"Yes, your Master. And as your Master, I'm telling you that after everything that happened in the North, you need to relax and unwind. Princess Azula does too. Consider it part of the price for forging your sword."
"You're absolutely certain my father hasn't been paying you visits?"
"No, Chan, he hasn't," the swordsmith snorted. "It's just that, even though I live out here in the wilderness, I hear quite a lot. As they say, the world is full of rumors. And based on those rumors, I occasionally take certain actions..."
"Could we skip all the cryptic nonsense?" His habit of dancing around the point genuinely irritated me. If memory served, I'd felt much the same way back when Piandao had insisted on teaching me to play the flute—I simply couldn't grasp what a little pipe had to do with swordsmanship.
"We could." My Master nodded. "But that wouldn't be nearly as interesting."
One of my eyebrows began twitching.
"All right, all right." The instigator smirked. "Let's put it this way. I've heard plenty about Azula's personality and temperament, and I also understand that Ozai won't live forever. Personally, I'd rather not spend my old age in a country ruled by someone with the princess's disposition."
What he'd just said amounted to outright treason.
Then again, one of the world's greatest masters of the sword had never been particularly bothered by little details like that.
"As for you..." he continued, "your influence over people is remarkably strong. Whether you intend it or not, your charisma changes those around you. Just look at old Fath—he's taken up training again because of you. So I'm hoping your influence will have a similarly positive effect on the princess. I'm merely doing what little I can to encourage that."
"That's all?" I bored into him with my gaze, but he couldn't have cared less.
"That's all." The corners of his mouth curved upward.
There wasn't time to continue our verbal sparring. The very subject of our discussion stepped into the courtyard, having removed the crown-shaped ornament from her hair and left it flowing freely over her shoulders.
She looked...
Yeah.
She looked very good.
Well then, the lady had arrived, the gentlemen were positively overflowing with enthusiasm (sure they were), and it was time to head off in search of tickets. Along the way, we could stop by the market and pick up some Fire Flakes or something similar. After all, watching a show without "popcorn" was like serving a martini without an olive...
Hm.
I'd been making some rather strange associations lately.
Nerves…
***
Toward evening...
"Magnificent! Such emotion! Such passion!" the girl exclaimed in open admiration.
Azula was delighted.
No, the performance itself clearly wasn't the reason. Or rather, it was—but only indirectly.
The damned troupe hadn't changed their style one bit. Drama. Drama. And more drama. I was fairly certain I'd developed heartburn from the sheer concentration of it.
Fine, I could live with the scene where the poor Ocean Spirit got thoroughly beaten senseless by that impossibly rugged Herald.
Fine, I could even tolerate the fact that, during my absence, said Herald had somehow become even broader across the shoulders—apparently the actor had been living in the gym so he could "bulk up" and portray the Fire Nation's great hero in an even more glorious light.
I could forgive all of that, but... but for the love of the Spirits, who—who—was writing him all these speeches?! Which miserable bastard?!
And how did they work so fast?!
I'd barely set foot ashore, and they already had a finished script, with the actors having memorized all their lines.
And that scene with the Northern Princess?
I'd never even laid eyes on her! So where was this whole story about her suddenly falling head over heels for such a mighty and magnificent warrior and joining the righteous cause supposed to come from?
"I have to admit, they've outdone themselves! 'Kindle the Fire within your heart!'" she quoted from the "recruitment" scene.
She'd been mercilessly tormenting me for the past half hour, and that didn't even include all the meaningful looks and "innocent" little questions asking me to clarify certain details that had begun while we were still watching the play.
During intermission, I'd managed one spectacularly undignified escape to the restroom, but eventually I'd had to return and endure the humiliation all over again. She was grinding me into the dirt slowly, savoring every inch of the heel pressing into my most painful pressure points.
Methodically. With feeling. Without the slightest hurry.
Throughout the entire performance, she'd sighed dreamily and admired "my" heroic conduct. Correction: she'd sighed fake dreamy sighs and lavished fake admiration on it with undisguised malicious delight—and she was still at it.
"Your Highness, for the love of the Spirits... please, no more."
I admitted defeat.
A complete and utter rout.
And instead of covering for his apprentice, Piandao was only pouring oil on the flames.
"'Help me save your people, for they know not what they do when they call upon the Dark Powers!'" my beloved Master recited, delivering the final blow. That was when I finally understood why Azula had insisted on bringing him along. How blind and naive I'd been not to realize it sooner. "Very majestic, Chan," the traitor nodded solemnly before turning away to hide his grin.
"Indeed, Chan, it was magnificent. Will you give me a few lessons in oratory? I really ought to know this side of my advisor."
"Just kill me..."
"We really should invite them to perform at the palace..." My reaction only amused the little devil even more. Triumph! The vanquished foe trampled beneath my feet! That was exactly what her eyes were saying.
And then it struck me.
I'd most likely run into Toph in Yu Dao.
And by then, this play would almost certainly have reached the city.
Poor me.
"Ah..." My heavy sigh only inspired another surge of enthusiasm in the princess.
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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