Smile
A tale of epically (stupid) proportions. One ne'er before seen. Just why is Iroh so mellow? Well, he wasn't always… —Inspired by booterfreak—
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"Yessss, here he is, young Iroh. Looks like a lazy punk. He's got a shit-eating smile on his face, like he's about to do something he KNOWS he's not supposed to. And hair! Can't forget the hair."
Chapter One:
Lazy
Even as he was being screamed at by his furious father, Iroh couldn't help but smirk. He was lounging on a chair in his room, one leg propped up, large black boot kicked onto his desk.
Oh, the desk. Where he was supposed to study. Where he had used as a boost to sneak out of the window ten feet above it.
He ignored the Fire Lord—
"—the eldest son has duties and responsibilities, and one of those is studying the history of the Fire Nation! Do you want your younger brother to—"
—and stared out the window behind him, nodding off slightly.
His father's fist slamming onto the desk jerked him out of the boredom induced trance.
"Do you understand?" he roared.
Iroh shrugged slothfully. He used to be intimidated to the point of tears by his father when he went into "one of his rages", but after 19 years he was more than used to it. And besides, his brother at 16 was hardly likely to follow his elder brother's every example like he used to. Around 12 he got a personality and a will of his own.
And, quite frankly, Iroh didn't care anymore. He kicked back the chair, rolled his eyes at the Fire Lord, and back-stepped smoothly out of the room with a curt bow.
"Yes, father," he sang (in a very manly way, of course), abruptly cutting off the man from any further "discussion" (ranting) on the matter, before strutting through the palace with a cocky swagger.
After running a hand through his thick, spiky black hair and hefting a sigh, escape was all a matter of making his way to one of the more deserted atriums of the open-walled palace and jumping onto the roof.
And fifteen minutes later, he was asleep, on the roof over the atrium.
He never neglected a chance to stay in shape, after all, and his father would work him to the bone either by battle or by screaming-match when he returned.
The boy simply chuckled at the thought of the cranky king screeching until he turned blue (he already turned pink from lack of oxygen earlier today), before drifting off to sleep.