BOOGIE WONDERLAND

Cue Mal and Evie singing Space Between and Timon and Pumbaa walking past the set.

Pumbaa: Awww... 🥹

Zuko's patience had always been a finite resource. Uncle liked to insist that working in the tea shop was teaching him serenity, that every difficult customer was another opportunity to cultivate balance. Zuko was beginning to suspect he was just saying that to keep him complacent.

He regarded the meerkat in silence for a long moment, ochre eyes as unreadable as polished amber glass. Somewhere in the back room, he could hear the faint clink of porcelain and the comforting scrape of a kettle being moved across the brazier. Normally, those sounds grounded him. Today, they merely reminded him there was work waiting to be done while one extraordinarily talkative customer seemed determined to occupy every spare moment of his afternoon.

“We serve tea,” he replied evenly. “Hot tea. That's what people come here for.” His tone remained polite, but there was a dryness to it that rivaled the weather outside. “If someone wants something cold, they're welcome to have water.”

The accusation that the shop's lack of ice was somehow suspicious earned him the faintest narrowing of his eyes. It wasn't irritation alone anymore. It was genuine confusion at the notion that a modest tea shop tucked into a corner of Ba Sing Se should somehow possess luxuries most of the Lower Ring didn't have access to.

“Ice doesn't exactly survive the trip from the poles,” he said. “And even if it did, it would cost more than most of our customers could afford.” Pao's wasn't a wealthy merchant's establishment. It served laborers, families, and neighbors who wanted a good cup of tea without emptying their coin purses. Imported ice would have been an absurd extravagance.

At the request for lime, Zuko glanced toward the shelves behind him as though hoping a citrus fruit might have materialized out of pity for his circumstances.

“We don't have limes, either. We have water. We have hot tea. Those are the options.”

"Oookay...but ya do see why somebody wouldn't want that right now, don't ya? Ya really oughta have more options in this place! Some fresh bugs would be nice too! Ya could put a bowl of crickets on every table! Believe me, that'd get lots of folks linin' up!"

Now he wanted some crickets as well. Of course, Zuko would probably grumble that they weren't on the menu and no, he wasn't gonna look in the back. It was just tea, tea, and more tea. With no ice because that was far too great of a request.

Apparently.

Never mind the fact that he was still thirsty and the weather wasn't doing his mood any favors. He wasn't particularly interested in hearing about the back and forth of the business or why ice was such a rarity around this area. The lack of limes was not surprising but still disappointing. He was about to ask if they had any lemons, then thought better of it, shaking his head.

you don't have to "prove" your character to anyone. the rpc isn't a courtroom and your readers aren't a jury. it's so easy to slip into the pitfall of defensive writing, trying to acquit your characters of tired tropes or safeguard them from being misinterpreted. "i swear she's still a strong female character though!" "it's okay, i promise she's demure and composed!"

you don't have to make your characters palatable.

you don't have to overcorrect or make them "appropriate", sanitized or declawed.

they're allowed to be nuanced, they're allowed to be messy, they're allowed to be multifaceted and wrong sometimes. they're allowed to not have everything fully formed.

you don't have to overwrite your character bios and leave nothing to the imagination, frying your brain at 3 am with "is this the way i want others to see my character?" "is this how my character would act in a room full of people?" "how do i want my peers to classify my character? STOP. breathe. it. doesn't. matter.

what matters is that you know your character, you're writing something beautiful because it's the story you want to tell and enjoy, and you have every right to do that without being so performative that you're being too hard on yourself.

you don't owe imaginary readers a perfectly polished version of what you think they're judging you for.

trust yourself as a writer to portray your character with justice.

trust the readers to see and pick up on the beautiful thing you're creating.

The little meerkat's voice had become little more than background noise somewhere between the story about the flamingo and the complaint about the weather.

Zuko stood behind the counter with the practiced stillness Uncle insisted every tea server should cultivate, though the tiny muscle in his jaw had begun to twitch ever so slightly.

The urge to simply hand over a cup and physically rotate the yappy critter toward the door became stronger with every passing second, and when when the request for iced tea finally emerged from the endless stream of chatter, Zuko seized upon it with the relief of a drowning man spotting dry land. “We don't serve iced tea.” He answered flatly and entirely unapologetic. “If you'd like cold water, I can bring you that.” Amber eyes lifted to meet Timon's only briefly before flickering toward the line forming behind him. “Otherwise, the jasmine has already finished steeping.”

Then came the comment about the air and Zuko's gaze drifted toward the open front of the tea shop, where the summer breeze was already drifting through the doorway.

“...The window is open,” a beat passed, “So is the door.”

What, did he want to set his customers on fire? Then again, it was Zuko sooo...probably. He made a face at the offer of water. He could get that any ol' time, he was hoping for something with a little more flavor. He had a feeling that lemonade was outta the question too.

Where the heck was Iroh anyway? At least he would've appreciated the story about the flamingo. Hmm...maybe he was on break. He couldn't blame him for that. Even with the open window (and door), this place was pretty stuffy. Between the heat and Zuko's attitude, no wonder they hadn't gotten much business today.

WARNING:  Super duper old old scribblage.  But what is an archive for, eh?

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Take it easy, will ya, Princess? Besides, ya should see how nice your garden looks now! An' these aren't pestilence! They're delicious! Look, I know you're upset but ya don't have to YELL!"

He glanced over at Pumbaa, who was hanging his head and resembling a big puppy being scolded, giving him a gentle nudge before scowling at the tigers surrounding them. ("Oh no, don't even think about it!"). Then he looked up at the chandelier where the Sultan was holding on for dear life. What the--? When had he gotten here? Apparently, he wasn't too keen on the idea of having bugs either. Well, he could've said something before they set everything up!