▐│∶☽∶; — αη∂ тнєу’яє вσтн ѕтιℓℓ. Drawn silent, tense in posture and features. He watches her, gaze following her own to the potted flowers and back again. For the seconds her focus is off him, he presses his lips together and twitches his fingers, mulling possible outcomes. The worst would be dealing with soldiers… and how willing he was to do that depended on just who had patrol work today. Of course, he couldn’t recall.
Gunter exhaled through his nose, feeling his shoulders arc again when her sharp gaze snapped to him. He expected further verbal lashing but… her hostility deflated, and she gestured to a spot of soft purple and white flowers. There’s no apology for her harsh behavior (and he doesn’t foresee one), but he pays no mind. This sudden display of generosity is more than enough.
❝…—oh. … thank you.❞
He remains rooted, watching as she makes her leave. A question or two, though not fully developed, lingers on the tip of his tongue. He feels he’s seen her before—probably in town, meandering the market—but … there’s something else. Gunter nurses his lip, and his shoulders finally sink into place.
Ah, well. Guess it doesn’t matter. She’d offered him the flowers and it’d be rude to turn down such a lovely gift. Gram-gram would like them, maybe by her favorite window. Sunlight always touched the spot just right.
{ ●•۰•☯•۰•● }
Eyes avert from the stranger to the entrance, a huff of breath blown into the wind as she quietly unlocks the door, careful not to reveal the lock’s secret (only waterbending will activate it, but she can feel in his aura he is not of Tribal blood - even as he walks towards the flowers in a way that makes her heart soften just for a moment). She pushes open the heavy entry and slides it closed behind her, hands resting on the back of the door as she exhales. Weary are those who keep their guard up all the time, she remembers her father telling her when she was little, but she would now tell him the fatigue is only temporary before the walls must go up again. She turns around, lax posture now erect, and casts out her senses all throughout the small flat.
It seem Hama has made a daytrip – that’s what she liked to call them. Katara was never sure where she went, only if Hama was lying when she returned to tell the tale. Tongue runs over chapped lips and she escapes into the small kitchen, pushing back the curtain to watch the man (meandering through her flowers) outside. She finds herself watching for almost too long, and slides the curtain back into place. (inhale, exhale.) She’s certain now he isn’t going to hurt her (unless provoked, he is human after all) but the uneasy feeling cast over her will not go away.
Hands reach down to pump water into the sink, and she smiles as her element runs over her hands, cooling them off and cleaning them after a long day of – she can hardly remember all she’d done that day. She turns the water off and reaches for a towel giving into temptation by opening up the window and leaning against her counter, watching the man from her place by the sink. It was a foreign feeling, to have someone else invade their space so casually. Many in the neighborhood were too fearful of the old woman to even approach the property (but none too scared of Katara, a secret she kept well hidden from her master). She sighs, throwing the towel down as soon as it occurs to her he’ll need help carrying the water basins to wherever he’s going.
The quicker he’s gone, the easier it will be to settle back into routine, she thinks. A hand reaches for her water pouch, slinging it over her shoulder as she exits the building and locks the door.
“ Here, ” she says loudly, entering the small garden from the gate, “ I’ll help you carry those. ” she offers, coming up beside him and reaching down. Fingers waggle, gesturing for him to hand her a pot. “ Who are you bringing them to? ” she asks, (though she feigns disinterest) “Unless you happen to be a flower collector or something? ” which wouldn’t surprise her, giving the way he was looking at the flowers before.
