peasant of the southern isles || Azula and Hans
Hans knew he could easily be incorrect, but her explanation implied a certain exploitation that thoroughly appealed to him. Clearly, she knew both her brother’s strengths and weaknesses – and did everything she could to hold both against him. Despite himself, the prince once again found that Azula impressed him. The ability to take advantage of other people’s shortcoming was something not everybody possessed. Some would call it compassion, but Hans called it weakness and he had a sneaking suspicion the princess would likely agree with his assessment. He rarely met anybody cut of a similar cloth at he, although he expected Azula would not be pleased to hear him say so and he remained silent – on that subject, at least.
❝ And how, then, would you define honor, princess? ❞
He did not bother to hide the glint of amusement in his eyes, although it disappeared as quickly as it developed. For his part, Hans had little use for any definition of honor at all, as it seemed to do far more to hinder its victims than it ever did to enrich their sad little lies. He was much more interested in raw power, which was something he sensed in droves from the Fire Nation’s shrewd princess. It made her that much more intriguing… and dangerous, but that was hardly something he feared. The prince elected, too, not to touch on the subject of whether or not she actually missed her brother, although he doubted it completely, if only due to the curious light in her eye.
❝ I’m afraid you overestimate me, Your Highness, ❞ replied Hans after a small bite of pork, entirely unfazed by her smooth, practiced dig. ❝ I am not very accustomed to roughing it, as it were, and I very much prefer the comforts that my title allows. Taking years away from all of those things on what sounds like a nearly impossible search sounds particularly unsavory. Call me spoiled, but… I value honesty. ❞
The lie felt like honey on his tongue, the first real mistruth he’d spoken in her presence. The reality was: he loved lies and deception was, by far, his greatest talent. However, it hardly seemed politic to point that out to the princess.
❝ I have never been good at scavenger hunts, after all. ❞
As if I would trust a man who called himself honest. Could her companion have possibly claimed anything more trite?
It was tempting to stifle a yawn behind one hand, but there was a razor-thin line between contempt and crudeness, one she did not deign to cross. (Besides, she had only just met this man. She would sound out his weaknesses and there would be time enough later to apply the pressure.) Instead, Azula favored a tiny sigh, one that might have meant anything--spirits forbid Prince Hans realized they were a vent for her true feelings.
"Why do you ask my opinion?" Azula plucked out the heart of his words as neatly as the royal carver might have served his princess the best part of a dish: that is, if the kitchens had furnished forth the sort of meal that befitted Azula's entertainment. At the reminder her brows knitted together. She would have a word with the head cook later. "Honor is the measuring stick men use to score their lives, the fabric they want to cut their garments from. Wars have been fought for honor.
"Oh, forgive me for waxing poetic, but you've caught me out, Prince Hans." She managed the kind of smile a maiden wore when a handsome man teased out her secrets. "I've made a great study of honor. At court, it's nearly impossible not to. And it has been such a delight, to weigh traitors like my brother and uncle against--say--Fire Lord Ozai. If you must know..." she leaned towards him confidingly, her eyes were bright. "I think honor is a force as powerful as any bending." To whom, however...
"Princess." The man before the table had sunk into a deep kǒutóu, but Azula, squinting, recognized the arched back of the Master of Ceremonies. "May I offer for tonight's entertainment a fire breather."
"Oh! You've found my uncle?"
The Master of Ceremonies blinked rapidly. "No--no, Princess, he--"
"Oh very well." She was too merry to do more than dismiss the courtier with a wave of one hand. Still smirking, Azula nodded to a servant for a second helping of pickles.
