Sokka is from Avatar: The Last Airbender. I claim no ownership rights of the character.

I started playing Sokka in January of 2006 at the Livejournal community apharsites. The following is a list of all of his scenes from the next game this same version was played at, Livejournal community street_eden with small summaries attached. After this, this same version of Sokka is being played at shatterverse.

( Street Eden Scenes )

"Go back to sleep, nukka. I'll still be here."

"You better be."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Out the window of the Aerie, the world is a mix of white and blue. Solid land breaking up into ice floes, icebergs bobbing here and there, everything covered in a thick layer of snow, making the breaks in the land where the ocean is darkest all the more obvious. Clear blue sky is incredibly pale for how cold it is and the clouds are in whisps, building up in the distance like there may be another fall of snow soon.

Sokka is staring out the window while Zinda flies, not talking. There's too much to think about.

Idly, he fingers a bracelet on his left wrist, made before he left. The thick leather cord wraps four times around his wrist, on the outside of his wraps, and is threaded through the holes carved in a small disc of blue stone with very careful carvings put in.

It's his now.



Ice, snow, wind, ocean, stone. As soon as the plane's gone, it should start feeling like the tribe again. He hasn't seen it in almost four years, three years since he saw the Northern Tribe. If nothing else, he shouldn't be able to tell the difference just from living so differently for so long.

But it's all wrong. Everything is wrong.

The placement of the hills. The color of the water. How the clouds move, the consistency of the snow. The first time he sees an animal and it's a rabbit - not a rabbitseal, not a rabbitfox, not a rabbibear. It's just a rabbit.

It's as wrong as everything else has always been, since he stumbled over that root.

And that feeling of being alone and alien is getting to be eerily comfortable.



The sporting goods store he raided in Metropolis before coming here labeled the coat he's wearing as a "parka," but Sokka found that more insulting than anything. Synthetic fabric filled with goose down, slick and shiny and brightly colored. No fur, no leather, the designs are meaningless, made to look "cool."

But it's warm. Like the sleeping bag, the mittens and pants and boots, the tent. He has a backpack with flint and his knife, a small portable lamp, some jerky to start him off.

When he was a boy, he lived in a small village. They were protected from the elements by a wall of snow and ice around them to block the wind, small igloos to keep huddled families warm at night, the communal hut made of leather to shield them from the worst storms. They hunted with clubs and spears in groups of ten and twenty, their clothes were made from the flesh of their kills, constructed skillfully with bone needles and stitched with twine, attached with bone buttons. They cooked with pots and pans carved from the blue stone of the earth. There was a system and community and skills that were shared throughout the tribe.

He has none of that now.

He'll have to make do.




It is fucking hard to make do.

The tent is set up easily enough and he even manages to find a spot that's cut off enough from the wind that a fire is possible. Hunting takes some work but he remembers the basics of tracking and has had more experience with his weapons in the last five years than he'd like to admit. That's not so hard.

The difficult part comes when he's killed the beast, an enormous polarbearfox with a blunt snout and stubby tail, skinned and separated the meat, and has to do something with the skin. He's never been good at sewing, though he technically knows how to do it. The skinning is messy but he gets out the knife anyway, hoping to salvage it into a blanket, to start with.

And realizes he has no needle.

Or thread.

How the hell did they do this in the village?




A bone needle. Thread made of sinews.

Bloody fucking fingertips from making the needle and sharp, angry cursing as the fur skin gets more and more ragged the more he works with it.

If he ever sees his grandmother again, Sokka is going to worship her at her feet.

And then ask her to sew for him.



Cooking is easier. The first day he arrived, Sokka filled a bucket with icy water on the coast, then brought it back to his camp, hanging it up high on a post just outside of his tent. Over the next few days, the water evaporated and left salt behind. And salting meat, drying it out into jerky... that is one lesson he will never forget.

And while it might not be seal, the warped polarbearfox meat is still delicious. He eats more than he needs to, then crawls inside his synthetic tent to sleep in his growing collection of furs.

There were stars above him for the first time in a year.

Sokka was on the roof of the hotel, in a place called Eden, far enough from his home and the world of Four Nations that it was liable to break his heart, and he was looking at stars.

It must have been a new moon, Sokka thought, as he lay back against the concrete with his head propped up on the ledge, his eyes tracking constellations. It must be a new moon because he can't see it, just the stars, just thousands and millions of stars, each one a tiny sun, he'd learned so much about them from Wash and Harper and now, for the first time in a year, he was seeing them again and...

