barrayar | idk I guess I still play this dumb asshole

idk I guess I still play this dumb asshole

Tag me or something. Let me know if you have a preference for canon point (I usually default to post-show with some comics inspo). Also feel free to comment blank and I'll make a prompt.

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Making reparations was a gruesome, fraught topic, one on everyone's mind, and Zuko's no less so than anyone else's. It was necessary, not just to move on and eventually past the war but in order to be honorable, and Zuko takes his nation's honor just as seriously as he takes his own. Especially given how badly disgraced the Fire Nation has become in the rest of the world. This task seems as insurmountable as finding the Avatar had once been.

Just as he had when set that task, Zuko sets out from Caldera on a ship to achieve the impossible, grim-faced and resolute.

Of course, this time he's traveling in all the pomp and circumstance of state as the Fire Lord, so it's a rather different experience, to say the least. Uncle has determined to stay out of politics with a cheerful avowal that he's a useless, retired old man now (ha) so for this one, Zuko's on his own. He writes letters to Aang and occasionally Sokka, but they're not the sort to give political advice. On the whole... this is his responsibility, on his shoulders alone. Anyone else might crumple under it. It's a strain, but Zuko had fought long and hard to get here and if there's one thing he knows how to do, it's never giving up without a fight.

At least his father had set a good precedent of not standing on ceremony in favor of efficiency. Zuko wishes he could get away with even less formality than that, but as it is he has to tolerate a contingent of guards leading him off of the huge, sleek, steel ship to the shore of an unclaimed island, nearly halfway between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom's shores. It was as close to a neutral territory as they could find, and as a consequence of the momentous peace talks about to take place, an incredible flurry of activity had taken place in order to build quarters sufficient to house both his and the new Earth Regent's diplomatic parties. He hadn't bothered himself with the details, fortunately. He had ministers for that sort of thing.

Zuko had perfected a more stoic expression than his family would've ever thought possible on his face over the past several months, and he leans on it like a crutch to contain his temper. The Fire Lord can't wear on his heart on his sleeve, or explode. He needs to be reserved. It doesn't come easily to him; he consequently tends to look forbidding, even on his young face, made younger with his hair swept up to the top knot with its crown. He's nervously conscious of just how young and inexperienced he is in comparison to the Earth Regent, who had recently come to power through some sort of internal strife coinciding with the end of the war. Zuko doesn't know the details because no one knows the details-- except that in the brutal atmosphere of upper echelon Ba Sing Se politics, Regent Vorkosigan had risen to the top, and no one had contested it.

That said enough. He's not some throwaway son who became the least-bad choice to rule. Zuko... will just have to find a way to compare. He has to, for his nation's honor.

He excuses himself from the fuss, his servants and security setting up his suite, and instinctively wanders to a garden. At least for now he's in travel clothes, without a crown or any robes of state (thank the spirits), and he settles himself by the fountain to gaze at the koi swimming in the water. It's not the same as the turtle-ducks at home, but it's something... And after befriending Katara, weirdly, the water is soothing to dip his fingertips into as he broods.

To say Zuko is nervous is a vast understatement. Somehow knowing that the man he's being dumped on for training and acclimization is also a traitor doesn't make him feel like he's any less one. The knowledge weighs on him so heavily sometimes it's like he can barely breathe, although at other times an odd, persistent anger simmers low in his gut, as if waiting for an opportunity. He can't decide how he feels about what'd happened-- so mostly, he doesn't think about it. Sokka's absent, amiable chatter keeps up a near-constant stream in his mind, mercifully distracting him.

He should find it incredibly annoying. Instead... he often finds himself sneaking out into Companion's Field to bury his face in Sokka's gleaming white coat and speak to him in Karsite, because Sokka always understands him. Can he be homesick for a place that doesn't want him anymore? He doesn't know.

As it is, his short few days of allowed adjustment and recovery are over with, and he's delivered to the salle with a chipper "Good luck! Alberich is a bear" which doesn't make him feel any better. He steps in, locates his teacher, and bows by instinct, shallow enough not to be overly formal but distinct enough to indicate that even exiled royalty doesn't feel themselves above their teachers. Zuko can only imagine what the man thinks of him by reputation alone. He's all too aware that none of his reputation is good, and not in the fearsome way that Alberich's seems to be. His is just shameful.

