“Hey, Sohkka.” Not rising to the bait. Not rising to the bait.
The Southern warrior turned around, gritting his teeth in what could charitably be called a smile. “Yes, dear?”
The fishing net caught him in the face.
“Sea-chicken. Now.” The bigger boy leaned against the wall of the stairwell, arms crossed and face grimly set. His parka lay heavily over his front, down-stuffed leather covering, but not concealing, the rounded midsection that had caused such consternation.
“But it’s the middle of the night!” Will not kill the bearer of my child. Am responsible for his condition and subsequent not-official-but-everyone-looks-at-you-funny loss of status in the tribe.
“It’s January, it’s always the middle of the night.” Curse you, logic!
“But the sea-chicken migration doesn’t start until April!” Get out of that one, O obnoxious loverboy!
“You’d better get going, then,” Hahn growled, and Sokka knew the look in his eye that said serious business and resigned himself to a cold boat or a cold bed. Apparently the great clans of the Northern Tribe had a ‘you break it, you bought it’ attitude towards marriage and children when that order got mixed up, and Sokka found himself in the position of having to keep his near-princely ‘wife’ happy or face wrathful in-laws. And this was all well before things got to the point of divorce, at which point he would be in serious trouble.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tolerate salted?” he replied hopefully.
The glower and finger stabbing towards the door said no. Sokka gathered up the net with a sigh and turned to go into exile.
Time to man up and act the father, Sokka. Think of it this way- you get to test the bait-propellant!
Sokka/Hahn "You are doing it on purpose at this point!"
The Southern warrior turned around, gritting his teeth in what could charitably be called a smile. “Yes, dear?”
The fishing net caught him in the face.
“Sea-chicken. Now.” The bigger boy leaned against the wall of the stairwell, arms crossed and face grimly set. His parka lay heavily over his front, down-stuffed leather covering, but not concealing, the rounded midsection that had caused such consternation.
“But it’s the middle of the night!” Will not kill the bearer of my child. Am responsible for his condition and subsequent not-official-but-everyone-looks-at-you-funny loss of status in the tribe.
“It’s January, it’s always the middle of the night.” Curse you, logic!
“But the sea-chicken migration doesn’t start until April!” Get out of that one, O obnoxious loverboy!
“You’d better get going, then,” Hahn growled, and Sokka knew the look in his eye that said serious business and resigned himself to a cold boat or a cold bed. Apparently the great clans of the Northern Tribe had a ‘you break it, you bought it’ attitude towards marriage and children when that order got mixed up, and Sokka found himself in the position of having to keep his near-princely ‘wife’ happy or face wrathful in-laws. And this was all well before things got to the point of divorce, at which point he would be in serious trouble.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tolerate salted?” he replied hopefully.
The glower and finger stabbing towards the door said no. Sokka gathered up the net with a sigh and turned to go into exile.
Time to man up and act the father, Sokka. Think of it this way- you get to test the bait-propellant!