playinginsand | (no subject)

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rabbithole

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Issarok has finished the morning classes and is now free to roam around the palace.

Unfortunately, it's nearly Midwinter, so the palace is dark, and there are Southerners and Firebenders everywhere, all of whom he'd really rather not run into in the dark.

He's sitting in the throne room instead, reading over a scroll of military theory and frowning whenever he finds something he disagrees with. Which appears to be fairly often.

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Melaka could kick Yue's ass. This are a fact that Meila knows from her learnings.

(Meila is convinced that Melaka could kick the combined asses of Avatar Aang, Toph Bei Fong and Katara of the Southern Water Tribe. With her hands tied behind her back.)

She scowls at his attitude, but can't think of a decent comeback.

"My brother says you took him and my Mom and sister to the facilities instead of greeting the Fire Lord when he arrived."

Issarok sits back down, in order to be able to look down his nose at her without looking like he's doing it.

"A proper prince has many duties, Princess. Of course I did."

Stupid brat.

"I would have thought that was a job for a servant."

And not someone who sits in the presence of a Fire Nation Princess. Meila scowls at him openly when he does that.

"Maybe you don't have servants up here. Or maybe, my Mom wanted to talk to you on her own."

EYING.
Guess who's brother and sister won't tell her want they talked about on the boat?

"I wouldn't want to dishonour your mother and brother by sending a servant with them," Issarok says calmly. "We have a little more respect for royalty than that here in the Water Tribe."

He has a feeling he was Talked To on the boat, and that he doesn't understand how it happened or why at all.

More eying. She's still only eleven years old, but she's determined to get better at it.

"What did you talk about?"

Issarok is incredibly tempted to say 'you' and then refuse to tell her any more.

"Many things, Princess. Mostly how good it is to have them here in the North."

Or something like that, anyway.

Meila gives him her best approximation of a sarcastic smile.

"That was diplomacy, right? Means it's a lie."

Issarok narrows his eyes at her.

"You should study diplomacy a little more, maybe."

Meila give her head a tiny little toss that makes her queue shake more than her head itself.

"I'm right, though."

So there.

"You're a child," Issarok points out, tolerantly. "Of course you're not right. You'll learn, though."

Meila's eyes narrow. Then narrow further because she'd usually be feeling fire build up at this point.

It's strange, feeling anger without fire.

"I don't thiink you really want us here."

Issarok presses his lips together in a thin line. "I welcome all the nations to our home in friendship."

"That's not the same thing."

Says the eleven year old.

"Your presence honours us," Issarok says, stiffly. "Fire Princess Meila, are you accusing me of something?"

'cause that would be rude.

Meila rolls her eyes.

"No," she said. "I said it outright."

Issarok's not that bright, is he?

Issarok stares at her, considering his next move.

It would be much easier to challenge her to a duel if she was a little older. And not a girl. And not, technically, here on an invitation extended by his family.

And not related to his future wife. And not likely to get him in trouble with the terrifying Luwei.

"That ... wasn't polite of you," he decides on, eventually. "Your manners are not very good, child."

"Least I don't pretend that it's good to see people who I don't like."

So nyuh.

"That's not polite, either."

"Yes, it is," Issarok contradicts, raising both eyebrows. Who raised this little --- girl?

"No it's not," Meial insists. "It's lying. And grown-ups only pretend it's polite because they think they can get away with it."

(When she's Fire Lord, lying will be outlawed.)

"No, it's called being polite," Issarok explains impatiently. "If everyone said what they wanted to say, we'd be at war all over again, and this time we'd crush you. So."

There.

OH NOW HE'S DONE IT.

"You would not," Meila says - practically seethes.

Issarok merely raises one long supercilious eyebrow.

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