Making Acquaintance
Iroh jogged up the palace stairs, dying to evade the large, bellowing man in hot pursuit. The hefty man hollered from the bottom step.
"Please, General! Consider what I'm saying, I beg you! Only a fool would ignore an offer to expand the – "
"Enough!" Iroh roared, glancing irately behind him for only a second. He desperately fought back an urge to shoot a deadly surge of fire out of his clenched fists. The young man even thought a roar of angry fire might escape his mouth if he didn't keep it shut tight with a frown.
Trudging down the hall, Iroh ignored the various salutations from passersby and fast-footed servants. He thundered past them with an immense amount of seemingly endless frustration. This, amusingly mixed with his recurring tendency to audibly huff, made for a perfect cocktail of snickering and finger-pointing from onlookers.
"Croissant?" one formally dressed server asked, offering a tray of baked goods to the sulking man.
"Not now," Iroh grumbled, not bothering to stop at all. Chatting aristocrats with fruity drinks watched as he continued his irritated march down the adorned hall. "That's Iroh," one said jokily. They turned to each other and shrugged, returning back to their conversations and mingling.
After rounding a new corridor, Iroh grabbed the doorknob of the first door he laid eyes upon and barged open the door as relief began to cool his head.
Still not able to shake off the frustration, Iroh stormed into the room, huffing. Yet in the next moment, he quickly lost his breath. Not a soul was inside the tiny room except for the dark-haired young woman from earlier that very day. When his eyes hit her once more, he was struck dumb. She stood in front of a small circular mirror hung daintily upon the wall. Encircling the porcelain frame were small carving of slithering dragons, trailing along the vanity mirror as if to watch anyone who happened to use it. He didn't even have time to wonder if she could hear his nervous heart thumping in his chest like a battle drum. Consequently she turned around, her skirt whisking behind her.
"Oh," she whispered, eyes wide, "I…didn't know I wasn't supposed to be in here."
Iroh could tell she had just put on lipstick; she had used his great aunt's old mirror to do so. The lipstick stained her lips perfectly, like she was born to wear it.
"No, no," he stammered, "It's quite alright…I…I believe I saw you earlier, didn't it? You were with that famous Probender, Mako…" he trailed off. He could see that beneath her delicate, feminine features, she had been crying. Iroh didn't know what to do; he shuffled his feet awkwardly and darted his eyes across the aging furniture in the room. Finally she spoke.
"Yeah…" she feigned a small smile, "Him." She looked uncomfortably to the left. "Anyway, I'm sorry to intrude, I just thought this was a ladies' powder room! I'll get going – " she started to step towards the doorway.
"No wait!" Iroh exclaimed, then startled by his own assertiveness. "Uh…what's your name?" He scratched the back of his head. "It's not everyday I see someone new at the palace." He offered an awkward laugh.
The young woman smiled. Iroh watched as her lips then pursed sweetly. Of course that's what her smile looks like, he thought.
"I'm Asami," she said, "Asami Sato." She extended a hand. Iroh shook it happily.
"I'm – "
"General Iroh," she laughed, "I know. I figured that much."
He smiled. "…Yes, well…I'm sorry to have barged in on you like that," he nodded to the door. He immediately recalled the sight of the annoying advisor and shuddered. "I just had to escape for a minute."
"Solicitors?" she asked knowingly. Iroh nodded in response. She smiled apologetically, then sighed. Iroh was in awe of her grace; she leaned against the back of the loveseat that faced them and propped herself onto it. She dangled her feet to and fro with a youthfulness he envied. Though, he knew she was probably not much younger than he. Indeed, despite her obvious girlishness – which he was definitely not opposed to - she wasn't an innocent girl. Not that he thought she was, well, corrupted… just that somehow, he could sense she was insightful. He possessed an intuition that this Asami girl was far from naïve. And he admired how she could still remain grounded. Iroh scratched his head once again.
"Yeah, it must be hard being in the royal family," she said.
Iroh's eyes fell to the floor. "Uh…"
In exasperation, Asami promptly stood back up. "Oh…no! I didn't mean it like that…I was…I didn't mean to sound sarcastic!" Her eyes desperately searched Iroh's face for clemency.
