The celebration didn't really end so much as it slowly ran out of breath. No one was willing to call it quits, not without a nod from the Avatar, but he was in no mood for nodding. People kept talking to him in that slightly too-loud way that meant they were trying to drown out the memory of terror with their own voices, a plea for assurance it was really over. He tried to smile at the right moments. He tried not to show pain when thanked. He tried to be the Avatar they wanted right now. Aang even pretended he was happy to tell them he was quite sure Hei Bai wouldn't be back, just once, and knew he couldn't do it again.
It all felt like wearing someone else's clothes. Perhaps something like black armor gilded with gold and a surcoat of grey. When a second person, just a girl a little younger than him asked if he was sure the bad spirit wouldn't take her brother away again, Aang gave the faintest acknowledgement, cleared his throat and said, "I, uh… need a minute."
No one argued aloud with the Avatar needing a minute. The leader just looked a little alarmed, as if Aang might vanish into the air and take their good fortune with him, but Katara stepped forward and gently put herself between Aang and the crowd.
"We woke before dawn," she said, polite at first, then with a voice firm in that quiet way that made people listen. "He needs to rest."
As the fifth round of freshly baked buns was foisted at them, Sokka added, "Also, we're not going to wake up tomorrow if you feed us anything else."
That got a few chuckles, and the villagers, eager to do anything for them, scattered to fetch blankets, tea, beds, spare mats, spare pillows, spare everything. Senlin's gratitude had some muscle to it. They were not going to hold back for the Avatar's return, for to them it already felt like the world was saved.
Aang used the moment to finally do the thing he'd been doing in his mind over and over since Hei Bai turned and showed him the burn.
He walked up to Sokka and held out the wrapped spear. "Hey, uh..."
Sokka blinked at it like Aang had just offered him a live, fire-breathing dragon. "Nope."
"Please, you're not a bender—it wasn't affecting you, I don't think—and you're the team's spear guy," Aang said, and there was no cheer in it. "Just… keep people away. Don't touch the head—"
"No kidding," Sokka flatly stated.
Aang drooped a bit, but with Katara puffing up behind him, Sokka gave a quick, "sorry."
Aang breathed out, saying, "not forever, just tonight. Until I get back."
Katara's eyes narrowed. "Aang, where are you going?"
"Not far," Aang said, but wasn't sure, it would be until something felt different, however long that would be. "But if there's any chance I can find Hei Bai, see if there's something I can do, it won't be here."
Sokka tapped the wrapped haft with two fingers, like it might bite him through the cloth, then sighed and took it from Aang. "It's vibrating, does it usually vibrate?" he sharply demanded, immediately looking ready to toss it on the ground.
"A little," Aang shrugged. "More after... what just happened."
"Oh, that's a great sign," Sokka smiled and nodded. "I'm gonna go bury it under non-flammable objects."
Katara watched him, her face tight, then stepped beside him anyway. "I'm coming."
"Isn't it maybe messing with your head?" Sokka cautiously said, trying not to sound insulting.
"Not you," Katara rolled her eyes. "I'm going with Aang."
Aang gave her a sad little look like he didn't think she'd want to go if he asked, making his nonchalant, "you can come if you want," another thing to make her crack a small smile.
They left Sokka in the lantern-light by the gate, spear held out and away like a little demon baby with a cursed diaper in need of changing. He muttered something to himself about how he was going to add "spearsitting" to his list of responsibilities for the next divvying. Then he crept off, looking down at the cloth-wrapped point and loudly whispered, "now no need for violence while they're gone. I lo-o-o-ove you, spear of do-o-o-om, whose a good crazy killer ghost spear, you are!"
Aang and Katara walked into the dim woods. They walked for a long while without speaking. Not because there was nothing to say, but because every word still had something wriggling and angry biting into it. But the farther they got from the village, the more the air changed. The ground underfoot went from packed village dirt to ash and cinders and damp, crunchy black leaves that collapsed into powder. The smoke-sweet smell of burnt timber got stronger, but a palpable tension drained.
Finally, Aang exhaled, slow. "I think it really was affecting me."
