Brisé
dis.claimed.
He is not sure when this began; all he knows is that as long as it has been, he has watched.
The girls twin each other, both sets of lips curling into a distinctive smirk that Zuko has become unsettlingly familiar with. What is it about the smug assurance that seems to leak into every expression a woman trained in warrior arts makes? It is a different sort of arrogance—not how they hold themselves, but what they are like in motion. Though, now, Suki and Katara are still and jarring not just because of that.
They are out of their element (gone the carefully applied face paint and fans and access to any variation of water), but they are comfortable. They revel in this and Zuko can almost understand why ("almost" because the tension and weight of what it would mean to lose makes it quite difficult to relate. "Almost" because he can also remember never fighting with more relish than with her, never-minding his goal at the time) and observes their spar, telling himself it's more to learn how to move like a waterbender as Iroh is teaching him than Sokka's own motivations, but this does not explain why he watches her pauses just as intently.
Of the two, Suki appears to be the more patient—challenging with her casual stance for her opponent to make the first move. Underestimate me, she beckons. Katara is not familiar with such mind games—she doesn't recognize the strategy behind this; to anger into foolish actions. Katara has only ever seen her temper as a tool—the fuel to her determination, and what will help her stand again when both her legs are broken, for this Zuko envies her—all his anger has ever done is leave him beating his fists against walls he'd constructed due to it. There are parallels between she and him, but he wonders, darkly, if being left behind can ever compare to exile. When Katara covers his hand with hers, at night and around the campfire, he suspects that she believes it does.
(He hates her when she reaches for him, but he does not pull away.)
Katara, in a habit that infects all aspects of her life, always makes the first move, but the real battle does not begin until the second one anyway. It is all about the response, the reaction.
Thus, on the second, Suki has her by the elbow with the intention to throw her with her own momentum from the attempted punch. Katara, wise to this, goes slack in her grip, forcing Suki to support her dead weight for a moment and unbalancing her just long enough for Katara to duck down in the same movement that Suki releases her in and yank Suki's knee out from under her. She recovers into a crouch (still and tense and something like an animal—no one should be that beautiful on all fours) and makes to lunge forward and take advantage of Suki's fall just as the other girl herself uses the aid of her hands to support her as she swings her legs out and catches Katara sharply in the stomach. The Kyoshi native rolls into the rest of her fall and stands from it mostly unfazed and steady, eyeing Katara who is slightly bend over, trying to recover from the hit. Again, they have matched expressions—this time ones of careful blankness. They have moved this from a playful exercise to an excuse to work out old grudges ("You'll never replace Yue!" "—must be grateful that you have that water to fall back on if this is the extent of your abilities—" "So glad you cowards finally managed to come out your hiding hole and face the reality the rest of the world has to.") and Aang is not around this time to diffuse the fight that is rabidly building, off with Toph to prove his supposed competence in earthbending to Toph's expectations—in other words, he will not be back for quite a while now, if ever.
Sokka is shifting uncomfortably, eyes flickering from girl to girl, trying to decide how best to handle this without seeming to be on either side. Unfortunately he is not the diplomat that this situation desires and more than likely to infuriate both girls further rather than calm them. Zuko finds himself smirking in slight malice. These are tomorrow's heroes; a befuddled teenage boy and two girls ready to dissolve into a catfight.
And a shamed prince with no control, slithers a passing thought. He grits his teeth. Shut up, shut up, I have no time for this—I have a throne to claim.
Oh? Then act as you will when you have it. There is an echo of Iroh residing in his head and it, most aggravatingly, has a point. As a prince he should be trying to resolve such issues as the one before him in preparation for much grander conflicts. Yes, that's it, that is the only reason why he would condescend to include himself in such petty things. Right. (nooneshouldbethatbeautiful—Shut up.)
He clears his throat and steps forward, noticing the girls' glancing at him from the corners of their eyes, but otherwise unmoving. Sokka is, apparently, performing a interpretive dance at him that involves incoherent, flailing gestures—he is practically having a seizure trying to get across his message of "YOU WILL DIE." Zuko ignores him out of sheer pity for his lack of dignity.
A dance. That's it. This should be treated as such, then.
He approaches, heedless of warnings, and draws their full attention to him by performing a slight, curt bow. Suki raises an eyebrow, right hand falling to her hip and shifting her weight into a contemplative stance and slight amusement in the curl of her lip. He nods an acknowledge at her, passes over the gawking Sokka, and allows his eyes to rest on the wide eyes of Katara. He extends a hand.
"May I cut in?"
Suki lets out a bark of laughter before a hand flashes up to her face, instinctively hiding her grin as she would behind a fan, though the edges of her upturned lips out visible despite this action. She sweeps into her own bow, mockingly dramatic, and backs away to stand beside the convulsing Sokka. Face furiously red, he makes a move toward Zuko before Suki drops her hand from her face and ensnares his—this proves a worthy distraction and Zuko feels almost grateful that Suki has made this so much more easier for him to do than it could have been. He might've actually gone as far to say he respected her had she better taste in men.
Through this Katara has been staring at him, eyes now more slightly narrowed and mouth closed. It makes him nervous. That girl chooses now to finally be quiet? To his utter frustration, the hand at his side has begun fidgeting—worse, she notices. Zuko swallows at her softened features, clenching the traitorous hand. No one should be that beautiful just by being.
She brushes herself off and makes to retrieve her water pouch in acceptance. "No," he commands, "leave it." He could weather her storm and she, he's sure, would love to have a few burn scars so as to relate to him more (cynically, but still he can't help but think—wait, whenever has he ever bothered to pause long enough to do that?), but there is something about being out of one's element that puts them on level ground, within each others reach, and he only wants to get this close to better understand how a waterbender moves, really.
Katara is waiting. He makes the first move. What matters, now, is her answer.