Wot're you doin' here, little girl?
Who: Azula What: A phone call from Ozai and then an assignment. Where: A warehouse in London When: Late, late Tuesday night/Wednesday morning Status: Complete Rating: PG-13 for lightning bolts to the heart.
"Yes father. Thank you. I'm every proud of her." Azula nodded her head, listening to what her father was saying on the other end of the line. Her expression darkened, "I don't know what happened on the Romanova, or who those people are."
There was another long pause, "...I'll take care of it. "
There was a man in London, linked to the ship and the trade that had taken her friend. Azula was relieved. Her father wasn't a part of any of this. He was with them against this. This was proof.
Several hours later, at a dock in London, Bernard Shaw was reviewing his records. Perhaps he'd been too greedy, taking pennies off the pound, but it wasn't like anyone ever noticed. He'd ran the warehouse since Iroh had eliminated a thief over ten years previously.
A penny here, a penny there. He was sure it was fine. It wasn't like textiles brought all that much attention, anyway.
Azula had forgone her sling. The pain helped her focus and the sling would have gotten in her way. Besides, it would be showing a weakness, something that simply wouldn't do. This was personal, and she was glad her father had realized that. Maybe she could cut this chain.
"Bernard, Bernard, did you really think the Fire Lord wouldn't notice?"
Bernard started at the sound of a woman's voice. It was silky smooth, and not a little bit condescending. She was a lot younger than he'd expected. He snorted, folding his arms, and trying to ignore the sweat beading down his back, "Wot're you doin' here, little girl? We've got real business goin' on here. I don't know what you're talking about."
"Business? You call this business?!" Azula's hand traced a slow circle through the air, crackling electricty following in it's wake as she pointed her two forefingers at Bernard. The man stared, frozen in shock and disbelief. His scream was lost to the sound of thunder.
Azula brought her hand up to her injured shoulder, pressing her palm against her wound and hissing as the pain resurfaced. She walked past the electrocuted body, pulling on a pair of white gloves and started to page through the files, looking for manifests or destinations.
All she saw were textile shipments and embezzlement, and none of the shipments were large enough to be people. She'd been used. Azula let out a frustrated cry.
The Phoenix King, indeed. Even here, even here she was just a tool. It had taken her too long to realize that there. Many long months and years locked away. And too many years in this world too.
Fire Lord? She'd show him fire. Her eyes flashed, angry and unstable. They reflected blue flame, and then her fire became an inferno.