Katara didn't finally didn't struggle to look him in the eye, and smiled like the bad weird Aang was gone now, but before she spoke her throat strained. "I—"
There was a pause. "Yeah, me too," Aang tried to smile. Once the dam was open, his apology flooded out with gusto, "when I'm near it, everything feels—louder? Like every word you said was annoying—but, but, for no reason!—I'm not saying you're annoying, and it was so easy to just... snap at you, it felt so *right* to. Like the whole world was brighter, more real, but constantly sho-o-o-u-u-ting!"
Katara's mouth tightened with a faint smile. "You were really mean."
The bluntness of it made Aang flinch. Not because it was unfair. Because it was true.
"I'm sorry," he blurted, too fast. "I'm really sorry. I didn't want to be mean, I just… I felt like you were against me, like you betrayed me, and that made me so mad, and that's stupid, like you didn't do anything at all! It's so obvious now you were right, and I was acting like a jerk, and I…"
Katara held up a hand. Not to stop him from speaking, exactly. More like she was gently catching the words before they turned into a pile.
"Aang," she said, voice soft, "I was harsh too. It was definitely also messing with me."
Aang blinked at her.
"Seriously, I'm not mad, it's kind of embarrassing, it was just hard to say," Katara managed to almost evenly explain, and her voice was downright confident as she added, "you blurting it all out helped, though, thanks." She gave a chuckle too cute for Aang to take lightly, and he had no choice but to smile.
"So... all the spear's fault?" Aang offered out his hand.
Katara scarcely hesitated before taking it, giving a single chirp of laughter, and agreeing, "yeah, all the spear's fault. Let there be peace again between the benders of the Air Nomads and Southern Water Tribe—all two of us."
Aang gave her the weirdest but warranted frown.
"Sorry, that was dark," she quickly stated. "Still the spear."
"Yeah, the spear," he breathed. It wasn't.
They walked, both with churning thoughts but significantly less fear of strife. Katara's gaze stayed on upwards, on the highest burnt branches and the thin, bruised sky beyond. Aang kept to his own business with his eyes on the soot strewn forest floor. For a while, the silence between them wasn't awkward or angry anymore. It was present, but it was something like acceptance.
Katara finally hesitated. "We really left it with Sokka."
"I know." Aang hung forward in defeat. "We needed a break." He excused. "But something in my gut, like my Avatar gut, tells me it's a bad idea to just abandon it. I know that sounds like an excuse to keep it, but I seriously don't want it anymore Katara, I—"
"I believe you," she assured over him.
"Ah... well, awesome! You're the best."
"I'm glad somebody notices," she smugly flipped her hair.
"I keep thinking about Lord Arza," just fell out of his mouth, due to an unchecked abundance of feeling accepted. "Like… what if this is what he wanted? What if he let me take it because he knew it would… do this." He didn't have to say what "this" meant.
Katara's brows knit. "But he wouldn't have even known you were there until after we left Omashu, right?"
Aang took that into consideration. "If he didn't plan it... it still *feels* planned." He frowned. "Which really just makes it worse. I wish we knew a non-crazy firebender to ask about the stupid thing, at least."
Katara let out a slow breath. "What about Raven?"
Aang's eyes snapped to her. "Raven not crazy?" he let out a single laugh. "Anyway, she barely even talked to me," he said quickly, almost defensive. "She didn't… do anything bad, I guess? I mean she was kind of a... word, but she wasn't…" He trailed off.
Katara's mouth tilted faintly, not quite a smile. "Half-joking, maybe, or not," she said, "but… she's literally Lord Arza's daughter, doesn't seem to like him, and I think the spear is like, the symbol of her religion? And her dad is like the boss of the religion. So, she probably knows how it works." Her caution grew with every word, she knew the idea of handing that hotheaded pot of magma something as dangerous as Arzayanagi would mean the death of anyone who happened to be vaguely near Prince Zuko in short order.
"Uh... she can't hold it, though," Aang blinked as he tapped his chin in thought.
Katara's expression turned wary again, the sensible kind. "Aang. I want to say she's my friend..." she took a breath. "But spirits no, absolutely do not give it to her, never ever."
They both briefly and nervously laughed, imagining roughly the same consequence of people fleeing for the hills as Kyoshi village vanished from one end to the other in giant flashes of lethal fire. Raven cackling madly, and for some reason hovering menacingly high above with Zuko's death cry echoing into the mists, at least in Aang's version.
Aang's gaze dropped. "I wish I could just ask Kyoshi what to do with it, or why she even thought I should have it?" he muttered, not like he thought she had any answers.
