"So, the roof will need to be retiled or at least rethatched before the next rain or it'll leak. There's an old pot in the hearth, but it'll need to be re-seasoned before you can cook in it. Oh, and we don't have a bath, but there is a cheap public bathhouse a couple of streets over, I think it only cost five copper to bathe and get your clothes cleaned. Also-" Yulan prattled on, but Zuko stopped listening, walking into the spare apartment to inspect it himself. The old woman shifted out of the way, shuffling in her straw sandals. "I'm sorry that we can't offer you more. No one's lived in this apartment since my sister passed several years ago, and it seems my grandchildren haven't been keeping up with the maintenance. It isn't much, but hopefully it's enough."
Well, she was certainly honest in describing it as 'not much.' The apartment was built on a somewhat flat section of the Cao's family residence's roof, effectively disconnected from the three stories below it, save for a narrow, catwalk like balcony. Seeing as Zuko didn't want to walk through an entire house of Earth Kingdom peasants, the main access was going to be the set of rickety wooden stairs that climbed up the alley-side wall of the house. Considering the state of the house, he wasn't sure if the wall was supporting the stairs, or if it was the other way around.
And that wasn't discussing the inside of the shabby, one-room shack. He didn't take off his shoes as he stepped inside. The wooden floor was dried out and splintering, the fireplace was filled with old ash, and the water basin next to the window had a large, web-like crack along the side. It was pathetic. He could already hear Azula mocking him. 'Oh Zuzu, are you enjoying your new royal residence?'
"Please, do not apologize." Uncle smiled thankfully, speaking with that same polite, friendly tone he always did. As though this was some great honor bestowed upon him. "You have already shown a great deal of kindness. Please, let Lee and I know if there is anything we may do to repay you."
Ah, that's it. This is a great honor. At least, it is for Lee and Mushi, the two homeless refugees. After all, where would they go? They have no family to speak of, no special skills, no particular stature or privilege. Without the kindness of peasants, they would just rot on the street. He ought to be thankful, for the apartment and the rusted cookpot and the dirt caking his face. He picked up the wash basin, inspecting the crack, and his lips tightened into a scowl.
"It is the least we can do. When my niece Ying mentioned that you and your nephew don't have any relatives to stay with, we couldn't just let you wander the streets." Yulan shook her head, smiling gently at Uncle. Uncle would say it was a kind gesture. Zuko could see the pity in it. "The world has been… unkind of late."
The young prince rolled his eyes. He spends only a couple of minutes alone on the train to Ba Sing Se, and in that time Uncle had managed to meet Ying, Than, Ying's sister, and her newborn child. Chatting away like old family friends. And somehow, without ever asking for it, convincing them to offer him and Zuko a room. He had to imagine that Uncle was just as devious and manipulative as Azula, or else it just made no sense. No reasonable person would just offer their home to another they just met.
Uncle nodded solemnly, stroking his beard before growing a hopeful grin. "But, now we are here. My nephew and I are simply searching for a peaceful life."
"I hope the pair of you manage to. I know that you don't have anything for tonight, so if either of you are hungry, we have some cabbage and beans simmering." The woman stepped out of the apartment, onto the catwalk back to the main residence.
"If the city is half as generous as you and your family, then it is only a matter of patience." Uncle laughed heartily, grabbing Zuko and pulling him towards the door so that Yulan could see him. "Lee, we ought to thank our host."
Uncle bowed deeply, but Prince Zuko refused to. It was beneath him.
But he wasn't Prince Zuko right now, was he? He was just some random refugee, allowed in their home thanks to kindness and ritual. And as per ritual, if a guest scorned and dishonored the host, they had no right to remain in the host's home. Splintered floors or not, it was better to be here than on the streets. Even his pride couldn't ignore the practical concerns of not having a hearth or a bed.