"Herald-trainee Zuko reporting in," he says in a controlled, tight voice, Zuko's strain leaking around his edges transparently. But this is the best he can do. "But I'm... I'm sure you already know that." Already flustered. Great. His Valdemaran is clunky, and heavily accented, but not terrible; he'd been taught to a conversational level by his tutors growing up, and he doesn't presume to use Karsite first. Maybe the man hates Karse now. He needs his measure.

Edited 2017-01-16 22:48 (UTC)

Zuko was still choked with grief when he was reassigned to General Kenobi as his new master, which at first glance he had no reaction to. No amount of meditation had allowed him to release his grief into the Force, maybe because every time he tried he heard Master Iroh's gentle, light-hearted voice coaching him on it with infuriating proverbs. He was old for a Padawan, he knew that, but Master Iroh had always told him that wisdom came in its own time and he was in no rush. That hadn't erased his embarrassment completely, but it'd helped that at least his own master didn't think he was a disappointment.

Now, he didn't know what he would do. He'd only recently taken the bandages off, revealing a healed eye but an ugly, face-consuming scar, and although the flesh was unbroken and smooth, the mental wound was far from healed. He still startled whenever he saw himself in the mirror.

So-- at first glance, he didn't react to his reassignment; he knew it was coming, and he felt hollow. Then it started to sink in, and he felt full-on incredulity. Him? The one he knew the other Padawan-learners sometimes wondered if he would graduate at all? Zuko was terrible at keeping his calm, decent with saberwork but miserable in composure, which was the most valuable attribute of all. He tried so hard to uphold the Code but always, always failed. And they were matching him with the famous (and infamous, on the other side) hero of the wars? Just what was the Council thinking?

Even so, it was distracting enough to start to drag him out of his mourning, dazedly packing his minimalistic things-- one tenant he had no difficulty following, at least-- in preparation for moving his quarters. Iroh's death had made more than one indelible impression on Zuko, and as he walked down the hall to meet his new Master, the deepest one coalesced like steel forming after the metal cooled: he would not stand helpless again. And, for that matter, he would show everyone who'd ever doubted him how wrong they were. That didn't mean his own self-doubts evaporated... Hardly. But his will to redeem himself was stronger than they were. It had to be.

He waits for the autodoor to slide open, steps in, and bows respectfully, braid sweeping forward over his shoulder. He can do this.

He owes it to Master Iroh. Every second of inattention he'd ever disgraced him with... He owes him that now, and so much more.

Voice tight and uncharacteristically quiet, he announces himself: "I'm here, Master Kenobi. Thank you for... for having me." It sounds like the polite nonsense a guest says when imposing, but of course, here it means much more. Kenobi didn't have to accept.

Loss is, for better or for worse, simply a part of being a Jedi. If Obi-Wan lingered on all he has lost in the past, he is certain that it would render him immobile out of the sheer power of grief alone - his soldiers, his brothers-in-arms, his master, his Jedi, people he has loved and denied loving, people he had never gotten the chance to truly know. When word had gotten out about Master Iroh's death, even the Council had taken a moment's pause, mourning their lost comrade as they had mourned so many others, but after that, they had to decide what to do, and decide swiftly. Unbeknownst to Zuko, Obi-Wan himself had intercepted the Council's strategizing and requested that he take on Zuko for himself, something that had surprised the others, perhaps, less than he had surprised himself.

Anakin is grown, with a Padawan of his own, and Obi-Wan knows intimately what it is like to lose your master, albeit not at such a young age. He had never intended to be one of those Masters always guiding one Padawan or another but here, he felt he truly had the ability to do some good. And in these times, it is more important than ever to keep their Padawans on the right path, to avoid their judgment and actions from being clouded with the rage that inevitably comes with grief, a rage that each of them has grown to known and control at least once in their lives. He does not wish for Zuko to know this fact, however; to know this would be to know doubt, to think of himself as a burden, when that is not the case. He is honouring Master Iroh and his will, honouring the Padawan he had held dear, and there is nothing but honour in that.

