He caught the door-knob in his palm and gave the door just enough shoulder to open it in a soft arc of (mostly) its own momentum. And there he stood in the doorway, a week-old bruise just now fading across his right cheek. He'd been punched by a rather irate (and unfairly overpowered) Sokka at Prim's party, and the bruise still told the story when he'd rather see it buried.

He cleared his throat. "I trust you're well...?"

Good manners from Richard Sharpe? Never a good sign. Mostly, it was a sign of more awkward things to come.