"It's not the comfiest," he says, "but it does the job. Have a seat."
"Something tells me," he says, "that you're the type who'd rather know the point of something before you do it. Am I right?"
"Yes. Not that I was, say, annoyed with Shifu Riko for taking me to your show as a 'celebration' without explaining the ulterior motive, but if it's going to be something I spend lots of effort on, absolutely."
"I figured," he says. "So I'll explain. Have you ever thought about why the four kinds of bending developed the way they did? Why there are such specific styles of movement associated with the original combat disciplines, and why they all stayed more or less constant for thousands of years?"
"I think it must have something to do with how the elements themselves move. If I want to bend sand, I can use a lot of loosely adapted waterbending forms -" She uncaps her sand bottle, pulls out half the sand and conducts it in a loop around herself and back into the bottle. "Even though that's earthbending, and a waterbender besides me couldn't do it. And metalbending's different still, although it's not so much like anything else I'm familiar with."
"As far as I can tell, and obviously I can't speak directly for the other elements, that's just it. The classical forms are the easiest, most efficient, most effective interface to their elements, because they each use the kind of movement that their associated element understands the best. I didn't know that about sandbending, actually, but it fits my theory pretty well. Which brings me to why you're going to learn classical combat firebending. What I want to teach you with it is the kind of deep understanding of the element that lets me play pretty tricks with it all night long. But you're not going to get that any other way than with practice, and the best way to practice firebending is with the classical style, because it's the most direct contact with the element you're going to get short of setting yourself on fire." He flashes a smile. "Which I don't recommend."
"I noticed you have a sink down here. I hope it won't come in handy, but." She shrugs.
"Well, if you want to set yourself on fire, I'm not stopping you. I just don't think it'll help."
"Depends what you mean by 'set yourself on fire'," he says. "A blister or two is pretty much unavoidable, and I've seen some accidents with loose clothing, but I don't remember seeing anyone's actual body parts going up in actual flames. At least not that they did to themselves. Sparring accidents are another matter."
"So... I should get some other clothes?"
"It'd be a good idea," he agrees. "Something that flaps around less. At least you don't have long flappy sleeves, though, those are the worst. Long flappy pants are almost as bad, but they're not as common."
"But you can probably survive one lesson without lighting up your shirt," he says. "Might want to ditch the cape just to be safe."
The basics, it turns out, don't involve anyone producing any fire. First, he teaches her the movements themselves, at half speed so there is no danger of accidental flames. When he's satisfied that she has those down, he steps back and shows her the simple punch they have been working on at full speed, sending a narrow bolt of flame all the way across the room to just barely touch the opposite wall.
"Your turn," he says. "Don't expect that kind of distance on your first try, but try for it anyway."
She gets fire, all right, and it starts out just like he showed her - and then it arcs backward, flickering, and touches her sleeve, and she's glad she had that water ready because she needs to pull it out and douse the flame with hasty motions. "Eep!"
"I'm - always airbending," says Beila. "I can barely walk without airbending. As in I go two steps and then I fall over."
"Okay," he says. "Clearly, I'm gonna have to change my curriculum. Fire and air interact, as I'm sure you just noticed. Which means that if you need to airbend in order to move, you'll have to make them work together."