“I don’t like the way that fish is looking at me,” Azula says, jabbing her finger at a tank. Ty Lee sighs, plasters a strained smile onto her face and follows her gaze.
The fish in question stares at them both blankly, one giant eye following them across the room, its mouth set into a firm line.
“It’s a fish, Azula,” she replies tightly. Azula huffs and fold her arms across her chest in response.
Sometimes (all the time), Azula reminds her of a child that never got the chance to grow up. A child that grew up too fast–are those two the same thing? Azula can wipe an entire army out with the pass of her hand but loses in a battle of wits against a literal fish.
“Come on,” Ty Lee says, gripping her hand and praying to any gods above that she doesn’t pull away. “Let’s check out the jellyfish–aren’t those your favorite?”
Her luck holds. Azula allows herself to be guided–not dragged, she’s particular on the semantics–away and the aquarium’s fish display lives to see another day.
She takes her to the jellyfish tank which, predictably, is an instant hit. Azula watches, mesmerized, as their tentacles twist and turn in the light. Their bodies float up and down in small waves across the glass and Azula watches the little sparks between their limbs with fascination.
Unfortunately, a crowd of grade-schoolers quickly bullies their way to the front and Azula looks ready to burn them all to a crisp for the distraction.
Ty Lee clenches her teeth together and practically throws her into the gift store to distract her.
“Look, Azula,” she says, reaching for the nearest item and slapping it onto her. “Doesn’t this suit you perfectly? Because you’re perfect?”
Azula examines the t-shirt carefully in the mirror, twisting this way and that as Ty Lee holds it up to her collarbone.
She turns and the lighting must be poor in here because her cheeks look dusted pink as she glances at Ty Lee.
“You think so?” she asks quietly and there’s so much vulnerability tied into the words that Ty Lee nearly stumbles.
“I-I know so,” she says, recovering quickly. Azula grins at her, truly manic, truly Azula, and turns to the cashier.
“I’ll buy the entire stock of YOU’RE A RAY OF SUNSHINE t-shirts.”
FILL: Team Kittyuri
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I don’t like the way that fish is looking at me,” Azula says, jabbing her finger at a tank. Ty Lee sighs, plasters a strained smile onto her face and follows her gaze.
The fish in question stares at them both blankly, one giant eye following them across the room, its mouth set into a firm line.
“It’s a fish, Azula,” she replies tightly. Azula huffs and fold her arms across her chest in response.
Sometimes (all the time), Azula reminds her of a child that never got the chance to grow up. A child that grew up too fast–are those two the same thing? Azula can wipe an entire army out with the pass of her hand but loses in a battle of wits against a literal fish.
“Come on,” Ty Lee says, gripping her hand and praying to any gods above that she doesn’t pull away. “Let’s check out the jellyfish–aren’t those your favorite?”
Her luck holds. Azula allows herself to be guided–not dragged, she’s particular on the semantics–away and the aquarium’s fish display lives to see another day.
She takes her to the jellyfish tank which, predictably, is an instant hit. Azula watches, mesmerized, as their tentacles twist and turn in the light. Their bodies float up and down in small waves across the glass and Azula watches the little sparks between their limbs with fascination.
Unfortunately, a crowd of grade-schoolers quickly bullies their way to the front and Azula looks ready to burn them all to a crisp for the distraction.
Ty Lee clenches her teeth together and practically throws her into the gift store to distract her.
“Look, Azula,” she says, reaching for the nearest item and slapping it onto her. “Doesn’t this suit you perfectly? Because you’re perfect?”
Azula examines the t-shirt carefully in the mirror, twisting this way and that as Ty Lee holds it up to her collarbone.
She turns and the lighting must be poor in here because her cheeks look dusted pink as she glances at Ty Lee.
“You think so?” she asks quietly and there’s so much vulnerability tied into the words that Ty Lee nearly stumbles.
“I-I know so,” she says, recovering quickly. Azula grins at her, truly manic, truly Azula, and turns to the cashier.
“I’ll buy the entire stock of YOU’RE A RAY OF SUNSHINE t-shirts.”
Ty Lee smiles to smother her grimace.