aprettygood-liar

[aprettygood-liar]

[aprettygood-liar]

fire & plants don't mix ♛ open

♛ ; In short, Azula was bored. There were no cunning plans to be made, no brother to torment endlessly, no real reason to test the extents of the fire-bending. And oh, how she missed the latter. Missed feeling such a grand amount of power course throw her body, having it manifest in bright blue flames -- hot, dangerously, deadly -- from her hands.

The days moved quickly. That was the odd thing about being in school; the days either moved too quickly or too slowly. Classes signposted her days -- Thursday was history which she liked, Friday was home-ec which she didn't -- until she was left to her own devices on the weekend. Having felt too cooped up in her flowery-smelling dormitory room, Azula chose instead to venture (even though it wasn't much of a venture) out into the courtyards of Spica. They were grand, yes-- but they didn't compare to the grounds of her own home.

Something odd and terribly menial caught her eye. A lopsided bush, among a line of its perfectly square-cut brothers and sisters. The gardener obviously wasn't doing his job. Stepping closer, a smirk tugged at Azula's red-painted lips, mischievous and not the kind of look people usually liked being at the receiving end.

A small jet of blue fire extended from one finger, pointed and sharp as though it were extending from her equally pointed and sharp talon-like fingernails. Her very own makeshift blowtorch.

          ❝ Looks like I'll have to do his job for him... ❞

[aprettygood-liar]

          ❝ Probably ashamed of their winter-weight and are                     hiding out somewhere. I wouldn't blame them, honestly. ❞

"It’s been rather quiet lately," Tohru let out a slight sigh. "I wonder where everyone is?"

[aprettygood-liar]

you think i’m a MONSTER

[aprettygood-liar]

[♛ —] It had been a little past dawn when Azula rose-- after all, she did rise with the sun. (And she'd never let anyone know otherwise, but sometimes a girl needed to be unconscious for a few extra hours. Years of living in the only place that she could call home taught Azula many things, including the wrath of her father upon his tardy children. Thankfully and hilariously, Zuko bore most of that.) She quickly plucked that day's schedule from her memory from where it was buried under what she had for dinner last night and that she had planned to annoy her roommate by using up all the hot water.

Deciding that she was above the sociology class, filled with brats who had no idea what society actually entailed, Azula chose instead to spend the day meandering through the Spica halls. She didn't dress in the overly-puffy black uniform that the girls were submitted to, but instead slipped into a red sundress. There was nothing more than a slight chill in the air, unnoticed in the heated corridors-- and even then, the fire that she had been born with kept her body warm enough, thriving in its all-too worthy host.

She had spent a few good hours hidden in the back of the library with a stack of books beside her and golden eyes that glared up at anyone who dared approach her. She wasn't a librarian-- if someone needed help finding a book or reaching for something, that wasn't her problem; it was the sweater-wearing, spectacled, balding man pushing around an constantly full cart's problem. It wasn't until her body reminded her that she had skipped breakfast earlier in the morning (Ino hadn't made anything and Azula was done with cereal featuring those terrible dehydrated berries) that she finally pulled her eyes away from the line of printed text. The breakfast service had long finished, and it was at least three hours before lunch would be served in sterling-silver bain-maries, scratched from their constant use. And Azula didn't particularly feel like waiting around for vegetables drenched in gravy, a dish that apparently was meant to cater to Spica's Western students. (Not that Azula wasn't guilty of indulging during pizza days. Gravy just wasn't her thing.)

Unlike so many other of the fools in this place, it only took Azula a (full) day before she could easily navigate her way around, rolling her eyes and sauntering away from anyone who tried asking her for directions. (She had once been told that that was a good way to meet people, but those were the kind of people that Azula very much didn't want to become friends with.) She abandoned her stack of books and wove her way through staircases and locker-filled hallways and took a shortcut through the cafeteria until she reached the campus' kitchen.

