Dragons and Lotuses

Description: Sokka is an undercover cop for the L.A.P.D., trying his best to infiltrate the notorious White Lotus Society yakuza. While his plans have always been to take the yakuza down, will he eventually take his artificial oaths of loyalty to heart?

Rating: This story is rated T, but may move to M for future mature situations, sex, violence, and/or language.

Disclaimer: I don’t own “Avatar: The Last Airbender” or anything associated with it. This story is for amusement purposes only—so I hope you’re amused!

Chapter 1: Initiation

“We're gonna be like three little Fonzies here.”
- Jules in Pulp Fiction

It was finally time—time for him to commit himself to something bigger than himself, to selflessly promise his loyalty to his new family, and to share in a ceremony that had so many more implications than the simple act of drinking sake. As they drove the nearly deserted streets of downtown Los Angeles, Sokka could feel his palms sweat as he nervously anticipated his initiation into the White Lotus Society yakuza.

Sitting in the cushioned leather seat of the silver Lexus sedan, he tried his best to take deep breaths and calm himself. Not only was he being welcomed into the family, his future elder brother, or niisan, was the boss’ own nephew by blood—Zuko Sozin. He couldn’t have imagined being in such a precarious situation when he was first asked to go undercover and infiltrate the White Lotus Society. In fact, it only seemed like yesterday when the L.A.P.D.’s organized crime department’s head, Liutenant Jeong-Jeong, asked Sokka to take the undercover assignment. As the dark streets stretched lazily before him, his mind went back to that day more than a year ago when his life as he knew it changed forever.

Sokka had been taking pen to paper for the past 30 minutes, completing some official forms that needed to be filled out. Officer Chey had silently approached Sokka’s cubical and cautiously knocked on the cheap metal framing the semi-permanent gray walls, attempting to get Sokka’s attention. Pulling his eyes away from his paperwork, Sokka turned his gaze to his fellow officer.

“What’s up, Chey?”

“Well, the, uh, Liutenant wants to see you. Said you should head into his office ASAP,” Chey replied, his eyes darting back-and-forth suspiciously.

Shrugging his shoulders, Sokka went back to his paperwork, “I ain’t got time for that right now—besides, what’s that old guy gonna yell at me for now?”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with something like that, Sokka. He said it was important—real important—and that if you said you were busy, he asked that I threaten to dock your pay for the week. Said something about how many ‘damn donuts’ you eat out of the break room everyday…”

Not wanting to lose any hard-earned cash, Bulanadi acquiesced and pushed himself away from his desk. “Fine, fine. I’m convinced I should get my butt in his office.” Glancing over his shoulder, he absented-mindedly expressed, “Thanks, Chey.”

After all, the lieutenant wasn’t the type to call someone in for a nice chat—he was all business, only calling officers in when they needed to be told they were an idiot for making some rookie mistake or when it was time to reassign them to another beat or department.

Unfortunately, Sokka had no idea why the lieutenant would want to speak with him of all people; for the past year, he’d simply done his job and hoped to stay under the radar. That’s how he had survived a lot of situations in his life—keep your nose down and just blend into the scenery, he always thought to himself. He had learned a lot about human nature just by observing people; oftentimes, it was easier learning things by paying quiet witness to those around oneself than to ask questions outright.

Knocking on his superior’s door, Officer Bulanadi waited for his commanding officer’s grunt of approval to enter—Lt. Jeong-Jeong was always too busy to even to utter “come in” to people. Either that or he just detested being interrupted in any way, shape, or form.

Now, to the casual observer, Jeong-Jeong’s office was like any other lieutenant’s in the L.A. police department. A large and imposing dark wood desk stood front and center of the dark, navy blue carpet, while various commendations and photos lined the walls. On the expansive bookcase to the left of the desk were several large legal tomes, along with several binders describing the functions and operations of the organized crime unit and the L.A.P.D.

But, for those whom Jeong-Jeong hoped to intimidate, there were little details sprinkled throughout the room. Photos of him with not only past mayors of Los Angeles, but with former California governors and future U.S. presidents, sat on his desk where others would leave family photos. Each picture stood sentinel, staring down whichever poor soul was asked to sit across from them. Medals and awards lined the empty spaces of his bookcase, making it look like some massive three-dimensional collage, all speaking to the superior police work of Liutenant Jeong-Jeong during his 30 or so years with the force.