"You are very welcome - and welcome here always, Zuko, now that I am to be instructing you," Obi-Wan says. He had risen before Zuko even opened the door, having sensed his arrival down the corridor, and greets him with a small incline of his head, a sign of respect that Padawans rarely receive. "I believe that we will achieve much together. And you have my sincerest condolences. Master Iroh was a dear friend of mine, and always spoke of you highly. It is an honour to carry on in his footsteps."

It's true that Zuko's not in a mental state to be particularly understanding right now. Oddly, thinking of this as a Council-mandated reassignment is what makes it easier to bear; he struggles to imagine himself following anyone but Iroh, which he knows is an unhealthy attachment, and one he should let go of even with his Master's death. Easier said that done.

Obi-Wan's straightforward acknowledgement and gentle, respectful welcome makes his throat uncomfortably tight. He hadn't really expected less, but being confronted with it is another matter. Everything is still too raw for Zuko to be used to accepting sympathy, something he'd always been particularly graceless at anyway.

He forces himself to focus on his breathing and reorient himself to the present. Zuko wants to say something self-denigrating, but in the context of Iroh as his master rather than Zuko as the student... He can't. "Thank you," he finally returns, the picture of awkward. Suddenly it clears as he thinks of his own intentions again, and his tension resolves into determination. "I intend to honor his wishes for me as much as I can. I won't disappoint his memory, or his faith in me." That seems a Code-approved way of coping, with the teaching that those lost have never truly gone. It's nothing less than the truth of how he feels, anyway.

Apart from that... he doesn't know what to say, and Zuko has never been eloquent. Everything seems to have swelled up inside him-- too much-- until, curiously, it fades, leaving a sense of distance and abstraction. It all seems so unreal. What he has to hold onto is his training, is getting better, improving as Master Iroh would've wanted him to.

Probably, Raimei shouldn't bring Kurogamon to school with her. It's definitely against the rules, and she's no longer at school near Fuuma, where they're used to quirky ninjas and don't enforce that rule too strongly. Plus the war for the Shinrabanshou in the world of Nabari is over, so she hardly needs to go around everywhere armed. It's not like she's defenseless without her sword.

Nonetheless, it never leaves her side. Even in this reborn Shimizu clan, Raimei feels not just naked but negligent not to have Kurogamon with her at all times, her symbol of her role as enforcer for this new world. She feels closer to her mother than ever, and no matter how frequently or infrequently she sees Raikou, Kurogamon is hers alone to wield however she sees fit. That's the trust her mother had bestowed on her with this sword.

So it comes to school with her, wrapped in cloth but pretty unmistakably a sword. Sometimes it sticks out of her backpack when it's not hidden in her locker-- her compromise with the rules-- but she doesn't try too hard to hide it. If push comes to shove, she'll say she's a kenjutsu student carrying it around to go to practice afterward. That's not remotely true, but Raimei isn't totally graceless with deceit, even if she is a samurai and not a ninja.

Her new school apart from this is largely boring to her. She's made a couple superficial friends, but as a Shimizu it would be an especial disgrace to break the boundary between surface and hidden world, so it's not like she can tell them anything real about her. It makes everything fairly shallow. She keeps up adequately in lessons, enjoys athletics events and classes, and... that's about it. She's deeply impatient for the day she graduates, and can live as she wants, without this supervision from an authority she's never needed or had support her.

She runs home at full speed nearly every day, and maybe, in the absence of Kouichi, she bothers Miharu a little too much, a little too regularly. Only he never complains. She imagines he must be feeling lonely, too. Raikou does complain, in that blandly teasing big-brother way that irritates her immensely and makes her want to burst from relief at the same time, and they end up in sibling squabbles as they train and discuss clan matters and she teases him about Gau. That's what she lives for, what she thinks on all day while at school-- when she shows up.

So perhaps she can be forgiven for not noticing the transfer student at all.

Edited 2017-01-17 00:02 (UTC)

The koi swarm up the to surface of the water, mouthing the air hopefully. They were relatively new instalments, much like most of the island, but koi learned quickly that a shadow over the water meant a stray piece of lunch might happen by into the happy, eager mouths below.