Making sure not to meet the old woman's eyes, Lee gave a small, polite bow. But he didn't speak. His body would make the motions of subservience as needed to maintain his cover, but his voice would not grace this façade, this impersonation of a person called Lee. He would not speak lies about himself, no more than absolutely necessary. Speaking a lie was the first step to make it true, and Zuko would not allow even the potential for Lee to become the truth.
It didn't matter what clothes he wrapped himself in, what apartment he slept in, what menial labor he would have to endure, he was Prince Zuko, rightful heir to the throne of the Firelord.
He would rather remain silent than speak words that disrespected that post.
)ooOoo(
"What's the best tea here?"
"They're all good."
"Well, what's popular?"
"I don't know."
"Then, what would you recommend?"
"… Jasmine." Zuko deadpanned. He didn't know. He didn't care. It was all hot leaf juice.
The young woman seemed to take that as good, and turned to her partner, giving him a disgustingly pleasant smile. "Well, how about jasmine, honey? Does that sound nice?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure. Dawei told me that ginseng is better for digestion."
Zuko struggled to hide his groan.
"Oh, don't listen to him, you know he's full of it."
"But what if he's right? I mean, I have been-" The man paused, suddenly distinctly aware that Zuko was standing over him. The prince glared at him. The man shifted uncomfortably.
He spoke through clenched teeth. "… Should I give you a few more minutes to decide?"
"Y-yes please."
With a gruff nod, Zuko turned, headed back to the shop counter. Dropping the stained wooden serving tray on the counter, he slipped past Uncle and through the heavy cloth noren that hid the kitchen from the customers' view. He pulled his collar away from his neck, airing out the hot sweat trapped under his heavy hemp tunic. Zuko hated the thing; it was tight in some places, rubbing against his skin as he worked, and baggy in other areas, difficult to move in. All the while, it was unbearably scratchy, and drank up his sweat like a thirsty ostrich-horse. And, like everything in this damn city, it was green.
It felt minor, almost laughably unimportant, but Zuko couldn't stand the way he looked in the dull, earthy tones that every scrap of cloth in Ba Sing Se seemed to be dyed. It drew attention to… certain things. His hand reached up, running his fingers over the stiff, leathery skin around his left eye. When everything he wore was green, the one part that was naturally red stood out more. It had too. His throat tightened.
The young prince shook his head, tossing out those thoughts, and making his way to the sink. With practiced, methodical movements, he began making his way through the pile of used teapots, cups, and dim sum saucers, letting his muscles guide him. It was simple work. Dishonorably simple, the job of the working poor. But it was also… pleasant, in its own, rustic way. It might build some callouses, and it certainly didn't involve the martial skill of the blade or bending, but it let him focus on his breathing, and at the very least he didn't have to deal with customers. He was plenty happy to let the shop owner Pao believe that it was something Lee enjoyed doing. For a while, he scrubbed away at the dishes, letting himself not think. Not worry. Just… do.
"Nephew," Zuko's peace was interrupted by Uncle pushing aside the noren, stepping into the kitchen. He was dressed in the same dull green tunic and tea-stained apron as Zuko. "I know this has been a great change for you. But please try and be more patient with customers."
Rolling his eyes, Zuko grabbed another plate, dunking it into the lukewarm water. "Uncle, I have done nothing but be patient with customers for two weeks."
"I know this is not the work you want to do. But it is good, honorable work, none the less."
Zuko glanced over his shoulder. Pao must've been in the front, taking care of customers. The two were alone in the kitchen. He gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles white, and spoke with low, sharp words "We're warriors, Uncle. Rulers. To live honorably is to live out our role, to fulfill our responsibilities."
He was a prince, a man who had been groomed since childhood to rule. Even if his father believed him unready, even if his sister thought him incapable, Zuko was a warrior, a powerful bender and a skilled swordsman, who had travelled across continents on his unending journey to earn the respect of his father. Of the court. Of his nation.
