The night was cool, with a light autumn breeze coming in from the ocean front. The hussle and bussle of the evening markets dying down to a suitable level of white noise, blending into a monotonous tone of nightfall. In some parts of the city, the world was even quieter. In others, a ruckus was stirring, threatening to become absolute chaos.

But for now, a one T.L. Encardi relished in the quietness of the hotel. His room sat on floor thirty, and unlike many buildings that promised a view the larger the denomination prounounced, Encardi had none. The hotel in question dug its numbers below the surface, hiding away from the sociable autumn weather.

- (Somewhere paragraphs and events further into this story) -

Upon realization of the boy's condition, Draven stepped forward, catching the earthbender just as he slipped over the edge of the sheets. He fussed with the sudden human contact, causing his panic to skyrocket. Dravin's hand carefully placed itself against the boy's neck, fingers applying pressure gently. Amon was generous in the preface of the revolution. He was humbled by the sheer history and power of benders, giving him the belief that all those who followed through his plan should be granted equal ground. Dravin had qualified himself through acts of loyalty, although one was just enough to convince Amon. With multiple however, the former firebender secured his position well within the leader's praise.

Bolin's fussing died over the course of a minute, the flailing became lazy and further disoriented until he slouched completely in the Equalist's grip. His speech slurred slightly, and despite the pressure applied he refused to stop shaking his head, struggling to get his point across.

"Not again," he'd try to cry out amid a choked sob. Dravin removed the pressure, focusing his attention on returning the bender to bed for further support.

"Easy, young one. There's no harm within my chambers." He cooed gently. The boy's eyes made contact with his own, and it was clear the torments had killed his ability to focus. The once bright malachite color had dulled into olive it seemed even under the clearest light. Dravin grimaced for just a moment, forcing it away for a reassuring smile as Bolin relaxed againsted the sheets, the shaking of his head now less than sure. It took even less than the swift change of expression before the boy succumbed to prior exhaustions and passed out promptly in the linens.

The next time he awoke, the nonbender had moved from the close quarters of his bed, instead seated across the studio flooring at a desk that sat caddy corner to the rest of the layout. Bolin held his breath, sudden fear from the lone appearance of another person nearby, that his breathing alone might be heard. It took a few seconds before he was forced to exhale, trying his best to remain quiet.

His mind was still blurry, only fragments of events past the climax of the month that he had no idea of returning in dull flashes to him. He chewed on his lower lip, the request to speak tempting but seemingly dangerous. The stranger in the room wore dark red robes, the soft lighting available delivering the hue to his eyes in a less sinister act than say, the color of blood or the coat of a fire ferret. The memory that such a creature existed was forced from him willingly. He couldn't afford to panic now. He felt his life still surely in danger.

Dravin sat unnoticing of his guest's awareness of his environment, his thoughts focused on the document being written on a revolutionary piece in front of him. While he was a heavy believer in the honesty of the movement, it did not persuade him to become dispassionate of his other endeavors. He still felt the need to resume his theories and experiments on the concept of print. He had long felt scrolls dying out in the world, being an ancient piece of history. There needed to be in today's world a more compact way to secure one's work without sacrificing one's table length, especially in furthering research. While in the past he had been amused by fellow benders when his bending was still intact, he did not believe that Amon would allow the existence of any benders. It was then that his belief in 'Inkbending' was not going to be a sustainable concept from waterbenders.

He imagined a bonded scroll of sorts, not rolled as in previous decades, but rather compressed as a series of short scrolls, flattened out and their ends removed. Bound on one side with tight threading, they would be protected by a thick cover of gemsbok bull hide or a lightweight wood. Other materials were still to be considered. He had imagined the storage to be simplistic as well. Shelves could hold a good secure number, preferably 20 per, given the measurements of his own apartment.

An aid was expected as well, and so came the decision to plan out a replacement for the current writing utensils. Ink was becoming expensive, and waterbenders were becoming extinct if the Revolution had anything to say, and it seemed a waste that the first three words of any document should be given a higher percentage of ink more than their latter letters. Granted, there were many scribes who were capable of properly applying pressure to the parchment with enough experience and aided lessons, but there were even more inexperienced souls looking to take their place in the world. Amon had attributes himself that spoke of his own history. His writing was often frantic and slanted, much unlike his personality and composure, leading Dravin to believe he kept more beneath the mask than his scarred expressions.

With this research in mind, Dravin sat at his desk for hours one evening until te light had long gone out of Republic City above, before he laid his hand to rest, satisfied with the results. What lay before him in his then exhausted state were a series of demonstration sketches and documents on the patent for a "fountain pen", an enclosed contraption that held what bottles had done for pens in the past. With a tip similar for writing, the ink in theory would travel gradually and with pressure applied to the sides, disperse onto the paper. This way, the pen eased off some of the responsibility of the owner in that less experience is needed to wield it, and as a result, the amount of ink was better distributed. It also lessened the price of such materials. No longer would someone be expected to pay for the bottles, ink, feather and partment. Instead, with these two newly invented objects, the council government could cut down on cost and provide better living and access to individuals and families. It also allowed information to pass flawlessly around in a new form. Dravin too toyed with the concept of a better library, but pushed the thoughts away in favor of these two projects. Amon agreed completely and supported Dravin in his research. It was another reason to be included in this movement with a willing mind. To secure his words of promise, Amon lended his own coin to the cosntruction of both book and pen. Dravin held the results of his hard work before him now, working dilligently on documentation for the Revolution.

