Thoughts

Thunderstorms: Three

"To yet another easy pay day," Mimo announced as she raised another mug of rum for a toast. Mila and Sila knocked their mugs to hers and a large quantity of rum poured on the table.

Azra raised his mug before he took a sip of the rich brew inside. He had been on the road for a long time and the taste of rum was a welcome change.

"And all it took was a couple of swings of my staff," Mimo laughed as Siza wiped the excess rum from the table with a flick of his hand. He was indulging in the success of the day even though he was mostly fixed on Mimo's face.

The crew had all been in their usual place where they drank away the excess of the gold that they had already divided five ways. It was the only agreeable way that they could spend it seeing as no one could say they did more than the other in a particular avenue.

Azra was fond of the Oak Wastelands that he called home. The people here, far from the customs of the Motherlands, did not glance his way if not for greeting. He had been seen with Bolin for six winters here and the locals had already established that he was not what the Elder Mothers were preaching to the mass population.

"I believe someone owes me a drink," Mila spoke as she came to sit next to Azra.

"The excess gold only covered two rounds. Who do you think is paying for the sixteenth in your hand?"

Mila laughed as she said that it was starting to become hard for her to keep track of the count.

"I have noticed that this is still your fifth one though."

Azra was not surprised with this. Mila liked to keep a close eye on him. She had been nagging when they had been children but ever since Miral followed Bolin to Valhalla, she had taken it to another level.

"Perhaps the taste of rum is no longer a necessity in my being."

"And that would be the day the realm of Hel will melt over."

They both laughed at that, especially since they both knew that Azra was never likely to give up the bottle no matter what circumstance came. There was a moment's pass where the only sounds between them were the loud commotions of people talking over each other in the pub. Azra knew what conversation was going to follow. It was not the first time they had done this routine.

"I don't like this life we are living, Azra."

"And how many times have I asked you not to live it with me?"

"And what would I say to Miral when we meet in the afterlife? That I willingly let you go to war without me? She would deny me entry to Valhalla just for that."

There was another bout of laughter on that.

"But in all seriousness, Azra. How long have we been doing this? Seven winters now? When will it be enough?"

"When my father's work is finished."

Azra could see Mila just bursting with a response to that. Bolin had never intended for Azra to follow his footsteps in service to the Elder Mothers. He had never asked him to take up the mantle of lapdog when he died. He had only asked him never to go against Yori. The interpretation as to what he did today was the loosest of them all.

"We might be good at this thing we do, Azra. But we are not gods. Death will come to us if we do not live with what we have now."

"And what of you? Leaving Edga alone when he has already seen the death of one parent to war."

Azra regretted it as soon as he spoke the words. Using Edga... that was the lowest of lows he could sink. Mila had already turned a shade of red before she turned her face from him.