All of the minute differences pointed to one obvious conclusion—Jeong-Jeong was your superior; he was better than you, and he knew it. For the man to hand out any compliment was the greatest honor anyone who worked under him could hope for. He was a serious man, but he seldom bestowed praise and expected only the best from those he worked with—anything less would not be tolerated and, oftentimes, would result in a transfer to a less prestigious department, along with a demotion and a pay cut. Sokka couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if his donut bill had truly racked up enough of a debt to warrant a slap on the wrist…

Cautiously stepping inside, Sokka made his way through the entrance to Jeong-Jeong’s immaculate office. The older white-haired man sat at his desk, his slightly scruffy beard and long, thin mustache being thoughtfully twisted by his fingertips as he gazed out the window behind his desk. Turning to the young man before him, he gave a simple order: “Close the door, Bulanadi; this is for your ears only.”

Complying with the lieutenant’s request, Sokka quickly took his seat after shutting the door. “What’s up lieutenant?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible, chin in hand, trying his best to hide his anxiousness at being called in. Unfortunately, his nervously tapping foot belied his attempts at calmness.

The unpleasant thought that he had somehow displeased his supervisor and was about to be transferred swirled in his head as he waited for his boss to address him. For a moment, a series of bad possibilities flashed through his mind—being transferred back down to parking enforcement, being fired and forced to become mall security, or working code enforcement in some ghetto neighborhood for the city. As one might have guessed, the images conjured up by Sokka’s vivid imagination caused a somewhat tortured-looking grimace to cross his face.

Furrowing his brow, the older man looked him up and down, as if appraising his appearance for the first time. “You’ve been with our department for what, a year now, right, Bulanadi?”

“That’s correct, sir,” Sokka quickly replied, now conspicuously aware of the attention being paid to him by his superior. In an attempt to focus his attention on the conversation, he clasped his hands together and rested them calmly in his lap.

“And in that time, what have you been doing?”

Surprised at the question, he replied candidly, yet carefully, “Uh, mostly administrative work, sir.” He counted off on his fingers, “I answer phones, do the filing, correct paperwork… I’ve basically been a desk jockey since I started here.”

“And you have a problem with that?” the older man retorted, his voice devoid of emotion.

Sitting up a little bit straighter in his seat, as if hoping to increase his value to the lieutenant, he continued, “Well, I always envisioned my time in the organized crime unit to be a little more, uh, exciting than pushing papers all day. I mean, I was a traffic cop, a glorified meter maid before, so don’t get me wrong—this is a big step up, but I always hoped for…well, for something more, I guess.”

“Well, what if I told you we had an opening somewhere else in the department? Somewhere where I think you could be of use; somewhere you could make a difference, where your unique skills could prove useful. What would you say to that?” the white-haired man cautiously queried, one eyebrow raised and a small, uncharacteristic smile on his face.

Eyes beaming from his commanding officer’s unexpected compliment and surprising smile, Bulanadi practically jumped on the opportunity. “Anything is better than pushing papers all day, boss. Just tell me where I’m needed and I’m there!”

“What if it meant giving up every aspect of who you are? Giving up your own personality, or giving up your family? Would you still want it then?” Jeong-Jeong asked enigmatically.

Sokka’s brow thoughtfully furrowed at his boss’ sudden turn in conversation—was the old man trying to scare him away from the job? And what was with all the rhetorical questions?

“Well, uh, I guess it would be difficult—well, not being myself anymore would be hard; giving up my family not so much…I’m pretty much an orphan, Lieu, and I don’t have a wife or anything, so that wouldn’t be hard. But why do you ask? What kind of job am I getting transferred into?” he finished, his eyes thinning into little streaks while he wondered where Jeong-Jeong’s line of questioning was leading.

“Have you heard of the White Lotus Society, Sokka?” Jeong-Jeong continued, using the officer’s first name to somehow imply his seriousness. It also brought the conversation to a more personal level, as if Jeong-Jeong wanted Sokka’s personal reaction, not just his professional opinion.

“Hell, who hasn’t boss? They’re only the biggest and most successful yakuza in L.A., not to mention the country…” He continued to rattle off information somewhat monotonously as he stared at a spot above Jeong-Jeong’s head, his forehead scrunched in thought. “WLS is led by Iroh Sozin, the Dragon of the West and brother to Ozai Sozin, leader of the Red Dragon Society yakuza in Japan. Iroh started WLS in the late 90s and only recently rose to prominence in the U.S. as one of the greater leaders in modern organized crime. While he runs several legitimate businesses, including tea houses, restaurants, massage parlors, and card rooms, he allegedly does a lot of work in weapons, human trafficking, and money laundering for other gangs. But he refuses to do any trade in drugs for unknown reasons.” When he finished, he grinned widely at his C.O.

