storypaint (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
storypaint) wrote2015-02-16 03:35 pm
storypaint) wrote2015-02-16 03:35 pm
[Avatar: The Last Airbender/Hunger Games] you're aces for coming along (Zuko gen)
Title: you're aces for coming along
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender/Hunger Games
Length: 859 words
Prompt: fandom_stocking forungoliant
Pairing: Zuko gen
Other: Fusion fic, ATLA characters in the HG universe. HG-typical violence.
Excerpt: Of course, Zuko would have been expected to put in an appearance regardless, assuming he was alive, being his father's son. The fact that he was also a victor was almost a minor detail, except that he thought about it every day and his scar still hurt, all these years later. He could never stop thinking about it, never.
The victor parties were the worst, Zuko thought.
They were not the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and probably they weren't the worst thing that ever were. But while he could hide himself away all the rest of the time, the parties were pretty much compulsory. The President was very much in favor of keeping track of the "ones who beat the system."
Zuko had only heard his father refer to the victors that way one time, but it had been enough.
Of course, Zuko would have been expected to put in an appearance regardless, assuming he was alive, being his father's son. The fact that he was also a victor was almost a minor detail, except that he thought about it every day and his scar still hurt, all these years later. He could never stop thinking about it, never.
He still wasn't sure how he had been chosen. It could have been random chance, of course, because President Ozai made sure that both his children put their names in when they were eligible, as a show of good faith. But he knew that normally if their names had been drawn, a substitute would have immediately mounted the stage.
Instead, Zuko stood there, wide-eyed, blood rushing in his ears, gasping for air. The crowd had been completely silent. He scanned them for a friendly face. Meeting his eyes, Azula smiled.
Whether or not he had lived, his father had proved his point. No one was immune from the Capital's laws. But somehow he had lived, despite the ruin of his face, despite the things he had done to do so.
And now, he had to go to parties.
*
There was a new face this year: a little kid, the youngest victor ever. He was a fresh-faced bald kid named Aang who had won without killing anyone intentionally. The arena had been particularly brutal, with temperatures below zero most of the time. Two kids had frozen to death, one had fallen through thin ice, and another few had succumbed to weather-related ailments. Zuko had watched the Games like he always did, hating every minute, unable to move from in front of the television. Next year, he knew that the designers would make the course a little easier in hopes of seeing more combat and blood.
The kid was smiling and polite and so far out of his league that he couldn't even tell that the others were tossing barbed conversation in his direction. He refused to talk about his time in the arena. The novelty would probably wear off pretty quickly, Zuko judged, and then the others would leave him alone. Maybe he would live to grow a beard.
Maybe not, considering the way that Toph was standing; he'd knocked her off her youngest victor record and she seemed pretty angry about it. Her tactics had been completely different from his. Zuko had seen the footage over and over as she beat the last kid to death with a rock, crying. Zuko saw it every time he looked at her.
She had been blind from birth, but they had taken her anyway. No one was immune. She had been lucky there weren't any good archers that year.
Behind Toph, Katara stood, a little nervously considering the two of them. She was a peacemaker, Katara was. She'd been the victor the year before Zuko had been, and had a serious nervous breakdown afterwards. She hadn't done much of the press, refused to play along. They interviewed her older brother over and over instead, focusing in on the dirt on his cheek, the way he talked about their mother, and how Katara had practically raised him instead. Katara never came to these unless she had to. She stayed at home with her brother in their cavernous victor's house and sometimes sneaked over the fence to hunt game, even though they didn't need it, because other people did.
Zuko wasn't sure who else knew that, but he wasn't going to say anything. His father would use the information, or he would not, but it wouldn't be because of Zuko.
Zuko was pretty deep in his cups when Toph found him, taking him roughly by the elbows and dragging him down the hallway on his unsteady feet.
"What?" he asked, but she just elbowed him in the side and pulled him into a room, locking it behind her. When the bolt slid him, he wished he was sober. There were a lot of people looking at him.
"For the record, this is a horrible idea and we're all going to get killed," Katara said, and made a hmph noise. She crossed her arms and looked away.
"This is an amazing idea, thank you," Toph said. "Didn't you hear what I said? He's the President's son, and he still had to be a tribute! That sounds like a grudge in the making to me."
"What?" Zuko asked again.
"He's drunk," Katara pointed out.
"He'll help," Aang said, without hesitation. "Come on."
