#urzai is not amused

[stardust948]

On Day 3 after being resurrected from the dead, Aang gets grounded for saying a slur.

[debcroft13]

random urzai idea

in court ozai encrouges ursa to chose her inner court, of coourse he filed down candidates to fit her tastes, but it up to Ursa to decide whom she wants

Ursa get on with most of them and they are ery potective of ursa as she a kind shy emphic person. Ozai finds her cute so often places hand on her head amused by her

anyways there ikem with a new face and is trying to get close to ursa but her inner circle keep pushing him away.

Well later ozai confronts this man later on as the man is lying about who he is as iroh knows nothing about a man pretend of his name and rank

[maripolifan]

Urzai Week Day 6 - IKEA

The family goes on a shopping trip to IKEA. ...Where Zuko is? He's got grounded (with Iroh watching over him) for destroying the piece of furniture Ozai is currently complaining to the unlucky cashier about...

@urzaiweekblog

[whattheheehaw]

broke: Zuko, Katara, and Aang as The Phantom, Christine, and Raoul in a Phantom of the Opera AU

woke: Ozai, Ursa, and Ikem as The Phantom, Christine, and Raoul in a Phantom of the Opera AU

bespoke: KIYI AS GUSTAVE

[proxissima]

What was your opinion of the Urzai Brat Pack AU ?

I love it! The idea of Ozai being a single dad to six children alone is enough material for an entire sitcom. The fact that he's also completely unable to assert his will when it came to... well, everything with Ursa, which is pretty amusing on its own.

[seyaryminamoto]

More Gladiator asks: great analysis on Ozai's side of Urzai's relationship. Would like to know more of the mysterious Gladiator Ursa's side of the relation as well -- why does she like Ozai (if she does) and what does she think of his bonding with Azula too. E.g. Who corrupted who? Do they love each other? Is he more happy about Azula than he is with her. Why her husband dislikes their son? // More complications...

Hehehe, no one ever seems to ask about Ursa’s opinions on things, I’m glad someone finally did xD The upcoming answer is a bit spoilery, soooo…

I’ve said it many times, but it bears repeating: Ursa isn’t her canon counterpart here. She’s highborn, raised by nobility, and she demands a certain respect, not in the same direct and obvious way as Azula, but she does anyhow. Ursa definitely was attracted to Ozai physically right away, but she remains the picture of traditional perfection around him during their first encounter. And on the next ones, when their impending marriage is practically a done deal, she pretty much forces Ozai to up his game while wooing her: she refuses to be bought and paid for with fancy jewels, something Ozai has already implied in past chapters. And as I’ve always written Ozai with Zuko in mind, especially in his youth… my Ozai is more than a bit awkward about winning over Ursa. But much like Zuko would have been in similar circumstances, Ozai decides he won’t give up and he tries and tries and tries again, with different approaches and varying levels of failure each time (?) which amuses Ursa quite a bit. And while he’d be outraged to be laughed at… it’s not quite so bad when she’s the one laughing.

By the time their wedding hapens, Ozai actually is VERY awkward about certain things precisely because he has grown to crave Ursa’s approval. She’s probably the second person he’s most eager to please, right after Azulon. So when Ursa is nervous about their wedding night, instead of being the dickhead everyone must picture him as, Ozai actually backed off and didn’t demand anything from her. And if there’s one thing that endeared him to her, beyond the shallow “omg he’s hot” realization upon first meeting him, it was this xD Ursa becomes much nicer to him after he decides to privilege her comfort over their alleged marital duties, and he waits until she’s actually ready to make a move (okay, who am I kidding, it’s Ursa who makes her move, Ozai doesn’t have the guts xDDDD). This, as well, is inspired by the fact that I cannot picture Zuko forcing himself on someone whose approval he actually cares about: and as Ozai isn’t a complete monster here, he respects Ursa the way she wants him to (not to mention, he’s probably afraid of disappointing her with his performance and putting it off is a good idea until he learns what he’s supposed to do, ahahahaha :’D).

There’s a few other moments that damn near push Ursa into fully loving Ozai, most of them at the earliest stages of their relationship. But that’s the first real important moment for them, and the other stuff that endears him to her is waaay too much fun, so instead of telling you about it I’ll just save it for Part 3′s flashbacks if ya’ll don’t mind (?)

As for her opinion on Azula and Ozai, she starts off happy for Ozai’s closeness with his daughter: Zuko has never been too friendly with his father (now, this I do want to spoil: baby Zuko actually pooped himself the first time Ozai held him, that’s legit the way their relationship started in Gladiator x’DDDDDD), so when Ozai is more attached to Azula right off the bat, Ursa is pleased for it. But when Azula proves to be a force of chaos in her own way, Ursa starts to worry. Zuko is more of a crying baby while Azula is a mischief one that never does as she’s told, so imagine how much fun it is to put them together :’D it’s a mess. Therefore, Ursa tries to make them get along but nope, no use, Azula is too defiant, independent and stubborn! But she doesn’t realize there’s anything out of the ordinary in her children’s relationship until a certain thing I’ve already referenced in-story happens, meaning, Azula’s little plot to become Piandao’s student too… it’ll be fun showing that from Ursa’s POV xD

At that point, Ursa starts having more conflicts with Ozai because she realizes he’s become Azula’s enabler. He’s been encouraging what she considers Azula’s least acceptable behavior, and while Ozai starts off backing down to please Ursa (as he does over the Piandao matter), eventually he starts to bicker back and stand his ground. I don’t really think Ursa believed Azula “corrupted” Ozai, but she most definitely thought they were terrible influences on each other. Azula was, after all, a child who needed guidance… and where Ursa assumed Ozai would give it, he instead seemed to decide his daughter was fine just as she was, and spurred her to continue doing whatever she pleased to rather than telling her to get along with her brother or anything along those lines (Ursa’s main concern). I can’t say that she thinks they love each other? But she wouldn’t mind much if Ozai loved Azula better than her, because as it is, Ursa absolutely loved Zuko more than anyone else. Azula told Sokka as much:

“I don’t know what brought on the downfall of their marriage, but I never did have any reason to believe she loved him. Not if the way she treated Zuko was the standard for how she loved someone. She never treated anyone the way she did Zuko.“  

So Ursa wouldn’t have been up in arms about Ozai genuinely loving their daughter… the problem is, what’s going on there isn’t EXACTLY love, it’s more like Ozai wants to make sure Azula can do whatever she wants in life, no consequences, and Ursa isn’t big on that. If Ozai were affectionate and happy with his daughter in innocent and harmless ways, Ursa would have been blissfully pleased… but that’s not what was happening and it definitely became a wrench in their relationship.