When she stepped in, however, Azula was greeted with an expected sight. Although, the only indication of her mild surprise was the quirking of her eyebrow and nothing more. The girl before her definitely didn't look like one of the school's hired cooks, too young and lovely-looking for that-- but older than Azula who was reaching the end of her high-schooling years. At the girl's nervous stammering, a slight smirk tugged on her red-painted lips. Nervous stammering: one of Azula's favourite things to witness, especially when she had been cause of it. She didn't particularly respect Spica's rules, so it mattered little to her when someone else was breaking them so if her new kitchen-counterpart was worried about being called out on trespassing, it was unwarranted.

"Don't worry, as long as you're not lacing the salt with rat poison, I couldn't care less about what you're doing in here." Her voice was laced with amusement, and the ever-present sarcasm that seemed to cling to her velvety lilt.

Before she could say anything more, Azula found herself having to watch (because she had eyes and she had to put them somewhere) as lavender locks shifted as the other girl hurriedly made to cut-- was that cherry pie? Azula loved cherry pie. It was one of the very few desserts that she allowed herself to indulge in. She did nothing but stare down at the piece that was pushed in her direction, discerning the perfect way the cherries and sweet, red sauce oozed from its pastry cage. When she looked up again and spoke, her tone took on a hint of bemusement, as did her eyes. "Did you really break in her to bake a pie?"

a year.

月-— Hark! If one listened, they would register the noises of..

                                                                     Well, nothing, actually.

There were no sounds of heels against barren, tiled floors. No agitated rustles of grocery bags evermore creased by the contents it enveloped. No audible breaths. Nothing. The sky had tucked its fingers into the tiny fractures within it, peeling layers of blues to allow an ink to spill and stain, dying the world with secrecy. It was with this blanket that the rabbit would put a certain scheme into action. There would be no returning. Yukari would commence this syrupy mess and she would prevail as the victor! “Ahahahahahaha!" Hands contacted her mouth, toting ephemeral pain along with them. Whoops. Too loud.

All supplies,

                             ＲＥＡＤＹ？                                          ＧＯ！

She nimbly maneuvered into the high school dorm’s kitchen without detection, positioning a pristine pot onto the stove. Ferreting through her plastics, digits wriggled until identifying a bag of cherries, ripened to glossy rubies. After cleansing the fruit under the water so unwillingly generously donated by the faucet, carmines tumbled, greeting metal with their descent. Plop. A deadpan stare monitored the bleeding fruit prior to advancing. Glass lilacs scoped through bags for sugar and corn starch, which were then married in a bowl of hues that mimicked her own before precipitately dumped onto cherries. An extracted spatula roiled the syrupy goo.

       —- ♪ And done. ♫                      Off went the stove.

Nestled in isolated plastic lay a pre-made crust, faintly rimy from its freezing residence. In another bag, surplus dough rolled out to blanket cherries. As the idol waited for the heat to subside, folded papers were fanned onto a table. Pencil scratched the results to ample homework. Haah. Neglected assignments finally assembled attention at the cost of flickering eyes. It was all so boring, but necessary. And FINALLY, the cherry mixture cooled with the completion of work, as if a coalition had been composed. The filling glided into its container and was promptly shoved into an oven for a fifty-minute wait comprised of humming and absent staring. With a BEEP, the oven door gaped, framing a cherry pie. Its fragrance wafted out. The pie was extracted for cooling.

Step, step, step.

With footfalls, a pate swiveled, attempting to detect a source. She could feel beads of perspiration forming to accompany her noisy, accelerated heart beat. Uh oh. A college student in high school dorms wouldn’t be acceptable. And no excuse of ‘It’s easy to navigate!’ would be readily acknowledged. “U-uh..” Gulp. Orbs navigated across the room. Inhale, exhale. Hopefully her loitering would be excused by the offer of her prize. A knife dug into the pie, slicing a generous triangle before being transplanted onto a plate and offered to the other. “H-here..!”

[aprettygood-liar]

[aprettygood-liar]

[♛ —]  Azula supposed that any other decent person would have offered to help at least carry a box from the living room into the bedroom, but Azula wasn't just any other person. (Nor was she particularly decent by any scale of the word.) That thought briefly crossed her mind before it skittered away, along with the absurd notions that Azula would ever do anything so medial. And anyway, it looked like Ino was doing things perfectly well on her own-- no need to offer assistance where assistance wasn't needed.