They crested a small rise where the ground dipped down into the completely incinerated part of the valley, where not even a single blessed green blade of grass remained. That was when Katara stopped dead—Aang walked right into her, "oomph!"—she swatted wildly behind her, not trying to push him away but haul him forward.
"Look!" she gasped, pointing a finger to between the hazy black lines of ever thinner trees. A glow. Not orange, not like lanterns, not like fire.
White-gold. Faint, pulsing, curling into view and back like a breath, betraying something just further round the shadowy mounds of ash. Aang's heart kicked hard. The guilt, the fear, the anger, all of it shoved aside by one clear thought.
"Hei Bai," he uttered. He just started running, it was farther than it first looked, and it was fading fast.
"Aang!" Katara hissed, panic surging back into her voice. "Aang, wait!"
But Aang was already airbending, a burst of wind under his feet launching him down the slope like gravity had to ask him permission first. "It's him!" he called back, voice strained. "It might be my only chance!"
Katara scrambled after him as fast as she could, swearing under her breath, but Aang was faster. He was too fast. He was a streak of desperate motion with no plan other than please let it not get worse.
After whipping just barely round mound and pile, between spindly blackened trunks and shadowy clouds of drifting smoke, he nearly lost the light a half dozen times. He feared he might have as he landed at the bottom of the pit, skidding on ash to almost smash his nose on a pillar of stone. The glow was right in front of him now, faint and getting fainter, clinging to the base of a stone statue now looming over him. He scrambled up, and saw flickers of the ghost fire here or there amidst cracks and lines of etching.
A totem. Hei Bai's. I mean it was a panda, it pretty much had to be.
It stood half buried, old and stained with blackened charred moss, carved in likeness of Hei Bai with softened edges, the kind of weathering that meant it had been here longer than anyone living could remember. The eerie light seemed to be dying out from bottom to top as he scanned the structure. As he reached, it the fire seemed to recoil and go out faster.
"No," Aang whispered. "Don't run."
Aang didn't look back. He reached up to the spirit's likeness atop the totem, eyes fixed on the dying ghost-fire.
"Hei Bai," he said softly, voice thick. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't know it would do that if you touched it either. I didn't…" He swallowed and forced the next words out like they hurt to say. "I didn't want to hurt you."
The glow flickered in pulses, then dimmed.
Aang's throat tightened. "If you can hear me… I'll help. I'll do whatever. I'll…" He didn't know what he could offer a spirit he'd burned. He didn't know what apology was worth in the face of agony like that.
The air felt… thin again. That same, breathless chill like something else was taking the place of the wind. Once again, even with his mastery of airbending, Aang shivered and clutched his arms close to his chest. Something was very present again, and his heart skipped a beat.
Then he heard it. A slow, delicate sound. Pitter… patter… Liquid dripping, pooling somewhere. Aang's eyes dropped, and at his feet, in the ash-dark soil, something gleamed. Gold. Liquid. Slightly luminous, like molten metal catching more than moonlight. Aang's breath hitched. He raised his gaze slowly up the totem.
A thin crack in the stone, just above the base, seemed to be… leaking. A slow rivulet of gold ran down the carved panda's rough approximation of a leg and into the earth like the statue was bleeding wealth. Feeling dizzy, Aang blinked hard, and the gold was gone. The statue was just stone again, no ghostly fire or gold, but that something taking up space just on the other side was so suffocating he had to think to keep breathing.
Aang stood frozen, heart hammering. It was another place of spiritual power! Of course! A spiritual vision came through and he hadn't even meditated yet. That was some serious business spirit stuff, he concluded as his fist hit his palm, and he dropped to cross-legged position like it was set to go off automatically.
Aang swallowed. The feeling in the air hadn't gone away. If anything, it had intensified, prickling against his skin like a storm charge.
"Come on, Kyoshi…" Aang whispered. "That's gotta be you again. Can already feel you... breathing down the back of my neck..." he went on, slower and sleepier as simply closing his eyes gave him a rush of more of that sense of spiritual presence, like sight was merely a distraction from it.
"I just want to talk," he whispered in a slight echo. "I just want answers."
The drip returned. He briefly scowled, it was always such a distraction for trying to get into the—oh right, it meant he was already there.