Indeed, it might be only the fact that the swarm of colorful, friendly fish suddenly vanish - strange given that one had taken to brushing up along Zuko's fingers.

The stranger doesn't appear to be much. A craggy, hard and scarred face is offset by a brilliantly garish shirt, undone at the collar, heavy, roadowrn sandals and.... by the looks of it, a small loaf of bread brought specifically for the fish.

"Hm. Rare to see anyone else here," the stranger gave as a greeting, voice deep.

Zuko has to bite back his instinctive, How would you know? This pond hasn't even existed for more than a month, and instead modifies it into a more diplomatic reaction. He's learning. Slowly, incredibly slowly, but it is happening.

"Have you been here long?" he asks, conscientious of how recognizable he is even out of uniform, so to speak, and striving for composure. He realizes he hasn't actually answered the implied question and tacks on belatedly, "I forgot how claustrophobic you can feel after being on a ship for that long." Hence why he's out here.

Zuko is certainly not inconspicuous at all, but if the older man was going to show any particular reaction to him, it was missed already. "Ah, the Fire Nation delegation. I'd heard the storms had kept you back." It was an obvious enough statement, barely worth saying, but that was what most pleasantries were for.

"I've been here a week." A detail that would place him as part of the Earth Kingdom's people, rather than a simple groundskeeper or staff. "It's has a rare peace to enjoy."

Edited (Because STUFF.) 2017-01-17 00:56 (UTC)

Shindou Takuto thinks he's been through a lot of strange and difficult things.

He's been told that soccer could have emotions such as sadness, loneliness, joy, and tearfulness. He helped lead his soccer club in a revolution against the government to release soccer from its control. He's been told that an organization from the future was going around changing the past to get rid of soccer. He's been told that he would have to travel through time as well, meeting historical figures and receiving their strength to become an even stronger soccer player. He's been told that he would receive strength from Oda Nobunaga. He became close to a tofu-seller's girl from the Sengoku Era. He played soccer with Liu Bei Xuande. He played soccer with velociraptors. He played soccer and helped save the future of the world.

He's been through a lot of things!

Being left on his own to entertain a girl, one who is apparently a (very distant) relative of his, one who asked something about ninjas almost right off the bat, is somehow more perplexing than any of those things. Of all the times for his parents to be out of the country... he couldn't even ask them what was going on, what with the time difference. At least he was able to stay calm enough to have her led to the sitting room and served some tea. Good thinking, Takuto. Just stay calm. Try not to stare no matter how weird this is.

He curls his fingers around his knee to keep himself from fidgeting, looking across the coffee table to the girl in hopes that he doesn't come off as rude.

"... How's the tea?"

She had been very lucky, the doctors had said.

Utena doesn't feel very lucky, confined to a hospital bed, watching the world crawl by from the window by her bed as her injuries heal. Sometimes she tries to recall what had happened, but memories of the car accident elude her. Had it been a car accident? That is what her mind had leapt to --she does seem to recall a car frequently, broad and gleaming, without a top: an American model-- but is it right? Had she perhaps been in an earth quake instead?

Don't worry about it, the cheerful nurse that changed her sheets had chirped. It's normal. You've been through a lot.

Utena wonders if it is also normal not to remember the past few months. She must have attended school, right? And yet, try as she might, she can't recall more than a few flashes, a smile and a hand on hers, warm arms around her shoulders and a loud (loud, so loud) voice in her ear. She can't even recall how long she had been there. Or what the name of the place had been.

All in all, it's a relief when she is finally released from the hospital. Her memories have not yet returned, but she'd rather deal with that somewhere else than in that stark, dull place. She even looks forward to going to school again. After such a long time stuck in her hospital bed watching the world go by from her bed, always the observer, never the participant, Utena itches to get back in the fray again. She even feels an odd and nostalgic longing for the inevitable head butting she'd have to do over getting permission to wear the male uniform.

By now, a few weeks into the new term, Utena has settled in. Despite the protesting and stiffness of her limbs, she had immediately signed up for basketball that first day, and now, a few weeks of training and games later, she feels good. Her body has grown strong again, her hands steadier and her fan club had increased with it. She had always been good at athletics, and it seems that here, as in most schools, that is enough to get noticed. The male uniform --it is surprising just how many loopholes you can find in the little handbook that they give you on the first day of class if you really want to-- probably helps.