He grit his teeth, suddenly furious with himself. Why was he here? What did he hope to gain, hiding like a rat and scrubbing dishes for some nameless tea shop? It was disgraceful! Pathetic! It would be better to force his way into the palace of the Earth King, slaughtering the ruler and setting the city into a blaze of glory! He would die, there was no question, but perhaps it would do something to clear away that dishonorable stain on his-
Uncle placed a hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle. He spoke in a low tone, soft and kind. "We are whoever we choose to live as. And a life such as this, a life of simple work and simple pleasure, is plenty honorable. Please, Lee, this is our life now. You should make the most of it."
The young man took a deep, slow breath, rebalancing himself, and looked at his uncle. The man was smiling, a quiet thing, but Zuko could see worry in his dark copper eyes. Pain, too. Loss. He could almost see Lu Ten in his Uncle's eyes. A cousin he would never see again. Zuko gulped down his pride, his anger, for just a moment, and grabbed his uncle's hand. He gave it a squeeze, and his uncle squeezed back.
"I refuse to make this into a life." Zuko's words were firm, but small, unintrusive. He would escape the hum drum thrum of life in Ba Sing Se. Even if he had to hide away, skittering into the shadows of the slums to avoid his sister's pursuit and the prying eyes of Earth Kingdom police, he would never accept living like a peasant. Being a happy cog at the bottom of another nation's hierarchy. He would…
Do something. He didn't know what. But he wanted to be on the move again, to have his dao swords on his hip, to look into someone's eyes and know they respected him.
"Life can be made into countless things, Nephew. Don't worry."
)ooOoo(
Jin breathed in slowly, letting the earthy, spicy flavor of burning tobacco roll across her tongue and fill her lungs. She held it there for just a moment, just a moment more, before letting it out in a thick, dry puff. The flavor was mostly pure, simple dried leaves, ground up and rolled in a piece of paper, but if she focused, she could just make out the subtle hit of cinnamon and cloves. For a moment, she just closed her eyes, tuning out the people around her as she took another draw.
"Hey hey hey, pass it!" Liyang leaned over the table, interrupting Jin's musings. "You're letting it burn! Ya gotta share it!"
Yahui rolled her eyes. "It's not gonna turn to dust after two puffs."
"Still, let me try it!"
"Sheesh, calm down." Jin cracked opened one eye, peeking at her friend, and she could see the adamant need to try it, to test himself against this illusive party tradition. She snickered, plucking the cigarette from her lips and holding it out to him. He wasn't going to stop pestering until he'd stained his lungs for the first time anyways. He looked at the thing, enamored with the prospect of it, but before he could reach for it, Yahui plucked it from Jin's fingers, taking a hit.
"Hey! I was next!"
"You were too slow."
"But-!"
"Play nice, you two." Jin shook her head, smiling at her friends' bickering, before standing join a young man leaning against the far wall. Far from their usual hangout in the market square, the three were cramped into the small, smokey attic of an apartment building, alongside a half dozen others from the mill. It smelled of old smoke and new sweat, the small oil lamp in the middle of the room was more useful for lighting a smoke than for actually illuminating the room so late at night, and the guy with the pipa at the end of the room made sure it was plenty loud with half decent music, even if he was more focused on flirting with the girl next to him. Jin grinned, nudging the guy next to her. "Gotta say, it's a good time. Thanks for inviting us."
"Of course, I'm happy you came!" The young man turned to face her, reclining against a post and sucking on his own cigarette. Dressed in a patched up set of baggy tobi trousers and a relaxed smile, Huang was the easy, approachable type of handsome, with a pile of unruly hair and some rugged stubble. "So, whadya think of the cigs?"
"They're good! Real clean, a nice subtle taste, and just enough spices to give it some complexity." Jin gave a chef's kiss, and joined him at the post, laying her back against the side of it. "Where'd you get them? And don't say they're so good the Dai Li can't keep them out, you and I both know they'd keep them out 'cause they're good."
