delirium.

with that, she walks towards him, but passes to his other side, skirts and layers flowing about her. “unless you are proficient with fabrics, i believe we may both just be here to browse,” she muses, fingers brushing over various materials. “the circulation in fire nation is certainly different than air nation. i’m here for even lighter fabrics than the ones i am wearing…your sister will probably need something red, no?”

“most people of some status do. or, here at least. that said, your hosts should have offered their own in a time like this. not like we all bring a team of stylists when we travel.”

a jab at someone she surely doesn’t know, but the frivolity of the royal family must surely be common knowledge by now. soliya looks amused, and so he speaks more boldly with her. there’s little consequence to speaking your mind here, in the secluded corner of a fabric shop, with a woman who holds no true power in this kingdom. 

“we do. interesting though, where we have commonality.”

he turns on his heel, a smooth motion as he follows the line of her hand. slender, pretty nails. well kept, but not gaudy. “i might surprise you yet.” he grins, hand following hers to point to a roll of fabric a little higher. “is this what you’re thinking of?”

quietly, now. just barely above a whisper. “you used to like how spontaneous i could be, at any given moment.”

“rather poetic way to call everyone a bunch of fakers.” curt. she doesn’t need a response to something that wasn’t a question. a statement of her assumptions about the world, about the fire nation. about him? maybe. he’s always thought the practices of keeping her appeased were rather simple, but it’s not about the method as it is about the person. “it’s hardly your place to speak on the matter. you don’t know what happens behind closed doors.”

you lie. you’re a hypocrite. 

he flinches as she raises her hand, but keeps his face still. just a trick of the wind. there’s no reason to think she’d hurt him here and now, on his home turf, where there are guards around the corner and guest rooms full of firebenders hungry for glory. she has no gain from this, and he can’t imagine she intends to hurt him otherwise. she’d have to care to be that petty.

taash holds his breath as she comes closer, wary. what does she want?

he narrows his eyes, lowers his voice to match hers, even though he didn’t intend to. “you talk about the past like it still matters.”

You know what’s an exaggeration? Swearing yourself off of any interaction outside of work, big or small, for seven damn years. If it’s ten, however, that… that’s believable. How, you ask?

Easy. It shows when he poses the following question:

“So… bodyguard?”

You know someone for practically their whole life and talk to them like that? Alright, fucking A. But so what? It doesn’t hurt to start now… knowing someone. Getting to, anyway.

taash purses his lips, absentmindedly fixing the cuff of his sleeve. he’s glad that the dress code lightens up with each passing day, though the combo of black on black makes him feel like he’s back in the military. he never liked matching with everybody else. 

“you can look at it like that.”

he’s not feeling talkative. he never is, but there’s something about ozen that irritates him particularly. he doesn’t think much of oafs, but it stings when you have to remind yourself you used to look up to one. how embarrassing. 

taash raises a brow. is he expected to drink on the job? he’d love to. just not with current company. not like he has a glass anyway. “funerals have a funny way of bringing people together, don’t they.”  not a question. “thank you. i guess. dorjee does his best.”

despite everything, he’s doesn’t care to gossip about his brother. he’ll ozen keep on going though, because this is the only way he’ll get news of what’s happening without having to ask. not like he still cares, right?

emotional is one way to put it. the people who move about the palace are normally composed, so these sudden outbursts of emotion only unnerves her. theatrical. but she’s no better for being weird about it either.

“you’re right. it’s very intense.” and quite unlike anything they’ve ever seen. yui shrugs, and slumps back the slightest bit. “i thought it would be nice to see everyone together, actually, but i’ve barely talked to anyone except my parents.” taash isn’t quite what she had in mind in terms of a reunion, which may be what makes this easier.

there’s no great pretence between them either: his dispassionate tone and attitude is actually quite amusing in contrast to the rest.

“sounds like you’re really torn up about it.” slightly hypocritical, all things considered, but the smile that follows should take the edge off.  “and you’re back to work?” the academy would be turning in its grave right about now.  they didn’t leave, but now it’s like they never even tried. “i mean, i can relate.” 

he shrugs. “give it a day or two. we’re all still in the midst of the official business.” 

it’s not the worst part, though he leaves that out. as much as he dreads the tediousness of ceremonies, he can’t help but feel a little apprehension towards what’s to come. he offers yui a smile. 

“how are your family? it’s been a long time since i’ve caught up with you or ozen.” 

not quite the friends taash hoped for right now, but beggars can’t be choosers. 

she follows his gaze to the jug of honey-wine by her side and picks it up, topping off her glass with more. “the bar was left unattended. something about one of the ladies needing urgent assistance.” so she told the bartender she’d help watch over for a bit, ever the helpful samaritan. “want some?” she raises an eyebrow. “i don’t mind sharing. always more where that came from.”

