do this."
"Great!" the man cheered. "Follow me. I live close by, in Chuuou no Hoshi Village. Well, more like on the very edge. My name's Barry. What's yours?"
"Mick."
"Hoshi's nice enough. We've got our own library! The only one in the Chuuou region."
"I know a few people from Chuuou." Mick's pretty sure that's where Len and Lisa said they were from. "Don't know where, though."
"How do you know them? Are they friends?"
"We work together."
"What kind of work do you do?"
"Odd jobs here and there."
"You must travel a lot!"
"Yeah."
"Sounds incredible. I wish I could travel!"
"Why don't you?"
"Oh, no, I can't. I could never leave my father." Barry's lips thinned into a white line.
"Does he live with you?"
Barry shook his head.
Mick felt bad for the man. He knew taking care of a sick parent was all kinds of awful. Barry would appreciate a change of subject. "So why do you call the brats Lost Boys?"
"Oh! I shouldn't have. It's really derogatory. That's what the other villagers call them. The Lost Boys, get it, because they never grow up. I try not to use it, but I guess I got into the habit anyway."
"The name seems appropriate." The Lost Boys were brats.
"That's not fair to them! They're war orphans, you now. Nobody wanted to take care of them. I remember when I was a kid, I used to see them starving in the middle of the street. Not one person did a single thing to help them." Barry's voice got quiet. "One day, they decided they had enough. If nobody would look out for them, they'd look out for each other. They banded together and took what they needed. They don't starve, not anymore."
"By robbing passing travellers."
Barry nodded. "And from the villages. Don't get me wrong, stealing is wrong, but the Lost Boys needed to steal in order to not die. And instead of acknowledging the problem they're partially responsible for, Chuuou labels them as childish, treating this whole thing like they're just throwing temper tantrums. It's not fair."
"You've got some strong feelings about this."
Barry nodded. "I came really close to being a Lost Boy too. If it hadn't been for Joe... He took care of me, while my dad..."
"I get it."
Barry's Lost Boys story sounded a lot like the tidbits Mick would learn of Len's past whenever he cared to share them. It was weird that Barry was reminding Mick of Len. They were so very different.
"So what kind of places did you visit, anyway?" inquired Barry.
"A little bit everywhere."
"Tell me about it!"
Barry listened in fascination to even Mick's most mundane travel stories. Mick was careful to leave out any mention of the actual reason he'd been in those places in the first place.
Barry's place was a squat wooden house in the middle of a relatively large plot of land surrounded by a short stubby fence. The entirety of the space between the fence and the house was taken up by an overflowing garden. Thigh-high green plants spilled over everywhere. Mick was impressed by the sheer size of it. It must be a pain to care for. How many workers did Barry have? At what point does a garden become a farm?
"This is mine. Do you want to put your things away first or...?"
"Let's start now. I wanna see what I'm working with."
Barry beamed. "This way."
Mick was lead to a little grassy field behind the house. He left his bag at the foot of a tree with a trunk thicker than he was tall. He noticed the scorch marks in the bark. Barry practiced here often.
"Show me what you've been doing," ordered Mick as he pulled off his shirt.
Barry grimaced, shifting uncomfortably.
Mick grinned, eager for a chance to embarrass Barry. "What's wrong?" he taunted.
"My bending isn't normal. It... comes out wrong. I... I guess it's easier to show you. Don't freak out, okay?" Barry shed his own shirt and went into position.
It was completely unfamiliar to Mick. It wasn't until Barry started moving that Mick realized what was wrong. Barry was using waterbending techniques.
Instead of fire, lightning crackled along his arms, shooting out and hitting the trees.
"Where did you pick up waterbending moves?" Mick demanded, baffled.
"Uh... My father, he's a waterbender. He taught me everything I know."
"No wonder your having so much trouble!"
"So the lightning? It's normal?"
"When a firebender uses waterbending, yeah! Waterbending's a bunch of bullshit about flow and being one with the water. Firebending's different. The fire's already inside you, right here." Mick tapped Barry's belly. "You're already one with it. To use it, you've got get it out, make it other, you know?"
Barry frowned thougthfully. "I think I do? So I've got to push it out?"
"Yeah, and once it's out, all you gotta do is keep feeding it."
"That's it?"
"That's how I've always done it. Alright, so you're going to try again and no fancy moves this time, just throw a good ol' punch."
Barry nodded. He punched with with none of his previous form, throwing his all into it. What came out wasn't quite fire or lightning. It was a red and yellow burning crackling ball that splintered from his fist tearing right through a small pine.
Mick stared at the smoking stump with wide eyes. "What the fuck?!"