Iroh stood up straight. "Ah!" He let out a real chuckle this time, finding the humor in the misunderstanding. "That's quite alright. Don't worry about it. I knew what you meant." He beamed at her, and she seemed to let out a breath of relief. Or was it annoyance? Irrational panic engulfed him like a stuffy, unwanted blanket in the night.
Why does this always happen to me around women?
Quickly he changed the subject. "So, Asami…" He loved the way her name sounded in his ears. "Do you live here in the capital?"
"No, no. My father and I are from Republic City. He's here on business. You may have heard of him. He founded a company called Future Industries," she explained.
"Heard of him? I only ride in one of his SatoMobiles every day!" Iroh chuckled as Asami blushed. "I see now. Asami Sato. I should have realized it before. Your father is Hiroshi."
"That's dad," she said with a faint sigh. Iroh looked on in curiosity. She wasn't a typical richy-rich daughter, that was for sure. But hey, that's what all the lovesick puppies want to think about the girl in front of them. This is just me being an idiot again, he thought.
Asami found the silence in the room to be a conversation-killer. She shrugged in defeat.
"Well, General, I think I'm gonna get back to the party." She regarded the word "party" with a tone one would regard a big, ugly rat. Iroh smiled. He liked this girl.
"Oh, please, call me Iroh," he said. But it didn't sound quite as "cool" as it did in his head. He imagined she must have thought he sounded like a wimpy little pre-teen. He would have to kick himself later. Asami let out a short giggle. She stepped to the door and he held it open, politely motioning her to go first. She bowed her head. "Thank you, Iroh," she cooed.
He melted.
…Damnit.
Asami flipped through the magazine. "Page after page of glitz and glamour," she sang to herself. "Hmmph." She skimmed past another section of the magazine. "Oh, who am I kidding." She sighed with a smile. "I've bought all these products."
A squeaky voice emerged from the outside of the carriage. "What's that, Miss Sato?" the bald-headed driver asked. She could see through the petite, rectangular window as he leaned one ear towards the wall of the carriage.
"Nothing!" Asami chimed from the inside.
The carriage hit yet another jostling bump in the road and the driver turned back around in his seat without another word. Asami had no complaints about the tumultuous ride; after all, at least she wasn't cramped up in the automobile with her unbearable cousin Martina. Besides, Asami appreciated the old-fashioned carriage, quirks and all. The spacious seating inside was heavenly, and the red velvet seats were perfect for her to stretch out and relax. It was a long ride to their next destination. Even if every pothole sent her magazines flying, she was only thankful that she could ride in comfortable solitude.
In time, Asami let her mind wander. She found herself thinking of how different it was to be here in the heart of the Firenation; no skyscrapers, factories…everything different. But, she figured, not everyone could industrialize so quickly as Republic City. That was why she was riding in a carriage now. She supposed only the truly wealthy could afford her father's and other innovators' new technology. People like General Iroh. Asami rolled her eyes in amusement. What a cheeseball, she reminisced. She recalled how very "out of his element" the young man had seemed. And she wished he hadn't caught her at such an inopportune moment …He must have thought I was a baby! she thought pitifully. Crying and all that… But she remembered that the man wasn't exactly Mr. Perfect himself. What was all that raging about when he stormed in? And what about those muscles? Compensating for something there, General? She laughed aloud. Staring out at the moving scenery, she tried to imagine how such a personality could last one minute in battle. Oh, General Iroh.
She puffed up the collar on her jacket and picked up the handheld mirror sitting idly beside her. She peered into it and laughed. "Oh…Please," she imitated a macho-man voice, pretending to be seductive. "Call me Iroh!"
"What's that, Ms. Sato?" called the driver again.
Asami stifled her laughter.
"Oh, nothing!" she called back, giggling.
She stared back out her window again. Far off in the distance, the palace was still visible even through the woods and trees. She sighed.
Till we meet again, macho man, she thought.
"Hmm…" she whispered pensively. "Iroh…"
She liked the way it sounded in her ears.