Clearing his throat and stiffening his posture, Huang put his hands in his sleeves. "Well, such debauchery is bound to the undoing of Ba Sing Se's moral and cultural heritage! As an esteemed member of the Dai Li, it is my duty to ensure no fun is to be had within these mighty walls!"
"Oh no, what will we mill workers do!? Soon, it will be unveiled that even dancing is yet another Fire Nation trick to sabotage and destroy Ba Sing Se!" Jin snickered, and Huang let out a snort.
"Oh don't give them the idea! I have a cousin who joined those stodgy robes, and I swear, he'd ban dancing if he got the chance!" The man rubbed his temples and shook his head, as though remembering a story, and Jin believed it. Everyone has crazy family members. "But seriously, I have a friend who brings in crates of herbs in from the outer ring for the market. The import inspectors just so happen to also have good taste, so he gives them a cut of these babies, and he's free to take the rest in to sell."
"Good gig there. I certainly can't complain." She watched the smoke rise lazily from the tip of his cigarette, and resisted the urge to pluck it from his lips. She doubted that he'd appreciate that anymore. Her gaze shifted to her friends, who were still nagging each other about their own cigarette. "Yahui, come on, let him try it! You're the adult here, be more mature."
It seemed neither of them like that comment. Jin laughed.
"So, he's your new one huh?"
"Pssh, please, I'm not dating him. He's, like, 15." Turning back to Huang, she caught just the briefest sliver of resignation in those familiar leaf-green eyes, even as he tried to hide it behind his normal grin. She gave a sad smile, stroking one of her braids and deciding not to look him in the eye. "Didn't think you were the jealous type, Huang."
He took a long, slow draw from his cigarette, before puffing it out all at once and shaking his head. "Who said anything about dating?"
Jin scowled. "What do you mean?"
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Jin, you know what I mean. You always have someone you're taking care of. Some poor lost soul."
She snorted, poking his shoulder. "Now don't you dare get on my case about that. You were one of them once."
"I know, I know." He held his hands up defensively, closing his eyes. "I mean ya no harm."
"How about you? Do you have a 'new one?'"
"Like, a girlfriend? No, no, I haven't met anyone I'm interested in."
He was lying.
The two were quiet for a few moments. He was watching Qing from across the room, a petite thing with short hair who enjoyed wild parties and strong drinks. Qing noticed, and smiled at him. And Jin watched him, trying to not notice how he sucked in a shallow breath.
Her eyes traced his square jaw, his calloused hands, his chapped lips. So very familiar, yet so very distant. A few memories bubbled up, from several years ago, when Huang had just stared working at the mill. He was a lot more awkward then, a lot less comfortable in his skin, and got lost in the back alleys of the lower ring a lot. That's how they had started talking; he needed help finding his apartment after a shift. She smiled a little, a somber little thing, and her heart felt tight.
Her fingers, just as rough and calloused as his, reached out and picked the cigarette from his lips, placing it between her own. He made a sound, maybe the beginning of a protest, but his eyes met hers, and whatever he was going to say died before she heard it. She blinked slowly, her jade eyes filled with feline focus, watching the lamplight flicker in his pupils, relishing his stare. Daring him to turn away. To look at anything, anyone else.
Selfish. Greedy. Manipulative. But she let herself not care, and blamed it on the rice wine she had drank earlier in the night.
Huang didn't break her gaze. She could see the thoughts going through his head, a dozen questions swatted down by a single answer. He waited patiently, every muscle tensed despite his lax posture. She blew out a plume of smoke, before holding the cigarette back out to him. A reward for good behavior. Huang leaned over, grabbing it with his lips, before leaning back against the post.
Part of her hated the satisfaction she felt. But the way her stomach tingled, the way her lips curled into a grin… something so intoxicating was hard to resist.
She leaned back too, her gaze shifting to her friends. "His name is Liyang. He got here from Shanglian three months ago. Doesn't like talking about it much though."