It took a few moments after Ino had (in Azula's opinion) doused herself with perfume for it to disperse far enough into the main bulk of their dorm for the firebender to catch it. It didn't smell particularly bad, per se, but it was what Azula would have considered to be the sickly kind of sweet. (Kind of like the type of thing that Ty Lee would wear. It was only fitting that she smelled the way she looked: pink. Not that Azula went around smelling her friend.)

"Do you have anything that doesn't smell like you dove head-first into a florist?" That wasn't exactly an insult, was it? She could have been a lot harsher; Ino should be grateful for that concession.

"Well, where’s your family? Have any hobbies? Favorite places to go and spend your time? Maybe any crushes you have or scandalous stories that you’d like to share. I’d love to hear it all."

At the onslaught of questions, all Azula could do was blink as another one followed. After the first question, the rest sort of blurred into the background and Azula had to stop herself from maliciously smirking in case she came off as some kind of psychopathic serial killer that would really scare Ino off. "My brother's an incompetent fool off shaming the family who knows where, and I haven't seen my mother since all my teeth grew in," she answered, letting the disdain drench her words with a roll of her eyes. Oddly though, her next few words were just a fraction more subdued, lacking her usual brand of sarcasm. "So I suppose you could say that family isn't really my thing."

She exhaled a sharp chuckle and moved to cross one ankle over the other from where she was leaning on the couch's armrest. "I'm sure you'll be hearing a few scandalous things about me for yourself once you get settled it, so that should save me from answering." Although those scandalous things probably weren't what Ino was expecting; less who Azula snuck away with in the night and more whose locker contents did she set aflame? "I have a feeling that you want to talk about silly crushes and scandalous things though." That was as much as an offer that Ino was going to get, but it was an offer nonetheless. (Azula, allowing someone to yammer on in her presence? Spica had really begun to soften her.)

“Don’t tell me you don’t care about how you look in the public eye.”

Azula raised an eyebrow at that. Most of it was true; she didn't care about what people thought of her as long as they bowed and yielded to her-- a thing that she had always done through fear. Fear was the most reliable way. "The public eye, no. Why should I bother about how a few imbeciles think of me?" What she didn't say aloud, but caught onto the end of her words nonetheless was that Azula did care. She cared very much that it was stifling. Only, it was a few select people in the world whose opinions mattered to Azula-- and well, all she could do with that was always be perfect anything less than perfect isn't good enough be perfect be better than Zuko be better be perfect. 

Is it too late to switch?

[aprettygood-liar]

[aprettygood-liar]

[♛ —] Another brush of her fingers through her hair-- and yes, that was a feather. "How disgusting," she muttered beneath her breath, flicking the thing away with disdain. The scratches beside her temple from where a frantic bird's claw had gotten too close to her was barely an afterthought, more of an annoyance than an actual injury. (And Azula knew injuries, having inflicted more than few during her short years.) No blood came away on her fingers when she touched the broken skin -- not deep enough to scar then -- her expression not changing from where someone else would have winced. That was the thing about inflicting pain: she also knew how to receive it.

She'd yet to become accustom to how much she was meant to hide, how power she was supposed to suppress for the sake of their little society and how much she was meant to oppose those parameters to be considered extraordinary. And Azula had always been extraordinary.

Having already been bothered time and time again while displaying her fire -- even that one time where all Azula had done was heat up a cup of tea with nothing but her hands; honestly if anyone was impressed by that pathetic example of fire-bending, their minds were going to be blown by what Azula could actually do -- she was cautious of doing it so blatantly in a semi-public place like the park. Because if she could, where the tree that the birds relocated themselves with would be a pile of ash and fried poultry. (Although, technically it wouldn't be poultry. What would cooked wild birds be called? Game? Azula didn't particularly know nor care.)

“Spica,” she replied as green eyes met gold, a hint of pride detectable in her voice. “I would guess you’re not a student? Or if you were, you obviously don’t understand the great opportunity school presents.”