“What kind of question is that?” Sokka queried in response, arms crossing at the thought that he—of all people—wouldn’t know who the White Lotus Society was. For God’s sake, they were only mentioned in the L.A. Times at least once a month for their illicit activity! As far as Sokka was concerned, the question should’ve been: who hadn’t heard of the White Lotus Society?

“If your enthusiasm is any indication, I think I got what I needed to know out of you, Bulanadi,” Jeong-Jeong said seriously as he turned his chair away from Sokka and stared out the window momentarily. After a ten-second pause, the older man sighed as he slowly got up and walked around his massive oak desk, his hand scratching the back of his head as he considered his decision. When he reached the front of the large desk, he leaned against its edge, his eyes focused intently on the young man before him.

“You’re going undercover, Bulanadi. You’re going to help us bring down the White Lotus Society. Tomorrow, you’re going to clean out your desk and you’re going to start your training. You’ve got to transform yourself into a low-level thug, gain the trust of the yakuza, and infiltrate its highest ranks,” the white-haired man said matter-of-factly, as if he was telling someone what the weather was going to be like tomorrow.

“It’s going to be hard—harder than anything you’ve ever known—and you’ll have to give up a lot, but I think you can do it. You get along with everybody you come into contact with, you’ve obviously got a good memory, you disappear into the scenery when you need to, and you’re obviously willing to work your ass off for the department if your commitment to ‘pushing papers’ is any indication. And you’re a pretty good liar – I’ve known for awhile about your donut-eating problem,” the old man chuckled at Sokka’s surprised reaction. “So, don’t disappoint me or your fellow officers. The city of Los Angeles is depending on you to help us take down its most notorious crime syndicate.”

Upon seeing the wide-eyed and shocked look on Sokka’s face, Lt. Jeong-Jeong barked a simple, “Dismissed!” signaling that the lower-ranked officer was free to leave his office. Scurrying out of his superior’s den of mental torture, Sokka couldn’t bring himself to speak to anyone, nor finish his paperwork, for the rest of the afternoon. Instead, he left the office and went down to his favorite coffee shop to contemplate his new role in the L.A.P.D.

Chuckling at the memory, Sokka returned his focus to the task at hand—he was to participate in the traditional sake-drinking ceremony with his new family, the White Lotus Society. To be honest, he was nervous, sitting there in his heavily starched shirt and navy blue pinstripe suit, being driven to the ceremony by a chauffeur. Not driving felt unnatural, especially since he had worked the past few months as a driver for the syndicate. Of course, Zuko had looked over at him when he chuckled, but the amber-eyed man simply chalked it up to nerves. Unsurprisingly, the tattooed driver’s eyes never strayed from the road.

Sokka considered the situation – he’d gone through so much at this point that it seemed like the brass ring was just within reach for him. And once he got to the top, he’d be privy to secret information about the group’s operations and, hopefully, the L.A. district attorney’s office would be able to use that information to take the gang down. While he knew that he had done everything he needed to in order to get to this point – really, he was as mentally prepared as he could be – he still took a deep breath to calm himself. He closed his eyes as he exhaled, visualizing the ceremony as best he could.

He saw in his mind’s eye everything that would happen – he’d sit next to Arnook, the guarantors would bring out the materials needed for the ceremony, the guarantors would then make their statement, and the ceremony would end with the symbolic drinking of each other’s sake. The beauty of the ceremony was the simplicity of it; it held such deeper meaning, practically a religious one, like taking vows when you joined a convent. Or, in this case, when you joined the family.

They soon came to their destination, one of the tall high-rises that had been built on the edge of L.A.’s Little Tokyo, just outside of downtown. The building was a glass-and-metal testament to what the mayor had called the “new downtown L.A.” A time in which Disney could build a concert hall, the bums would be cleaned from the streets, and people could enjoy the nightlife of an area that, up until a couple years ago, was known more for its prostitutes and drug dealers than its entertainment value. The city had changed, alright, but whether or not it was for the better was still undecided.