And the longer she stays, the more she settles in, the less the gaps in her memory bother her. They don't fill, not completely, though sometimes strange things trigger small memories flooding back, but it becomes less immediate, less concerning. Everything, the accident, the school she must have gone to before, her lost memories become like something out of dream, half-lost and perhaps best left behind.

---

With a soft sound, Utena presses the door of her locker shut, holding her bag over her shoulder. Her muscles twinge faintly, pleasantly, still thrumming from another good training as she turns to leave, nearly smacking her head into the door of a locker, left half open, in the process. She hisses softly, more in reflex than actual pain, but the glare she levels at the offending object only holds for a second before it dissipates. There's something inside, something--

That's a sword, isn't it?

Dreamlike, without realising and certainly without knowing where that thought had come from, Utena pushes the locker a bit wider open to take another look at the cloth wrapped bundle inside. Something buzzes at the back of her mind, and suddenly her mind is filled with roses, long dresses and the sound of swords clashing. A girl. There's a girl too. A dark-haired, dark-skinned girl with something so sad in her eyes that it makes Utena want to move forward to grab the sword, grab it and protect her.

Who? She isn't sure. Doesn't seem to matter. All she knows is that she has to protect her.

There's never been a time when Raimei wished she could be less blunt more profoundly. She's aware she should be better at discretion, but she never talks to civilians enough for it to really come up. Her solution to the Shimizu clan's enforcement of the separation between ninja and mundane is to just not interact very much with the mundane. It's worked for her so far.

The problem is... now she has a relative (?!) who may or may not fall inside that law, and she hasn't had a chance to talk it over with Raikou on what their rule will be in the new world. He's so hard to get in touch with sometimes! She's left on her own, which she doesn't totally mind but is feeling some stress over.

"Hm? Oh, I haven't had any yet! I was thinking," she admits forthrightly, without an ounce of shame. Indeed, her tea is untouched in her hands, Raimei staring pensively and very intensely into the cup. Her head jerks up and she abandons her attempt at introspection as a bad job. (The usual outcome of her attempts at introspection.) "So, so, how old are you? Do you have any hobbies? If we're relatives, we should get to know each other!"

She's maybe a little overwhelming at full force like this, Raimei barreling through awkwardness with determination, but, truth is... Having anyone at all even distantly related to her other than Raikou makes her heart squeeze in her chest. It shouldn't mean anything-- he's not really a Shimizu-- but... but it does.

Raimei bumbles in at that precise moment with all the grace of an ox. She's physically graceful, but that's about the only arena in which the word could be applied to her.

"Ah, I left my locker open with Kurogamon in it?!" she exclaims, bounding over. The excitable motion demonstrates that she wears black shorts under her short uniform skirt, probably for precisely that reason. With approximately zero sense of personal space, she reaches past Utena to recover her sword, holding it possessively with both hands.

"I can't believe I was so careless..." She'd thought she was past that sort of inattention. Raimei's brow furrows, displaying at that moment her more usual sort of inattention: that of ignoring to the point of obliviousness those that are standing beside her. Belatedly, it registers, and she turns and blinks at Utena.

"Sorry, I guess it's a little weird to leave a sword in a school locker, huh? They're usually just for books and shoes! I don't blame you for looking."

The brush of an arm against hers and the girl reaching past her to grab the sword snaps Utena out of the strange flood of memories. She takes a step back, shaking her head, trying to clear her head and understand what she had just seen. It's strange. There had been something theatrical about it all, the roses, the sword fighting, the girl, as if it was a scene from a movie or a fairy tale. And yet, it doesn't feel like just a dream. It feels like a memory, like something important.

"No, it's fine." Utena reaches up to rub the back of her head for a moment. "Even if it is weird, I shouldn't have snooped."

Because seriously, keeping a sword in your locker is pretty weird.

"Are you a member of the kendo club or something?"

