THE GREAT KAMINA (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aburningspirit) wrote2011-01-30 02:04 am
aburningspirit) wrote2011-01-30 02:04 am
OOC
Late night Kamina + Sophia (hypothetical daughter with Sheryl) fic. No writing like 2 AM writing.
The short walk home was started hand in hand.
Neither spoke. She was still too angry and embarrassed and he was never the kind to make people talk if they didn't want to. If a woman (no matter how small) wanted to talk, they would talk whenever they wanted to and not a moment before. The house was in sight when she began to defend herself.
"He was put sand in my hair. He deserved it."
"Not sayin' he didn't need to get thrown around some," Kamina said slowly, "but you know what we said about fighting."
"But Arnett fights all the time!"
"With you. Brothers and sisters fighting is different than fighting strangers."
"No, it's not. You're still fighting."
"There's a lot of difference."
Here, in their driveway, Sophia was going to make her last stand. She refused to take another step, instead looking her father in the eyes and spoke that question that made every parent cringe. "Why?"
But he was never one to cringe or run or hide from the most impossible challenges. He sat. She sat. They would investigate this on the same level.
"Siblings are supposed to fight. It's how you know you're close. Me and Simon fight all the time. Remember when we were wrestling in the front yard last Christmas and your ma yelled at us to stop embarrassing us in front of the neighbors or we'd never be allowed back in the house? It's like that. You can fight because you know you don't mean anything by it.
Other people are different. You're making a big choice when you decide to fight back. What that other kid did was bad, but that's somethin' too big for just putting sand in your hair. D'you get it?"
"...a little," she relented. "So if that isn't supposed to make me fight, what is?"
"Three things: if somebody hits you first, if somebody says somethin' about your ma, and if you see a person bullying somebody else."
"Why the last one?"
"'cause you got a responsibility. People that pick fights with those who can't fight back...those are the worst. You ain't scared to fight." He ruffled her hair despite the protests that it'd ruin her pigtails; he was proud that the kid would have a black eye for a good week. "But people that are afraid or they just can't, someone has to fight for them. They deserve to live free."
"Free. You mean safe?"
"You got it. Safe and happy."
She kept her eyes averted and mind busy by fiddling with a nearby rock. It took some time for her to flick it away. "You know a lot about this."
"That's 'cause I'm your papa. We're s'posed to know a lot about everything."
"Mama says you don't know anything about anything sometimes. She doesn't mean it though, she knows you're smart about some things."
"Eh, your ma says a lot of stuff she doesn't mean about me. She's crazy about me."
"Yeah."
"...you ready to back inside?"
"In a little bit, Papa."
A car passed, its driver taking no notice of the girl and man seated and in one accord in the middle of the narrow stretch of pavement.
The short walk home was started hand in hand.
Neither spoke. She was still too angry and embarrassed and he was never the kind to make people talk if they didn't want to. If a woman (no matter how small) wanted to talk, they would talk whenever they wanted to and not a moment before. The house was in sight when she began to defend herself.
"He was put sand in my hair. He deserved it."
"Not sayin' he didn't need to get thrown around some," Kamina said slowly, "but you know what we said about fighting."
"But Arnett fights all the time!"
"With you. Brothers and sisters fighting is different than fighting strangers."
"No, it's not. You're still fighting."
"There's a lot of difference."
Here, in their driveway, Sophia was going to make her last stand. She refused to take another step, instead looking her father in the eyes and spoke that question that made every parent cringe. "Why?"
But he was never one to cringe or run or hide from the most impossible challenges. He sat. She sat. They would investigate this on the same level.
"Siblings are supposed to fight. It's how you know you're close. Me and Simon fight all the time. Remember when we were wrestling in the front yard last Christmas and your ma yelled at us to stop embarrassing us in front of the neighbors or we'd never be allowed back in the house? It's like that. You can fight because you know you don't mean anything by it.
Other people are different. You're making a big choice when you decide to fight back. What that other kid did was bad, but that's somethin' too big for just putting sand in your hair. D'you get it?"
"...a little," she relented. "So if that isn't supposed to make me fight, what is?"
"Three things: if somebody hits you first, if somebody says somethin' about your ma, and if you see a person bullying somebody else."
"Why the last one?"
"'cause you got a responsibility. People that pick fights with those who can't fight back...those are the worst. You ain't scared to fight." He ruffled her hair despite the protests that it'd ruin her pigtails; he was proud that the kid would have a black eye for a good week. "But people that are afraid or they just can't, someone has to fight for them. They deserve to live free."
"Free. You mean safe?"
"You got it. Safe and happy."
She kept her eyes averted and mind busy by fiddling with a nearby rock. It took some time for her to flick it away. "You know a lot about this."
"That's 'cause I'm your papa. We're s'posed to know a lot about everything."
"Mama says you don't know anything about anything sometimes. She doesn't mean it though, she knows you're smart about some things."
"Eh, your ma says a lot of stuff she doesn't mean about me. She's crazy about me."
"Yeah."
"...you ready to back inside?"
"In a little bit, Papa."
A car passed, its driver taking no notice of the girl and man seated and in one accord in the middle of the narrow stretch of pavement.
no subject
no subject