[ he should've been expecting this. although he suspected azula had only replied to alice to stir her up, to somehow be unfair and unkind, he wonders, by her message now, if she had gone about expressing her own concern all wrong. still, he isn't so sure of her motivations. zuko isn't so sure if he ever has been. ]
[ zuko sighs. ] Why do you care, Azula? You don't even know Alice. You don't even know those children.
[Sure. She'd partly wanted to just cause trouble. But there was also... something she couldn't quite name. Something strange that had just made her angry. Made her want a fight.]
Think about it--
Father and Mother die in a war. We're removed from a ruined home. And put under a stranger's care. Even if we're well taken care of.
No news about the war. No sign anyone's doing anything.
How would you feel?
I'd be angry at everyone. The idea that no one cares.
[It's strange. Because there's so much about her that she can't put a word to. That she can't express.]
And what if the war comes to them?
War doesn't care if you're a child or not. And they won't know a thing about what's going on. Can't prepare. Can't even plan to run.
[She doesn't like it. Being this angry over something she can't name. Maybe it's the idea of no one caring. Or having ignorance forced upon you. She took Ba Sing-Se with little bloodshed and few causalities. But that isn't the normal Fire Nation way.
Even if she didn't disapprove, there's something that makes her sick about not knowing. About it being kept from them. But if the Fire Nation had broken through the walls? They wouldn't have spared children just because they were young.
Or the idea that no one cared. Letting children think they weren't noticed outside of this one woman. Maybe a few others if she let them visit. But to hear nothing of the war that had killed their families? She'd have been furious at the world. And, upon learning that she'd been lied to for her own "protection"? Furious at the woman.
That others might think differently...
Well, 'other people' is never something she's been good at.]
How would you have reacted? If you were one of these children?
[ zuko wants to press his palm to his head. he refrains from doing so, knowing he'll hit himself too loud and she'll hear the smack of his palm against his temple. this isn't a conversation he wants to have; it's one that's too revealing, of himself, of her. he'd rather she forgo even wanting to talk to him about it, instead opting to simply roll over and give up on trying to convince alice of something she doesn't want to consider. ]
[ if mother and father were dead, he'd still have azula. ]
[ he's quiet for a long time. instead of slapping his forehead, he pinches the bridge of his nose. ]
I wouldn't be angry. [ he would be, but what azula describes, what she's trying to paint for him — he thinks it's to be from a girl who thinks she's completely alone. maybe he's reading into it too much, maybe he's trying to analyse her motivations for even caring about orphans who zuko knows to be too young to comprehend the very being of war, but he finds that he pinches the bridge of his nose not to prevent a headache from banging on his temple, but to try and withhold himself from even speaking. ]
[ it fails, of course. he knows she'll push and prod and pry until he relents and answers her. ]
If Mother and Father had died. If Uncle wasn't there to look after us. I wouldn't be angry if someone took us in and kept us shielded from the war. [ sometimes he tries to imagine a life where he had been, left in the dark about lu ten, shielded from the true nature of his own world. he thinks they had been exposed to too much of it at once. his voice only lowers, ] I'd still have you.
[ even though he doubts she'd care about him, even in this hypothetical world where that could even be possible. ]
[The repetition is almost bitter. Angry. But in a strangely quiet, sedated way. Like something brewing inside, a storm waiting to unleash its lightning.]
The sister who's put you through so much since the day she was born.
[She can't forget those words. The feeling of the ground against her back as she was pulled down. Thrown, in a way. And that it was him who'd done it. Who'd confirmed that, from day one, he'd been against her. That, like their mother, he'd not really wanted her around.
Destroying everything she was. From the very beginning.
She'd had enemies since that very day.]
This conversation is over.
[And... there goes the locket.
...And the ceramic jug on her nightstand that the imps keep filled with water to wash her hair. It smashes against the wall, and the sound helps only for a moment.]
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Aug 20th, late afternoon : voice
She's not helping them, you know. Not by keeping them ignorant about the way the war's going.
Aug 20th, late afternoon : voice
[ zuko sighs. ] Why do you care, Azula? You don't even know Alice. You don't even know those children.
Aug 20th, late afternoon : voice
[Sure. She'd partly wanted to just cause trouble. But there was also... something she couldn't quite name. Something strange that had just made her angry. Made her want a fight.]
Think about it--
Father and Mother die in a war. We're removed from a ruined home. And put under a stranger's care. Even if we're well taken care of.
No news about the war. No sign anyone's doing anything.
How would you feel?
I'd be angry at everyone. The idea that no one cares.
[It's strange. Because there's so much about her that she can't put a word to. That she can't express.]
And what if the war comes to them?
War doesn't care if you're a child or not. And they won't know a thing about what's going on. Can't prepare. Can't even plan to run.
[She doesn't like it. Being this angry over something she can't name. Maybe it's the idea of no one caring. Or having ignorance forced upon you. She took Ba Sing-Se with little bloodshed and few causalities. But that isn't the normal Fire Nation way.
Even if she didn't disapprove, there's something that makes her sick about not knowing. About it being kept from them. But if the Fire Nation had broken through the walls? They wouldn't have spared children just because they were young.
Or the idea that no one cared. Letting children think they weren't noticed outside of this one woman. Maybe a few others if she let them visit. But to hear nothing of the war that had killed their families? She'd have been furious at the world. And, upon learning that she'd been lied to for her own "protection"? Furious at the woman.
That others might think differently...
Well, 'other people' is never something she's been good at.]
How would you have reacted? If you were one of these children?
Aug 20th, late afternoon : voice
[ if mother and father were dead, he'd still have azula. ]
[ he's quiet for a long time. instead of slapping his forehead, he pinches the bridge of his nose. ]
I wouldn't be angry. [ he would be, but what azula describes, what she's trying to paint for him — he thinks it's to be from a girl who thinks she's completely alone. maybe he's reading into it too much, maybe he's trying to analyse her motivations for even caring about orphans who zuko knows to be too young to comprehend the very being of war, but he finds that he pinches the bridge of his nose not to prevent a headache from banging on his temple, but to try and withhold himself from even speaking. ]
[ it fails, of course. he knows she'll push and prod and pry until he relents and answers her. ]
If Mother and Father had died. If Uncle wasn't there to look after us. I wouldn't be angry if someone took us in and kept us shielded from the war. [ sometimes he tries to imagine a life where he had been, left in the dark about lu ten, shielded from the true nature of his own world. he thinks they had been exposed to too much of it at once. his voice only lowers, ] I'd still have you.
[ even though he doubts she'd care about him, even in this hypothetical world where that could even be possible. ]
Aug 20th, late afternoon : voice
[The repetition is almost bitter. Angry. But in a strangely quiet, sedated way. Like something brewing inside, a storm waiting to unleash its lightning.]
The sister who's put you through so much since the day she was born.
[She can't forget those words. The feeling of the ground against her back as she was pulled down. Thrown, in a way. And that it was him who'd done it. Who'd confirmed that, from day one, he'd been against her. That, like their mother, he'd not really wanted her around.
Destroying everything she was. From the very beginning.
She'd had enemies since that very day.]
This conversation is over.
[And... there goes the locket.
...And the ceramic jug on her nightstand that the imps keep filled with water to wash her hair. It smashes against the wall, and the sound helps only for a moment.]