(I just realized I didn't do any of the bios... oops. I will let them write themselves, I suppose. But can Bolin be the son of some high, city official?)
Pemma struggled to toe open the door to her house, the mountain of basketed foods towering high in her arms. She called out a quick, "Davide, help!" before she managed to catch her foot on the edge of the nearest table, sending her and her fruits and breads crumbling to the groud with a loud, "uumph!" Seconds later, her brother appeared in the doorway, chuckling and picking up an apple that managed to roll in his direction. "Don't bruise them already, Pem. We need these for the party tonight."
Lin nodded. "Yes, sir." She backed slowly on of the doorway, bending slightly at the waist in sign of respect as another man slipped past her into the room. He acknowledged her with the quick flick of his eyes. She stepped the rest of the way out of the door frame, letting the door shut softly behind her before striding briskly down the hall and out of the door, heading for the armory.
Bolin grunted and crossed his arms over his chest as the other man, his trainer, slammed into him. Once he regained his footing he lunged forward, slamming his fist into the padded midsection of the other man. He staggered backward with a laugh, panting and out of breath as he removed his padded helmet. "Nice training, Bolin," he complimented as he ran a hand over his sweaty face. "You should probably go get ready for that banquet of yours tonight, now. Can't have you a perspiring mess when you turn sixteen."