Huang coughed, readjusting to being able to speak. "Family?"
"His mother is here."
"The others?"
She hummed. It didn't need to be said, both of them knew. Burned.
He nodded somberly. "… He seems like a good kid. A bit outta his depth, but good. Keep him safe."
Jin clicked her tongue. "Excuse you, whacha think I've been doing? Crazy kid almost got himself killed his first week at the mill, wore some loose robes while fixing the loom. Jiao is the only reason his arm didn't get infected. I wish anyone other than me would keep an eye out for him."
"I'll try my best. He's only a row or two behind me." Huang chuckled, a dry, uncertain sound that wasn't fully focused on the topic at hand. Looking back at him, Jin noticed him waving down the musician. "Hey man, pass!"
The other guy, someone Jin had seen a dozen times but didn't quite remember the name of, handed off the pipa to Huang before continuing his conversation with a few of the others. Huang held the pear-shaped lute with easy familiarity, settling it in his lap before making a low whistle to tune it off of. After a moment, though, he closed his eyes, starting to play. It was a slow song. Slow, and a little sad, even without words, but his fingers moved with a careful speed, hooking each string with just the right amount of pressure to make it ring out clear and beautiful. No one but her paid attention, but Jin suspected that he didn't care. She didn't.
She smiled. "You've been practicing."
"Yep." His words were small, uncertain. "I remember you liked the pipa. Particularly the old, finger style music."
"All for me? How flattering." Jin smiled even wider, resting a hand on his thigh.
His face was red, but when she looked at him, he couldn't look away.
Even as her friends started to leave, she stayed right next to Huang, listening to him play. The lamp ran low on oil, and their cigarettes had long since been spent, discarded in an ash tray, but so long as he was strumming a tune, Jin couldn't find it in herself to leave. Of course, when Huang left, she was sure to join him. After all, he might've needed help finding his apartment again.
)ooOoo(
The alley stank. It was narrow, like the ravines of the southern deserts, and even with the bright lights of the nearby night market, it was still swamped with shadows, all but the faintest hints of light captured by poorly built overhangs and improvised balconies. Meanwhile, at the bottom, broken bottles, rotten food scraps, and literal shit gathered like leaf litter. It stunk of neglect and disease.
Zuko squatted on a stone stoop behind the tea shop, his apron thrown over his shoulder as he half sipped, half chewed on a bowl of boiled barley slop. He looked down at the colorless, tasteless, lukewarm sludge in his bowl with hatred. He wanted to throw it at the wall, its very existence in his mouth an insult to his heritage. But the thing had cost a copper yuan, and as much as he hated it, he didn't have the cash to spend on frivolities like acceptable food. So, he just kept quiet and choked down some more gruel.
When he lived in the royal palace as a young teen, his favorite food had been steamed buns filled with Komodo-chicken, garlic, ginger, and fresh peppers. Living on his ship, he had to eat simpler and hardier, but shredded potatoes stir fried with enough fermented chilis and vinegar to make his nose run clean was undeniably delicious. Whatever he ate needed to flavor the bed of rice he ate with it, and Fire Nation to his bones, he wanted it fiery hot, pungently fragrant, acidic, numbing, sweet, sour, oily, so strongly flavored that he could not ignore the punch in the face if he tried.
But this? He chewed on the stuff, grinding it between his teeth just enough to force the mush down his throat. It didn't taste. Not good, not bad, nothing at all. It had no taste whatsoever. And that, that emptiness, that nondescription, that was far worse than just tasting bad. After all, bad food simply failed to serve its role on a menu. Tasteless food had no role on a menu regardless.
Sighing, he pushed himself up, dumping the mostly empty bowl onto the ground. He had a shift to get back to.
He hated barley porridge. And he hated living in Ba Sing Se.