Azula quirked an eyebrow at those words, both unimpressed and mildly annoyed. Because what would she get at Spica that she wouldn't get a home, pouring over her books? (Although her motives were not entirely for something sickeningly saccharine like learning for the sake of bettering oneself-- no. Azula liked knowing everything and acted it even when she didn't. She like showing up her brother, listing off the successes of their family lineage while Zuko blankly stared at the paintings of grey old men lining their long hallways. She liked rolling her eyes at her tutor when the woman thought that Azula wasn't paying attention, answering questions frustratingly correctly with an air of arrogance that the tutor would swear Azula was born with.) Quite frankly, all Azula thought Spica offered her was another opportunity to be annoyed.

"Looks like we'll be seeing more of each other, then. Only we'll be wearing idiotically frilly dresses." Oh, those dresses. How she'd like to burn the thing-- but that would require going through the effort of buying a new one and having that altered and there was only so much poking and prodding Azula could stand for a garment that she didn't even want.

"Or it could be that you don't understand how these schools work. Glorified prisons really." Azula waved her hand dismissively, pausing only for a second to examine her sharp talons of fingernails. One chip from the tree bark-- she'd have to fix that later before it became the only thing she could think about. "But I am curious. You don't look like someone... accustomed to a place like Spica Academy." And if Azula were a few years younger, a little less mature, she would have hidden the word peasant behind a cough and smirked.

First Day | Sakura & Azula

The furrow in her brow as she spoke. Narrowed eyes filled with - what were they, scrutiny? Amusement? Annoyance? They seemed a little of each, and it surprised Sakura that she was unable to fully read the other’s expression. Spending years on the same team as Kakashi-sensei had left her used to reading people’s expressions - even with just one eye. But this girl… For some unknown reason, she had a hard time reading the raven-haired girl’s emotions. Perhaps it was due to the odd mixture of feelings she was feeling at that moment?

Lastly, her eyes flickered over the stranger’s face, each scratch and marking left from her encounter with nature memorized in her mind. Her right hand twitched, unconsciously rising past her hip from its previous position at her hip, seemingly eager to help the girl. It had been after all, her fault for the other’s injuries in the end. She would offer her medical assistance later, she concluded, wanting to converse a bit more. They weren’t so serious that she had to heal them, but being a fellow girl, the medic worried her victim might be conscious about the cuts on her face. Better to clean up after a mess she created right away than to have it come bite her in the butt later.

Sakura let out the tiny breath she had been holding in without knowing it as she watched the female jump to the ground, having been unsure if she would land correctly. Looking her over quickly, she came to a conclusion - one she should have reached earlier, by all means: she was not a shinobi. The kunoichi could tell by the way the other held herself - her posture was not one she had ever seen - and her eyes did not hold the same emotion scars most shinobi held. Which meant, the girl in front of her had a different way of fighting, and most likely, new taijutsu to teach Sakura. Would she be willing?

 ”I find that it’s a good place to people watch without being… disturbed. Everyone’s always so intent on just randomly speaking to you in this place.”

It was understandable, and she couldn’t help but nod. People watching was never a hobby she had understood back at home, but trying it out once she came to Bunkyo, she began to understand why some people enjoyed it. In Konoha, there was only two groups of people: shinobis and civilians. Of course, there was every personality you could imagine within the group of shinobis, but it was hard to spot them on the streets of the village as they were usually either on a mission or resting in their homes. The civilians, sadly, were pretty much all the same, with nothing to hold Sakura’s interest to them.

The people in Bunkyo, however, was a different story. She had never known there were so many types of people. An odd thought she once had while watching the bustling streets was that Ibiki, the village’s elite jounin and torturer, might enjoy analyzing some of the people in the city. She was sure he would come up with new results unseen in the village. One problem she did face when people watching in the city was that people almost always came up to her to ask questions. What was she doing, why was she doing it, is her hair color natural… She was sure they had many more questions, but she never stuck around past the inquiries about her hair. She was self-conscious about it enough as it was.

 “You look young enough to still be in school. So tell me, which school did you have the misfortune in ending up in?” 

Misfortune? Sakura had never thought of school like that. In fact, she enjoyed the learning environment, having grown up with almost no time dedicated to solely learning new materials. “Spica,” she replied as green eyes met gold, a hint of pride detectable in her voice. “I would guess you’re not a student? Or if you were, you obviously don’t understand the great opportunity school presents.” Her inner self growled and clicked her tongue, not approving of the black haired beauty’s choice of words, but she pushed her inner self to the far back corners of her mind, hoping it would shut her up.

