It was another typical Monday night, Mai thought with disinterest. Azula was draped over an overstuffed red armchair, engrossed in her chemistry textbook. Ty Lee was enthusiastically playing some video game in which a creature that resembled a pink ball was beating up something that resembled an animated tree. And she, Mai, was standing by the bedroom door, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes and ears at alert. She glanced at Ty Lee in disgust. The girl was sprawled on her belly in front of the television, engrossed in the antics of the pink ball. Her taser was in its holster on her back – Mai could see it from where she was standing. If someone were to burst into the room and attack, Ty Lee probably wouldn't even know where her weapon was, let alone be ready to respond.
But then, it had always been like this. Mai was the one who took her role as Azula's bodyguard seriously; Ty Lee simply took life as it came.
Mai was bored, as she often was. She shifted her weight from one foot to another with a soft sigh. As she did, she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror across the room. She gazed at her reflection with some satisfaction. She was wearing a crisp, white shirt underneath a fitted black vest, and tailored slacks with a subtle pinstripe. The outfit showed off her long body and slim waist. Her guns, both immaculately polished, were holstered at her hips; the smaller Glock glinted against her thigh. She couldn't help smiling a little as her eye lingered on the golden gleam of her twin weapons. They were Desert Eagles, massive pistols with ten-inch barrels, capable of shooting bullets nearly as big around as her thumbs. She'd bought them about two years before, and they were still her favorite weapons.
A sudden shriek made Mai spin around! She snatched at one of her pistols as she did so. Her eyes found Ty Lee dancing about, pumping her fist in the air. "Yes!" the girl squealed, beaming. "I beat him, Mai. I finally beat him!" Her heart still racing, the bodyguard slowly lowered her gun.
Azula glanced up from her book, her eyes resting lazily on Mai. "You'd better stop screeching like that, Ty Lee," she said coolly. "One of these days, Mai's going to put a bullet through you before she realizes that it's you."
Ty Lee's eyes widened for a moment. Then she grinned widely. "Aw, Mai would never do that," she said cheerfully. To Mai's chagrin, she then bounced over to hug her, pistol and all. "I know you love me. Don't you, Mai?"
The taller girl stiffened, grimacing in the embrace. Ugh, I hate it when she does this. "Sure, sure. Whatever." She managed to pull out of the hug and coldly put her gun back in its holster.
"You should quit screeching, anyway," Azula said. "I have my last final tomorrow, you know, and I need to score at least 90% on it to keep my average up. I'll be very unhappy if I don't get the grade I want because you were squealing away while I was trying to study." She turned back to her textbook, her elegant black brows lowered.
Ty Lee wasn't the least bit taken aback. She flopped back down on the floor in front of the television set, grinning. "You shouldn't worry so much, Azula," she chirped. "After all, I passed all my finals and graduated last year, and you're way smarter than I am. Besides, what do you need all that school for, anyway? Your dad's Ozai. Why study when your dad's the don?"
"That's exactly what I need it for," Azula said absently, without looking up. "My father expects perfection, as he should. He'll get it, too. And," primly, "he's the kumicho, not a don. Dons are Sicilian – Father is Japanese." She rested the tip of one sharp nail on the page and turned her eyes lazily to Mai. "Get me my highlighter from my desk, will you?" Without a word, the taller girl fetched it. Then she resumed her place by the door, watching as Azula ran the marker over a paragraph. Ty Lee started a new video game – still playing as that irritating pink ball, Mai noticed with distaste. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I still like that girl...
Mai and Ty Lee had graduated the year before. They had both begun their duties as Azula's bodyguards and personal assistants straight out of high school. Mai, of course, had known for years that she was destined to shadow Azula. Her father was one of the best hitmen at the Dragons' disposal, and had been training his daughter to follow in his footsteps from toddlerhood. Mai was young, but she had already proven her skills with the pistols she carried. She had proved them so well, in fact, that she had already been chosen to guard the life of the daughter of Ozai himself – the leader of the Dragons.
She couldn't remember a time without the Dragons. Her father had been working for Ozai since long before the kumicho had risen to power in the mob – he'd started with them three years before Mai was even born. When Mai had turned eleven, she had been introduced to Azula and Ty Lee. She'd been brought to the massive mansion belonging to Ozai before Azula's first day at the Academy for Girls, the school Mai and Ty Lee had already been attending for a year. Azula had been standing calmly in the driveway beside Ozai. Ty Lee had arrived soon afterward. Mai could remember being formally introduced to the two girls by her father. "This is Ty Lee," he'd said gruffly. "She's the daughter of Kuzon, the shateigashira. You remember." Mai had nodded quietly. Her parents had always made sure she knew the names and ranks of anybody who rated in the Dragons. As the shateigashira, Kuzon ran the local chapter of the mob. Ty Lee had smiled brightly and hugged Mai, to her great discomfort. "And this," Mai's father had said, "is Azula, the daughter of Kumicho Ozai."
