-Chapter I-

"Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing."
― Oscar Wilde

...

His lapels swayed with him as the commander entered the quarters of the General, the force of the salty sea air making itself apparent as the heavy steel cabin door drew out against the current. Though Commander Bumi was well over ten years his senior, the young General Iroh the Second was the prince of the Fire Nation. He found his commanding officer and close friend sitting at his desk, sipping slowly on a hot ceramic glass of tea, seemingly under the control of an expansive oil painting resting on an easel of an apparently beautiful and wealthy young woman.

"Who is she?" Bumi remarked, resting his elbows on the high headrest of Iroh's burgundy leather desk chair. Their long, almost family-like relationship allowed the high ranking officers to break formalities behind closed doors. "I mean, I can tell you painted it, Iroh. It's pretty good, for someone who only paints in his spare time." Stunning, Commander Bumi wanted to remark; yet the fleet commander wasn't fond of feeding the Prince's ego any more than it needed to be. Truly, it was the best painting he had seen his commanding general accomplish to date. "Maybe you should send it to a gallery back in the city? I'm sure you could make some quick pocket change 'offa it—"

"No," Iroh interrupted, fervently shaking his head in protest to the idea. "It's too… Personal. I could never put it on display, let alone sell it."

"Ohhh," Bumi muttered, focusing his eyes on the two-dimensional visage before him, faintly recalling the young woman's identity. "Isn't she… The Sato girl? Pretty one, though she seemed a little young for ya."

The Prince's head dropped, releasing a heavy sigh. "It's not like that, Commander."

"Well, then what in the name of Agni is so important about this painting?"

"She terrifies me."

...

His expensive boots clacked along the marble floor, a satchel of oil paints tucked underneath his left arm. Since Hiroshi's arrest, the Sato estate seemed barren; the young General had mentioned to the new owner of this mansion in passing that he painted in his free time.

"You should paint me," she had smiled, placing a hand over his own; he found her friendly grin unbearable, and could not say no. "I'll pay you, of course… Assuming I like the work," she teased.

Iroh turned back to glace at the foyer, wondering why Asami's butler had remained behind. He didn't know his way around the overwhelming halls, nor where to find his muse. A lingering echo of hard rubber against stone reminded him he had stopped. To say the least, the Fire Nation prince was not accustomed to such harsh treatment from the staff of an upper class residency; perhaps the Sato estate had fallen on hard times, had to let a few maids and butlers go. It wasn't an unreasonable conclusion to draw—cobwebs were gathering in the corners of the ceiling, evidence of neglect was subtle yet ever present.

"General!" A familiar voice chimed in his left ear.

He turned his attention around in a militaristic snap; she was prancing down the hall towards him, a towel concealing a damp bathing suit. Spheres of water on the glimmering marble floor drew his attention to the pool Asami seemed to have come from; a pale granite courtyard, reflecting light down the grim, dark hall.

"I'm so sorry—Mr. Chang was supposed to tell you where you could find me, but he seems to be neglecting his duties of late." She drew the towel up to her shoulders, flipping her long, black hair over the soft white cloth. The color contrast was mimicked in her dress-like swimming attire. "I hope you didn't get too lost; these halls can get a bit confusing."

Iroh nodded, averting his gaze down to his materials. "Unfortunately, Ms. Sato, I seem to have forgotten canvas."

Her fingers snapped sharply after a brief awkward pause between the two. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "I think there's a few unused art supplies in a room upstairs, perhaps a canvas or two, even." Asami lazily tossed the towel on the floor, and bolted ahead of Iroh, grabbing his sleeve as she led him to the grand staircase in the foyer. "It's this way!"

Above was the wide art room, the dusty curtains concealing its contents from the light of the sun. Asami dashed over and drew the velour drapes open in a swift moment, the layers of dust scattering in the impeding light as a sentient, terrified rush of snow would from the same warmth. Iroh spotted a handful of canvases in the northern corner, a variety of sizes stacked vertically against the wall. "Anything else you'll need besides a canvas, General?" Asami glanced over, heading for the door. "If not, I'm going to change into something dry."