As the silver sedan pulled into the building’s expansive parking garage, Sokka noticed the song playing on the car’s satellite radio, “Little Green Bag.” Listening to the lyrics, a particular passage stood out to Sokka, “Lookin' for some happiness, but there is only loneliness to find.”

Upon hearing the line, Sokka wondered briefly what his real family—or what was left of it—would think if they knew what he was doing. His parents had been long dead—his mother a victim of a robbery gone horribly and violently wrong when he was about four; his father having died in military action by the time he reached adolescence. The only people that would care about his current situation would be his grandmother, Kana, better known as Gran-Gran, and his sister, Katara.

But, he hadn’t spoken to either of them in months—the last time most likely being about a month after his undercover training began. He knew then that he could never tell them what was going on—just that he had left the force. They were initially worried about him, but knew that he would be able to handle it. Of course, lying to them was easier than the truth, he convinced himself. They didn’t need to know what he was doing; what risks he was taking. Besides, Katara would most likely scream herself bluer than her eyes about how he was endangering his safety. He could almost hear her chastising voice in his head. She’d invariably ask what he was risking his life for—being sure to remind him that it was all just a “glorified game of cops and robbers,” only this time, it wasn’t a game; it was life or death.

Pulling him out of his reverie, Zuko rough voice spoke first, “We’re here, Sokka.” Turning to his companion, he looked at him seriously, “Do you have any questions?”

“Nah, Zuko, I don’t have any questions. Besides, we’ve been over the ceremony like a dozen times, right?” He continued, flicking up a finger for each step he’d encounter during the ceremony, “We enter the ceremonial room, I sit down, we have a serious talk, I commit to serving Arnook and the society, and then we drink the sake—”

Shaking his head at his new partner, Zuko chastised him, “You forgot to mention that you need to take off your shoes, that you shouldn’t speak unless spoken to—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. And I shouldn’t make any nasty faces when I drink the sake—no matter how horrible it tastes—and I’m only supposed to sip it, blah, blah, blah…” Sokka continued in a clipped and annoyed tone, emphasizing each ‘blah’ with a wave of his hand.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and mentally counting to ten, Zuko stopped himself from saying anything—he had already learned it wasn’t worth the time and effort when it came to Sokka. “Look, just don’t act like an idiot. You’ve never been on the top floor—the main office—you should consider it a great honor to be allowed into the upper echelons of the White Lotus Society. No one’s ever risen up in the ranks as fast as you have, so don’t take it lightly.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know; you’ve only told me a million times that this is ‘such a great honor,’” Sokka said mockingly as he got out of the car. When he looked over at Zuko, though, he realized he may have taken his retort a little too far. Besides, Sokka knew that Zuko had always placed a high price on honor, so his face turned serious. “I understand that it’s an honor, Zuko. This is…important and I know it,” he deadpanned. “Okay?”

Stepping away from the parked car, Zuko straightened out his skinny black tie, fixed the collar of his dark grey dress shirt, and ran his hands down the front of his well-tailored black pinstripe suit. As he picked invisible pieces of lint off his suit and avoided direct eye contact, he simply retorted, “Well, we all know it’s no honor for me to be working with you. So shut up and let’s get going.” It was obvious that Zuko knew Sokka was sincere, but there was no point in addressing it, so long as Sokka knew the gravity of the situation.

While they silently approached the elevator, Sokka wondered if his partner would ever develop a sense of humor that went beyond dry sarcasm. ‘Cause truth be told, he really hated that damn scowl on his face all the time—it was like the guy was physically incapable of smiling.

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They rode the large mirrored elevator to the top floor. As the doors slowly slid open, they were presented with a fantastic vista of downtown Los Angeles, the lights of the cars on the freeway twinkling like dozens of nearby stars. The sound of a fountain automatically caught Sokka’s attention as they exited the elevator compartment. Turning to its source, he realized that it was no fountain—it was an elaborate series of fish tanks lining the wall.

Catching Sokka distracted, Zuko simply explained, “He has a thing for fish, you know. Too dangerous and expensive to have what he originally wanted—insurance would have been ridiculous if he had a koi pond up here—so he had a group of saltwater fish tanks custom-made to line the wall. Now stop staring and get moving.”