Aang opened his eyes. He was standing. He looked down. Yep, there he was again. Didn't miss a single hair on that dome, he nodded with approval. With one step, Aang's stomach fluttered with that familiar upside-down feeling of the Spirit World.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay, I'm… here. But where is she?"
He looked up at the totem, and his eyes widened. The gold was there again, not a blink-and-you'll miss it glimmer. It generously poured from the cracks like slow honey, pooling at the base and running into the earth in bright, oozing trails.
Aang stood, transfixed, and cautiously reached for it. Something blindingly blue flashed above him. He jerked his head up and saw it, circling in the air above the pit.
"A dragon!?" he blurted out.
Not flesh and blood, but a ghostly blue spirit-dragon, long and serpentine, made of glowing light like moonlit water given shape. It moved with effortless grace, spiraling through the air as if weightless. The blue dragon's head turned slightly, looking down at him, and Aang felt the weight of that gaze like a mountain's shadow.
Aang's mouth fell open. "Whoa…"
Then something else tore through the sky. Like a replica cast in gold, a second dragon, larger, brighter, its scales like orange hot coins, its eyes like facted rubies. It lunged at the blue dragon with no warning, no flourish, no warning roar.
The two collided in a whirl of light and wind.
Aang stumbled back as the air filled with the sound of something like thunder muffled by water. The dragons twisted around each other, spiraling and snapping and grappling in a silent, violent dance, the blue light flaring as it tried to evade, the gold light surging like it wanted to consume, but it seemed neither ever actually quite harmed the other.
Aang stared up, awestruck, genuine smile. "Do spirit dragons… do this a lot? Is this a welcome party?"
A gust of wind whipped through the pit, lifting soot and ash into the air in a swirling cloud. Aang threw up an arm instinctively to airbend, then realized with a blink that it didn't sting his eyes, and that he couldn't do that anyway. He lowered his arm slowly, and his gaze, having stepped away from his mortal body.
His own body was standing now, eyes glowing, face completely calm, but he could feel the focus on him.
Aang's heart leapt. "Kyoshi!" he blurted, words spilling out. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I was messing with the spear, and then I hurt Hei Bai, and I didn't mean to, and I think it's messing with my head, and I don't know what to do with it, and—"
"Aang."
The voice was feminine but firm. Not quite loud. But it hit his name like a hand on the back of his neck, stopping him mid-flood. Aang snapped his mouth shut, but squeaked, "yes, ma'am!" out a corner.
"You fear you have killed a spirit," his own body with the wrong voice said, and it sounded… ancient and powerful. Measured. With a slight rattle that spoke of something like age, but different somehow.
Aang swallowed. "I burned him," he whispered. "It was awful. I didn't even really attack, and it still…"
"Spirits are not like mortals," the voice cut in quickly. "Pain for them is very different. Death is almost impossible. And although few could, Hei Bai is a spirit who knows how to mend himself of such an injury."
Aang's shoulders sagged with a relief so sharp it almost hurt. "He does? Really?" Wanting to believe it more than anything.
"Tricky things, spirits can look more wounded than they are," the voice said, and there was something almost… dismissive in it. "Some will even make their suffering obvious. Sympathy is a tool. Quite effective on you."
Aang hesitated, frowning. "Hei Bai didn't seem like he was… pretending."
"You do not know what they're like," the voice replied immediately, almost scolding. "His fear was real, greater than you can understand—spirits, you see, are rarely exposed to mortality, and they have no stomach for it. I assure you, his pain was a shield, nothing more. But there is an important matter to discuss," she resolutely stated after speaking like it would be the last time questioning it was a good idea.
Aang swallowed, nodding because it sounded wise, because it was what he wanted to hear, because the alternative was sitting in guilt forever. Above, the dragons tore through the sky again, the blue one flaring brighter as it twisted away.
Aang saw his mortal body looking up as well, so asked, "is it an important dragon matter?"
The voice followed his gaze, and for the first time there was a subtle shift, like something behind the calm was slightly relieved.
"The blue dragon is Fang," she said. "The lingering spirit of Avatar Roku's animal guide."
Aang's eyes widened. "Roku's dragon?"
"Yes," the voice said. "And if you are wise, you will go with him."
Aang's mind grabbed at the new thread like it was a rope out of a burning building. "Roku! Right! He's a firebender! He'll really be able to help with the spear!"