Aral certainly doesn't look like anyone important in that shirt and with bread to feed the fish. That doesn't mesh with Zuko's mental image of stern, high-placed officials at all. Iroh's about the only exception to that rule he'd ever known apart from himself. He assumes he's part of the retinue that came with Regent Vorkosigan, as expected.

His instinct here is to grumble and complain, and once again he has to take a breath, consciously, to keep that back. Zuko's self-control is extremely hard won and probably fairly visible on him. He's still adjusting to thinking of himself as Fire Lord as something more than a surreal dream. All that time, he'd wanted his father's approval back-- his honor, his family-- but not necessarily the throne. That had seemed so abstract. Frankly, taking the crown was a shock, an eventuality he'd been aware of as far off as being a father.

And then, suddenly, it was here, and he wasn't just Zuko anymore. His pride as a prince hadn't swelled to match his new station-- it had humbled.

"We'll all be stuck inside for days once the real talks start," he sighs, with a bit of grumbling despite himself. But that seems neutral enough, something that passes for pleasantries with Zuko. He never quite manages to find the beat of them, impatient with pointless observations. He retrieves his fingers from the water and carelessly brushes them on his travel clothes.

"I guess getting here before us would make the past week like a vacation for you." He glances up, sharp golden eyes really focusing on his companion for the first time.

"Nah," she says guilelessly, recovering her irrepressible cheerfulness after that moment of self-castigation. "Kendo clubs use bokuto or shinai when they practice! I usually just lie and say I'm part of a regional kenjutsu team when someone asks, but actually, there isn't one in this region."

Raimei, that probably dismantles your lie if you go around telling people it's a lie... But that's the sort of direct person she is.

"Truthfully, this is a family heirloom, so I don't feel right leaving it at home." Still a pretty weird explanation, she knows, but true and personal enough that most people leave her alone about it.

Overwhelming really is a good word to describe her with, but fortunately she isn't the first of her type that he's met, and her enthusiasm is tame in comparison to some of the people he met and got to know in the past few weeks. He tries to smile at her as naturally as possible when she lifts her head and their eyes meet.

Honestly, now that the initial surprise has eased up, he's confused but not bothered. She seems like a nice girl, if only a little strange, , and a little bit of strangeness does no harm. As far as he knew, the Shindou name went back more than a century; it would make sense if it had branched off from other name or had a name that branched off from it.

He just has to get to know her, then it'll be like getting to know Okatsu, or Kinoshita, or Jeanne, or Liu Bei.

"I'm thirteen right now, in my second year of middle school. I play the piano but at school I'm a member of the soccer club. What about you, er -- Shimizu-san?"

How soon is too soon to call someone by first name? Does it matter if they're supposedly relatives?

"I know you won't. Please, Zuko, sit. Before we begin, we must talk."

As if in demonstration - as Zuko is, it seems, a formal young man even though Iroh's reports have suggested one as strong-willed and obstinate as Obi-Wan himself, and Anakin before him - Obi-Wan has a seat, gesturing at the seat opposite him. If Zuko feels as though his every move is being closely watched... well, it's because it is. Observation is just one part of being a good Master, and while others would argue with him, Obi-Wan considers himself a very good Master indeed, Anakin's fits of pique aside; he is proud of what he has become, and he thinks that he will be proud of what Zuko will become as well, given time.

"You see, young one, while you have seen much fighting already, our position is on the front lines of this war. You have been prepared for this moment, but to work together underneath such circumstances, we must have trust in one another - I in you, and you in me. And while I have no doubts that you have been taught well, the only way to learn trust is to earn it."

And that goes for the both of them. Of course, they'll find themselves in the field before trust is earned (they simply don't have the luxury to spend time with one another in the way Obi-Wan would prefer, not anymore, not with so many lives on the line), but he hopes to spend as much quality time with him as possible first.

"So first, I ought to ask - do you have any questions?"

He doubts the boy will be terribly forthcoming, but he has to ask. If nothing else, the mere absence of questioning will tell him just as much as his questions would.

Strange but nice is a fair assessment of Raimei. She's quickly getting her energy back after the earlier blurted fumble and leans in intently as she responds.