Rather than argue with his partner, Sokka was satisfied to follow Zuko farther into the office area. It was well-lit with a soft, almost natural light emanating from the wall sconces. The reception area of the main office was a study in monochrome, from white furnishings to white bowls filled with water and floating white lotuses. The only spots of color in the room were the small black pillows accenting the couch, a framed black and white graphic print decorating one wall, and the black-suited receptionist at the desk.

A perky young woman greeted them upon entering the area. “Hey Zuko, you’re five minutes early and your uncle is still in a meeting. Would you like anything to drink while you wait?”

“No thanks, Ty Lee.” He turned to his—mind you, he was still warming up to the idea—younger brother, asking, “Would you like anything to drink Sokka?”

Finally tearing his eyes from examining his peculiar surroundings, Sokka turned to the front of the room. “Uh, no thanks.” Locking eyes with the lady in front of him, he simply smiled.

“Hey, cutie, you’re new around here, aren’t you?” Ty Lee asked sweetly, batting her grey eyes for added effect.

Undaunted, Sokka flashed back his trademark grin and leaned his forearm against the reception desk, his voice dropping an octave as he suavely replied, “Sure am, baby. I’m Sokka—”

But before he could finish, a rotund, gray-haired man entered the room, proclaiming, “Ah, Sokka, Zuko, I see you’re both here!” Wrapping an arm around each young man’s shoulders, he began dragging them through glass double doors to the ceremony room. “Sorry to keep you waiting, boys, but business is business! Are you ready to join the White Lotus Society, Sokka?”

“Of course, sir. I’m ready,” Sokka said in a low voice, implying he understood the inherent seriousness of the situation.

Patting him heavily on the back, the Dragon of the West exuberantly shouted, “Good to hear! But don’t make it sound like we’re going to your funeral—this is a festive occasion you know.” They soon approached a pair of paneled rice paper screens. Trading their street shoes for the white slippers laid out for their use, they carefully entered the tearoom.

The floors were lined with tatami mats and the plain white walls were lined with tasteful Japanese wood panel prints. At one end of the room stood a small altar where incense burned, adding a slightly spiced aroma to the room. On the altar sat three offerings: a bowl of rice, a whole fish, and a pile of salt.

Additionally, a small rice paper screen depicting a geisha under a sakura tree blocked off another doorway on the far side of the room. In the room’s center sat a low table with white cushions surrounding it. Along one long end of the table sat several high-ranking members of the White Lotus Society. Nearest the head of the table where Iroh would sit was Jun, Iroh’s wife who also served as oneesan, or older sister, to all the yakuza members.

For such ceremonies, women were expected to follow tradition and Jun was no exception. Her ink-black tresses were pulled back into a formal topknot, with her thick bangs sweeping across her forehead seductively. Her eyes were lined in black kohl and her lips colored a deep red, emphasizing her dramatic look. For all of Jun’s exotic beauty, she simply sat there demurely—or as demurely as one of her stature could—in her black silk kimono, its cuffs and neckline embroidered with tiny lotus flowers in silvery white thread, reminding any ignorant soul where her loyalties truly lay.

Next to Jun sat Jee, the saiko komon or senior advisor, then Zhao, the so-honbucho or headquarters chief, with the wakagashira Shinu sitting on the other side of Zhao. All three men held serious looks on their faces, as they had just finished yet another argument on the appropriateness of Sokka’s induction into the group so prematurely.

While Jee and Shinu believed he would make a strong addition to the team of shateigashira and would do a great job of overseeing a local gang, Zhao disagreed vehemently. Of course, Zhao had been overruled by the council, so he simply sat there disgruntled, the tightened jaw muscles on his face causing his rather large sideburns-cum-mutton chops to twitch.

At the end of the table sat Fong, the fuku-honbucho who oversaw several gangs located east of the I-5. To his left sat Arnook, the other fuku-honbucho who oversaw gangs located west of the I-5. Finally, there were only two empty seats for both Zuko and Sokka, which they quickly sat cross-legged upon. Sokka sat closest to Arnook, for whom he would be working closest with and would be his immediate oyabun.

Gazing at the small crowd before him, Iroh beamed a wide smile before moving into the more formal procedures of the induction ceremony.

“Ah, eight witnesses for the ceremony—what an auspicious number for your induction, Sokka! Hopefully, it will bode well for your service to the White Lotus Society.” As he finished, he clapped his hands loudly, signaling the guarantors, or torimochinin, that would bring the ceremonial supplies.