Also, it must be said… Ursa doesn’t hold Azula responsible for the decay of her relationship with Ozai or for anything, really, despite Azula has assumed Ursa holds her responsible for just about everything wrong in the world xD there’s a LOT about her mother that Azula absolutely doesn’t understand. I know the story so far reads as “Ursa is the true monster here! She’s the WORST and Azula’s perceptions of her are 100% spot-on!”, but… outside of “Zuko was her #1 favorite human being ever”, Azula’s perceptions of her mother aren’t completely accurate. It doesn’t mean she was wrong about everything, absolutely not, but Ursa is way more complicated and less straightforward than that in Gladiator. 

And of course, Ursa doesn’t quite understand Ozai’s problem with Zuko, and to be honest that’s just as pivotal for their conflicts as Ozai’s enabling of Azula. Ursa loves Zuko heaps, and it baffles her that Ozai sidelines him to such extent to favor Azula. And the more conflictive things get between the two adults, the more Ursa tries to shield and defend Zuko, and Ozai retaliates by further encouraging Azula and standing by her. It’s pretty toxic, why lie? But neither side really looks for a compromise or a genuine solution, they’re in so deep they can’t see the full picture at all and they don’t realize how much harm they’re causing their own family just out of a nasty mix of pride and stubbornness. Cue the irony that Azula starts rebelling against her father, if only in subtle ways, and Zuko is completely estranged from both his parents… and that’s literally when both siblings started to get along :’) what does that say about Urzai’s A+ parenting, I wonder? :’D

I don’t know if I answered all your questions x’D but this is Gladiator!Ursa, to a fault. She’s a lot more than meets the eye, very complicated and complex, and boy, I can’t lie, I really look forward to writing her properly by Part 3 :’) but ahaha you’re getting a glimpse of her in Part 2 so LOOK FORWARD TO THAT! :DDDD

[sky-kiss]

Vampire Urzai: blood drinking. If you wanna get specific: Ursa finds herself a boytoy to feed from (struggling actor Ikem). Ozai gets jealous.

A/N: *shifty glance* don’t tell Kiki. Since I’m technically supposed to be writing my plot still hahaha. Also, sorry the end is super abrupt and there’s not a ton of Urzai until the end. BUT VAMPIRES.

______

Probably don’t trust super sexy vampires in  a vampire club, Ikem.

______

Ikem would never be a star. His acting was passable; his emotional range was decent. He was attractive but hardly noteworthy, especially by Hollywood standards. He was an everyman. More than that, he was an everyman without connections, without talent, without money. She pursed her lips, watching the way he moved. The fingers of his right hand kept curling inwards, nails biting at his palm before he caught himself indulging the tic. He was nervous. It radiated off of him, colored his blood. She could feel his anxiety from here.

Ursa teased her lower lip between her teeth. The truly desperate made for easy targets. She motioned for the bartender to bring her two beers before cutting across the club.

This particular establishment was one of her favorites; a gift from her now husband. It was almost perfectly equidistant from both their territories, deep within the heart of no man’s land. Elysium suited Ozai’s taste more than her own, somehow elegant and garish in equal measure, but it was...comfortable. The thrumming of the bass chased down her spine, eliciting a comfortable shiver.  It’d been too long since she last fed; too long since she allowed herself the thrill of the hunt.

She painted on a wide smile, dark hair falling over her shoulder, cocking her hip against the table, “You look like you could use a drink.”

Ikem blinked. His gaze dragged over her, quickly, snapping back to her face. Even in the halflight, she didn’t miss the sudden flash of color. He dragged a hand over the back of his neck, clearing his throat. Ikem held up his glass, still half full, “I uh...I already got one. But...if you need a place to sit. Feel free. It’s pretty crowded in here.”

He had a nice voice. A little too soft to suit his face but otherwise unthreatening. Ursa nodded her thanks, slipping into the open seat. Ikem returned to his fidgeting, scanning the crowd. Amused, she sipped her own drink, “Looking for someone?”

“Yeah. Guess you could say that,” he sighed, shrugging, “Was supposed to meet a guy here. Some kind of casting director. But uh…” Ikem tapped his phone. The background, she noted, was neutral. Default wallpaper; he’d either just bought the phone or lacked any sentimental attentions. “Been here more than an hour now and he hasn’t showed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eh, guess I should be used to it by now.”

She shifted closer, just a hair. Enough to look beautiful, interested, not enough that he might notice the...otherness of the air around her. Even the stupidest mortal had a latent...awareness of surrounding Kindred, a hold over from their ancestors. Humans felt predators. They sensed them, sensed Kindred. She offered him the beer without comment.

This time he took it, smiling softly, “Thanks. I’m Ikem, by the way. If uh...my whining didn’t turn you off this conversation.”

“You’re stressed. I understand that,” the vampire held out her hand, “I’m Ursa.” A small shiver raced up his arm. He’d take it as chemistry, an electric pull between them, rather than fear. He shifted neared, even as the small hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge.

He grinned at her, ducking his head, “Well, Ursa. Thanks for turning my night around.”

____

Ikem liked her.

He liked her and he was desperate. She caught flashes of his thoughts (or memories, perhaps; they were difficult to sort) as they danced. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to make rent; he was afraid he’d have to move home. He dreaded the idea of going back to his apartment. It was small; the air was faintly scented with mold, wet. It reminded him of a graveyard, of freshly dug earth, and awakened a very real dread in the young man.

She held him closer, listening to the steady thrum of his pulse. Ursa smelt of of honey. Ursa smelt of jasmine, bright, clean scents to overpower the decay that hung around every Kindred. Ikem relaxed in her hold, tucking his face in her hair. She reached into his mind, smoothing each of those fears away. He was safe here. He felt safe with her.

Ikem pulled back, inspecting her face. His grin was easier. She felt the echoing thought drift through his head, organic, of his own imagining. Yes. He liked her. He liked being with her.

She pressed her lips to the underside of his jaw, voice low and silky, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

He shivered, grip tightening, “We just met… I don’t want to…”

Take advantage. He was sweet, if a little dull. She reached up, smoothing a few errant strands of hair away from his face, “Please. I...it’s been a difficult few months. My divorce finalized earlier this week. And I just feel…” she let the sentence drag off, dropping her eyes.

Ikem was sweet. Ikem was desperate. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

____

“This is where you live?”

He stood in the doorway, eyes huge, trying to take in everything at once. Ursa laughed. For the first time of the evening, it was genuine. She caught his hand, dragging him inside, “It’s nice, isn’t it? I’m not here as often as I’d like so you’re welcome to stay.”

The words didn’t seem to register. Ikem crossed to the balcony. The back of the penthouse was all glass. At night, the heavy curtains were thrown back, revealing the entirety of downtown L.A. After centuries of life, she still found the view quite beautiful.

Ikem turned back to her. If she wasn’t mistaken, he looked...grateful.

It was a foreign concept to the Kindred. She reached up, threading her fingers through his hair. He was not like her husband. Not beautiful, not striking. Ikem simply was. He comfortable and boyish and dull. A palette cleanser, almost.

