Death Fury: Thank you again! :)


Zirin wishes that she can get into Azula's head, to uncover the thoughts that lay behind those distant golden eyes. Lately she has taken to running her pointer over the scars on her arms. Zirin can't discern any emotion.

"They ain't look so bad." She notes. Azula tosses a look over her shoulder. "The scars I mean, they ain't so bad." She doesn't think that the princess believes her. Lately she has been very straight forward, waking up, dressing herself, and then going to Okon to work on drilling through the wolf-bat bones. She still flinches at the drill. The sight of it alone puts the princess on edge and the sound worsens it. Zirin never knew her to be a woman of phobias.

This day is different. "I have'a job fer ya, Zizi. I gotta get on werkin' on them new wings."

Zirin clenches her teeth, she knows what he's going to request of her. She knew he would from the start but has been hoping that she assumed wrong. When she was a small thing, she liked to help her father tinker with his machines. She liked to play with wheels and cogs and nuts and bolts. Mostly she had liked to create little sculptures that served no real point other than decoration or practice.

He is an inventor. A mechanist. She is a mechanist's daughter.

But she isn't by birth.

But she isn't practiced.

"When ya was lil' ya use ta be good with a drill. Wh'never I needed a hole, I jus han'ed it over ta ya 'n let ya do yer thing."

"She ain't some scrappa metal, father." Zirin sputters. "She ain't a blocka wood. I can hurt her. I ain't know what I'm doing."

"Ken ya buil' a paira wings, Zizi?" He asked. "Ya know I ain't got me much time lef…"

She has been trying to put it out of her head since Azula disappeared. It was more than enough to think about losing one person.

"Who gonna make 'er wings if I ain't? I need ta get 'em done."

"You ain't gonna leave me so soon." Zirin whispers. "You can't go 'n leave me so soon."

"I ain't got no choice, Zizi. Imma frail ol' man, I been a frail ol' man fer a long time."

Her stomach knots for the state of her father and for the state she could land Azula in if she messes things up. He hands her the drill and she is so very thankful that the princess is still working on breakfast and out of earshot. She finds herself pacing, trying to ease her nerves before Azula arrives. She wishes that she had the precision, patience, and forethought to work out the intricacies of mechanical wings. The knowledge to have them working and the skill to craft them.

She watches Azula approach, her fear increasing with every step forward. With Azula everything is routine and repetition. Like clockwork, she casts her shirt aside and lays down. Zirin takes a deep breath and steps forward. The princess shoots her a questioning look. "Father has to start workin' on your wings." She explains. "So I'm gonna do the drillin' today." She hopes her expression betrays nothing. Either it's working or Azula is having less trouble masking her concern. "You trust me, right?"

At Azula's nod, she can't help but think, good, 'cause I don't. Holding the drill in her hand she is just as scared of it as Azula probably is.

"I'm scared" she says as she brings the drill closer. "I'm his daughter but it ain't run in my genes this stuff." Maybe it isn't the best thing to confess right now. She inserts the drill. Mercifully her father is a has given her a generous start. It takes a lot of strength to grind through the bone and Azula jerks more than usual. But, mostly healed, it doesn't seem to bother her much. Or maybe, Zirin thinks, it is that she has simply been through much worse.

"Memer when I tol' you 'bout how I was adopted." She isn't sure who she is trying to distract, herself or the princess.

Azula shakes her head no. Zirin expected as much, but it still stings. "Well, when I was lil' my real father and mother decided that they ain't like me no more. I were a bit of a wil' kid. 'N they couldn't handle me. One day they was buyin' something from father—Okon, 'n I guess I were bein' real annoyin' that day, askin' if I could have this 'n that." She paused. "So I guess they couldn't take it no more 'cause they says, 'if ya like it here so much then why ain't you stay.' I didn't think they meant anythin' by it so I kept on lookin' 'round the shop 'n when I finally was done, my folks was gone."

Azula blinks.

"It's okay 'cause they liked to hurt me anyway. Well Okon found me wanderin' around cryin' 'n stuff. When my real parents ain't come back he tol' me I could stay with him, long as I helped out 'round the shop a bit."

"My mother doesn't like me either…"

Zirin smiles at the sound of her voice. It is lovely to hear it again. It sounds just like she remembers it, darkly soothing like a cursed lullaby. "That's how we met, ya know, I was yellin' about how much I hated my ma, throwin' a real good fit and you came up to me and said you felt the same." Zirin paused. "But I don't think you're mother hates you she seemed worried when we was playin' Kemurikage 'n she found out it was you."

Azula makes a face.

"I ain't hurtin' you am I?"

Azula shakes her head. Zirin is thankful to hear it. She guesses then, that Azula still doesn't fancy discussing her mother.

Hours down, and she doesn't know how much further she needs to go. So she slips the drill into the finished bone, gauging how deeply Okon had tunneled. A little more than halfway. Zirin sticks the drill back into the left wing. She does this twice more until she feels as though she has perceived the depth right. If she has, then she only has a few more turns of the drill to make. She makes them with more confidence than when she first began. "There." She rubs Azula's back. "I'll jus' get my father to check my work."

She hopes fruitlessly, that Azula will vocally answer, but she is back to only her head gestures. Her father has made great time with the wings, as she came to find. He looks at his new invention—he calls it the ticker for the noise it makes—and then at his sundial. The times seem to match up. "That late a'ready?"

"Yeah we been workin' for a while, father." Zirin replies. "I was hopin' you could make sure I done everythin' right."

He gets up from his workbench and approaches Azula. "Ya did a fine job, Zizi. They's nearly even." He picks up the drill and evens the holes to his liking.

Azula sits up and Zirin hands her, her shirt. Without another word, she wanders back to her room.

"Thank you, father. For doin' this for her." She wants to say more. Usually she doesn't but she isn't sure that she'll get her chance later, so she continues. "Thank you for bein' my fa, when my own ain't want me."

Okon's wrinkled face warms. He puts his arm around her hand holds her very close, like when she was just a child. "Thank ya fer bein' my daughter. I always wan'ed one. Didn't think I were ever gonna get one." For the longest time they simply stand like that. She supposes that there isn't much else to say, that it's best to just hang onto the feeling of the moment.

It just isn't long enough.

But Okon needs his sleep.

And so she makes her way to Azula. At first she doesn't think that the princess is going to acknowledge her. Maybe she just wants to sleep as well. So Zirin stands back up, nearly as quickly as she had sat down. "Im gonna just let you rest then."

A hand pulls her back down. She remembers again, what a relief it is to not feel claws against her skin. "Ya know, I do wish you would jus' say that you want me to stay, 'stead of pullin' me down."

The princess refuses to answer the request any which way. But she does nuzzle herself against Zirin as she had in days passed. She wonders if the princess recalls having done so before. Zirin wraps her arms around her.

Still no yes or no.

But she does speak.

"Thank you."

She doesn't elaborate, but Zirin gets the point. "It ain't no big deal." She bends her head down and kisses the top of the princess' head.