Upon clapping, three young women entered from behind the screen in the corner. Both wore the red, black, and stark white make-up of a geisha, along with green and white kimonos that were patterned with a lotus flower weave. Each carried an enameled teak tray: one carrying the warmed sake; one carrying the utensils needed for the ceremony, including a wooden whisk, two cups, and a larger bowl; and the third one carrying an uncooked whole fish and a small bowl of sea salt. As they neared Arnook, they bowed their heads in the understanding that he would be the person to whom Sokka would be swearing his fealty.

However, the group would be surprised at Iroh’s next words.

Considerately clearing his throat, he began, “Ladies, there has been a change in plan. The ceremony will take place between Sokka and myself, as opposed to him and Arnook.”

At the declaration, all eyes went wide except for those of Jun, Zuko, and Arnook. Flustered, Sokka knew that this was a much more serious situation than he, or any of his L.A.P.D. superiors, had been anticipating—he wasn’t simply swearing his loyalty to Arnook, leading one of the gangs that he oversaw. No, it was much bigger than that—he would be working directly under Iroh, the White Lotus Society’s komicho.

Ignoring the questioning stares in his direction, Iroh motioned for Zuko to move. “Sokka, please take your rightful place next to me, as I will be your oyabun.”

Nodding his head in understanding, Sokka stood up and sat in the seat vacated by Zuko. As the geishas walked around the table, Iroh shared a warm smile with the young man seated next to him. Unfortunately, the old man’s attempt at comforting him went unnoticed by the younger man. Trying his best to not look like a fish out of water, Sokka focused on the process of the sake-sharing ceremony instead. He mentally thanked and cursed Zuko in equal measure; thanked, for the ceremony lessons, and cursed, as he’d obviously known about the change in plans and had left him no indication. He prayed he’d actually do exactly as Zuko had said, and not embarrass himself…

There were three servers: one a tall, young woman with shoulder-length brown hair, a shorter woman with her black hair tied back in a bun, and a petite woman with her hair braided elaborately. All three women kneeled to the side of Iroh and Sokka, one placing the sake on the table before them. The geishas concentrated on the task before them, as they were guarantors of the silent oath to be taken. As one steadied the tray with the bowls, the other poured the sake into the large empty bowl held by the third geisha. The taller of the three women sprinkled items from the smaller bowls into the larger bowl, including the salt, symbolizing purity, and the fish scales, symbolizing the energetic koi fish and its ability to persevere in times of adversity and the non-conformist nature of the yakuza itself.

Once the items were successfully mixed in with the wooden whisk, the mixture was carefully poured back into the sake carafe. With the two cups placed before them, the taller woman filled the two cups—Iroh’s cup to the brim, symbolizing his status, while Sokka’s was filled only halfway. Sokka sat there, desperate for someone to say something as the sake was mixed—the silence was all consuming—but he knew better. Besides, Zuko would throttle him the moment they left the building if he did anything he wasn’t supposed to.

In a clear strong voice, the three women spoke in unison. Directing their voices at Sokka, they warned the soon-to-be-kobun of his impending duties. “From now on, you have no other occupation until the day you die. The oyabun is your only parent; follow him through fire and flood.”

The two men nodded at each other in agreement, not breaking eye contact as they brought the cups to their lips.

Sipping on their now-salty sake, they meaningfully stared at each other for a moment before Iroh motioned for them to switch their glasses. Carefully handing his cup over—for his hands were trembling now—Sokka took Iroh’s cup gingerly. The younger man took a few more tastes of the sake, while Iroh took the rest of Sokka’s leftover serving in one long draught.

In deference to his new obayun, Sokka handed Iroh’s cup back to him. With that, Iroh threw his head back and finished what was left, handing both cups to the tall geisha at his side, “Thank you, Suki.”

Iroh nodded to the young women who had spoken the oath that now connected the two men, “Thank you, ladies.”

Clearing the table, the three women left as silently as they had entered. However, the tallest of the three geishas, Suki, paused before disappearing behind the screen. For a moment, her eyes locked with Sokka. They smiled at each other briefly before the young woman departed. As the geisha left, Sokka returned his attention to his new family.

Turning back to Sokka, Iroh inclined his head in recognition of his new son, his new kobun. Returning the sign of respect, Sokka swiftly bowed low to his new father, breaking the silence when he loudly banged his head on the low table before him.

Sokka paled visibly; he was sure he was about to be executed, if not by Iroh, then by Zuko’s doubtless molten eye-beams of fury. He slowly rose from his embarrassing position, unsure of what he should do: apologize profusely or take it like a man.