He kissed her again and she let him, humming into the touch. She let him take her to bed, let him undress her. He’d stammered out an apology as he undressed, struggling with his belt. She willed him to calm (and he did). Ursa settled over him, pressing him back into the mattress, lips pressed against the column of his throat.

She drank from him, greedily, barely away of his moans, the fitful way he clutched at her hips. After, she willed him to sleep.  In the morning, he would awaken with a headache. Tired but sated, convinced they had made love.

She brushed the back of her wrist over her mouth, cleaning the blood away before she redressed.

____

His blood was...rarely pleasing. Delicious even.

And he was convenient. He was desperate.

Ursa offered him the apartment. She offered him a job. Night guard of this very apartment complex. Ikem had stared at her, eyes wide and adoring. He clutched her to his chest, kissing her cheek and breathing against her skin, “You’re an angel. You’re a lifesaver.”

She’d smiled instead of responding.

_____

“You’ve been absent, wife.”

His voice came from inside her head rather than out.  Ozai sounded disinterested. An act, put on to appease his ego, rather than the reality of the situation. She could make out the underlying edge, the note of irritation, possession. She had turned her attention outward, away from him.

“Business, my love,” she responded. Ursa inspected her reflection in the mirror. While her husband stood no more than a foot behind her, his own image was notably absent. His clans curse; a constant irritation. In a show of deference, she recovered the glass, turning to face him. “Don’t tell me you’ve missed me?”

“Never,” he poured them each a drink. Blood, too viscous to pass as wine. Ozai crossed to her, pressing the crystal into her hand, “How is your...pet?”

The right corner of his lips curled back, sneering. As petty as it was, on Ozai it was an undeniably elegant expression. A month apart had weakened her resistance to his charms. She tamped down on the first stirrings of desire, “Jealousy is an ugly emotion, Ozai. Even for one as beautiful as yourself.”

“Not beautiful enough to keep your attentions.”

She laughed, winding her arms around his waist, “Would you prefer I drink from you every time I hunger? I don’t imagine so. And you have pretty young women of your own.”

“That’s different.”

“How, my love?” She could feel his irritation across their bond. Ursa reached out, smoothing it away as best as she was able, pressing her body against his. She nosed his cheek, “You know I am loyal to you. You can feel it. You see it. I would never stray.”

“I do not like your toy…”

She hummed, curling her fingers in the front of his suit, “I know, my love. Perhaps you should meet him. Set your mind at ease?”

They could come to an arrangement. They could share her toy. Ozai frowned, head tipped to the side like some great, indolent, predator. She felt the moment he agreed, a savage breed of glee flooding his gold eyes. Ozai nuzzled into her throat, “Yes, my love. Yes, I would love to meet him.” He grinned at her and she felt a sickly thrill chase down her spine.

[depression-in-the-fire-nation]

Reunion

URZAI WEEK DAY 7

A/N: Umm, that’s a bit early. But I’m leaving today, so I had to post this as it is. Happy Urzai Week, everyone! <3

***

The ship approached the island at a slow but steady pace. From his current quarters Ozai could track its progress all the way to the small harbour, when a lone figure disembarked and began the trek up a narrow mountain path.

At his order, the servants prepared tea.

“My lord,” Tang said, later. “A guest humbly requests your audience.”

“Let him in,” Ozai said.

Tang paused mid-bow, but left without a further comment. He had served in Ozai’s household for almost three decades, and was – wisely – deemed too loyal to embrace the changes forced upon their Nation by its unlawful ruler. Ozai’s banishment had in all likelihood saved him and the rest of his staff from unemployment and starvation. Not all of them followed, but a sizeable number had made a new home for themselves on this wretched island. And now, the so-called Fire Lord had graced them all with his exalted presence. How lucky they were.

Ozai knelt motionless by the low table as the doors were opened, ready to face his son.

Except it wasn’t Zuko.

It took a moment to place the new arrival within the context of his new world – or, perhaps, to define the space she had occupied in the old one. For seven years no more than a fond memory, here she stood before him, flesh and blood; beautiful, even despite the passage of time.

A low chuckle escaped his lips.

“This is a surprise,” he said.

“I would have announced my presence,” Ursa said. “Had you been permitted to receive letters.”

Her voice stirred something in his mind. A faded echo of a weaker man, sentimental, complacent with mediocrity; Ozai was never him but, for a while, he pretended to be. For a while, it even brought him some measure of peace.

As she entered the room, he took note of her sombre black robes, elegant but simple, and the way she pinned her hair upwards without the decorative hairpiece that proclaimed her a Princess of the Fire Nation. Surely their idiot son restored her titles, so maybe it was deliberate on her part.

“The Fire Lord is frugal with his mercy,” Ozai said.

“He had good teachers,” Ursa said.

Unbothered by the lack of invitation, Ursa took her seat opposite him. She served tea as if nothing had changed – the table an only separation between them, and not years of bitterness and resentment.

“I trust these quarters are more to your taste,” Ursa said, lifting her cup.

“It’s an improvement,” Ozai replied.

A shack on top of an active volcano was what it was. All its comforts had been a poor trade for the cruel illusion of freedom. His old prison had been leeching the life out of him, true, but it offered no pretence of not being what it was. This—this was a farce.

“Perhaps you can tell me what prompted this change,” Ozai said, a spasm to his jaw that made it difficult to speak. “So that I can properly express my humble gratitude.”

Ursa’s smile, devoid of warmth, sent an unpleasant sensation down his spine.

“Distance is a powerful force,” she said. “The further you are, the easier it will be to forget you.”

“Your experience in the matter is greater than mine,” he said.

He realized his fists have clenched, so he loosened them, noting their tremor as he did so. After her exile, Ursa was difficult to keep track of, but he heard the occasional rumour from his spies, amidst more important news – she served the Earth Kingdom; she returned to the Colonies; she re-married and had another child—

“Did you manage to forget me, Ozai?” Ursa asked. Her voice, pitched low, trembled with some unknown emotion. “As you managed to forget every promise you’ve ever made me—”

“You’ve made your choice.”

“I’ve made the choice you wanted me to make,” she said. “Always, everything had to be about you.”

Ozai grit his teeth. “You wouldn’t dare speak to me that way if I hadn’t been crippled.”

“Perhaps your memory is failing you,” Ursa said coldly.

Her impertinence was nothing new. He had tolerated it in the past, but it infuriated him now – had he been whole, had he been sitting in his rightful place – if she saw him as he should be, she wouldn’t be looking at him with that sad, disappointed expression. He was greater than she thought. Yet nothing he ever did made her see that.

He pushed to his feet and paced the length of the room. Unadorned windows looked out onto the ocean and the Island that held the Nation’s Capital. The sight was infinitely more easy to bear than his wife’s face.

