Seating Arrangements – Reprise


"Name?"

The peasant had to ask?

"Ozai."

"Ozai… ah, father of the groom. Very nice. Congratulations."

"Thank you." He replied flatly.

"Let's see… you're at table nine. Would you mind signing the banner and guestbook first?" The young man gestured at the red satin tablecloth set out for guests to ink their names on. It was accompanied by a gilt-edged book of good wishes.

"I'll do that later," he added: "Thank you."

"Enjoy the evening." The young man at the table waved him off indifferently, talking to the next person in line. The ex-Fire Lord decided that if he ever found out who that impudent whelp was, he'd have him flayed, drawn, and quartered, then served in a pie.

Fortunately for the impudent whelp, Ozai was too happy to bother to remember.

Ozai muzzily weaved around the myriad tables, each foot carefully placing itself in front of the other while he kept his eye trained on the centerpiece that had a big number "9" on it. His table was near the front of the reception hall. He knew the servants had doubled the Firebending suppressant drug when he got up that morning, but he didn't know it would last this long, or affect him the way it was. It was like the angry, rabid tiger within him had been muzzled and bound and thrown into a soundproof cell in his chest to writhe and roar ineffectually. He watched the world as though through someone else's eyes, sensing his surroundings with numbed sight, smell, taste, touch, and hearing. His body was a slave to the drug. He could think like Ozai, the indignant father of the groom who had been prisoner in his own palace dungeon for the past two years, but none of his thoughts connected to his feelings or the rest of his dangerous body. It was extremely disconcerting to the ex-Fire Lord that his mind, heart and flesh were not in sync, and it only soured his thoughts further, whipping his imprisoned soul into a turbulent froth.

For one, he felt almost happy for his stupid weakling of a son. He didn't feel like killing anyone, especially not his fat, lazy traitor of a brother, and certainly not his treacherous prodigy of a daughter. He didn't feel like snapping the neck of the lovely bride, or beheading her kin; and even the Avatar looked like a happy little imp of a boy scooting around on that ball of air. The ex-Fire Lord blithely wondered if the Air monk would be willing to let him try that air scooter thingy too…

"Hi!" A voice called to him. "Sitting at table nine?"

Ozai hazily looked down. His feet had magically carried him to the table without even realizing it. "Uh… yeah."

"I'm Koko," the young girl smiled. "I'm from Kyoshi Island. These are my friends, but you can call them the Twinkies. What's your name?"

"Ozai," he replied shortly. He couldn't keep a stupid grin from spreading over his face. The word "Twinkies" kept playing over and over through his thoughts and as he surveyed the gaggle of giggling girls. They were dressed in frilly blue frocks, their locks curled and piled on their heads messily. Their noses were powdered, their lips painted, and a generous sprinkling of sparkles made them glisten in the warm lamplight. They looked for all the world like candied fruits. It made Ozai chuckle as he repeated the word "Twinkie" to himself.

"Well, have a seat, Mr. Ozai," Koko patted the chair next to her and the Firebender obediently sat down. The girls all shyly beamed at him, and he wondered what was so funny.

"Mr. Ozai, can I ask you a question?" One Twinkie sang coyly. He nodded dumbly.

"Um… why aren't you wearing a shirt?" Her cheeks went bright red and she hid her face. The other girls tittered and blushed and Ozai gazed back at them, unable to wipe the grin from his face.

"It's hot in the Fire Nation, and I'm a Firebender. I never wear a shirt if I can help it. My son's wedding is no exception."

"You're Zuko's dad?" Koko asked incredulously. "Wow. Now we know where he gets his good looks from!"

Ozai beamed. In any other state, he would have flambéd the Twinkies on the spot and eaten them for dinner. He would have hung them all upside-down by their ankles and publicly whipped them for being too cute. He would have released them into the sparring arena and set a pair of ferocious sabretooth mongoose cheetahs on them just to see which one would outlast the others, and then flambé and eat her.

But he was too damn happy at that moment to do anything but sit and smile. Instead, he laughed and basked in the girls' doe-eyed admiration.

I think I might actually have some fun tonight, he mused to himself confusedly, whilst the madness within him howled and raged against its cage of drugged stupor.