"Arzayanagi," she flatly corrected, like it's proper name ought to be used. "It is wise to speak of it with respect," she clarified, trying to sound less harsh.
"Er, yeah," Aang guiltily replied. It really did seem like a good idea to not piss it off, as strange as that sounded.
"Roku knew Sozin—he knows the Fire Lord's plans," the voice cut right back to the point. "And how to thwart them."
Aang nodded quickly, eager. "Where? How?"
"Crescent Island," the voice said. "There is a temple. There is a way to speak to Roku there."
Aang's breath caught. "I have no idea where that is—oh—Fang will show me? If that other dragon doesn't eat him?" He glanced down at his hand, as if he ought to be grasping it. "Oh, and what about Arzayanagi?"
The glowing eyes fixed on him. "You must keep it," the ancient voice said, and the words landed like a weight.
Aang's stomach sank. "Do I ha-a-ave to?"
"You do," the voice said flatly. "But only until you reach Roku."
Aang breathed out so much it would have hurt if he had a physical body. "Oh, thank the spirits, I really don't want it anymore..." he moaned. "Thank you, Kyoshi," he downright wailed at the mere prospect that he could rid himself of the cursed thing so soon. "I was so sure you were going to say I'm it's guardian now, I was just gonna hand in my avatar badge or something, I dunno. Like, no-o-o-o thank you."
"I remind you, it is wise to speak of Arzayanagi with respect," the voice replied, considerable emphasis on the last syllable. "And do not leave it unattended for long. If it is ignored, it will punish *someone* for it."
Aang's skin prickled. Poor Sokka. He really hoped the spear was less sensitive than Kyoshi was making it sound, because Sokka was definitely not going to be speaking respectfully about much of anything.
"Now, this is important. You must listen and remember," the voice continued, precise, clipped with urgency now. "At the temple, there is a door. It is difficult to open by ordinary means: it requires five firebenders."
Aang's face fell. "I don't have even one firebenders."
"You have the greatest firebending artifact ever forged," the voice said, unable to hide slight impatience. "There is a gem set into the door. A large red gem, do you understand? All you must do is touch the spearhead to it."
"Uh, sure," Aang blinked. "That's it?"
"Yes," the voice said. "It is a secret alternate way to open it. You will speak to your past life, and you will be relieved of Arzayanagi, and the Fire Lord's ruin will be assured." There was no shortage of venom in that last bit, but Aang couldn't really blame her after seeing half of Omashu go up in smoke, even if it was a bit intense.
"I'll do it," Aang said quickly. "Aaaahh, that's so easy compared to what I imagined. Go to a temple, touch tip to gem, problems get solved. This is great! You're the best, Kyoshi!" He eagerly replied, hopping on the balls of his spirit feet.
For a heartbeat, the Spirit World seemed to ease around them, the pitter patter of gold slowed, the intensity and flashes of the dragons dancing or maybe fighting above slowed and dulled.
He voice softened just a fraction, like it was both tired and relieved. "I cannot remain longer," it said. "The lingering energy of... this place... nearly gone. You... go, Fang... will..."
Aang waved gently. "Bye Kyoshi!"
The voice didn't answer again. His mortal body simply stood there, inert like a puppet. It was pretty creepy, honestly, so he was glad when the blue light of Fang was suddenly right in front of him. He glanced up, saw no sign of the golden dragon who had suddenly accosted him, and turned to marvel at the regal visage of Fang: thin wiry mustache like tendrils, polished scales and rather impressive horns—not that he had much to compare to.
Fang dipped, sweeping lower and exposing his side, like he was offering a ride. Aang wasn't going to say no to that.
The Spirit World fell away beneath him, and he was flying, clinging to blue light and wind, the ground far below a smear of ash and darkness. Fang carried him over black forest, over cloudy pitch black ocean, over the curved silhouette of an island shaped like a crescent clawing out of the sea. A temple rose there, even the black walls gleaming bright in the clearer skies and sharp moonlight. Aang's heart thudded with certainty. Fang showed him Roku's chamber, the beam of light that would soon line up. This is it. This is how I fix it.
The world thinned as he rushed back to his body on Fang's back. Before he was even settled back into himself, a voice, sharp and real, cut through everything.
"Aang!"
Aang's eyes snapped open.