She stood next to him, straight-backed and proud. He heard her soft exhale but cut her off before she could speak.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I think you know,” she said, quiet.

Ozai bared his teeth in a smile. “Would you like to see me grovel, Ursa? Did you hope to see me broken?”

Her golden eyes flared in anger.

“I’d be foolish to hope that defeat humbles you,” she said. “You are the same you’ve ever been. Our son is twice the man you will ever be—”

He towered above her, caging her against the stone wall. Ursa’s gaze did not waver, even if she had to crane her neck to look at him.

“Your son,” Ozai said. “Wouldn’t be where he was if it weren’t for the Avatar. Don’t imagine it was some great feat on his part that got him the throne.”

“You wouldn’t be where you were if it weren’t for me,” Ursa said. Her brows arched, some deep-seated hurt ringing through her voice. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of, dear? Were you finally satisfied?”

“Yes,” he said.

She fell silent. He was familiar with the look in her eyes – anger, disappointment, sadness. This was what she left him with when she changed his future with one decisive blow. The highest treason, one that she committed without thinking. Not for him but for that ungrateful whelp—

Ursa’s fingers skimmed his jaw, his cheekbone, and then brushed away his hair. Gentleness became a foreign sensation over the years, and it set pinpricks of electricity along his nerves. Ozai found his jaw clenching.

“You know,” Ursa said. “I always preferred you with your hair down.”

“Did you really,” he asked coldly.

Amusement lit up her whole face.

“Yes,” she hummed. “No one else got to see you that way.”

And now everyone did. Ozai bit back a curse, the wretched woman cupping his face with a curious intensity. Her hands felt—warmer, now that the fire inside him was dead. He gave into that warmth, soaking it up, losing himself in it.

Her lips parted readily when he kissed her, hands locking around his head like a vice. He pushed her further towards the wall where she couldn’t even think of escaping, seizing her hips with a bruising grip.

They shared a long kiss and then a few gasping breaths, the air heated between them.

“Why are you here?” Ozai repeated, setting his teeth against her neck.

“Surely you know,” Ursa said. “It’s been seven years—”

He chuckled and nipped at her jaw, while Ursa glowered at him.

“Did you miss me, wife?” he asked.

Her kiss was an answer enough, hungry, ferocious. There was still anger between them, but it had always been there, binding them together more tightly than their marriage vows. It’d be a shame to let go of it.

“Take me to bed,” Ursa ordered when they broke for air.

“This is my house,” Ozai said, if only to see her scowl at him. “We will go where I please.”

“Darling, if you want to have sex on the floor, you’ll be the one lying down on it,” Ursa said with faux sweetness.

Ozai growled, an answer low in his throat. But soon he thought no more, all his protestations forgotten.

She was here, solid and warm and his. For now, that would be enough.

[makesometime]

Role Reversal

Urzai Week - Day 5

My intention this week was to make all of the pieces I wrote little smutlets. It has taken until day 5 for me to actually achieve this... This is rated M for Maybe keep the kids away.

She cannot claim to have been without him for long. He has not been on any visits on her behalf recently. His place by her side has been occupied, rather than empty, for longer than she can remember since she ascended to the throne.

Yet she misses him.

Ursa sighs, dipping her head back to allow the handmaiden to pour steaming water over her scalp, clearing the suds away. Her baths are usually a calming time. She converses with the women who tend to her, enjoys hearing them discuss their days. It’s relaxing, in a way that ruling a nation can never ever be. An escape.

Yet, she misses him.

The youngest of her servants watches the water sluicing over the edges of the bath with naked fascination, her role yet to come. Ursa snaps her fingers to pull the girl out of her daydream, smirking at the flushing the paints the young girl’s cheeks.

“Might you fetch me some tea?”

The girl bobs into an awkward curtsey and rushes away, carrying the towel in her hands instead of setting it down. Oh, but she needs some more training. It will come with time, Ursa supposes…

The tea is slightly less than ideal temperature by the time she returns. An unimportant fact, at least for now. The jasmine calms her too much to care for lukewarm tea...

And. Yet. She misses him.

Her servants know better than to query her moods. They might notice and discuss them later, hushed conversations in darkened hallways. But their silence is part of their professionalism. When a hand smooths over her shoulder, Ursa takes it as her cue to rise from the water.

The youngest girl hurries forward with a robe, wrapping her up as another tends to her hair, combing it out and up into a swath of material to dry out some of the excess moisture. Ursa wanders to the nearby seating, tea still in hand, and sinks down into the softness of the pillows with a sigh.

A quick rap of knuckles on the door makes her hide a smile behind her cup.

“Come in!”

Her husband ducks into the room with a smile on his face. His meetings must have been fruitful, for him to be so openly emotive. He walks past the servants as if they are not there, reaching into the bowl of fruit at her side. He bites into a sliced fig with relish, humming at the sweet flavour over his tongue.

“You seem in good spirits, husband.”

The Prince Consort nods, settling his weight down beside her. Despite her better judgement, she allows one of her legs to fall slightly apart from the other.

His fingers dance up the sensitive skin of her inner knee and Ursa winces, ticklish. “I have had a productive morning wife. My pleasure is only doubled by seeing you.”

“Oh, you charm me.” She scoffs, looking around at the women who are pretending not to watch them. “You see how he charms me?”

A quietly amused chorus of Yes, Fire Lord Ursa makes her grin and point at him, sipping at her tea. One of the women moves behind her and skillfully combs out her damp hair so that it won't tangle later on.

Ozai's hand moves further up her leg, fingers disappearing beneath her robe. She doesn't stop him. Couldn't stop him, in truth, even if she wanted to. Her legs part invitingly, the sides of the robe falling open to reveal most of her lower body.

“I cannot help myself.” He murmurs, and she realises a moment too late that he is both continuing their conversation and giving her warning, as he shifts his weight to settle on his knees at her feet. “I am awed by your beauty.”

She almost rolls her eyes. He is laying it on incredibly thick, as if she has not invited him to touch her with every action since he entered the room. Setting her cup down, Ursa folds her arm against the mass of pillows to prop her head up on her palm. When Ozai sinks his head to kiss her thigh, she hisses.

There is no reason for her to be reacting this way.

And yet…

Agni.

His mouth is like a furnace against her core, his tongue hot and wet as he teases at her clit, probes at her entrance. He traces each part of her, hands holding her thighs wide to accommodate the breadth of his shoulders. When his nose nudges her just right, his tongue rolling into her with a hum, Ursa curses lightly and tips her head back, ignoring their audience.

“It is clear that she cannot resist me…” He murmurs to the room, to everyone and no one in particular.

Ursa laughs, but it's choked, his teeth scraping her clit as he slips a first finger deep inside her. “And yet who is on their knees?”