At the “thud” of Sokka’s head hitting the table, Iroh couldn’t contain his laughter, however. Slapping the young man hard on his back, he hooted, “I always wondered who the first one to do that would be! It seems that that our inauspicious group of nine has instead prevailed to bring you pain, Sokka.”

Red with embarrassment, Sokka simply rubbed the sore spot on his forehead and shrugged sheepishly. The silent oath had been made; Sokka was now a full member of the White Lotus Society yakuza, and a son to the Dragon of the West.

Knowing that the night was long from over, he simply followed suit when Iroh and the others stood up from the table. His new life was about to begin.

Fuku-honbucho: assists the wakagashira and oversees several gangs himself.
Geisha: is a young woman trained in several arts, as well as ceremonial rituals, and is expected to perform for clients at will.
Koi: literally “carp.” These are the colorful, goldfish-like fish often seen in large ponds.
Komicho: the overall boss of the yakuza syndicate; synonymous with oyabun.
Oneesan: literally “older sister.” In yakuza society, the wife of the oyabun is known to other yakuza members as an older sister.
Oyabun: literally “father status” and the boss of a yakuza gang.
Niisan: literally “older brother.” In yakuza society, everyone outside of the oyabun, or “father,” is either an elder or younger brother to one another depending on who they’ve sworn loyalty to. Of course, everyone, directly or indirectly, swears loyalty to the oyabun.
Saiko Komon: a senior advisor to the oyabun/kimocho of a yakuza.
Sakura: Japanese for cherry blossom.
Shateigashira: is the head of a single gang.
So-honbucho: the headquarters chief oversees the day-to-day operations of the yakuza, as well as the literal building headquarters.
Tatami: Japanese mats made of rice straw that are used as floor coverings.
Torimochinin: the guarantors involved in any sake ceremony within yakuza society. Not only do they serve during oyabun-kobun ceremonies, but also when two yakuza gangs call a truce, join forces, or merge together.
Wakagashira: governs several gangs in a region and is assisted by the fuku-honbucho.

Characters:

While I only use actual characters from Avatar: The Last Airbender, I thought I’d give everyone a little refresher course.

Arnook: appeared in the last three episodes of season three; he’s the chief of the Northern Water Tribe and father to Yue.
Chey: appeared in “The Deserter” and was the second person to leave the Fire Nation army and survive.
Fong: appeared in “The Avatar State” and commanded the Earth Kingdom military base located on the island nearest the Fire Nation.
Jeong-Jeong: appeared in “The Deserter;” he’s the exiled Fire Nation general who initially trains Aang in firebending.
Jee: appeared in three episodes; he’s one of the senior officers of Zuko’s ship in the first season.
Jun: appeared in “Bato of the Water Tribe;” she’s the bounty hunter that Zuko hires to find Katara, Sokka, and Aang.
Shinu: appeared in “The Blue Spirit” and commanded the Yu Yan archers.
Zhao: appears in several episodes; he’s one of the main Fire Nation bad guys in the first season, as well as Zuko’s nemesis.

Author’s Note:

The sake-sharing ceremony is a traditional rite of passage into a yakuza syndicate and is modeled after the sake-sharing ceremony done during traditional Shinto weddings in Japan. I tried to be as factual as possible, but I cannot guarantee that everything is 100 percent correct. And, yes, salt and fish scales really are mixed into the sake before the oyabun and kobun consume it! Also, the numbers eight and nine are symbolic for different reasons—in Japan, eight is considered auspicious, while nine is a homophone for pain or distress.

As far as the quote at the top of the story goes, it’s uttered during the scene where Jules (Samuel L. Jackson) and Vincent (John Travolta) are getting held up in the coffee shop in Pulp Fiction. When Jules says “three little Fonzies,” he’s referring to the always-cool Arthur Fonzarelli from the 1970s program “Happy Days” in order to calm Yolanda (Amanda Plummer) down. I thought it was a fitting reference for Sokka’s need to “be cool” during the ceremony. Also, the song “Little Green Bag” is from the opening credits of Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs and is a good reference to the happiness Sokka’s trying to get – becoming a high-ranking member of the WLS – while consigning himself to loneliness and a life away from his family.

Thanks to Moor and Lover of the Flame for their awesome beta-reading abilities and thank you for reading and reviewing!