Iroh paced silently around the still somewhat dark room, dismissing the young woman with a wave of his hand, glancing over the materials that had been left to collect the dust of time. He couldn't picture any member of the Sato family being particularly into the fine arts; strange that they'd have a room specifically for painting. His white gloved fingers traced along a pine easel, one of many piled in the center of the room. He found a light switch as he approached the door to the hall, and flicked it on; the art room illuminated with a warm chandelier overhead, revealing more supplies he could use.

Sliding down the hall in her delicate house slippers, Asami threw the door open again. "Where exactly would you like to paint this painting, General?"

"It's truly up to you, Ms. Sato," General Iroh nodded.

Picking up a stool, Asami urged Iroh to collect anything he'd need to complete the work of art. "I'd imagine a place with nice lighting would be ideal, right?" Her mind drifted to the greenhouse attached to the mansion, a beautiful room consisting of almost entirely glass. Her fingernails teased the gentle ferns, slightly neglected of the proper fluids without a full staff. Asami frowned, not sure when the poor, wilting plants had been watered last. She backed up to the entrance and cranked a pump as Iroh caught up with her at the entrance.

"It's a wonder I don't fire all of them," Asami chuckled; water released in a mist above the flora from sprinklers along a pipe near the ceiling. "Taking care of these plants isn't that difficult. My remaining butler and maids treat this place as though there's not enough of them to keep the place together; it's not like the mansion is a castle or something."

"Perhaps they need a raise," Iroh coughed.

"I can't afford that," she muttered in response, turning the handle back to the off position. The mist cut off, leaving the plants as glistening emeralds and rubies. Asami placed the stool in a central seating area near the back of the greenhouse; the view through the windows behind her overlooked the expansive grounds of her estate, and her father's workshop was conveniently out of view.

Iroh sat down, placing the canvas on an easel before him, and began to sketch out what he wished to paint.

...

"So, General—if she scares you so, why are we returning to the city?" Commander Bumi inquired, sitting on the prince's desk to get a closer view of the painting. "I mean, unless you had some subtle meaning in that which I didn't pick up on, terrified normally means you'd rather not see her if you didn't have to."

Iroh rested his elbows on his desk, placing his chin on his intertwined fingers. "That's not the original, not the first painting of her I have made. It's frustrating—I can't seem to capture her perfectly with the medium." He stood from his seat and marched over to his closet, pulling out multiple canvases; each a different portrait of Asami, all with different lighting, different backgrounds, different perspectives of the young industrial titan.

"I told her—I couldn't accept her commission for the work until I was satisfied that I had perfectly captured her image." Frustrated, the General threw his arm out in the direction of the painting upon the easel. "That one—that's the most recent attempt, and the closest I feel I've gotten."

Bumi shuddered, not quite sure what kind of dark box he had opened with his longtime friend. "They're all pretty… Impressive, S-sir." The Commander shrugged back, keeping out of the way of Iroh as he pranced over to the canvas upon the easel.

"It's been four months, Commander," Iroh muttered into the painting. "How can I emulate her beauty, portray it on canvas, when she is not here before me?" His fingers traced down the texture of the dried, thick paint which depicted Asami seated in a maroon leather armchair, her posture surreally proper, her long black dress flowing past her ankles to the floor. "But this is what terrifies me—I cannot capture her image, I cannot match her beauty with paint and a brush."

"She'll like it, Iroh," Bumi attempted to reassure him, picking up Iroh's original from his stack of scattered attempts. The light in the greenhouse contrasted harshly with Iroh's most recent, dark interpretation. Fingering through the progression, every depiction of Asami seemed darker… yet more fantastical, more alluring, less attainable, less of the physical world. Bumi hid a frown, his back to his commanding officer. "I'm sure she'll like it just fine, Sir."

"She'll like it just fine," the commander repeated himself once more.

...

keep an eye open for chapter II tomorrow!