Even then, Azula had been impeccably dressed and groomed, and unnervingly self-possessed. She had extended her hand regally. Mai, schooled as she was in the ways of the Dragons, had recognized the gesture at once. She took the perfectly-manicured hand solemnly and bent her head to kiss the golden ring the girl wore. Azula had been pleased, Ty Lee had giggled, and the three girls had been inseparable from that day forward.
Mai played her fingers idly along the handle of one of her guns, her eye resting on Azula. The girl was at ease, her head resting on one arm of the burgundy armchair while her legs were draped over the other. Even in this seemingly casual pose, she managed to look elegant; her legs were carefully crossed. She always looked as if she were posing for a photographer. Mai sometimes wondered how much of it was done on purpose, and how much was instinctive.
Her eye moved up to the wall. A large, framed photograph of Brigitte Bardot hung above the chair where Azula was sitting. To the right, a larger poster of Marilyn Monroe occupied the place of honor above the bed. Azula loved the old Hollywood starlets, especially the ones who'd had connections to the mafia. One shelf of her bookcase was devoted to biographies and picture books on the subject. Her other hobby was collecting mobster movies. Azula had a case next to her big-screen that held about fifty of them. Mai glanced down at Azula again. The younger girl strove to be as glamorous as her idols and as deadly as her father; Mai thought that she had more than succeeded.
There was a beeping noise, and the security monitor in one corner switched on. Mai's eyes flicked to the screen; a young man was approaching Azula's room. She didn't recognize him. Coolly, Mai drew one of her pistols and stepped over to stand between the burgundy armchair and the door. Azula looked up as knuckles rapped lightly on the doorframe. She raised a brow at Mai, then shrugged one shoulder. "Come in," Azula said. The door opened. Mai raised her gun deliberately.
The young man in the doorway stood frozen, his wide eyes staring straight down the ten-inch barrel of Mai's weapon. He looked about seventeen years old. Nervously, he raised his right hand against his chest, splaying out his thumb, middle and pinkie fingers. Mai's eyes narrowed slightly in amusement and contempt. He had just flashed her the Dragons' gang sign – a gesture that marked him as one of the many nameless, faceless, and fully expendable street hoods who ran errands for Kumicho Ozai. She didn't lower her pistol.
"Don't mind my bodyguard," Azula purred, without moving from her chair. "She's only doing her job, you know." She set aside her textbook and lolled her head languidly against the arm of the chair to look at him, managing to look both dangerous and flirtatious at the same time. "I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my studies."
"Y-yes," the boy stuttered, his eyes switching skittishly from Mai's gun to Azula's face, then back again. "I have a message for you from Kumicho Ozai, M-Miss Azula." He held out a sealed envelope. Mai still didn't move; her gaze rested impassively on his face, idly noting the cold sweat that was beading on his cheeks.
Azula smirked a little and shrugged. "Ty Lee."
Ty Lee bounced to her feet and went to collect the message from the terrified boy. She paused then, grinning cheerfully at him. "Thanks, cutie!" she cooed. Mai resisted an impulse to roll her eyes as the perky girl bounded over to put the envelope in Azula's hands.
Mai had had enough. She narrowed her eyes and put her head on one side. "Are you finished?" she asked coldly. The boy gulped audibly and nodded his head. "Good. Get out." She cocked her weapon, relishing the cold click of steel. Trembling visibly, the messenger bowed and backed from the room. The door closed.
Azula tore open the envelope as Mai coolly holstered her pistol. "You're such a bully, Mai," she said, unfolding the paper inside. "I think you scared the poor boy." The hint of a smile played about her crimson lips.
"Huh." Mai glanced at the security monitor, and saw the young man fairly running back down the hall. She smirked. "Looks like I did. Shame on me."
Shaking her head in disgust, Ty Lee flopped down to sit on the bed. "You two are so mean," she said, thrusting out her lower lip in a pout. "I think he was cute."
"You'd think a fencepost wearing pants was cute, as long as it was male," Mai said drily.
"Would not!" Ty Lee protested. Then she frowned in puzzlement. "Why would a fencepost wear pants, anyway?"
"Quiet, both of you." Azula's impatient voice froze the scathing response on Mai's lips. Both of them looked at the younger girl as she rose to her feet. "My father has a job for me," she said calmly. "He wants to talk to me right away. Mai, you'll come to my father's office with me. Ty Lee, you stay here, in case anyone else brings personal messages to my room. We'll fill you in when we come back." Azula's golden eyes were glittering with exhilaration.
"A job!" Ty Lee clapped her hands excitedly. "Oh, wow. That's great! Do you think maybe he's going to make you his futon-hobo now?"
Azula growled impatiently. "Fuku-honbucho, Ty Lee, not futon-hobo," she snapped. "I wish you'd quit trying to say Japanese words! And I don't know what job he's giving me. I'll tell you when we get back. If you need us, call Mai's cell." She strode for the door. "Come on, Mai. Let's go." Without a word, Mai fell into step behind her, and the two headed downstairs together.