Disclaimer: I neither own this song nor A:TLA. But I own this witty comment! Oh wait…
Curious.
Curious indeed.
She didn't really know what she was going to do.
Her latest superstar had left her out in the dust, filing that pesky restraining order.
Goodness gracious.
Seriously, it's not like she screamed in his face or something.
But that was beside the point.
She needed a new obsession; otherwise, she got…antsy.
Started doing things she normally wouldn't consider.
So, as she sat at that little café on the corner of the street, stirring her coffee with extra cream, she saw something she became interested in.
A boy—a rather dorky looking boy, what with that ponytail—standing on the stage.
He was singing.
It was actually rather beautiful, the song, his voice, and his face.
His golden eyes were perfectly complemented by the hideous, almost-but-not-quite repulsive, angry red scar on the left side of his face.
She smiled as she stared.
Here was a young singer out to start his career in the vicious world of the famous.
And she would be the faithful to him until he either broke, or placed the restraining order.
So far, she had 42.
*oOo*
Curious.
Curious indeed.
As much as she wanted to, she just couldn't do it.
She could not sell the picture of them. It had no price.
This could be that he wasn't well known enough—his band, Black Snow, was only known in their local area.
She was in the small group of fan girls, ran the club and everything. She was the first to notice him, to adore him, to stare at him like he was a piece of meat…etcetera.
Oh well. She would wait until he was more well-known, then it would sell.
*oOo*
Curious.
Curious indeed.
She didn't really understand it, but after careful nudging, the ponytail came out and the sexy hair came in, and suddenly, he was attractive. Funny how much impact hair can have. Completely and totally changed his entire image. The leather and jeans didn't do anything bad for it either. Nothing bad at all.
She hadn't really thought of all of her previous pop stars quite like him. They had just been a good way to make money.
Of course, she acted the crazy fan girl, out to marry and have five billion children, but she was never really serious about that.
Except for now.
Huh.
Reporters had it the worst.
*oOo*
Curious.
Curious indeed.
There he was, surrounded by the crowd of reporters—the leeches dressed in jeans.
She was different.
Her relationships with her celebrities were more…symbiotic than parasitic.
He had gone from a nobody to a somebody in a matter of months.
And thanks to who? Thanks to her, of course.
She was there. She was always there. Shadowing his footsteps. Waiting backstage. Never revealing herself.
And she couldn't help it.
She loved him.
A freelance reporter, she sold her stories and pictures to whatever magazine, newspaper, or news station would buy for the highest price. And she was that good.
Normally, she would have shown herself long ago, getting as many pictures as possible in a go, getting as close as possible to the latest pop star, but something inside her couldn't do it.
She loved him.
She didn't want that 43rd restraining order.
She didn't want to face her 43rd rejection.
So she stayed behind.
She watched as he cycled through girlfriends, watched as everyone reported it except for her.
And she watched as he crashed and burned with each girl, apparently trying to please each one, and ending up never pleasing any.
*oOo*
Curious.
Curious indeed.
He was walking up to her, the strangest expression on his face.
It was an odd mixture of amusement, frustration, and longing.
And she thought she had hidden herself pretty well among this crowd of flashing lights and personal questions.
Apparently not.
"Why don't you come inside where it's quiet?"
She blinked.
"W-what?"
He just smiled and pushed her through the door of the club, around a corner, and into a broom closet.
Oh dear.
"That's better. Now, would you care to explain?"
She was completely lost.
"Explain what?"
"Explain why I seem to see you wherever I go? From where I started in that little coffee shop to here?"
"I'm a reporter, it's what I do."
"I think there's more to it than that. I think there is something else behind your motives than a good story and a few pictures."
She looked up and to the side, in a picture of innocence.
"Maaaybe…"
"Mmhm, that's what I thought. C'mon, there's more to it than that."
"Well, why should I add another girl confession of love to the ever-growing pile of girls already doing so?"
He just raised an eyebrow. She continued.
"Besides, it's not like we even know each other."
His smile grew a little larger.
"Your favorite color is red. You like your coffee with extra cream. You prefer the rain and the cold to hot and dry. You always like being right. You are very well set in your beliefs. When you're angry at someone, you first try the rational approach, and if that doesn't work you explode. You are a worry wart. You are a sucker for bad boys. You…I could go on."
She was stunned. How did he…? Never mind.
She could beat that.
"Your favorite color is blue, despite what the tabloids say. You have a short-temper, but really do try for your fans to keep a cool head. You haven't been able to keep a steady relationship because all the girls you date want you to please them. Temperate forests are your favorite climate with a mixture of sun and rain. When you are angry at someone, you explode without trying anything else. You have an honor/daddy complex—seriously, get over it, your dad's opinion is a stupid one. Your uncle is the only person besides your mother you ever really love in your family. Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera."
She was rather smug. She totally beat him in 'I-know-more-about-you-than-you-do-about-me'.
But instead of him being as stunned as she had been, he just smiled wider—if that were possible—and wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her closer.
She stared up into his golden eyes.
"Well then, I guess you can't claim that we don't even know each other."
Her breath came short and shallow.
"No, I guess not."
And no more words were said in that particular broom closet at that particular club.
The paparazzi were most distressed to find that, no matter where their inside agent went, they couldn't find Zuko anywhere.
Or Katara, ace reporter, for that matter.
Curious.
Curious indeed.
Song: Paparazzi by Lady Gaga
Hee hee. I liked this one. And I also liked writing it. Even if this one was not very close to the song, but I didn't have much to work with. I think I got the gist of it though. Please Review!