-Chapter II-
"Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic."
-Oscar Wilde
...
The officers pulled up the drive of the Sato estate, their shoulders embellished with their crisp, red uniforms. The pavement beneath the thin tires of their military issued Satomobile rocked the vehicle left and right as it proceeded forward slowly up the steep hill, around and under sets of ornate, plaster-pale Earth-Kingdom-style gates and walls.
Iroh recalled the grasses of the early summer, his last memory of this place. Now, the foregrounds of the mansion seemed dry, yellowed with the changing of the season. As the Satomobile pulled to a stop in front of a massive pair of dark mahogany doors, the prince pulled himself out of the passenger seat of the car and opened the trunk to remove his last painting and his satchel of art supplies.
"Why'd you bring those?" the Commander questioned in an almost mocking tone as he shut the driver side door. "I thought we'd just be dropping that one off."
"Perhaps," Iroh shook his head, unsure of what events would transpire. "But I need to feel confident that this painting is respectable enough for Ms. Sato to hang in her home."
Bumi walked cautiously up the large, marble stairs to the doors, and pulled on a lion turtle-like brass door knocker, shoving it forward into the brass receptacle with a heavy, metallic knock. The same Mr. Chang who had neglected to lead the Prince through the mansion properly abruptly drew the doors open as Bumi considered knocking again, but the force of the doors drawing inward snatched the circular lion turtle out of his gloved hands.
Mr. Chang bowed respectfully, unable to recognize Commander Bumi as anything more than a man of the military. "Good afternoon, sir," the butler annunciated dryly, "May I ask what brings you here?"
Pointing over his shoulder, Bumi looked back to his commanding officer. "This guy," he laughed as the General approached.
Iroh nodded, the mannerless butler seemed to recognize him, if not vaguely. "Sir, is Ms. Sato in today? I apologize for calling unannounced, but my fleet has just docked today."
The butler nodded. "She's upstairs, in her office." The suited man stepped to the side, opening the doors widely to let the uniformed men through. It seemed Mr. Chang was still neglectful of his full duties; he remained in the foyer's entrance and the men proceeded up the grand stairs. Iroh glanced at the grand tapestries that adorned the foyer's walls, shades of auburn, golds, and blacks seemed to dominate the colors of the fabrics. Paintings were hung even higher; most were landscapes, yet one stood out to the young general as particularly odd.
Above the longest tapestry, at the highest point above the split in the grand stairs was a painting of a beautiful woman with strong, emerald green eyes and crimson red lips. Her hands were crossed upon her lap, which was accented with a beautiful, black silk dress. The woman had the same overwhelming presence as Asami, yet he knew it was not her—this woman was older, at least thirty.
"Whoa," Bumi interjected, looking up at the painting with his fellow officer. "Now that's a woman."
"She's my mother," a quiet yet confident voice chimed in from the southern fork of the staircase pinnacle, glancing up at the portrait with the men. "My father had that done just before I was born. It's one of the few images I have of her that's not a black and white photo." Asami grinned, and rushed down the staircase to the landing the men were paused on.
Iroh quickly bowed, but before he could recover from his bend, Commander Bumi had already taken the young woman's hand. Iroh grimaced—Bumi was infamous among the harbor towns for his borderline womanizing charm.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," the older commander's grin stretched out widely. "General Iroh here has told me quite a bit about you."
Iroh coughed loudly, attempting to interrupt his subordinate. "Ms. Sato, I've come to show you my finished work—I think I'm nearly there… Almost done with the painting, that is."
"That's wonderful," Asami chimed in. "Can I see it?"
The canvas was, in fact, tucked under Iroh's left arm, covered in a light piece of fabric. The prince glanced down to the object, then back up at Asami, and felt an overwhelming wave of anxiety rush up his esophagus. "Actually, Ms. Sato—I'd like to finish it here. I need you to model for a few finishing touches."
The general glanced back up to the portrait of Asami's mother once more—the painting was eerily similar to what he had painted of Asami. "It's nothing like the original, however—the lighting is darker, and I'd probably need you in a black dress." Iroh returned his focus to his subject. "Assuming you have one, of course."
