She's not one to miscalculate.
Do you shift gears and then reverse?
She's characterized by careful, deliberate planning and prodigiously accurate calculations.
No, no, you have to be in drive before you can shift gears...
No, Azula doesn't make mistakes.
Actually, it might be a good idea to turn on the car first.
And she is not going to be bested by a second-rate vehicular contraption.
Azula grits her teeth.
For all her academic and extracurricular accomplishments, it's fallible Zuko that gets to drive a Mercedes. Azula drives a ten-year-old Sonata. "Crash-proof," her mother had reasoned.
Excellence in achievement means little in the world of driving. And communality. And all things social and teenager-like.
Azula doesn't need Zuko to drive to the mall.
She has a license.
(It only took her four attempts.)
She doesn't need Zuko to buy new shoes.
She doesn't need Zuko to make new friends.
She is perfectly capable of handling herself in a social situation.
This is stupid.
She should be memorizing SAT vocabulary–why is she wasting a perfectly good Saturday at Payless? Why is she at Payless when she can easily procure three racks of shoes from Gucci?
"Sokka, Mai, and I are going to the mall tomorrow. Do you want to come with us?"
No, she didn't want to. She was busy.
"Busy? Doing what–studying? C'mon, Azula. I'm starting to think that you're incapable of having fun…"
She was perfectly capable of having "fun." In fact, she had plans at the mall tomorrow herself.
"Really? With who?"
With her sophomore friends that Zuko hadn't met.
"You mean the ones that don't exist?"
They did too exist, with very real and fleshy anatomy.
"…Uh, okay. Why don't you and your very real and fleshy anatomies meet up with us for lunch?"
They would.
And now Azula has to find some very real and fleshy anatomies to eat lunch with.
Which is why she's at Payless.
To meet very real and fleshy anatomies.
To eat lunch with.
Girls like shoes, right?
What am I doing here? Why don't I just call in some favors with Councilman Jiang's daughters? He has seven to spare…
No, that wouldn't work. Zuko had met them all. Besides, most of them attend out-of-state colleges or are already employed.
Confound it! How does one go about establishing nonpolitical alliances? Ugh. Father's right, there's nothing to gain from these sort of connections…Now what would Mother advise? She always said something…What was it? Shoes are a female's most formidable weapon?
Azula's scheming is interrupted by a wail that's too strident to be humanly possible.
She turns to glower at the perpetrator–a mousy-haired beast with weapons of mass destruction for limbs. His whale of a mother isn't nearly as adept at consoling him as her son is in the art of devilment.
From her observation of the masses, Azula has deduced that common people are imprudent, worthless beings that serve no purpose but to be manipulated. Especially children.
She continues glaring at the pair from her bench even after they've left the store.
"Are you finding everything okay? Is there anything I can help you with?"
Shop assistants are stupid. And perverse. And intrusive. With their faux courtesy and mechanical, rehearsed lines.
"I'm perfectly fine, thank you," Azula hisses.
If the employee possessed an ounce of sagacity, she would've caught the implication.
But the stupid clerk doesn't seem to understand, blinking her big, stupid eyes, smiling widely with her stupid mouth.
"Are you sure? You've been sitting here for a while," she continues brightly in an abominably sweet voice.
Azula pauses to study the girl.
Round, mild features; petite build; a snub nose; traces of baby fat; a wide, delicate mouth; fluttery eyelashes framing large taupe eyes. Very real and fleshy anatomy.
She can't be much older than Azula.
"Actually, there is something I need help with."
"Okay! How can I help?"
"Well, you see, I need new shoes. That are similar to the ones I'm wearing. But, um, different. Because having shoe variety is…uh…cool. And it's fashionable. Yes. I want to be fashionable. So, I'm looking for cool and fashionable shoes."
The ends of the employee's beam start to wither a little.
"Oh, um, okay. Well, I'll see what we–oh my god are those Jimmy Choo?" she gushes. Azula smirks; commoners are too easily impressed. The girl's eyes are still glittering with awe as she mumbles, "I don't think we carry anything like those…"
Of course you don't, imbecile.