[aprettygood-liar]

[for tywin]

[aprettygood-liar]

Send me a ♀, my muse's name, and a question and their mother will answer it.

[aprettygood-liar]

Come and get it.

[aprettygood-liar]

[♛ —] "Killed them."

"Where is everyone….?"

[aprettygood-liar]

ooc: I have now replied to all of the asks (finally, I know D: D:) so if you didn't receive a reply then the tumbz probably ate it. Also I have a few thread AU ideas if anyone wants to jump on one because, you know me, gotta love the AUs.

V for Vendetta AU: REBELS FIGHTING THE MAN I am a huge, huge fan of any revolution, political type thing, fiction or otherwise

Dystopian AU of some sort, first thing that comes to mind is the Terminator lololol: but yes, resisting destruction by the machines? Having to make allies, stabbing the people that give them trouble, it's all good fun

Asylum AU (Suckerpunch-esque???): pretty self explanatory. They could either be in there "rightfully" or because they've been falsely institutionalised for whatever reason ~*adventures in the asylum*~

Avatar the last Airbender AU: either before or after the end of the war. Before Azula could be recruiting some help in capturing the Avatar, after she's seeking refuge after breaking out of prison? who knows

[aprettygood-liar]

[aprettygood-liar]

[aprettygood-liar]

[♛ —] 'This time'? While Azula occasionally indulged in a glass (or four) of vintage red, public drunkenness was not what she considered the most attractive thing. Nonetheless, all Ace received for that snippet of information was a raised, incredibly judging eyebrow. Her eyes flicked skyward and-- what was that thing Zuko had told her once? roll your eyes any harder, Azula and they'll fall out your head. Yes, Zuko was always an idiot. "That's... probably something that you should get checked out. Wouldn't want you passing out at the top of some stairwell."

Azula startled (just the slightest bit), golden eyes widening incredulously, when Ace grabbed her shoulders and her urge to break some fingers quickly rose as he began to shake her, albeit quite lightly. She breathed out a short sigh, raising her watched arm. She tapped on his arm with two fingers, stating a simple "Don't do that"-- it wasn't harsh, not at all, but instead it was said the way someone would comment on another's new hairstyle or the status of the weather. She waited until Ace removed his hands, mainly to give her the space to hold her watch up inches from his face. "What, did you leave the bath water running or something?"

Letting out an amused sound, Azula lowered her arm, fidgeting for a single moment with the gold watch band as she did do to make sure the face sat perfectly positioned. "That's very vague. How do I know you're not trying to make drugs up there to fund your diet?"

Wait a minute…

A homeless person? Did he really look like one? Well, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but—

"Oh, ‘Zula! Didn’t expect to run into you here." Everything else was forgotten. Well, more like his drowsiness wore off. He was now on high alert. Although, it really was surprising to have a little run-in with Azula at this sort of place. Where was she going? And then he remembered he had pretty much elbowed her. How hard? Hell, he didn’t know but it couldn’t have been that hard. Someone like Azula would be able to withstand it, of course.

"This bench? Well, to be honest, I’m not sure myself. I must have passed out here randomly. I know I wasn’t drinking this time… So I am pretty sure I passed out on this bench on my way home…. I think." Fingers lacing underneath his chin, briefly pondering, he wondered what he was previously doing but couldn’t quite remember clearly. So, he shrugged the matter off. “Wait— Zula— what time is it?” The freckled pirate frantically queried, shaking her lightly when hands gripped her shoulders. Now he remembered, he tried to cook something for the umpteenth time when he noticed he was missing a couple of ingredients. So, in a hurry, he had left home to get those said ingredients, while he left the oven on. He was trying to back a cake at the time, simply because he had a craving for it. 

Running a hand through ebony locks, Ace sighed as a crooked smile graced his lips. "Well, damn. I think I kinda let something burn back at my dorm.." He hoped that someone had taken notice of the smell and did something about it. Like his roommate. But most likely that didn’t happen since he hasn’t even seen or met his roommate.