It must have been a new moon.

He couldn't see the moon.

Strange, he starts to think, little images worming their way into his head. Strange that the first night he's seen the stars in a year, it just happens to be the one night a month where the moon is black, where it hides itself from the light. Odd that it isn't slivered somewhere, waxing or waning, it's just-- gone. Black.

Hiding.

The moon is hiding from him.

He'd spent the night with Paige last night, as he had been starting to do more and more often. He didn't want Katara to move out of the first floor and she was still wary about him doing anything around her - looking at her. So he spent nights with Paige to keep his sister in one place, because spending the night with Paige made him forget his sister and that, sometimes, more often than he would like to admit to, made him happy. Paige made him happy, her smile and her mind and her words and her arms and her-- everything. He was happy, he was hopeful, he had a tentative engagement that would take years to fulfill and he was all right with that because Paige was and she mattered most to him.

Most.

He walked out of her room that morning with those thoughts in his head and hit a brick wall.

And now there are stars and a sky and his eyes are scanning the black, picking out all the little stars and he is looking because he suspects that maybe, just maybe, someone who gave up her happiness for the world's is angry he didn't mourn a little longer, hurt a little harder, miss a little more.

Sokka looks at the sky and the moon is hiding from him.

He was an uncle.

Technically, he still wasn't as his bloodsister wasn't the mother and he didn't have any bloodbrothers, but it was Mel and Zuko and that was close enough, if not, for the moment, closer.

'Cause he was an uncle.

After getting a little tipsy and smokey in 202, Sokka is hopping up stairs to get to a specific room, grinning like a fool the whole way, even while he stands before her door and knocks.

'Cause he's an uncle.

Mel had forgiven him and that was huge. Sure, she hadn't said it in so many words, but she'd hugged him, held on, smiled...

It was more than he could have asked for.

On the other hand, Zuko couldn't look at him without sincere disgust on his face, Paige had been avoiding him since... well, since, and he hadn't spoken to Katara since the council ended.

He'd spoken to Jim, though. That alone had made their comparable silences before bed all the more awkward.

He's in their room now, though, coming down from one of the higher floors. He's not sure what he's supposed to be doing - if he's allowed in the engineering room anymore, allowed outside the building to train, and he doesn't want to search Paige out, so... He goes to the top floors, exercises by himself, wears himself down, sketches in his book, eats when he can and... thinks.

Now? Washing his face. Thinking is tiring work.

He didn't want to talk to Katara and he doubted she even wanted to look at him at this point. He couldn't talk to Mel or Zuko - not about marriage, not about what Katara wanted to do. He wasn't going to search out Paige when he was the last one to speak. He said his piece and she knew what he wanted. He would wait for her.

She was worth waiting.

So he's out from the apartments now, up on the wall, boomerang and club at his back, knife at his belt. He's not surveying, though, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He's just looking up at the sky, the dark, thick clouds.

This isn't the Southern Tribe, with its stars and its icy, clean winds, the flurry of snowfall. But somehow... it could be home.

Lady Luck was going to be put out to pasture and this was sad. But they really didn't need a war balloon anymore and keeping it around as one was like forming a serious army and Sokka was all too happy to keep that from happening. So when he's asked to go salvage parts of Lady's console and poke around to fix what needs fixing to make something useful, he's a happy boy.

Happier when Paige is asked to go and lift the heavy stuff.

Sliding under the console with his legs sticking out, there's clanking and whirring as he works the plates off.

"He's not that bad. Harper's just... eccentric."

Read: fucking crazy but occasionally really, really wonderful.

[After this.]

There was tossing. There was turning. And there was a gasping, panting boy wrapped in canvas suddenly shooting up in a sitting position in the darkness, crying out softly, eyes painfully wide, trembling and gasping for breath.

When Katara has nothing to do, she gets up early and 'bends all day. When Sokka is given the day off... he sleeps in.

Like a normal person.

That's where he is now, just rolling out from under his blankets at what is probably a few hours before noon. Who can really tell at this point? Still, it feels late to him and Sokka yawns, groggy as the blankets are thrown back and he searches for clothing. Pants are found, pulled on and tugged up before he gets up and wanders to the bathroom for more morning-necessities.

Visitors will be grunted at in a I'm-totally-not-all-there sort of way, shirtless with his hair floppy in his eyes.