"Oh, that's quite all right. Just show me whatever you have. We can bond over this group activity then go for some sustenance," Azula replies slickly, gazing at the girl through half-lidded eyes.
The girl stares at her critically, eyebrows pinched together and mouth curled to the side.
Azula blushes. She's certain she did everything correctly. What more could there be to this social interface business?
"Oh, I, uh, would love to–but I...don't…get off work until three," the girl finally responds with a hesitant laugh.
She looks something like a cornered animal.
Azula processes her options for a moment before her eyes harden with resolve.
"Take me to your superior," she commands.
The girl's eyes widen.
"What?"
"I can pay them off with twice the store's monthly revenue if you come with me."
"You're kidding, right?"
"Of course not," Azula scoffs. She taps her chin thoughtfully as she glances around the store. "How much does this establishment make, anyway? I bet it wouldn't take much to pay off." She glimpses at the girl from the corner of her eyes. "What about you? Do I have to pay you off?"
"Excuse me?"
"I just need you to accompany me to lunch. Well, you also have to act amiably towards me, but your company is the important part. How much would that be? Four-hundred? Five-hundred? I'm not willing to go past–"
"–Look, you're crazy." This time Azula's eyes widen. "What the hell is wrong with you? You can't just waltz in here with your Bank of America allowance and try to buy out a girl you just met for some lunch date! That's not how this works!"
The girl is positively seething at this point, and if Azula was even slightly sensitive, she might've noticed the affronted look on the other girl's face.
"It's…not?"
The first fourteen years of Azula's life had been sculpted by governesses; she had been brought into her father's inner-most circle in preparation for the political legacy she would inherit. And as a result of private tutoring for over a decade, Azula's social circle doesn't extend beyond Zuko and his girlfriend, Mai.
And she's quickly learning that political maneuvers aren't very successful in day-to-day exchanges.
"Azula?"
Have mercy.
Zuko, Mai, and their less significant friend are just outside the store; they're all appropriately stunned. Zuko's eyes flit between his sister and the fuming employee suspiciously.
"Is this one of your very real and fleshy anatomies?"
Mortification is a very strange sensation. It's the prickling of blood flushing underneath her skin and her insides shriveling into dust. It's not a common color on Azula–and as the foreign sensation sweeps over her, she finds that she doesn't wear it well.
Normally, Azula wouldn't be intimidated in the slightest. Her brother is the black sheep of their household; the duller dao of the two. He's naive, idealistic, and easily manipulated–predictable in all the ways she isn't. Azula's favorite tools of manipulation are composed of Zuko's temper and excessive sentimentality.
But somehow, he had finally gained leverage over her, and the image of his gaze gleaming with unprecedented superiority haunts her. He's carefully calculating, trying to find a way to exploit this newfound weakness. It's in the slightest twitch of his eyebrows, the subtlest smirk playing at his lips.
Still, Zuko isn't cruel.
He wouldn't use this advantage maliciously–for self-defense, at best, and mischievously, at worst. In fact, there's a glimmer of sympathy in Zuko's eyes as he steals a glance at her.
This only exacerbates her distress.
"Ugh."
Thin lips edge up into a full-blown smirk. Despite Zuko's laughable empathy, he enjoys tormenting his sister just as much as she takes delight in repaying the favor.
It feels like the entire car has slowed down (and it probably has) just so that Azula can truly experience the weight of her brother's ridicule.
"So. What are you going to say to her when you see her at school? I heard she's in your grade, y'know."
Azula's jaw clenches.
Being bested was already a considerable offense, but by Zuko?
"Well?"
She refuses to reward her brother with the full satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
"Are you going to talk to her in front of the very real cheer squad or in front of the very fleshy hockey team?"
The remark strikes a chord within Azula and she hisses.
Zuko doesn't share Azula's social ineptitude.
After being cast out of his father's favor, Zuko had joined the hockey team and made a name for himself as the most aggressive player. He isn't necessarily popular, but he has a wide range of acquaintances and little to fear from social situations.
What Azula would give to scrape the smugness off of her brother's face.
Preferably with a windshield wiper.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, I haven't thought of anything yet. But I'll be sure to inform you when I require your assistance, baby sis."