)ooOoo(
The first thing Jin felt that morning was Huang's breathing. A slow, stead rise, a slow, steady fall. Up and down, up and down. It was… relaxing. She snuggled into his chest, wrapping herself in his smell and basking in the mid-morning light that poured through his cramped apartment window. His blankets were scratchy, and the apartment had a draft, but his skin was so soft and his arms were so warm, wrapped around her.
A hand reached down, running through her messy hair. "Spirits, I missed you."
She giggled, opening one eye and peering up at Huang. "I could tell." Parts of her were still tingling, despite the tired fog of sleep lingering over her.
"I… I satisfied you?"
"Very much. You're very thorough." She separated from his grasp, and he reached out for her, but she pushed his hands away, hauling herself on top of his naked body. She stared into his eyes, drinking in his weakness and vulnerability, the soft core hidden away by his façade of relaxed humor and easy smiles, before placing a kiss on his nose. "Good boy."
Oh, how she loved watching him turn crimson. She loved it just as much now as she did that first time, years ago. She had never enjoyed wine, the few times she had had it, but looking at him now, older, but somehow the same, Jin understood what they meant when they said it got better with age.
He coughed, pushing her off and getting out of the bed. She let him, sliding onto the bed and wrapping herself in his blankets.
Huang glanced at her, and then looked away. "… I need to go clean up."
"Have fun." Jin watched him flee the room, bound for the apartment's public bath.
For several minutes, she just laid there, taking her time to stretch and wake up. When was the last time she had spent a night with Huang? She couldn't remember. Was it before they broke up? That had been, what, two years? two and a half? She couldn't remember. Either way, it seemed he still had a good memory for what she enjoyed. And she remembered his tastes well. She prided herself on her memory for people, after all.
After a while, though Jin didn't bother keeping track of how long, she crawled out of the bed, putting back on her tunic and washing her face with a small basin just in time for Huang to get back from the baths. He seemed a bit less frazzled than before, properly dressed and a good deal more awake, but she could still sense anxiety. It was subtle, but she knew him well enough to know that he only shaved when he was worried.
She lounged on his bed, running a wooden brush through her hair. "What's wrong?"
"Are we, uh, ya know… a thing again?" Huang sat at the foot of the bed, smiling nervously.
Jin scowled, and sighed. Right. Of course that's what he thought, she couldn't be upset at that. And she had been greedy last night. She had been greedy and jealous. The image of Qing smiling at him filled Jin's head, and her chest tightened. "Huang, we broke up for a reason. I enjoyed last night, I enjoyed spending it with you, but that's different than being together."
"But…" He trailed off, and she watched his hopes deflate. His uncertain little smile died.
God, she's awful. She knows she's awful. They broke up years ago, she made her peace with that, but the moment she saw Huang might have someone else there to snatch him up…
"… Look, Qing is obviously interested in you too." She avoided his gaze, wiping the corners of her eyes. They stung. "Take your shot, have your fun. She'll be there for it. Trust me."
"What if who I want is you?" His voice was shaking.
Deep breath. Deep breath. "Huang, do you remember why we broke up?"
"You mean, why you dumped me."
"… Yeah." She could hear the shame in his words. The hurt. It didn't take much for her to remember what it had been like in the weeks after, the months after, when they would see each other and not talk. When she would have to remember that she wouldn't get to tell him things, to spend time with him, to do what they enjoyed doing together again. If he had felt half of what she did, the scars were still there, however deep. And Jin knew he had felt it a lot worse than she had. At least she was able to be angry with him at the time.
"Because I upset you. Because I made the wrong choice."
"No. Because we're not the same." Setting down the brush, Jin curled her legs to her chest, hugging them. It wasn't that he made the wrong choice. It's that he thought the decision was even a valid one. Huang was friendly. Funny. Relaxing. But he was not… strong willed. Not when it mattered. And when someone loses an arm to the loom, it matters.
Huang squeezed his fists, and his voice hardened. "Jin, you can't save everyone."
She clenched her jaw. "Huang, we have to try."