“traditionally, the honey wine is just for guests. at funerals we drink this malt tea. it’s not tea, or malty, but it tastes like hell. good for reminiscing.”

taash takes the step forward, moves to sit beside her a polite distance away. he leans back, rests his weight on his hands, rolls his neck. what are the chances of zoya snitching that he took a break? he’s keen to say they’re low. at least while she’s offering. 

“mind if i drink from the same glass?”

“i didn’t see you when i first walked in - nor did i think i’d run into someone i knew here.” well, kind of. she knows more about the idea of him than she knows him personally. it’s fine - it’s enough to make short conversation without it being awkward.

“are you here for a cut of cloth for something fun, at least?”

it’s a little off-season for red, but maybe he’s just sick of it. the gaudiness of it, the fact that it’s everywhere. they’ve all got to be sick of it at some point... right? 

he much prefers a different kind of opulence. fleeting. slight. his sister may not be inclined to agree but she’ll appreciate the thought at least. he’s been avoiding their family for the longest, but she’s never wronged him and he can’t say he isn’t still fond of her. 

the familiarity of the fabric district is nice to come back to at least. he likes being left alone to sift through the rolls of cloth. the store attendants know him well enough by now.

“ah!” he smiles. just his luck, running into someone else in the one place he wants to be alone. “hello soliya. i’m as surprised as you. most people send their tailors to have things made for them.” 

two of her fingers on her right hand tap at her upper thigh through the thin fabric of her pocket, a nervous tick that’s her clearest giveaway. “i don’t really know what to do now,” she admits honestly. “there’s no step two, no next part in the plan. i saw you from the back, knew it was you, and it was instinct from there.” she isn’t going to run this time, so she holds his gaze.

“hm.” acknowledgement, maybe. lined with distaste more like. “the least you could do is pretend to be sad. blend in with the wailing masses.”

soliya? blending in? she sticks out like a sore thumb at all times of day. that infuriating smile, the airbender charm. floats around the place like she owns it. like at the slightest hint of trouble she’ll just be carried away by the wind. she really might. he wonders if the earth kingdom folk are the only ones they’ve got a tight grip on. he’ll have to remedy that, even if he doesn’t want her walking the same halls as him. 

she always sounds like she’s laughing. he can’t stand it anymore.

he can’t help but notice everything about her. the ways she’s changed. how perfectly still she becomes when she’s nervous. the way her hands never stop moving. 

she expects a similar answer. there’s really no other reason, only different ways of wording it; some more polite than others.

“did you come with your family?”

he pauses, wonders if it’d be polite to sit beside her, but he doesn’t want to give the impression he’s here for a long conversation. he’s tired though - god knows after this he’s switching to babysitting chunhee, and just the very thought makes him want to pass out.

“it’s rather crowded in there. it’s hard to prepare for how... emotional it was going to be.”

the wailing crowds don’t suit him. he doesn’t get the big deal - sure, there are formalities, but it’s not like anyone liked the guy anyway.

“…are you just now heading to bed?” the concern is laced into her voice even though she tries to de-tangle it from her vocal chords. her voice quiets even further when he turns to regard her. “you’ve worked hard today. i hope you’re going to rest,” and a small smile makes its way to the corners of her lips. “though knowing you, you’re going to go to your quarters to overthink.” the familiarity is hard to erase, even if the ease of it has disappeared almost entirely.

he’s never been a lightweight, but maybe it’s just been a while. a couple of cups a couple of hours ago - the cold breeze had helped but he still feels wobbly. everything is clear but he’s so tired. since the morning he’s been busy, running round and round. he likes to think of himself as a patient person but after all this even he feels like he’s run out of all his energy, his brain turned to mush from repeating the same phrases prayers and condolences over and over. 

there’s no point in mourning a man no one liked, but even he has to show face. he’s just glad he’s not being asked to fake tears. 

taash closes the courtyard door behind him, glancing to the guards as he heads down the hallway finally to the guest quarters. he’s too tired to speak to anyone else, and he prays he won’t run into any of the other una participants before bed. he slows to a stop, gently rubbing his temples. the world is blurring, just a tad, but he thought he was fine. he curses himself, almost doesn’t catch the sound of his own name.

that voice-

he turns his head, eyes wide, before he schools his face into something neutral, forces himself to stay still. it’s absurd. he’s seen her countless times over the past week, but he’s never stood close to her like this, never spoken to her alone. of all the things that would betray his heart, he never thought the smell of her perfume would do it. the familiarity - he almost holds his breath. 

“i was about to, yes.” the sentiment catches him off guard, but she’s always been like this. he should have known better. 

“maybe so. this week has been hard on everyone.” 

HERE STANDS TAASH RYUJIN OF THE FIRE NATION, TWENTY EIGHT YEARS OLD AND THE SECOND BORN OF GENERAL NAO