It's every bit of self-discipline Azula has cultivated over the years that keeps her from directing Zuko's Mercedes into a nearby pole.
"So remind me, Soccer–"
"–Sokka!"
"–Whatever–how you got into this school, again?" Azula drawls as she probes at the cafeteria lunch.
It's first-rate, of course. Fresh produce, choice cut meat. Everything to be expected of Four Republics Academy.
It's easily the most prestigious private institution in the state, with admittance limited to four general groups: the wealthy, the well-connected, the exceptionally talented, and the scholars.
Azula is having difficulty placing her brother's simpleton into one of these categories.
"I've told you like a hundred times! I got a scholarship to the Engineering Program here!" the simpleton whines.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure you did, Soccer," Azula concedes in a placating tone.
She smirks as the gangly boy's face twists in indignation.
He'd hardly survive as a soccer player.
Zuko's muscular frame fills into the crimson blazer quite befittingly, and he almost looks handsome with his narrow face and defined features. Even dour Mai looks elegant in the faded burgundy vest and plaid skirt. There are visible creases and folds in the uniform that Sokka's wiry physique fails to fill.
A sigh.
"Azula."
That would be her dear older brother.
"Oh, relax, Zuzu. I'm only having fun," Azula insists as she flicks a Brussels sprout at Sokka.
"There's no need to make Sokka feel insecure. He comes from a very talented family," Zuko continues, as though he hadn't heard his sister.
"I know. His sister is the best of my Physiology class." She casts a disappointed glance at Sokka. "Shame her brother doesn't share his sister's talents."
Mai snickers into hand as Sokka fixes her with a wounded look.
Zuko groans. "Mai! Don't encourage her!"
"Sorry," the dark girl retorts without a trace of apology in her voice.
Sokka's scowl is replaced with a grin when he catches sight of something behind Azula. She glances over her shoulder to see what the simpleton is so thrilled about. A slight boy with a pretty girl on his arm waves back enthusiastically.
"Zuzu, remind me why you eat lunch with a freshman as a senior?"
Mai arches an eyebrow at this.
"We ate lunch with you last year when you were a freshman," she points out dully.
Azula glowers at her, slightly unnerved when the dark girl remains unfazed.
To all other than Zuko, Mai is an enigma. Azula can't place her alliances, or her motives, or her incentives. She's too brilliant for Azula's liking and, as the governor's daughter, a potential threat.
Zuko frowns. "Aang is my best friend."
"So you've told me. Refresh my memory on how the little runt got into this school?"
"I'm pretty sure Aang has more volunteer hours than anyone else in the country. The kid spends more time volunteering than anything else. He's been to so many third-world countries to help build schools and stuff–colleges have been hounding him since middle school," Sokka supplies with an air of reverence.
Azula makes a mental note of this before her lip curls. "I wasn't asking you."
"Azula, be nice." And the gallant older brother returns. "He doesn't have to put up with this, you know. You should be grateful that my friends are willing to let you sit with us."
Azula is seized by the desire to smash her tray against Sokka's triumphant face.
"I can find my own friends to sit with," she grumbles petulantly.
Zuko grins. "Oh, I'm sure you can. Look! There's one of your very real and fleshy anatomies right now."
And to Azula's horror, he points at a table not too far from theirs, where the stupid shop assistant is in a stupid crimson uniform, gleefully gossiping away with her friends.
"Hey guys!" Aang greets cheerfully, taking the empty seat next to Azula without hesitation.
His girlfriend sits down on the other side of him with a little more caution.
"She's not that bad looking, now that I really look at her," Sokka comments as he follows Zuko's finger. "Oh my god. Are all her friends that attractive?"
"They're cheerleaders, Sokka. I'm pretty sure they're not into horny robotics nerds," Katara chides as she rolls her eyes.
"Why do we even have cheerleaders?" Mai carps.
The banter at their table fades into a buzz as Azula is hit with the full impact of her mortification. Big, stupid eyes glance up for a moment to meet hers, and suddenly Azula is the worthless commoner.
A/N: For as much as I enjoyed writing something light-hearted like this, I'm worried it won't be as well received…