#don't be dramatic

“The director is shit,” Azula calls over to Katara as she walks past her dressing room.

Katara stops at the door and raises an eyebrow at Azula’s overdone makeup— she likes playing villains (with depth, she’d said at their last movie night, heroes are so boring) and this complex drama starring an antihero fits her all too well. She manages to look poised and calm, even bloody and covered in fake sweat. Katara isn’t quite sure why Azula is wearing makeup—  considering filming doesn’t start till tomorrow— but the woman is a perfectionist. It’s likely that she may simply be testing out how the stage makeup works on her skin. There’d been a scandal several years ago when she had an allergic reaction to eyeshadow in a dramatic thriller, and kept the puffy eyes while crying about how her mother thought her a monster. 

“Isn’t he your brother?” she smirks, leaning against the side-door. She normally doesn’t pick up minor roles but she just finished the Painted Lady series— a modern remake of a folktale which took two years to film— and she’d wanted to explore something more dynamic before she took a well-deserved vacation. Her character in this film dies halfway through— and it’s Azula’s fault— and the setting is high fantasy rather than historic, so she’s excited to begin. 

“So?” Azula swivels, the lady at her side maneuvering to put away her makeup. “He’s still an ass. Not like the rest of them, though. He won’t touch you. He’ll just scream at you.”

Katara hasn’t met the elusive Zuko Rokura, the young director’s prodigy, though she’s heard enough about Azula’s brother. He’d been set for stardom until his own father, iconic actor Ozai Sozin, had burnt off half his face and left him an angry mess with a ruined future. Apparently, his uncle and sister had helped him find another way to stardom. He’d gotten a movie nominated to the Tui and La Awards last year— the youngest director in years to do so. 

She’d seen him on stage, then, but his face had been covered with a Blue Spirit mask— a nod to his blockbuster film. Nobody knows who actually played the Blue Spirit in the movie, though it’s well known it’s someone prominent in the film industry. Katara is willing to put her money on Jet Malik, the elusive rogue who’d broken up with her right before filming on the movie began. 

“If he screams at me I’ll shove his own hand in his mouth,” Katara stands still as Azula walks over to her, dressed in her silk bathrobe, and kisses her on the cheek, leaving a disturbing red print there. 

“Yeah, I’m not worried about you, Tara. See you tomorrow? Ty said she wants to drag Zuko along to the meet-up, so maybe you’ll get to kick his ass after you get to know him.”

“How bad can he be?” Katara teases as an intern grabs her arm and pulls her towards the infamous man’s office. 

“Watch out!” Azula chuckles. Katara’s aide looks nervously at the hallway in front of them. 

“The front desk said Mr. Rokura’s office is right ahead— we’ll meet you in the dressing room right after!”

“Thanks Meng!” Katara smiles brightly at the girl and falls ahead of her, opening the dramatic obsidian door to Zuko’s office. There’s a receiving desk in the corner, but the boy sitting at it gestures for her to go through a second door, eyes wide, when he quickly takes her in. She smiles and walks in. 

There’s a pale man at the desk, glasses perched on his nose, gazing down at papers littering his hand. All she sees at first is his dark hair, and she wears her most performative grin and holds her hand out. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rokura.”

Then he looks up, and Katara’s breath stutters. He does have a scar, a rather red and dramatic one at that, taking up the majority of the right side of his visage, but the other side is . . . attractive. The scar is smooth and ridged and a bit alarming but as she acclimates to it in seconds she thinks it’s striking. Not quite attractive, but striking. It gives him a sense of hardness and authority. 

He has a reputation to be rough, that’s certain, but Katara doesn’t take shit from anyone. She shifts her gaze to his eyes, which are the same striking shade as Azula’s, and keeps her hand held sturdy. 

For a second, she’s scared he’ll kiss it or do something else slightly chauvinistic, but he just tilts his glasses up and grasps it firmly, calmly. “Katara Kuruk. I’m so glad you decided to take up my offer. I’m absolutely thrilled to have you.”

“I’m thrilled to be here,” she keeps looking at his eyes as her grip stays firm on his. His hands are incredibly warm and so are his eyes— she was wrong, they’re not like Azula’s. They look kind. 

But she supposes actions are louder than words, and she’s heard plenty of things about Zuko Rokura— formerly Sozin. 

(But she also knows rumors spread far in her industry— fake tweets of her saying a slur were circulated by racist groups on the internet just a few weeks ago, in the wake of this proposal. They’d eventually been officially disproved, but that had been a PR nightmare, not to mention ruined a few of her nights.)

A small smile falls upon his face as he lets her go and settles down, stacking up the papers he’d been looking at. “We’ve exchanged a lot through email, and I think we’re ready to go on paperwork— I just need to officialize all of this right here,” he gestures down. “How are you feeling?”

“I think this script is amazing,” she blushes under his intense gaze. “You co-wrote it, I believe?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “with Aang? I believe you’ve worked with him before.”

“I have! I’ve actually spent the past few years working with my brother on the Painted Lady series, so I’m definitely oddly adjusted to working with someone in a more . . . professional setting.” She’s blushing. Why is she blushing? She’s an actor, damnit, she should be able to control herself— and oh, he’s blushing too. “I mean, that environment was absolutely professional, I just . . .”

“I understand what you mean,” Zuko chuckles. “I’ve been working with Azula and her girlfriend for several years, particularly as starring roles. It’s always great to meet new actors. And I absolutely want us to be comfortable together,” he leans in to her, a little. “I . . .” he starts and then fades off, focusing on her face. 

Katara’s gaze has briefly lowered to stare at his collarbones, and she raises it again to meet his, hoping her face isn’t completely giving her away to this strangely awkward man. She sees no hint of the anger Azula had mentioned. “I wouldn’t want to impose on too much of your time,” she starts, unsure if she’s imagining the magnetic pull between them or the way he’s staring into her eyes. 

“No, no, you absolutely couldn’t,” he almost stutters out. “The first day of filming is tomorrow— I’d want you to rest tonight, but I’m ensuring everyone leaves early. Would you be— I mean would you— want to head out to an early dinner? Just to discuss . . .”

“The set,” Katara swallows, “and the background of the character? In more depth? I heard you conceptualized her.”

She’s read a six page description of her character and spent days practicing her lines.