Genre: Supernatural
Rating: K plus
Summary: Hera gives her ward an unorthodox pet, among other things. Ozai, of course, loves it.
Ozai wakes up at sunrise, as always, and remembers that it's his birthday. He lets the thought go. No one has ever much cared – Zhao, who would be probably the only one to care, doesn't even know his birthdate – so why should he? It's just another day of training and trying to avoid Azulon's lust.
He slides out from beneath the blankets to start his day. First, as always, is his firebending practice. He is proud to boast that he has never missed a day, though he has outstripped all his teachers, and he is proud to boast that katas are not the only thing he has mastered; he can change the color of his flame, make it anywhere from a ruby red to sapphire blue, with only a breath and a thought. Zhao is not here right now, so there's no point in showing off. No one else is watching. He moves through his advanced katas, changing the color of his fire as he goes, finding a sort of release in the way he uses his ever-constant rage.
(It's fine. He's fine. It's not like he needs people to tell him he's anything, he doesn't need people, he's fine –)
He passes two hours firebending and trying to battle the voice in his head. After practice is tutors, in everything a young Prince is expected to know, handpicked by Iroh himself, because Azulon couldn't be bothered to take two hours for the second son he chose out of hundreds of bastards he's sired and pick a couple of tutors. Government, politics, battle strategy, maths, nothing he can't do easily, and nothing he's really interested in. Every tutor also, by rote, gives him their own little speeches, all written by brother dearest, on compassion or mercy or justice or he doesn't care. It's all idealistic nonsense. It makes one weak, gives the world a chance to strike and kill.
Betrayal is inevitable. You can only ever delay it.
It's past noon by the time he's done with his tutors, and he manages to escape to a courtyard. Zhao has arrived, and is now with him, laying sprawled in the shade. It is sweltering. Ozai doesn't mind a bit, and he's fairly sure Zhao's just being dramatic. He wants to paint. He shouldn't. The glorious Fire Nation needs leaders, people strong and brave and cunning enough to bend the masses to their will, not artists.
His internal debate on whether or not to slip the art supplies he has hidden in his robes out for a bit is cut short by the sound of scuttling near the overgrown side. Ozai looks up to see a flash of red claws. Zhao sees them too and turns to Ozai. "I know what you're thinking. Don't do it. Get the guards."
"I don't think the guards are going to be much help here," he says distractedly.
He walks, slowly, steadily, careful not to spook the creature, and kneels before it. It's a giant scorpion, with several exquisitely decorated vases of a style he's never seen before on its back. It's interesting and new and seems to be...less than hostile, to Ozai's delight.
"Ozai," Zhao whispers. "It's a giant scorpion. Just leave it be. I don't want you to get eaten."
Ozai laughs. "I'm not going to get eaten." The scorpion lets him stretch out a finger and stroke under its mandibles. "In fact, I think it might be a gift." He smiled. "Happy birthday to me, I suppose."
"It's your birthday?" Zhao asks.
"Mm-hmm." Ozai's a bit too busy scratching under the scorpion's chin to attend to the surprise in his only friend's voice. He stands up and takes one of the vases off, looking inside to find something new. "Would you look at that." He brings out a small wrapped item. "It seems I may have a decent day after all."
Zuko: Oh yea, that's Father's giant scorpion. Don't worry about it.
Sokka: Your terrible dad had a giant scorpion.
Zuko: Yea.
Sokka: And you didn't think to tell us this earlier?
Zuko: It wasn't really important?
Sokka: The GIANT KRIFFING SCORPION WASN'T IMPORTANT?
Zuko: Calm down. She's not that bad–
Sokka: Forget it. This is just one more crazy thing in my crazy life that everyone else seems to think is normal.