She feels his grumble more than she hears it, the vibrations sending a shiver down her spine. He is really far too good at rendering her insensible. Ursa huffs out a breath, reaching down to tangle her hand in his unbound hair, delighting in making a mess of her put-together lover.

“So demanding.” He murmurs, pulling back just as she starts to crest, pressing wet kisses to her inner thighs. “It is a wonder that I am able to get anything else done.”

Ursa bites her lip, fighting the frustrated groan that wants to spill forth. “How lucky I am… that you have always over-achieved.”

She thinks she hears a stifled titter, somewhere from the other side of the room, but it is wholly lost in the thundering of blood in her ears as Ozai's tongue licks along her core once more.

His hands, strong and firebender-hot, hold her thighs as he greedily laps at her, intent on undoing her by the touch of his mouth alone. It is hardly an achievement, she is entirely familiar with the talent of his mouth.

No, it is a matter of pride instead. He wants people to see how completely she can be owned by him, by the pleasure he can bring her. How swiftly he can break down the barriers of role between them.

She lets out a quiet whine as the waves of pleasure roll over her, shuddering slightly in his grasp. Ozai groans into her slickness, sucking hard at her clit to make her arch and shout, oversensitive and at his mercy.

It's too easy to turn her hold of his hair into a caress, scratching her nails over his scalp as he remains buried between her thighs. Eventually her husband sits back, wearing a lewd smile as he wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, smoothing his beard down.

“I think perhaps another bath is in order.”

Ursa laughs. Yes. She missed him.

[stardust948]

Urzai adopts the Gaang AU - The Headband

@urzaiweekblog

Day 3: Unplanned

Day 6: Dance

Day 7: Tradition

Ozai couldn’t believe he let the children talk him and Ursa into this. Aang attending a Fire Nation school was a bad enough idea. Now this?! Ozai swore he was going to go grey early with as many stressed grey hairs the young Avatar has given him.

“This is such a terrible idea.”

“Agreed. But you know they were going to go behind our back and do it anyway.” Ursa said. “At least this way we can keep an eye on them.”

Ozai grunted. He already caught Azula and Toph trying to spike the punch with cactus juice they got from Agni knows where. But judging from the slightly dazed looks and wobbly swaying, they managed to sneak some in after all.

“Besides,” Ursa continued. “Look at how much fun they’re having.”

Ozai hummed. Aang was showing off some “traditional” Fire Nation dance moves to the students as Toph and Azula laughed from the side while passing back and forth a cup. Katara even managed to cox Zuko onto the dancefloor. Ozai smiled to himself. It has been a while since he’d seen them this happy especially after Ba Sing Se fell.

Ursa grinned. “Careful Ozai. I have you know dancing is illegal in the Fire Nation.”

Ozai stilled. “The music is livelier than I expected.”

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to ruin your pristine reputation.”

Ozai smirked and held out his hand. “Considered it ruined, my dear.”

Ursa accepted with an amused expression. “You know how to dance?”

Ozai led her to the dancefloor. “Can’t be much different from sparing.”

“Well then.” Ursa pulled him close. “I’ll lead.”

They circle each other in slow careful steps like the beginning of a duel before dissolving into sharp twists and turns; the natural synergy was similar to covering each other in battle. Aang led the others into some sort of circle dance around them, whooping and cheering.

The feeling was incredible. Exciting. Fun.

It was actually… fun.

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?!”

The music stopped abruptly. At the entrance of the cave was the headmaster and a couple of Fire Nation soldiers.

“Where is the student with the headband? Bring him to me now!”

“Ash.” Ozai and Ursa both swore under their breaths.  

It was fine though. They’ve planned for this. While the students distracted the headmaster and soldiers with their own headbands, the rest of Team Avatar slipped through the escaped tunnels. They had to be quick. The soldiers won’t hesitate to arrest everyone here by force if needed. Ozai glanced around to make sure everyone got out. He suddenly had formed a deep pit in his stomach.

“Wait.” Ursa whispered alarmed, echoing Ozai’s thoughts. “Where’s-“

“What’s all this now?” A stern looking man with a bushy beard demanded.

The soldiers straighten up immediately. “Captain Wang Fire! We-“

“I don’t want to hear it! You two are needed at the Eastern Gate now. There are some unauthorized benders lurking by there.” He looked directly at them. “You all should leave. Now!”

“That’s where he’s been this whole-“

Ursa shushed him as she led him out. Ozai sighed.

They were all so grounded.

[debcroft13]

Preview 2 for urzai week comic in progress, yeah I know it crap but ozai makes me amused

[sky-kiss]

Urzai Day 3: Winter

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Winter

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She’s never been so far from home.

Ursa tells him this with a gently lopsided grin, eyes still foggy with sleep. She rests her head on his chest, scratching her nails over his ribs. She’s nervous. He has no words of comfort to provide, blinded by his more pressing irritation.

This...venture is his father’s doing. The first months of their marriage should not be spent sequestered away on a battleship. His free hand, the one not resting at the small of his bride’s back, curls into a fist, nails biting at the flesh of his palm. It’s exile. They should be reveling in the populace’s well wishes. Instead, Azulon has sent them to wander the far corners of the earth.

Ursa taps one nail against his clavicle, frowning at him, “It only a few weeks, Ozai.”

He hates that she can read him. The prince grunts, staring up at the ceiling, “It is the principle. The wasted opportunity.”

“There will be others.”

There’s a smoothness to her voice, almost lyrical, intentionally pitched to soothe him. He recognizes it for what it is: a control mechanism. They are still freshly married; still feeling out their respective authority. He scowls at her, sitting up in their too small (cot) bed.  Ursa sighs, turning her face back into the pillows.

He paces the length of their room, stopping near the decanter. There is still sake left over from the night prior. A part of him itches to finish the bottle, to let the alcohol soothe fraying nerves. He pushes that urge down. Instead, he crosses to the room’s single window.

While not large by any stretch of the imagination, Ozai recognizes they are blessed to have even this much. Fire Nation ships were designed for practicality rather than aesthetic pleasure. At best, a window was a luxury; at its worst, it was a structural weakness. They had anchored nearer to the coast during the night. The thickness of the fog had left them feeling anxious.

He sees now that the man made the correct choice. The fog has not dissipated over the night. They are near the southernmost aspect of the Fire Islands, closer to the south pole than anything. Overnight, the temperature has plummeted. The window is frosted now. Ozai drags his fingers across the glass, frowning. He cannot see much but...there are little flecks of white slowly drifting down. They melt as soon as they hit the waves, dissipating into nothingness.

He...cannot remember the last time he saw snow. The prince frowns, brow pinching. He glances back towards the bed. Ursa is feigning sleep, her breathing too practiced and irregular to deceive him. He seats himself on the mattress, reaching out to brush the backs of his finger across her shoulders, “Dress yourself, wife. There is something I wish to show you.”

“Ozai, it’s still early.”

“Please.”

