Zuko remained rigid and stand-offish, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the floorboards so he wouldn’t have to see the customers making fools of themselves. Even if they were happy. What right did they have to be happy anyway? Most of them were dirt poor. They lived in overcrowded, rickety little apartments just like his. Refugees hoping for a better life, and winding up in a slum. He remembered Jet on the ferry, talking about the city with reverence, like it was some kind of utopia and everything would be wonderful once they were through the walls. He wondered what Jet thought of the city now…
He knew his uncle was trying to impart some of his old man wisdom on him, but he just sighed and shook his head. They could sing and dance all they wanted, but at the end of the day, they were still dirty, poor, miserable nobodies in the Lower Ring. And he didn’t want to be one of them. Not even when they were happy.
He nodded and started to turn to the back, preferring to escape through the back door rather than weave through the people crowding up the main room. He blocked out much of the “feel the ground” and “see the city” nonsense, though he murmured, “Sure, fine,” as he moved to the back. He wasn’t going to say no to a break from this ruckus. “I’ll be back in a while.” Once enough time passed for all of this to be done and over with.