"Just Raimei!" she chirps back. "So you're the well-rounded type, huh? And younger than me! You'll make me look bad." Raimei offers a quick wink to show that she's teasing, although it's not far from the truth. She skips a ton of school and isn't in any clubs. Good thing she doesn't have any parents.

"I'm fifteen and just starting high school! Mostly I hang out with my friends and my brother," who are all ninja, "and practice with my sword." The way she rattles that off makes it sound like it's a perfectly normal use of time for a teenage girl...

Retreating into formality is about the only way he knows how to deal with this set of circumstances without embarrassing himself-- something he is keenly desperate not to do, considering how preciously Zuko counts his dignity-- but the fact is that it doesn't come naturally to him, and accordingly, doesn't last long.

He follows Obi-Wan further into the living quarters and takes the indicated seat, his uncertainty and remoteness disappearing at this warning. If anything, it's a relief. Zuko is so bad at idleness, and having something like the war to take his mind off of things sounds just about perfect.

He tries to rest his hands calmly on his thighs but ends up clenching them into fists, leaning forward unconsciously as he answers. "I won't let you down," he says in the tone of a fierce promise. "I've always felt like I should be contributing more to the war." Master Iroh had reasons to keep him away from the fighting, he's sure, but... but it had never seemed right to him. "We probably can't stay here long, right? You'll have to return to the front? Don't waste time here on my account if you're needed there."

Zuko is, as ever, ready to jump right in and brush past as much self-reflection as possible. Is this the kind of question he'd been looking for? Oh well.

Giles is a Guide, but after that disaster with Ethan decades ago, he'd never intended to take another Sentinel. He'd helped Buffy in a temporary, emergency fashion in his role as her Watcher-- the Slayer was always a Sentinel and Watchers were correspondingly always Guides, but his role was to teach her and her chosen Guide how to function with each other, since Slayers operated somewhat differently than normal Sentinels. He was a guide in the traditional sense, as Watchers were meant to be. They watched, they didn't participate.

Not that Giles had ever followed that rule all that strictly after his abandonment of the Council, but in this one case, he had. He'd seen the wisdom in it. A man in his fifties had no business being permanently tied to a young woman, and sure enough, Buffy had found Willow very quickly. They'd fumbled at times, sometimes to the point of outright disaster, but they were stable now and barely ever needed his advice. His status as Guide rarely comes up anymore; there aren't enough Sentinels left in the world for him to go running across them all that often in the first place.

And good thing Willow had finally sorted herself out, seeing as the world had gone to shit.

Of everyone, Giles and the rest of Buffy's friends were best-prepared to deal with it, but that was a relative term. It hit them as hard as anyone else, they were just better organized, knew what they were dealing with right away, and had a huge cache of bladed weapons stored up. Over time they had come to their current set up: a large, converted government building with a long red banner tied to one side of the roof, flapping in the wind. It was unmarked but not overly tattered, its out-of-place existence sign enough to any survivors that cared to try their luck with them. The area around the base was assiduously patrolled -- not only by Buffy, though she was patrol leader -- and kept clear of walkers, and any assorted other demons that tried to take advantage of the situation, though that was rare these days. With so many fewer humans, there was less reason for them to come to this dimension. Less prey.

They're an appropriately paranoid lot and anyone approaching encounters posted guards in short order, and a lot of suspicion. Passing through and joining up are two entirely different propositions. Giles has made sure they're remote enough that there wasn't a large enough local population to sustain a consequently large zombie population, which also means they don't often get people trying to join them. It brings their informal members up to about two dozen, and no more, more like an extended family compound than a town or a militia. Part of what keeps their numbers small is that Giles insists on screening everyone himself, puts them on a probationary period, and has no hesitation in kicking people out.

After the first couple times it'd gone sour, no one contests his judgement anymore. He dourly wonders how he ended up head of this little cadre, seeing as he'd never meant to be, but fact of the matter is that Buffy won't trust anyone else to handle administrative matters and as the Slayer and primary defense-- what's kept them all alive this long-- no one argues with her. With Dawn dead, she's become a different, harder person.

Giles himself is mostly just tired. At least there's enough daily tasks to keep him occupied: he interviews everyone who stops through, just to take information. Visitors are led to his de facto office, filled with mismatched bookshelves and his most precious possession, a hot water heater. He nurses a mug of tea very slowly these days, since sometimes they run out and he can't be sure when they'll recover more.