He is not in the habit of asking for anything. Ursa frowns, regarding him with fresh curiosity before nodding. She pushes at his chest to make room. Her robes are pooled near the foot of the bed. She gathers them with a practiced air of nobility, redressing without shame. Ozai allows himself a moment of weakness, his gaze lingering on the narrowness of her waist, the flair of her hips. The marriage had not been his idea but...if nothing else, his wife is achingly beautiful.

Ursa cards her hands through her hair, attempting to smooth it back down. It offers the illusion of presentability. She clears her throat, “If you insist on dragging me from the comfort of our bed,” her tone stresses her irritation. “Then lead on, Prince Ozai.”

He offers his arm, shrugging on his travel cloak, “You seem aggravated, princess.”

“We’ll say I’ve taken a page from your book, husband. I’m brooding.”

He will never admit that he enjoys her spirit, prefers her aggression to the dull, passionless persona she adopts in public. Ozai leads them down the warship’s twisting corridors. Silence stretches between the two of them, surprisingly comfortable.

“Did you have snow in Hira’a, Ursa?”

She shakes her head, pressing more closely to his side. The temperature has steadily decreased as they approach the deck. And while her silks are undeniably elegant they were never designed with the cold in mind.   In a show of uncustomary chivalry, he drapes his cloak over her shoulders.  “Never. Even in the winter,  Hira’a stays quite warm.”

In lieu of a response, he holds the door to the deck of the ship open. The young woman’s eyes widen in naked shock. Over the course of the night a healthy coating of snow has settled, dusting every available surface. Everything, even the low rumble of the ship’s engine, the steady crash of the waves, seems further away. More silent, tranquil.

Ursa glances at him once more before stepping out into the snow. It catches in her hair, a smattering of white amidst inky darkness. The young woman holds out her hand, smiling at the little flakes. They remain for a moment before melting.

He watches her move about the deck, a bemused half smile tugging at his lips. His young bride looks out of place, the lines of her figure too soft for the military vessel. Her robes are a wash of color amidst steely greys and blacks. There’s a fluidity to the way Ursa conducts herself, as if every step is synced to music only she can hear.  It is a charming little oddity.

There’s a flush of pink in her cheeks, undoubtedly inspired by the cold. Ursa looks...far younger than she is, more innocent, more alive. More like the magistrate’s daughter from Hira’a and less like the prince’s wife. She spins on her heel, focusing on him. Ursa holds out her hand, “Will you join me?”

He likes this image of her, flush, drowning in the fabric of his cloak. Ozai chuckles, closing the distance between them with sure steps. Ursa does not mount so much as a token show of resistance, twining her arms around his waist. She is shivering. He focus on his chi, uses it to warm his own body before allowing it to radiate out to his bride. It must work; Ursa makes a small noise of contentment.

“I see your desire for my company was not entirely selfless,” he mumbles, glancing out over the sea. It’s uncustomarily peaceful for this time of year. Too calm, too tranquil; even Ozai cannot muster the necessary vitriol. His tone is lightly chiding, tinged more with subdued amusement.

It’s the first time since they left port that he feels...calm. A break in the storm, surely; he can feel his irritation, his frustrations with the Fire Lord, still crawling beneath his skin. For a moment, they are further away. Ursa turns her nose into his chest, mumbling something he does not catch. About the quiet, perhaps. She tips her head back to smile at him, young and (deceptively, falsely) innocent.

“You dragged me from the comfort of a warm bed. This makes us even,” she squirms a little in his hold, wrapping his cloak around them both. Ursa sighs, “It is beautiful.”

Ozai rests his chin on the crown of her skull. He will allow himself this reprieve. He will allow his bride’s calm to wash over him. The prince surveys the deck a final time, pale and rarely beautiful, “I suppose it is.”

[sky-kiss]

Urzai Day 4: Modern AU

A/N: I failed. This was going to be business AU. With a lot of boardroom sex. And then it was. Sokka getting the parents drunk and them just being filthy and confessing all their youthful indiscretions. Now it’s this.

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AU Where Everyone Is Disgustingly Happy and It’s Pretty Gross

______

“I fail to see why we must attend.”

Ursa took a steadying breath, staring straight ahead instead of at the man beside her. If she looked, the urge to slap him upside his idiot head would prove too great. Instead, she pinched the bridge of her nose. She reminded herself of the reasons she had fallen in love with him. She reminded herself of the two beautiful children they raised together.

Better. She turned, painting on a radiant smile, “Because, my love,” she stressed the endearment, enjoying the scowl it elicited, “this is a family affair. And, like it or not, Sokka is practically family.”

“Not yet.”

She pinched his forearm, “Hakoda will be there. You like Hakoda.”

“I tolerate Hakoda,” he corrected, turning up his nose. There were times when her husband struck her as a paragon of men, forward thinking, handsome, charismatic even. There were others when she could not shake the impression that he was nothing more than an oversized child trapped in a man’s body.

“Yes, well,” she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of his dress shirt, patting his stomach, “I tolerate you as well, dear. So please. Behave.”She knocked on the door before he could argue, shifting the bundle beneath her arm. A bottle of wine for herself, cinnamon whiskey for her husband, and a pie (bakery bought; she had no talent herself) for the children.

Despite Ozai’s grousing, she had high hopes for the evening.  Sokka hadn’t offered much in the way of an official explanation; he was just excited to have a place of his own after sharing an apartment with his sister for the past three years. “A get together kind of thing" had been his exact words. Kya had kindly translated to “ a housewarming party.”

Ursa was happy for the him. In part because he deserved it; of all the young men she’d she’d had the pleasure of knowing Sokka was one of the few she would classify as genuinely good. And, more selfishly, because she knew how good he had been, and was, to her daughter. It was something of an open secret among their social circle that Azula had spent the majority of her nights at the house.  Helping Sokka unpack.

“He’s really quite hopeless,” she’d muttered, making a show of inspecting her nails. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he’s made it this far.”

The hand at the small of her back smoothed upward, fingers curling in the fabric of her shirt as he leaned past her, knocking on the door. Ozai’s voice pulled her from her reverie, “If you’re going to stand there all day navel gazing…”

She shook her head, chuckling despite herself.

The conversation inside silenced immediately. She could just make out the sound of Sokka barking orders (at her own son, most likely) and then feet padding across the hardwood. The water tribe boy was grinning, a hint of color already in his cheeks from the heat, “You found the place! See, Azula. I told you they’d find it.”

Azula, leaning against the kitchen island, made some flippant gesture with her hand, “I didn’t doubt they could find us, imbecile. I doubted they would come.”

“Well,” Sokka turned back to them, grinning, “Shows what she knows. How are ya, mom?”

