ARC ONE: MIND

The Third Chapter

Sanity

I weigh the bag in my pocket. Half in the punch, half in the salsa, Boomerang had said. Then they would be just woozy enough…

It's funny, actually, how easily I got in. Dress in red and am automatically assumed to be one of Azula's lackeys. As long as I avoid the Princess herself, I should be safe.

Strolling through the crowded mansion of a home, I look for the refreshments. Hopefully, Flighty stayed outside like he was supposed to. He's awfully conspicuous.

Suddenly, a hand falls on my shoulder; I turn around slowly with a feeling of anticipation and foreboding. Has someone recognized me?

"Care to dance?"

I stare at the proffered hand, the golden eyes, the black hair. The flaming scar. Shit. Bile rises up in my throat.

"Um – Zuko, is it?" I ask weakly.

"Yes." His eyes, so intense, are facing me like – like – a lion. Oh, god how I hate Zuko Agni. How I hate all Agnis. But for the sake of pretense –

I take his hand.

Smoothly he pulls me towards him and we fall into a waltz. I don't know the steps. I've never had any reason to learn, living on the streets. On the move. But Zuko leads, one arm around my waist – ugh – and the other clutching my hand. My left hand is resting on his shoulder.

"For a friend of Azula, you aren't a great dancer," he comments.

I narrow my eyes. Way to get a girl, retard, I want to say. And I'm no friend of hers. But I can't blow my cover. Boomerang would have my head.

I spot the table of refreshments just as the song is ending.

"Thank you," I say hastily, attempting to get away; but Zuko sweeps me into yet another dance. I curse under my breath at thee sensual music. The tango.

Well, at least it's something I can do, I reason as my hated enemy leads me across the dance floor. It's all about structure. And we dance.

Each round, I count the steps in my mind. Step, two, three. Look back; forward. Step, two, three. Dip. A blush floods my face as Zuko stares at me for a brief second, then spins me away.

The song ends and I notice everyone watching us.

Damnit. That's the last thing I need – all the attention to be centered on me. Boomerang is probably wondering what's taking so long. Hastily I curtsy and stride away into the cluster of chatting guests, attempting to melt away. I find the beverage bowl and reach into my pocket, every-hated these stupid fancy clothes that Jet insisted on. Hands shaking, I tear open the packet – why are they shaking? This is nothing I haven't done before! Damn – and dump most of the contents into the punch. The white powder dissolves almost instantly. I sprinkle the remainder into the adjacent bowl of green salsa and pocket the scrap of paper, my job done. I turn around, thinking, now I just have to wait.

A warm hand grabs my wrist.