He offered Zuko a hand.
"Help with what?"
"The rebellion," Toph said, and Zuko reached out and took Aang's hand.
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender/Hunger Games
Length: 859 words
Prompt: fandom_stocking for
ungoliantPairing: Zuko gen
Other: Fusion fic, ATLA characters in the HG universe. HG-typical violence.
Excerpt: Of course, Zuko would have been expected to put in an appearance regardless, assuming he was alive, being his father's son. The fact that he was also a victor was almost a minor detail, except that he thought about it every day and his scar still hurt, all these years later. He could never stop thinking about it, never.
The victor parties were the worst, Zuko thought.
They were not the worst thing that had ever happened to him, and probably they weren't the worst thing that ever were. But while he could hide himself away all the rest of the time, the parties were pretty much compulsory. The President was very much in favor of keeping track of the "ones who beat the system."
Zuko had only heard his father refer to the victors that way one time, but it had been enough.
Of course, Zuko would have been expected to put in an appearance regardless, assuming he was alive, being his father's son. The fact that he was also a victor was almost a minor detail, except that he thought about it every day and his scar still hurt, all these years later. He could never stop thinking about it, never.
He still wasn't sure how he had been chosen. It could have been random chance, of course, because President Ozai made sure that both his children put their names in when they were eligible, as a show of good faith. But he knew that normally if their names had been drawn, a substitute would have immediately mounted the stage.
Instead, Zuko stood there, wide-eyed, blood rushing in his ears, gasping for air. The crowd had been completely silent. He scanned them for a friendly face. Meeting his eyes, Azula smiled.
Whether or not he had lived, his father had proved his point. No one was immune from the Capital's laws. But somehow he had lived, despite the ruin of his face, despite the things he had done to do so.
And now, he had to go to parties.
*
There was a new face this year: a little kid, the youngest victor ever. He was a fresh-faced bald kid named Aang who had won without killing anyone intentionally. The arena had been particularly brutal, with temperatures below zero most of the time. Two kids had frozen to death, one had fallen through thin ice, and another few had succumbed to weather-related ailments. Zuko had watched the Games like he always did, hating every minute, unable to move from in front of the television. Next year, he knew that the designers would make the course a little easier in hopes of seeing more combat and blood.
The kid was smiling and polite and so far out of his league that he couldn't even tell that the others were tossing barbed conversation in his direction. He refused to talk about his time in the arena. The novelty would probably wear off pretty quickly, Zuko judged, and then the others would leave him alone. Maybe he would live to grow a beard.
Maybe not, considering the way that Toph was standing; he'd knocked her off her youngest victor record and she seemed pretty angry about it. Her tactics had been completely different from his. Zuko had seen the footage over and over as she beat the last kid to death with a rock, crying. Zuko saw it every time he looked at her.
She had been blind from birth, but they had taken her anyway. No one was immune. She had been lucky there weren't any good archers that year.
Behind Toph, Katara stood, a little nervously considering the two of them. She was a peacemaker, Katara was. She'd been the victor the year before Zuko had been, and had a serious nervous breakdown afterwards. She hadn't done much of the press, refused to play along. They interviewed her older brother over and over instead, focusing in on the dirt on his cheek, the way he talked about their mother, and how Katara had practically raised him instead. Katara never came to these unless she had to. She stayed at home with her brother in their cavernous victor's house and sometimes sneaked over the fence to hunt game, even though they didn't need it, because other people did.
Zuko wasn't sure who else knew that, but he wasn't going to say anything. His father would use the information, or he would not, but it wouldn't be because of Zuko.
Zuko was pretty deep in his cups when Toph found him, taking him roughly by the elbows and dragging him down the hallway on his unsteady feet.
"What?" he asked, but she just elbowed him in the side and pulled him into a room, locking it behind her. When the bolt slid him, he wished he was sober. There were a lot of people looking at him.
"For the record, this is a horrible idea and we're all going to get killed," Katara said, and made a hmph noise. She crossed her arms and looked away.
"This is an amazing idea, thank you," Toph said. "Didn't you hear what I said? He's the President's son, and he still had to be a tribute! That sounds like a grudge in the making to me."
"What?" Zuko asked again.
"He's drunk," Katara pointed out.
"He'll help," Aang said, without hesitation. "Come on."
He offered Zuko a hand.
"Help with what?"
"The rebellion," Toph said, and Zuko reached out and took Aang's hand.