Ursa chuckled, returning his embrace, “I’m doing well, dear. Are you settling in?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just...boxes. A lot of boxes,” he scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, surveying the living room. While it was mostly put together now (her daughter’s influence, no doubt) there was still an element of chaos. Nothing she and Kya couldn’t fix over the course of an evening. Sokka held his hand out, tone more somber, “Mister Huo.”

Ozai shot her a look. To an outsider, she imagined it must look as austere as any of his other expressions. After decades together, she saw it for what it was. Thinly veiled amusement. Her husband linked his hands at the small of his back, standing to the full of his considerable height, “Sokka.”

“Dad’s out back making burgers if you want to go help. Think he was going to make a fire or something.”

Ozai’s eyes widened, “He’ll burn your house down.”

Sokka flashed him a sheepish green, shrugging, “Yeah. That’s what mom said too.”

Her husband grumbled something under his breath, pausing to press the obligatory kiss to her cheek before stalking towards to the back door. It was probably for the best. Conversation would be easier without Ozai looming over their shoulders. And Hakoda, for as dear as he was, as good as he was, was better off with a more...grounded partner supervising his lofty endeavors.

The water tribe boy stared after the man, shaking his head. “We’re never going to eat.”

Sokka sounded appropriately miserable. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face, a testament to the summer heat and the oppressive humidity. Staring out towards the backyard, Ursa was inclined to agree with him. Already, she could hear the telltale signs of their bickering.

“I’m just saying. If you had a little more vision, we’d have this done in half the time,” Hakoda flipped the burgers for perhaps the fifth time in as many minutes. Too often. He shot a dark look at her husband. Ozai stood to the side, arms crossed over his chest, unrepentant. He was already portioning out their whiskey, tone droll, chiding.

“There is a burn ban in place for a reason, Hakoda.”

“Are you this unimaginative in every aspect of your life, Ozai? If so, remind me to offer Ursa my condolences…” Kya slid the back door shut. The rest of their conversation was (mercifully) droned out.

Sokka took the pie from her, motioning for her to follow, “C’mon. We were waiting to take a tour of the house until you got here.”

“That was very sweet of you, dear, but you didn’t have to go through any trouble on my part.”

He waved her off. To her surprise, Azula uncoiled from her position near the kitchen island, moving to twine her arms around the young man’s waist. It was...impressive growth for her.  Even months into their relationship (and after her parent’s reservations were finally erased), she’d been leery about showing public affection. She’d spent years cultivating her public persona, encasing herself in armor; even the smallest show of attention was too much like a gap in her armor.

That she felt she could express herself here was telling. Ursa  fought the urge to reach out and touch her daughter’s face. Azula’s smile was subdued, maybe even indulgent, but it was there. That meant the world to her.

Kya rolled her eyes. The water tribe woman pressed a glass of wine into her hand, tipping her head towards the hallway, “If you’d prefer, Ursa and I can show ourselves around…”

Her son shook his head, half a step from lunging in front of them, “Not a chance. You guys will start ‘organizing’ and I’ll never find anything again. Now. First stop, the bedrooms.”

The older women shared an amused glance. Neither of them missed the way Sokka took Azula’s hand. Neither of them  missed that the girl was mostly willing to follow, her protest entirely feigned.

______

It was a comfortable house, she’d give him that. Nothing overly remarkable (which shock her, honestly; Sokka was painfully traditional in some respects and a pioneer in others). Perhaps the most impressive aspect was an addition he had made himself.

He was living here alone (technically). The master bedroom was his. The spare was set up to serve as an office sometimes and a place for guests to stay. The third room was just...excessive. So he’d started a project all his own.

Sokka scrubbed and the back of his neck, gesturing at the polished hardwood floors. The far side of the room was lined with mirrors; an effective replica of any ballet studio. Ursa hid her smile behind her hand, listening as the boy fumbled through his justification, “Don’t smirk, mom. The room wasn’t doing me any good and Azula needed a place to...you know. Practice. And at least if she’s here when she falls…”

“I do not fall, Sokka.”

“If she falls,” he corrected, “I can drive her to hospitable or something. Or at least...defend the paramedics when they arrive.”

Ursa smiled, “It was very thoughtful of you, dear.”

“Eh. Gotta give her some reason to stick around.”

She didn’t respond but found herself shooting another glance towards Kya. The other woman shook her head. In silent agreement, they hung back a few steps, letting the couple lead them back towards the kitchen. They were involved in a little squabble, verbally prodding each other until Azula dug her elbow into the boy’s side. It didn’t keep him from laughing.

Ursa shook her head, linking her arm with the water tribe woman, “I don’t think I understand their relationship. But I’m not exactly in a position to judge.”

“Let’s just say love is strange, hmm? Leave it at that.” She liked the other woman. She was clever and feisty and had a...realness to her that was lacking among the majority of Ursa’s social circle. She liked the glint in her pale eyes, the hint of mischief as she leaned against her shoulder, “And how are you holding up, Ursa? After everything with Zuko?”

She snorted into her wine, “Ah. You mean after he decided to take ten years off his mother’s life?”

“More or less.”

Her (idiot) son had decided to vanish over the weekend. She’d been none the wiser until Azula forwarded her one of the (less flattering) new articles. Tycoon’s son married in Vegas. Ursa was still in the process of recovering. Her frustrations were only made worse by Ozai’s sudden indifference to the whole affair. For once, he wasn’t willing to chastise their son. Ursa finished her glass, “I’ll make it through. How’s Katara?”

Kya snorted, “Happy to have her brother out of her hair, I imagine.”

It’s all...oddly companionable. They two women drift into more neutral territory. How busy the hospital was recently (they were understaffed again, Kya was convinced that was responsible for her fresh string of grey hairs); how Ursa was managing the company’s latest merger.

It was...lovely.

[sky-kiss]

Urzai for the Sentence Starter thingie, 'I'm not jealous! It's just...you're mine!' Thanks! 😘

HOLY DAMN. YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE. This made it through.

_____

Apparently I’m just writing broody fire fam…

_____

Ozai is well aware that he’s brooding.

On the off chance that he was not aware, Iroh is good enough to stop by his corner and inform him of the situation. Cheer up, brother, this is a party. We smile at parties! You can sulk in private! And off he’d gone, laughing to himself, laughing at Ozai.

The second born prince scowls harder.  

This is all Ursa’s fault. They are engaged to marry and yet she has not come to him once this evening. She has not so much as greeted him. Instead, she covorts about the dance floor with lesser nobles, lesser men. They have the audacity to speak to her, stammering their idiot jokes, and she laughs. She’s flushed from her exertions and she’s laughing and twirling in another man’s arms and…

The temperature around him spikes. One of the guests to his right shoots him a dark look before realizing exactly who they’re side eying. They rush to put distance between them. Ozai’s hands are balled at his side, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. How dare she. How could she betray him like…

“My love, should I be worried?”