"She was too injured, too far gone." There was an exhaustion in his voice, a tiredness from repeating the same point over and over that Jin hated. "Even if we could've kept her alive, she would've been a cripple for the rest of her life. And cripples starve."
"Not if we feed them!" He didn't get it. He didn't understand at all. It wasn't about whether or not they could succeed. Whether they could've saved that mill worker. It was about the fact that that was a human being, and she deserved a chance to live at least! Jin could still see it, the pool of blood on the dirty stone floor. The woman's pleading, her gasping, her tears. The ripping and tearing of human flesh in spinning metal gears, the unending ping-ping-ping of the loom's shuttle even as someone was dying. And all the while, Huang did nothing. Less than nothing, he stopped her from running to help. Jin was yelling, screaming without even realizing it. Scar tissue was soft, and easy to reopen. "You let her bleed out on the factory floor! You didn't even try!"
"And where would we have gotten the money, huh?" Huang was yelling back at her waving his arms, but Jin couldn't see clearly through her tears. "I have to keep myself fed, and so do you! Were you gonna summon enough food for everyone outta thin air? Bend stone into bread?"
"The fact we can have this argument is exactly why we can't be together anymore!" That was it. That was the end of the conversation. The point was made. Nothing else mattered. She pushed herself off the bed, walking towards the door. "I care about people. And I wish you did too."
"You know what they say about you, Jin? You know why everyone's so nice to you?" Huang shot up, his words a mess and snot running from his nose. "Because you're easy! You're a naïve little slut, better than a cheap hooker because all someone has to pay you is some pretty words!"
She swallowed her words. She didn't want to hurt him more. She didn't want to hurt anymore. This was all her fault anyways.
"All it took was some cheap cigarettes and a stupid song to make you fall over yourself to suck my dick! Everyone at the mill knows that! That's why they put up with you, with your preaching, with every lost soul you bring to the mill for a job, every stupid little moral line you lay down in the sand that everyone knows will just end with you hungry and homeless in a ditch! The only reason you're not there already is because you brother puts up with your antics! But not me! Not anymore!"
Say nothing. Just leave. She shouldn't have been here.
But she had been too greedy. After all, she acted like Huang was still hers, even though she had been the one to throw him out.
"Yeah, run off!"
Jin shut the door behind her.
)ooOoo(
"A table for two, waiter."
He knew that snide voice. Zuko turned, balancing a trayful of tea cups and looking towards the teahouse entrance. He scowled.
"Oh my, what a surprise." Jet stood there, a wide shit-eating grin stretched across his face. He was dressed in the same metal and leather scraps as on the boat to Ba Sing Se, his jerry-rigged hook-swords on his hip, and next to him was the young woman he had been travelling with. Zuko couldn't remember her name, but he recognized the vicious sneer.
"… Sit wherever." He didn't have time for this. It had been bad enough when he had been trapped on a ship over, but he had tables to serve. Carrying the tray to its proper table, he began to set out the cups of green tea and mantou buns.
The two wandered to the back of the shop, sitting in the seat next to the kitchen, and waited. The woman at least pretended to be reading a menu, but Jet didn't bother, leaning back and watching Zuko move back and forth across the shop.
It seemed Jet wanted his attention. Or rather, was demanding it. Zuko snorted, and ignored them. There were plenty of customers, enough for him to remain busy and never make eye contact with either of the uninvited guests. He moved quickly, deliberately, always making sure to be taking care of another customer or fetching something from the kitchen whenever he passed near the pair. Let them get tired and leave, or get served by the other server on shift. Zuko didn't care.
Several minutes passed. Several more. An hour. The sun started to get low, throwing warm orange light down the narrow streets of the lower ring and casting long, thin shadows. Dinner rush came and went. Whenever the other waiter went to help them, Jet waved her off. The sky got dark, and the lantern-lighters came by, preparing the square for the evening market. And all the while, the pair sat there, waiting.