"Sure, I think I have one of my mother's somewhere upstairs—I'd just need a few minutes to change." Asami paused, pondering an appropriate location. "The parlor is probably the kind of dark room you have in mind. Have Mr. Chang kindle up the fireplace, if you want." Asami's dark hair whipped around behind her in a flash, as she ran back up the southern branch of the stairs to her room.
Upon entering her bedchamber, Asami paused and looked over to her vanity—below a vase of white rhododendrons was a small picture frame of a pale young man, an actor on stage, portraying the role of Prince Zuko with the Ember Island Players troupe. A heavy hand signed the photo in a thick, dark ink—For the Mai to my Zuko, sincerely yours—Tahno.
A sharp knock came to her door; Asami flipped the frame down briskly, whirling around with the black silk dress clasped between her fingers. A single, pollen-coated white petal wilted off the bouquet and floated down, landing atop the back of the picture frame. "C-come in," Asami replied to the forceful inquiry.
The General peeked in, averting his gaze from Asami's direction. "You're dressed, miss?"
Her fingers traced along the velvet back of the frame, picking up microscopic yellow flecks of pollen. "For the moment. I'm still looking for some… Accessories."
...
Asami had stumbled across the play by chance; she had heard rumors that the Ember Island Players troupe was on tour with their latest script, a saga of the lives of the retired Fire Lord and his wife. Though the Players were not a respected theater company, and had a small budget to work with, Asami was curious about the play their fliers had described.
Sitting in one of the few boxes in the small theater, Asami had felt captivated—the acting prowess of the lead role was intimidating. One glance at the playbill piqued her curiosity even further; the young man playing the Fire Lord was none other than Tahno, a former pro-bender.
Scarves of fire released from his hands in dramatic fight scenes, his scar was on the wrong side—everything about the play was horrible, yet entirely phenomenal, simply because of the surprising talent the young man portraying Fire Lord Zuko possessed. Asami decided to attempt to meet him backstage.
With the playbill clenched between her fingers nervously, Asami approached the makeshift dressing room, and knocked. The flimsy door swung open; dark scar make-up was half washed off, and the actor was halfway between fixing his hair back into its typical curly swoosh.
"Hi, there," He sighed nonchalantly, then raised a curious, make-up coated eyebrow. "May I help you, miss?"
Asami stammered to find her words, the plan to talk to the young actor completely lost to her unease. "H-hello!" She smiled as pleasantly as possible. "I just… I saw the play, and despite the horridness of every other element—I can't help but recognize your talent. You're a phenomenal actor, Tahno."
Tahno pursed his lips at the backhanded compliment, which was followed by a drop of his jaw upon the realization of who the young woman was. "Wait. Aren't you—you're one of those kids that hangs around the Uhvatar, aren't you?" He snapped his fingers, as if they'd trigger his memory further. "Yeahh—you're the Sato girl. What in Agni's hot hell are you doing in a slum like this?"
"Well, I saw a flier for the play—it looked interesting," Asami admitted. "Truly, you were the only redeeming element."
Tahno's posture changed dramatically; his elbow raised up along the doorframe, his torso leaned forward into the young woman's personal space. "Well, it'd be a crime to turn down compliments from someone such as yourself, Sato."
...
"What's that you're hiding?" Iroh questioned Asami, the most he could muster as an attempt of a flirtatious tease.
Asami forced the frame further behind her, her arm tossing more pollen free of the rhododendrons. "N-nothing, just a photo."
"Of what? Or who?"
Chuckling as he approached, the prince attempted to snatch the image from behind her, thinking it could possibly be an image of himself she coveted so. Her face flushed in anger and embarrassment as he twisted his gloved hand under her arm, taking the frame from her closely clenched hands.
A bubble of anxiety crept up his throat, filling his chest with dismay. "Who is this…? Your—boyfriend?"
"I think you should leave the room now, General…I still have to change." Asami dodged, turning her back from the uniformed man. "I'm sure the Commander would like to return to the harbor sometime today—the sooner you finish this painting, the better."
"What is he? An actor?" Iroh lectured. "Asami, someone like this is most beneath your station, unbecoming of a woman of your social status—what if he's just using you for your money?"
"Please leave the room, General," Asami barked. "I won't ask you again."
Iroh backed out of the room slowly, the door snapping shut as he left.
-chapter 3 should be up soon!