#fouclre

-- -- { theme: rent };; accepting

“Sorry, sorry,” Aang answered immediately, his eyes dropping from the Princess. He didn’t mean to stare at her, and he most certainly didn’t want her to feel like she might suddenly snap. Truth was, he wasn’t watching her because he wanted to be ready for the inevitable break; he was watching her because her mannerisms were -- unique. He couldn’t describe it. Everything she did had to be done with such forethought and precision, as if she couldn’t dare the thought of something less that perfection.

                                     He thought it must get tiring.                                     “I’ll try to stop.”

my opinion on;

character in general: azula is 2 pretty 4 me ok.  she was mainly the villain of the show but u could also see that she was still pretty confused.  it sucks to be called a monster by ur mom man.  but she is pretty powerful, albeit for all the wrong reasons.how they play them: pretty spot on????  i demand more threads with u tbh.the mun: what a sweetie.  i would definitely not mind talking with u more!

do i;

follow them: yepyeprp with them: a lil bit???want to rp with them: yuSSSship their character with mine: eh not really

what is my;

overall opinion:

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                        Ｔｈｅ hints of forest tones that surrounded the exterior of Ba Sing Se was such a contrast from the Fire Nation it was difficult for Ty Lee to stare at it. She grew up with various tones of reds and golds, not beiges and greens. The longer they stayed in the Earth Kingdom, the more home sick she felt. While they were on a quest and needed to keep their attention on the task at hand, it was proving to be more and more different the longer they stayed. She almost regretted accepting Azula's request to join this mission....

                   (ℑ) —————— ❝ Ｉ could really go for some komodo chicken stew....❞

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                         “ I B L E E D memories of Y O U.”

                                            indie ty lee and azula.

♣ — a fading memory

Artillery is the god of war.

He remembers how the earth shook beneath him as the cannon unleashed their fury on the towing path alongside the Grand Canal; caught in the open, the rebels didn’t have a chance.

He doesn’t remember much after that; screams, horses rearing, smoke and dust and fire everywhere.  He kept his head down behind cover for a little eternity while thunder roared; by the time he peaked out in between volleys from the guns, a thick pall of smoke hung over the slaughter grounds.  What few survivors remained milled about like blind men, moaning in impotent terror and despair.

His platoon drew the short straw, and picked through the wreckage.  Even then, it was like a dream; creeping through the dust, he found dozens of corpses lying about his feet only by stepping on them, so thick was the dust and smoke.  Ghastly shadows of the men they once were, shattered bodies strewn about, charred in the inferno or eviscerated in a hurricane of shrapnel.