milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There is a maimed prince with a whole VERITABLE STACK of books, note pads, and a couple of scrolls with him on the table. There is also a slender case on the table, which holds a flute inside. He has gone through two parts of ginseng tea and thus, remains both busy and rather energizeed.

Zuko has been busy, it seems, and he has not had and entrance post in some time, so here he is -- please, come and ask about the several projects that keep the prince from going insane while he waits for the door to appear.

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A calm glance over from Mesaana as she watches him study. A cool, disdainful look, a kind of imperious arrogance glazing those features. She said nothing, merely watching him for a moment between sips of her tea.

A brush in hand, Zuko is-- somewhat aware of being watched. But he is used to both arrogance (possessing it himself) and imperiousness (being that he is a prince).

But he eventually pours himself another cup of tea, and sips it, before he asks in a curt tone, "Must you stare?"

Boys with scars rarely enjoy being a spectacle.

A sniff from Mesaana. Her voice is like crystalline chimes with an icy tone to it.

"Merely observing the room."

Zuko bristles, just a little. "Perhaps observe in another direction."

But then he ducks his head, and attempts to return to his study, brush moving back and forth over the page, occasionally dipping against the inkstone.

Mesaana gives a cold, disdainful glance. The look of someone who was used to obeying and feeding those who did not to the Trollocs. This was, in fact, exactly the situation.

"Perhaps, I will."

Zuko is used to being obeyed, in turn, but only through bullying and title. He is a prince; an heir, should he complete his mission.

"Excellent," he says, though he doens't look up to see her glare. "I'm sure there are much more interesting things here for your eyes to rest on."

Mesaana looks away, her eyes resting on the blank wall. Calmly, she sipped her tea.

"There certainly are."

A blank wall is preferable to his rippled flesh, in Zuko's mind.

"Good, then," he replies in clipped, irritable tones. "I'm glad you've found something that pleases you."

An icy quip from the Forsaken as her eyes darted back towards the arrogant little snot.

"And if only I could get some silence."

"Bars are noisy," Zuko says, a smirk curling his lips; who is irritated now, mmm? "If you sought silence and introspection, might I suggest a monastery?"

A golden glow burned around Mesaana. Icy blue eyes narrowed as she seized the Source.

"Or I could simply use my powers to shut you out. Now, will you leave me be?"

Zuko blinks.

Is she threatening him? The prince just stares at her in turn, though he hardly looks cowed.

"Keep your eyes to yourself, my lady, and you would be less aggravated," he says simply; the fault, to Zuko, lies clearly with her.

But he returns to his brush a moment later; the Bar has Rules. No one is foolish to violate them in a place like this, are they?

An icy snap to her voice as she studies him coldly.

"Provided that you do not speak further, then I am perfectly content to do so."

Zuko doesn't speak.

He snorts dryly, instead.

And Mesaana returns to her tea calmly. He needed to be taught a lesson, but she had better things to do.

Zuko needs no more lessons in suffering; he has had them aplenty.

You'd think he'd learn.

He doesn't. But at least he's above petty return aggravation, retaking his tea and his studies, head down.

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