@teleportingprogrammer starter call.
The man standing there was ablaze.
Not literally, perhaps; but it was in his aura; the very way he stood; a pillar of stern confidence, the very picture of wealthy grace. His robes nearly touched the floor; made of exquisite black material that framed his abdomen but tapered out towards his limbs.
His arms were folded behind his back as he peered at the display. The porcelain in question was nothing special, (at least not by magical standards), but they had his attention nonetheless.
Actually, Ozai hated it. He found history pointless; yes, perhaps studying ancient techniques and philosophy could be useful, but why would anyone want some pieces of junk that were hundreds of years old?
But his brother enjoyed it, which meant his father enjoyed it, which meant Ozai was here.
"It's Kangxi, yes?" he asked; tone polite as his gaze shifted over. Never one for small talk, though. That was Iroh.
