A/N: I wanted to do another drabble series, something sort of similar to resistance, and since Maizula is pretty much the only thing capturing my interest at the moment, it was the obvious choice. The hope is 60 (!) pieces, each exactly 1000 words: 10 pre-canon, 30 during canon, 20 post-canon. Or something like that. As a warning, Ozai/Azula will be a background theme, and we'll probably see some Maizulee later on, because I love that too.
Updates will be sporadic, but will hopefully happen.
It's a lot harder to throw straight when Azula is watching.
Her hands are a little bit sweaty, and that little bit is enough to knock her aim off; the knives all leave her grasp too soon, and she's lucky when she manages to hit the targets at all. She's been getting better, getting pretty good, actually, but pretty good means nothing when she can feel those eyes boring into the side of her head.
"If that was an enemy soldier, you'd have gotten him right in the kneecaps," Azula says. Mai doesn't need to turn her head to know that she's smiling. Azula's always smiling. Life is one big joke when you're a princess, isn't it?
"I'm not joining the army," Mai mumbles. She throws the next one with extra force. It misses the target completely but buries itself in the wooden fence behind it. The sound is satisfying. Knife meets wood. Would it sound the same in meeting flesh?
"'Course not. Noble girls don't join the army."
It's creepy to hear her say that. Mai's mother says the same...said the same, the one time Mai dared to ask. She never wanted to join, not really, anyway. It just seemed like something easier. There would be someone to tell her what to do, and nobody would reprimand her for not smiling enough. But that idea quashed itself soon enough. Her future isn't in the war. Her future is here, a tiny world, sitting at her mother's side and perfecting every useless art in the world. Drawing lines of ink across paper instead of drawing lines of blood across skin.
"Neither do princesses." She's out of knives, so Mai heads across the field to retrieve them. She picks them up one by one, and her fingers slide along the sharp edges. They only cut when given force. They're benign under her careful touch.
On her way back she has to look at Azula, perched on the wooden railing surrounding the field. The princess is still staring at her, still smiling. Doesn't she have anything better to do? Mai would love to tell her to go away, to leave her alone, but those words will never escape her lips. It does not matter how uncomfortable Azula makes her. It does not matter that her hands are sweating and there is a pit in her stomach. She can't be rude to the princess. Her parents would flay her, if Azula didn't first.
Don't rock the boat don't think about it just let it go—
Life is enduring in silence.
"I won't join the army. I'll command it." She looks so small, sitting there on the fence, that it's almost ludicrous to hear it coming from her. But there is nothing but intensity in Azula. She is conviction personified. That much Mai has learned from their brief acquaintanceship.
"Is that what princesses do?" Mai asks the question dully, already knowing the answer. No. Azula's life will be like hers. An assortment of graces fit for noblewomen, marriage, children. Zuko will see battle. But as the second child of the second prince, Azula's fire will go to waste.
"I don't care if it's what princesses do. It's what I'm going to do."
Mai begins throwing again. Her second knife manages to embed itself only a few inches from the center of the target. Her lips flick upward. This small victory feels better than the most beautiful characters she's drawn under her mother's supervision. Even in a life as comfortably privileged as Mai's has been, she has learned that forbidden fruits taste the sweetest.
"Oh, that was good," Azula says, sounding more amused than surprised. "Where'd you find someone to teach you?"
"Nowhere. I'm teaching myself." Predictably, the princess's interjection throws Mai off, and her next knife misses the targets altogether. The brief flare of victory fades.
"Where'd you get the knives?"
"I bought them." Mai knows the words came out too aggressively the instant they've left her lips, but it is too late to take them back. This is supposed to be her time, stolen moments practicing on school targets intended for firebenders, and now the princess is commandeering these few precious moments and insisting on interrogating her. Mai just wants to throw and throw and throw, not feel that presence hovering behind her left shoulder, not construct careful answers to a steady stream of questions.
The steel is cool and sharp under her fingers.
"Why?" Azula's tone hasn't changed. Mai wants to look and see if her expression is still the same too. Has her rudeness passed without incident?
"What do you mean, why?"
"Doesn't seem like a good habit for a girl who says she's not joining the army, is all." Mai finally does look. The princess is as unruffled as ever. She smiles when Mai meets her eyes.
Mai doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't know how to answer, so she doesn't. She turns her back on the princess and keeps throwing. She doesn't think Azula would turn her in. What would she have to gain?
"You can come practice on the royal training field, if you want."
Her finger slips and there is blood as the knife leaves her grasp. It manages to hit the edge of the target anyway. Mai winces and looks down at the red beading up on her index finger. For such a small cut, it hurts a good deal, but what Azula said is more important.
"What? Why?"
"You're pretty good. It'd be a waste if your parents stopped you before you had the chance to learn much more. They wouldn't stop you from coming to the palace, would they?" Azula has tilted her had to one side. Her eyes are wide, her face guileless.
"No," Mai manages.
"Then do it. And I can watch you."
The friendship her parents wanted has dropped into her lap. Mai wants to turn her back and run. She does not want this.
She bows. "Thank you, princess."