Chapter Text
Aonung could feel hatred boiling from the inside of his chest, blooming like a flower until it enveloped his entire body. He cursed his sister for being so warmhearted towards the Sully kids (though it was part of her nature), and he cursed the forest boy that somehow convinced Tsireya that he was worthy of her time. He had carved a hole between Aonung and Tsireya.
He was not fit for diving, and was too aggressive and outspoken for his own good. He never knew when to be quiet, and blamed everything on his brother (who was almost tolerable, if not for his too serious character). Aonung had left Lo’ak out to die, but he had come back only to pretend like the entire situation hadn’t affected him. He even took the blame, as if that would change anything.
He had even gone as far as making friends with another outcast, Payakan. The lonely tulkun was a victim of exile by the tulkun way. Aonung secretly hoped that the Sully family would soon be subject to the same fate, driven out by the Metkayina people. Only Eywa knew when that would happen.
The Toruk Makto was the only na’vi that seemed remotely worthy of his time, but his son was so arrogant, learning nothing from his father. Aonung pondered this fact while slicing fruit for his pregnant mother. She had been extremely tired, and even his father, the chief, crept around her like she was some kind of unforeseen danger. Aonung respected her greatly, since she seemed to agree with his views about the Sully family. Lost in his thoughts, he almost cut his finger when Tsireya stepped over him, jolting him back to reality.
“Brother," she sighed, "what are you thinking so hard about? Grandmother once said that if you keep making this serious face, the lines will never go away.” Her expression was deeply grave, so grave that Aonung managed to give a small laugh. “Do not laugh,” she said, but she gave into her usual expression of smiling. “It happened to her.”
“You should not believe everything that she said,” Aonung reprimanded her lightly, going back to his task, his anger starting to quell. It was the first time he had engaged in a proper conversation with Tsireya since the Sully kids had arrived. During the day, she was always outside, doing something with Kiri, Tuk, or Lo'ak. Lo'ak. The source of all his troubles. Neteyam always had some duty with his father, whether it was training (though he hardly would become Olo'eyktan anytime soon), or hunting. During dinner, Tsireya always talked about the new things she had learned from the Sully family as Aonung stared somberly at his food. “The wrinkles were because of her old age. She only loved seeing you smile.”
Tsireya’s grin became softer, disregarding the first part of what he had told her. “Lo’ak said he does as well,” she said wistfully, gazing up at the sky. It was a beautiful day, and the sun had finally begun to show her face after days of rest. Even the birds seemed to agree that it was the ideal day, leaving their nests to fly around and look for food. Aonung had never seen so many birds in one place, especially near his village. “Eywa has truly given us a beautiful gift…”
“A gift?” Aonung jerked away from what he was doing, incredulous. The trance he was in while watching the sky was broken. “You call that a gift? Lo'ak? How you can even listen to that boy is surprising to me! All he does is talk about his problems!” As he spoke, his knife was pointed at his sister, jabbing at the air.
She wasn’t fazed, instead directing the blade to the fruit again. “You do not have enough of a heart to truly understand him. If you spent less time in our home, and more time welcoming the family, you would see that you are being very dramatic. He is very kind and knowledgable, and he cares deeply about other people."
"I think you are talking about his brother." It was a poor attempt at a joke, and he was the only one who laughed. Tsireya frowned instead.
"I am talking about both of them," she said, a little hurt. And then, "I need to check on mother."
“If you fall in love with him, you will get hurt,” he warned, but she was walking away. He almost corrected himself to, "Since you fell in love with him, you are going to get hurt", but he knew she wouldn't hear him. Tsireya had begun talking about something from the other room in a hushed voice, and he was almost sure it was about him. He growled down at the plate of fruit, the jagged lines in every cut a telltale sign of his aggression. He quickly stood up after a beat of silence, knowing that his mother was somewhat aggressive when she was stressed. The baby had put a lot of pressure on her shoulders.
“Come with me to the beach later,” Tsireya whispered into his ear as he passed the fruit to his mother with a nod of respect. “It will be fun, and you can even show off your hunting skills.”
“There is nobody for me to show off for,” Aonung told his sister, still under his breath. He knew his mother was tired, and he didn't want to disturb her.
“What?” Ronal murmured tiredly. Too late. “Did you say something?”
“Nothing," he lowered his eyes to avoid eye contact. "I was not talking to you.”
Aonung hurried out of the small room and went to sit down again, suddenly fatigued by all the talking. He almost fell asleep, but was rudely awoken by his sister, tugging on his arm. She seemed to never run out of energy, and usually had more to spare. "Let go of me," he grumbled.
“Come on, brother!” Tsireya pleaded, eyes shiny. “You do not even have to talk with him! You can speak with Kiri or Neteyam, even Tuk!”
“Kiri is a freak, Neteyam is too serious, and I hate babies,” Aonung complained.
“You have not even seen their faces in days. You spend all your time in our Marui because you are scared of change,” Tsireya said, almost angrily. "You do not want to accept the family because you are jealous of the relationship I will build with them." He crossed his arms, too prideful to admit that she was right. She spoke softer, in hopes of convincing him. "We can all be friends together." It was a weak argument.
“Why would I want to be friends with some outcasts? They are demons,” he snarled, eyes narrowing. “Have you seen Lo'ak's fingers?”
"Why is it always Lo'ak?" she asked, pained.
Aonung sighed. "I just.. do not want you to get hurt."
Tsireya turned away to face the entrance of the tent. Her voice came from over her shoulder, "I understand." Aonung let out a breath of relief, but he had acted too soon. She added, "But I just want you to be friends with everyone! If not him, then Neteyam or Kiri. Please." When she turned back around, her eyes were wet. Aonung groaned, knowing that she wasn’t actually sad. It was something she always did in her childhood to get what she wanted. She always used it on their mother and father, and occasionally used it on him.
The terrible thing was that it usually worked.
“How long do I need to stay down there?” he relented.
Tsireya smiled, her earlier act long forgotten. “Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?”
She nodded.
“Fine.”
She grinned in excitement before taking his hand and leading him out of their shared Marui. Aonung reluctantly didn’t resist.