He was standing there right where Kyoshi had left him, specks of ash clinging to his clothes. His head swam like he'd just surfaced from deep water. Katara was in front of him, hands hovering as if she didn't know whether to shake him or hold him or run. Her face was oddly pale in the fading strange lights he still saw.
"Aang," she said again, and her voice was too tight. "Aang, what were you doing? Who *was* that?"
Aang blinked, still half in the feeling of flying. "I was meditating," he said, then pushed a sheepish smile that didn't quite work. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just… I needed to talk to Kyoshi. But I did—" he yawned and stretched his back, then scratched at his shoulder, which for some reason got a sharp glare from Katara.
Her eyes darted around, and she stepped unusually close, not like he was complaining. Aang kept blinking away the distant feeling. "What?"
Katara swallowed. "There was someone here."
Aang frowned. "Yeah, Kyoshi, like I said? She spoke through my body while I was out. You must have—" and he felt like kind of an ass for yawning again already. "Heard her speaking?"
"No," she grimly state. Katara's voice dropped even lower. "There was someone standing behind you. As I was running up."
A cold prickled over Aang's skin. "Not... Kyoshi?"
"Not Kyoshi," she repeated, voice shuddering. Aang instantly scooted even closer, and the two naturally formed into a very spooked embrace. "Sh-she looked at me... had a weird headdress or mask or something? Vanished when I blinked? You didn't... talk to a spirit like that?"
He twisted, looking back at the pit, at the totem, at the darkness. Nothing moved. The white-gold glow was gone now, fully dead. The air felt normal again, as normal as ash and silence could be, but the darkness now felt full to the brim with predators.
"Katara, there wasn't anyone like that, not that I saw," Aang said like he really didn't want to. And his pitch was downright high on terror as he peeped, "I think maybe I got back to my body just in time?" And like he truly regretted it, he asked, "what was she doing?"
"She had her hand... on your *shoulder*," Katara admitted like she was about to stream tears of fear and they both shuffled together back towards the road, not wanting to separate quite yet, and both so mortified the thought of intimacy flew right over their heads.
Aang's mouth went dry. "Katara—" he croaked, tapping his shoulder. "I can feel it still."
There was a crack of a twig somewhere, probably just the breeze causing a dead burnt branch to fall, but...
"Let's get out of here!" Aang shouted, popped out his glider without the slightest flourish, and leapt instantly into a sprint as he tossed it, let it circle back, and he took to the sky.
"AANG, IF YOU LEAVE ME HERE I'LL HAUNT YOU FOREVER!" Katara screeched in half-mad terror fury, which is a rare emotion to achieve.
But she gasped out high-pitched, "oop!" as he clumsily but responsibly spiraled back to sweep her up, and fly off-kilter for a significant distance, back out of the burnt wasteland and into the merely soot strewn green forest, where they both touched down on poor balance, each catching either side of the same sign post to stop and slapping chest to chest right into each other with a mutual, "oof!" And each with a hand on his glider like she still feared he'd leave her behind.
"Are we far enough?!" Katara whispered like she wanted to wake the dead, causing Aang to recoil in disgust.
"Shh! Listen!" he hissed, maybe a bit quieter.
She didn't shh at all. "Promise me you won't go into the Spirit World alone again! What the, who the heck was that?!"
"I won't! Not after that, but hush!" he insisted, gesturing like he was begging.
"Oh!" and she covered her mouth, wide-eyed like she was a fool. They both looked back whence they came, fingers coming loose from the Senlin signpost and lacing each other's as they accidentally sidled in something of a Tango for a few steps, silently as possible.
Aang's breathing eased. He nodded. Bolstered by the fringes of lantern light. "Okay," he said, and wanted to believe it. "It's go—"
*Snap.*
Katara shrieked, Aang shrieked wide-eyed and spooked by her sudden outburst. Katara retorted by cranking volume in a reckless warble as they practically climbed over each other to race for the light, doubled over and gasping the instant they were inside the village gate. A few stragglers still awake and unwilling to stop partying looked over with big smiles, dumb on a bit of wine.
"Knew he'd be back if we waited! Come on, Avatar! Saved the last bok choy for you!" said an older man whose beard, eyebrows and mustache were competing for 'most fluffy'.
The two looked at each other, and breathed out a nervous laugh, the sort of, "we just imagined that, right?" laugh. But they knew they didn't.