The sweetness of her voice jerks him out of his rage induced spiral. Ozai is left to blink, staring into his affianced’s face. Ursa eyes are glittering with naked amusement. There’s a light sheen of sweat on her skin, owed in some part to the exercise, in some to the warmth of the evening. She arches one brow. Ozai tries to smile. It comes across as a sneer, “Managed to drag yourself from your lover’s arms, did you?”

She snorts, tossing her head, “Is that why you’ve been scowling in this corner all night? My darling,” Ursa goes so far as to laugh, stepping forward and placing her palms flat against his chest, “Were you jealous of those boys?”

“I am not jealous,” but he is jealous. Ozai scowls, surveying the crowd with more disdain than usual, squaring his shoulders and standing at his full height. He will look impressive, powerful; he will not allow these peasants to look down on him. He searches the sea of faces until he finds her most recent paramour. An unimpressive young man with a painfully common face. “It’s just that you’re mine.”

Ursa hums, stepping into him fully. Her arms wind around his waist. She’s a delicately built woman and not particularly tall but she fits against him nicely. His princess tucks her face in the curve of his throat, dragging her teeth across his pulse. He wants to tell her to stop. This is an impropriety and she will bring shame down on them both for her torrid behavior but…

He can’t bring himself to dismiss her. His hands settle on her hips, dragging her nearer. He presses his lips to the crown of her skull, “Say it.” She hums. Ozai snickers. Her tongue flicks out, only briefly, to tease the underside of his jaw, “Say you’re mine, Ursa.”

“I am yours, you fool man.”

“I never doubted.”

Ursa laughs and the little minx has the audacity to pinch him.

[sky-kiss]

22 for the AU? Thank you! 😊

Two of you asked for this so I’m being lazy and saying this counts for Makesometime as well. I guess…people really want Urzai to be miserable at a wedding. You guys are savage.

22: two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU

Ursa had attended enough weddings over the course of her eighteen years to know she did not enjoy them. They were stuffy, tedious, overblown affairs. The ceremony itself seemed to diminish the very idea of love. Love was, by its very nature, wild and passionate. What it was not was a legally binding contact.

A ceremony, secret, known only to yourself and your true love…that struck her as a noble affair, a true victory for romantics everywhere. Standing in front of hundreds of people, many of which you hardly knew…well, that rang hollow.

The receptions were worse. Most of her time was spent dodging her more persistent admirers, eager to use dancing as an excuse to touch her. She frowned, tucking herself away in one of the far corners of the room, happy to be forgotten. In an hour or so she would slip out the back and no one would be the wiser.

It’s a clever ploy. So clever that another guest seemed to have had the same idea. He was a young man, somewhere in his mid twenties, tall, though it was difficult to estimate his exact measurements. He was leaning against one of the columns, doing his best to look disinterested. Ursa would be the first to admit he looked impressive, his countenance grave, eyes narrowing at any guest who happened to linger around him.

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, clearing her throat, “Do you mind if I stand here?”

He didn’t look at her, “Yes.”

“I won’t talk to you…” 

“You’re talking now.”

Ursa glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “After this. Look. I just…need somewhere to wait. Away from,” she made a vague gesture at the crowd. The jumble of a dozen separate conversations was beginning to give her a headache, “All…that. I’ll be quiet. I promise.”

He opened his mouth, no doubt to snap something at her. The young man stopped mid rebuke, staring. For the life of her, he looked dumbfounded, those strange gold eyes raking over her face, her attire. A hint of color bled across his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “If you’re quiet…I will permit you to stay.”

She snorted, “How generous.”

They whiled away twenty minutes in near silence. She would chance a look at her companion from time to time (and once, caught him already in the process of observing her). He was a remarkable creature, all high cheekbones, a strong bone structure. She was not certain how to classify his looks; they were caught squarely between ‘beautiful’ and ‘handsome,’ with neither sitting quite right.

He had pretty eyes. She’d always like pretty eyes. And a wide mouth, almost too wide but not…

He broke the silence, clearing his throat, tone almost brusque, “Are you old enough to drink?”

She eyed the young man carefully. He had a sullen, moody look on his otherwise handsome face. His long hair was pulled back in a pristine tail but there were dark strands hanging around his face. Each one was a very small, very petty, little act of rebellion, “I’m eighteen.”

“That’s legal somewhere,” he motioned to the waiter. The harried looking man’s eyes widened as soon as he caught sight of her new friend. He nodded once, closing the distance between them so quickly she was afraid he might drop his tray. “Champagne?”

She hid her smile behind her hand, “Yes, thank you.”

The waiter hesitated, glancing between them fitfully, “Sir, are you certain…”

“This young woman is a personal guest of mine. You will serve her.”

“Of course,” sweat was beading on his brow. It seemed a little cruel, really, but it amused her nonetheless, “My sincere apologies, Miss…” He glanced back towards the young man.

“Ursa,” she volunteered, saving him any awkwardness. He nodded, passing her the glass of champagne before hurrying away. She dragged her finger along the rim, inwardly delighting at the little hum of crystal. She could just make it out over the rest of the cacophony. “A personal guest, am I?”

He shrugged, taking a long swig of his drink. She had very little experience drinking but it still struck her as the wrong way to go about champagne, “I wouldn’t flatter yourself. Half the people here consider themselves my guests,” he pursed his lips, staring down into his glass, “I hate all of them.”

“Well, you’re excellent company.”

“Weddings bring out the worst in me.”

“Afraid you’ll never find a bride of your own? What with your…sunny disposition?”

The young man laughed, a sharp bark that seemed to surprise him more than anyone else. A few guests stopped to stare, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Ursa hid her glass behind her partner, reaching out to squeeze his bicep, “My apologies. I can’t remember the last time someone spoke to me so frankly.” He tossed back the rest of his drink, pulling a face, “Ursa, was it?”

She nodded, holding out her hand, adopting a haughty air,  “Lady Ursa, actually.”

Something wicked flashed in his eyes, his attention flicking from her face to the crowd. With an indulgent sigh, he took her hand in his own, uncoiling from his position against the pillar. She was shocked by the true size of him, the suit lovely tailored to hug his (impressive) figure. He dropped into a practiced bow, holding her gaze, “A title suits you, ladyship.”

“Where I’m from a gentleman would introduce himself.”

“Would he?” he had yet to release her hand. His skin was achingly warm, his thumb brushing against the back of her knuckles, “A Lady would know best. And I am no Lord…”

“No?”

He smirked, smug, self satisfied as he bent to press a kiss to her hand, “Prince sounds so pretentious in comparison, doesn’t it?” Ursa blinked. Never in her life had she seen anyone look so damnably pleased with themselves. He shrugged his shoulders, lazy, indolent, “You may call me ‘Ozai,’ Lady Ursa.”

She pursed her lips, “You must feel clever.”

“A side effect of being clever.”

Ursa snorted, “Prince Ozai, I think I need more champagne.”