Bolin carefully stretched a shaking arm out from the bed, his eyes settled no a glass of water on the nearby table. He was insanely parched, and despite his position felt it justified to have a drink. For some reason his mind comforted any insecure thoughts with the belief that the glass was in fact intended for him. This was further solidified by the non-existence of smudged fingerprints or a low level of liquid.

He grasped at the glass, holding it firmly before sliding it a little bit at a time towards him. Despite being an earthbender, Bolin was not convinced he had a grip, and the loud scrapping of glass to wood alerted his companion in the room. He froze, a frown growing heavy on his features.

Dravin turned to his guest, and the bender's eyes shrank significantly, his pulse quickening.

"You're awake," the nonbender spoke carefully and softly, making sure his words were heard but taken not as a threat, but a simple gesture of acknowledgement. Bolin shook his head, his hand immediately letting go of the glass and returning quickly beneath the blankets.

"N-No-oo.." He choked out, voice hoarse as Dravin stood. He took his time getting out of the chair, in part to his age, but moreso to keep what little security was in the boy's mind that he was not going to harm him. It was dwindling quickly as he carefully made his way over to him. Bolin shrunk, curling his body up and trying to disappear beneath the linens as though it would keep him from existing. Dravin placed a hand gently on the blanket where the earthbender's shoulder would be, causing a shock of panic to flush through Bolin like an ocean wave. He started to shake, a whimper escaping his lips.

"Shh...you are safe, Bolin." Bolin's heart skipped a beat in his frantic, the knowledge that his identity was known somehow more terrifying than knowing he was in the enemie's territory. His mind tried to reason with him, claiming that he was naturally known throughout Republic City as a Fire Ferret, a Probender, but somehow he wasn't so inclined to agree with it. Even in truth, the mere thought that nonbenders knew him, especially in the wake of the revolution was mortifying. He didn't feel safe. Not here. Not after the last...Bolin's heart plummeted when he realized he had no clear idea of how long he had been in enemy hands. It wasn't the first time, but his mind had processed that as one night, nowhere near what his mind was claiming his stay had been thus far.

Dravin peeled back the blanket gently, until the dulled pair of green looked back at him. Sheer terror was all that showed within the iris and pupils. The nonbender sank down onto a lower level, sitting at a low crouch beside the bed, resting his hand back onto the boy's shoulder. Bolin tried to read the expression on his face, but it was highly confusing. There was compassion and familiarity. He didn't understand it for one moment why a non-bender would even look that way towards him, especially being part of the Equalists. He wanted to calm down, tried to scream inwardly at his heart to slow down its beating to no avail. He felt on the brink of hyperventilating. Again he shook his head, although neither of them had spoken for him to react to.

"I promise, you are safe. Look around you, there is no harm here." Bolin had gazed around the room briefly while the nonbender had been working. There were no weapons, no closets of attire dedicated to the specialized craft of bending in any element, no extended form of torture or offensive device to be found. While this was a glimpse of possible security, Bolin had learned quickly in his stay that one needed nothing more than another human being to cause harm. It should have been evident with the history of bending alone, but that theory was pulled apart entirely by the mere fact that this was a building occupied by Equalists. No bending would be permitted here, which meant there was only two other forms of torture for one to advance in. Bolin felt he had been delivered both with no mercy. He felt the tears start to form against his eyes, and he blinked rapidly, biting back the urge. In his struggle, Dravin had moved away for a moment, and it set the panic anew within the earthbender. Bolin's eyes frantically in their fight against the sting of tears looked around, trying to locate the non-bender. He found him quickly in what looked to be a small hallway, his attention focused elsewhere. Bolin closed his eyes, trying to control both the waterflow and his breathing.

Dravin returned, holding a napkin folded around a slice of bread in one hand and another, taking a seat gently on the edge of the bed. Bolin opened his eyes at the movement, and although his heart again skipped a beat and his breath caught, the sight of the bread, now extended to him generously, caused his stomach to protest his predictament in light of some sustanence. He frowned and broke, carefully reaching out and taking the slice. Pushing himself onto his elbows he winced painfully. His spine screamed in agony, although the root of the issue lay where Bolin's mind didn't want to travel. Gritting his teeth, he moved to sit up. He jumped, causing another bolt of pain to rocket through his backside when he felt a grip on an arm. Dravin took hold of him and pulled him into a sitting position. The shock and further bursts of pain caused the boy to double forward, and the nonbender moved to block the fall, catching him for what seemed to be the second time that evening. The earthbender panted, tears threatening to arise again. He held a tight grip on the bread, refusing to let it go however. He was tired of losing everything, it felt like.

Dravin moved an arm around Bolin, and very softly placed his fingers along his spine just beneath the neck. Bolin tensed despite the pain, burying his head into the equalist's robes. Not again. The fingers pressed against a point, before lifting and sliding to a lower point. This routine was repeated, slowly and with care down the earthbender's back, and when he reached his tailbone he continued the exercise back up until his fingers applied pressure again below the neck. Bolin's body relaxed, almost dropping the bread as every pressure point relieved him of the stinging pain he had felt earlier. He opened his eyes, looking at his hand, still gripping the napkin, and brought the food to his lips, taking the smallest bite. The bread's outer layer was crisp, but the inside was warm and soft. Without hesitation he insisted the rest of it get into his mouth as quickly as possible, causing Dravin to raise a brow in amusement.