He's a tall, worn-looking but composed figure, in an old leather jacket, sweater and jeans, in practical dark colors, leaning over a huge area map spread across a dining table, corners weighted down with leather-bound books. "Come in," he says curtly, when there's a knock on his door.

Edited 2017-01-17 18:59 (UTC)

At that, Aral merely splits the bread, offering half the loaf to the young man in front of him. The man from the earth kingdom was bearlike in build, as many earthbenders tended towards. Large, rough, square hands, calloused with work and bending nearly engulfed the half loaf held out. His face was stern, but grey eyes hard, calculating, but not unkind in set. They regarded Zuko in turn.

Aral had no illusions about who the other man was... though somehow, the boy was younger than he pictured, even having had the drawings and the reports.

It left the question of whether Aral himself wasn't recognized, as he suspected, or he was prone to looking down on those outside of noble origins, something that seemed close to true on the intel on the royal family of the Fire Nation.

Either way, this proved a rare opportunity to observe Fire Lord Zuko outside of the guards, the prep and counsel, and carefully stage managed affair that was about to begin. "You still have the night before the circus begins. I would suggest enjoying it."

He takes the bread without thinking about it, his expression shifting to what has become his new default, pensive rather than angry. He shakes his head immediately. "Enjoy it? You're kidding. Now's not the time for me to be relaxing and drinking tea," he says in a scornful tone, before catching himself. "I mean... I should be using this time preparing. But I'd just get in the way while everyone's unloading."

Zuko takes his duty to represent his nation very seriously, and this meeting will be so monumental it makes him feel tense even thinking about it. This much is okay to say to some nameless member of the Earth Regent's party, and he's spent enough time as a refugee in the Earth Kingdom that he isn't uncomfortable with it any more than he's normally uncomfortable in conversation. Nonetheless, his brows are beetled as he stares down at the bread in his hands, twisting to seat on the edge of the fountain with a certain heaviness as he starts picking pieces off and absently flicking them into the pond.

It's not the same without the turtleducks.

The way she says it makes it sound just so normal, and Shindou in fact takes it as something relatively ordinary. It could just be the way she worded it.

"Iaido? That's a pretty impressive choice of activity too." Raimon Junior High had a kendo club, but this was his first time meeting someone who did iaido. At least he's assuming it's iaido. Unless she was a student from Sengoku Igajima... but she didn't seem to be from the area at all.

"Do you have anything you like to do with your friends?"

Edited 2017-01-17 22:38 (UTC)

"Oh, hello." Carol peers out from behind the door with an anxious titter, closing it behind her. Hunched, her chin tucked and hands knotted nervously in front of her chest, everything from her hair to her boots tired and faded, she's mouselike in behaviour as well as appearance.

"Is it alright if I sit down? My back..." She walks with small, quick steps, stopping to hover behind the chair and look up at Giles meekly. She's a small woman, but the way she holds herself makes her look even smaller. Fearful tension makes her eyes and voice tremble, adding to her air of fragility.

"Where are my manners, first let me thank you for saving my life. I don't know what I would've done if that girl hadn't come along- Betty? Bless her heart. And thank you for welcoming me. It's been some time since I've seen a friendly face."

She wipes a tear away from her eye with the hem of her sleeve, pursing her lips. Buffy had found her walking down the interstate during a supply run. Just a lost woman looking for her way home, with only a backpack and a knife to her name, going entirely the wrong direction.

It wasn't too far from the truth. Carol had lost her home when Rick banished her, and she'd left the guns in the trunk of the nearest car she could find.

She'll need them later. She always does.

Edited 2017-01-18 01:15 (UTC)

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idk I guess I still play this dumb asshole

FOR GRUMPY EARTHBENDER REGENT

FOR GRUMPY WEAPONSMASTER

FOR TOLERANT SPACEDAD

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SURPRISE NINJA

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for the samurai!

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i'm sorry this was supposed to be a guardian meme and iT JUST TURNED INTO WAR

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typical Zuko problem tbh

a Guide walks into a zombie apocalypse...

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