"Let me get this straight: you peel it half way, scalp the top, and then suck on it? That is so uncivilized."
"Right. Can I have your share then?"
"What share? We've got a whole bowl of them; what are you planning to do, eat your weight in oranges? Hn. Then again, considering the shrimp in question it wouldn't take much, would it—hey!"
"Oops, sorry, did it squirt you? Gosh, oh my, how clumsy of me, your highness."
"…You're such a brat. Uncle should teach you better manners."
"Right after he teaches you patience and how to pull your nose out of the air?"
"I can be patient. I can be patient like anything. For example, I'm patiently watching you mangle an orange like a blind monkey with a chisel."
"I'm peeling."
"You're terrible at it."
"Am not!"
"Are too. Totally."
"Am not—hey, give that back! It's mine!"
"It's Uncle's, and does he know you're stealing priceless antique daggers to brutalize innocent fruit?"
"Because Master Iroh worries about that sort of thing so much. I'll just say the ghost of the eastern tearoom stole it to wage war with the ghost of the upstairs left closet over the right to court the spirit princess of the celadon sugar bowl."
"Nobody in their right mind would believe a word of that."
"And neither will Master Iroh. But it'll make him smile."
"…which is why you made it up."
"Yep. Can I have the knife back now?"
"Dagger."
"Sharp pointy thing with the pretty hilt. Please."
"No. Shut up and pay attention; this is how humans do it. Don't curl your whole hand over the hilt; keep it loose enough to move the wrist freely, to keep the blade mobile. Here, give me your hand—like this, see? Firm, but quick. Don't fuss with it: never hold a weapon, if you don't know what you're going to do with it."
"You sound like a teacher."
"Because I'm teaching you—"
"I meant one of your teachers, the ones in the palace. The mean looking ones that never smile at you, or congratulate you, or anything."
"I don't need their praise; I need to be strong. What difference does it make to you, anyway? Just because Uncle fawns over every stupid calligraphy scrawl and the brainless poem you parrot during tea like—Katara, wait! Where are you going?"
"To find my ink stone and throw it at your big head."
"What about the oranges?"
"I'm not hungry."
"But it was your dumb idea to order them in the first place."
"I don't care; eat them till your eyes sting and your hair turns yellow!"
"What is that supposed to mean—Katara! Come back here; that's an order!"
"I don't care!"
"You really are a peasant! Fine. Go hide under your books and teacups; sooner or later one or the other will fall and squash you flat like a magg—ow, damn it."
"What are you—oh. You're bleeding, oh, wow, you're really, really bleeding."
"Yeah. Isn't it amazing? Whatever. Close your mouth, it's only a little nick—what are you doing?"
"Nothing amazing. Come on, give me your hand."
"I said it's only a little—oh, fine. Here."
"Thank you. Now, hold still. I mean it, no wriggling."
"I don't wriggle. And you're going to ruin that sleeve completely; silk stains easily."
"Like you know a whit about laundry, Prince Zuko. Besides I like my handkerchief more than I like this robe; the handkerchief is luckier. Oh, stop frowning and relax. It'll be fine; blood washes out easier than chocolate, you know."
"Actually, I didn't."
"I figured."
"Shut up. Are you done yet?"
"Almost, just let me—ok, there. Clean and clear. It's probably going to sting for a while, though."
"Not probably: definitely. So much for handling oranges."
"Unless you peel it half way, scalp the top, and then suck on it. No juice on your fingers that way."
"…you really are a brat."
"Yep. Pass the knife and I'll think about forgiving you. Maybe."
"Like I care. Here."
"Thanks."
"..."
"..."
"...Katara?"
"Still thinking."
"It's not as if I mean it that way, you know—"
"I know."
"...right. Careful with the knife."
"I am."
"Just saying."
"Prince Zuko?"
"...yes?"
"I forgive you. Ok, this one is done; ready to give it a try?"
"...sure. Katara?"
"Uh-huh?"
"Thank you. For the orange, I mean. This is—it's sweet."
"I think so too."
Author's Note: Written as part of a creampuff birthday piece called "dates" for darkchan a.k.a. She of the Amazing Icon Making Powers. Unfortunately, I have yet to finish the rest of it. I suck at gift giving, really.