[Despite Sokka's brave attempt to use the network, he doesn't have near enough snow to make a decent snow tower. As it stands right now, his tower is more like a sad, misshapen snowman. He did manage to wall off his front yard with a nice snow barrier, but he needs a lot more snow if he's going to get anywhere with this project. Maybe the townspeople are getting free labor and don't want to supply him with food and/or money for a shoveling job — which would be fair, though just like asking people for supplies in his world, he thinks it's pragmatic to get a little payment in exchange for services rendered, and he is trying to save up for something — or maybe they all think he's weird for putting this much effort into something that will eventually melt. Whatever their reasoning, Sokka has decided to shift gears, walking around with the wooden sled and a shovel, taking unwanted snow from discard piles.
He's in the process of dragging home a meager snow pile when someone calls out and waves at him. He waves back and says:]
Yeah, it's great. [Because as of right now, the snow is all he likes about this place. This is the first time he's felt anything remotely positive about being here, though that feeling is set to be as fleeting as the snow itself.
He abandons his sled-and-shovel combo at the foot of the guy's driveway, then approaches him.] I can do that for you, if you want. [Reaching out a hand, he wiggles his gloved fingers in his direction, trying to make this offer seem enticing, if a little overbearing. Some people, he has learned, are possessive about their snow. The locals, mostly. Sokka didn't think anyone could own snow — that would have been a ridiculous concept, back at the South Pole, where snow is a shared resource — but a particularly angry neighbor set him straight when she accused him of stealing it from her. He knows better than to just hoist his help on people now, even if he tries to make it so that no thanks is an awkward answer.]
ii
He's in the process of dragging home a meager snow pile when someone calls out and waves at him. He waves back and says:]
Yeah, it's great. [Because as of right now, the snow is all he likes about this place. This is the first time he's felt anything remotely positive about being here, though that feeling is set to be as fleeting as the snow itself.
He abandons his sled-and-shovel combo at the foot of the guy's driveway, then approaches him.] I can do that for you, if you want. [Reaching out a hand, he wiggles his gloved fingers in his direction, trying to make this offer seem enticing, if a little overbearing. Some people, he has learned, are possessive about their snow. The locals, mostly. Sokka didn't think anyone could own snow — that would have been a ridiculous concept, back at the South Pole, where snow is a shared resource — but a particularly angry neighbor set him straight when she accused him of stealing it from her. He knows better than to just hoist his help on people now, even if he tries to make it so that no thanks is an awkward answer.]