Finally, as the night market opened and the teahouse emptied except for a few scattered patrons. Zuko had no excuse. The other server had the other tables handled. So, he headed to the back, grabbing a broom, and began to sweep the kitchen's cracked and dusty tile floor.
"You're stubborn as a mule-ox, huh? Just gonna ignore Smellerbee and I?" Jet walked through the noren, striding into the kitchen and leaning against the wall next to Zuko, his friend right behind him. "Lee, right?"
The young prince didn't look at him, continuing to sweep. "It's been over a month. Why did you spend all this time following me?"
"Hmph, following you? Please, we freedom fighters are busy. I decided to track you down a couple of days ago." Jet snorted, pulling out a handmade cob pipe and stuffing a bit of tobacco into it. "You got a light?"
Zuko didn't respond. Jet shrugged, walking over to the kettle and grabbing a box of matches. Striking one, he lit his pipe, before tossing the match in the sink. He took a puff, and a plume of smoke rolled out of his mouth, gathering along the ceiling. He held out the pipe, offering it to Zuko.
The young prince glanced at it, then glared at Jet. "I said I didn't want to be part of your little gang. Not my scene."
"And this is?" Jet furrowed his eyebrows, gesturing around the hot, dirty, kitchen. "You're sweeping a damn teahouse."
His fists clenched the broom, but Zuko didn't say a word. Yeah, he knew, Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation was working a tea counter and scrubbing plates. And by the spirits he hated it. But he wasn't going to confess that to Jet of all people.
"I don't know your past. I'm not gonna pretend to, and I'm not gonna ask. We all got our scars." The former bandit leaned against the sink, but Zuko could see in his eyes that he wasn't relaxed. They were too sharp. Too focused. "I don't know if you're a former soldier, or a headhunter, or a monk on the run with your elderly mentor. But what I do know is that you're more than just some punk with a set of hand-me-down swords. You're the real deal."
Jet sat there, sipping more smoke out of his pipe and waiting for Zuko to respond. Instead, the prince turned to Smellerbee, cocking an eyebrow. "… I thought you said you were going straight."
She just gave a sad shrug, taking a puff of the pipe before handing it back to Jet. "Can't go straight in a crooked town."
"Look, Lee. You, me, her, we're not like these folks." Jet leaned forward, wrapping and arm around Zuko's shoulders. "They go their whole lives doing jack shit, working two-bit jobs, eating cabbage and barley stew, sleeping in shit apartments every night. And they're happy with it. Satisfied, even, as people starve in the streets, the Earth King chokes on caviar, and the Fire Nation burns down towns."
Yeah, he got it. It's not a secret. It was plastered on the damn walls. His nose crinkled, catching a nasty whiff of Jet's smoke. It was sticky and acrid, and burnt his eyes. "So, what are you going to do about it?"
Jet grinned, like he felt something tug at the fishing line. "You, me, Smellerbee, we ain't the same. We're built different. I can see it in your eyes, that fire. You want more. And it's in your blood, your bones, to do more. This peasant life ain't for you."
"Get to the point."
"Over the past few weeks, Smellerbee, Longshot, and I have started working with… A charitable organization, shall we say. A good guy named Jiao, has his main business of course, but on the side, he distributes food and medicine. We freedom fighters have taken up the role of, ah-" He took a moment, searching for the most polite word. "-acquisitions."
"I'm not interested."
"Hey, hey, no reason to answer now." Jet patted his back, slipping a card into Zuko's hand as he stepped away. "Just think about it. I'll know your answer when you show up."
And with that, Jet strode out the door, followed by Smellerbee. She paused at the threshold, giving Zuko a curt nod. "See ya, Lee. Stay safe."
He scowled, and looked down at the card. Just a store name and a time, scrawled by a hand not used to holding a brush. 'Qun Family Apothecary.'
Zuko set the broom down, watching the smoke dissipate as the pair left. He could still smell it.