Defiance ❯ Atla

ɪ. ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴠᴀᴛᴀʀ

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It's early morning when Zuko has his first meltdown of the day. Something about one of the guards stepping on his foot. Or perhaps they aren't moving fast enough for his liking or they brought him food when he specifically said he wasn't hungry even though he hasn't eaten in days, or maybe the crew hasn't done anything at all. The fire prince would explode at a person for breathing the wrong way these days. Miko thinks it has to do with the banishment, but she isn't allowed to bring it up. Zuko forbids it. Which, she supposes, makes sense. The banishment from the fire kingdom had been the worst day of his life, she imagines. After all, being burned, dishonored, and publicly cast out was rather embarrassing and not something one can easily bounce back from. It's put him on edge every day since, and he's putting everything he has into completing the task he's set out to do, the thing his father claims will regain his honor, the thing he has to do before ever being allowed to set foot in the Fire Nation kingdom again -- find the Avatar. 

It's rounding on noon when he storms into her room, all flustered and untamed. His hair is pulled back with a red band in a long, black, silky queue, and Miko can't help but to wonder if he would be in a better mood if only he'd just loosen the band a bit. Perhaps, it's too tight and that was the source of all the mood swings. 

He's ranting something unintelligible, but Miko doesn't bother asking him to repeat himself. He never does. So, she just lets him get his frustrations out, calmly continuing the painting she's been working on for the past three days. 

The room's in disarray, books thrown across the floor, her bed in absolute shambles with the covers all kicked up and the pillow at the opposite end it's supposed to be. There's art supplies scattered everywhere, and Zuko has to mind his steps as he paces back and forth. In the corner there's a pot resting with colorful flowers shoved inside, something. Miko has sculpted the thing with her own two hands. On the bed side table there's a scroll being held down against the paint splattered wooden surface with two thick bricks. Beside it rests a bottle of ink and a pen. It's where she writes, but Zuko can't imagine how she gets anything done with the atrocity that is his little cousin's bed room. She hasn't even so much as bothered to fold her clothes. (At the very least she could order one of the hand maidens do it for her!) This is a princess's bedroom, (if she can even properly be called that considering she's adopted) it shouldn't be such a mess. It's shameful.

Zuko only stops his raving when he notices his cousin isn't even looking at him. He pauses his pacing, looks at her, his lips curling. "Are you listening?" 

All he gets in return is a soft, "Hm?" Of course. She hasn't heard a thing, she's too wrapped up in that silly little painting of hers. Her tongue is sticking out of the corner of her mouth, the way she always has it when she's concentrating, and she's always concentrating on something. Paintings, sculptures, poems, stories, music. That last one was especially irksome for Zuko. Oh, how he loathed those late night kokyu practices. It's bad enough she makes him listen to it all day, but does she really have to play at night when he is sleeping?  Never mind that she's gotten the whole crew and his uncle in on it as well. They've started a music night, every third moon. It's pathetic. 

She's got half her hair pinned up in intricate braids, the rest of it hanging loosely over her shoulders. He isn't sure where she'd gotten it considering they'd been sailing for days, years even, never mind that she's never stepped foot off the ship since they started, but at some point she'd added a pink flower into the already complex hairstyle. As if she couldn't get enough things to stick in her hair. Gold, flowers, even the brushes she paints with. She has a lot of things to begin with, not just for her hair, but in general. Little trinkets she's gotten from traveling so long, stuffed in whatever tiny space she could fit them. Zuko blames his uncle. He spoils her.