[OOA - Room 103 - APHARSITES]

[princeinexile]

He was... getting the hang of things. Push and pull, give and take, top and bottom... Honestly, he was beginning to see why his uncle's eyes wandered so often, even at the venerable age of.. well, really old. Women were -- a joy. Really. Even if you were just touching on the purely physical, and you didn't even touch the feeling of satisfaction and comfort (and struggle, yes struggle was good in it's own way, with Mel) the tingling that went down to his toes was well worth it.

But he rolls over in the tangle of blankets and limbs, presses a kiss to a shoulder blade, and then says, voice thick, "I could get used to this."

He could. Very much so. "Definitely far better then falling asleep on the couch while working on maps and rosters. And getting woken. Twice. And looking particularly stupid asleep in the common room of all places."

Comments

[slayer_fray]

He was, indeed, getting the hang of things.

It's actually almost as new to her as it is with him, this sense of, well, sharing. There's struggle, yes, but the struggle's not the most important part. It's merely part of a whole new things she never really noticed before.

Also, he's a fast and dedicated learner, this is important.

She drops the shoulder blade to meet his golden eyes - and she's never flinched from meeting both - with her blue, and grins.

"Not getting enough sleep?"

[princeinexile]

He shakes his head. "Internal clock. Firebenders are tied to the Sun -- it's what makes us strong. Waterbenders are tied to the cycle of the moon and their power waxes and wanes with it. But... it's hard to sleep in. When the sun rises, so do I. Makes day sleeping difficult."

He shrugs, propping himself at her side -- comfortable, languish, hair mussy.

"I'm sure you can wear me out, though," he adds. "Maybe it'll help get me a few hours past dawn."

[slayer_fray]

She lies back under him, waves of blue and purple and a touch of green spread out over the floor. The pillows slipped out of reach a while back.

"Maybe I shouldn't keep you up so late," she suggests.

[princeinexile]

Zuko's brows lift, and then says, "In my mind, that just means starting earlier."

He reaches out and fingers a lock of hair. "What color will your hair be when it grows in from this?" Just a curiousity. "Black, like Harth's?"

[slayer_fray]

Mel shrugs, but also smirks "Personally I'm wondering what you're like at lucnhtime."

She tilts her head up to follow his fingers and nods. "Yeah. Unless there's more dye in the mall. There probably is."

[princeinexile]

"Energetic," is Zuko's reply, a hint sly.

"Why'd you dye it?" Another hint of curiosity-- starting small, asking little questions. He reaches up to scrub at his own hair, the stubble over his scalp getting to be more then a shadow. "I can't imagine my hair any other colors, really."

[slayer_fray]

The slyness is returned in her look, and her smirk. She shifts then, lifting a hand to play with his hair, teasing her fingers through it gently.

"I just like it," she says dismissively. That is not the whole truth, not really, but it will do.

[princeinexile]

It's good enough for Zuko. "What colors will you use if we find them?" he asks, thoughtful. "Dyes are expensive and hard to keep, where I'm from. Do you think they'll still be good?"

Zuko doesn't have much hair to tease, really, but he's ducking his head into it all the same, like some overgrown cat, golden eyes half-lidding in contentment. It's growing in, though -- his scalp hasn't seen a razor since he got here. Thick, back, but the Fire Nation has hair like bloody silk... unlike the rough locks of the wiry Water Tribe.

[slayer_fray]

"I don't know," she admits, to pretty much everything. "Figure I'll see what there is. Maybe purple again. I like that." As long as it isn't black, she doesn't dare. "Most chemical dyes'll last, I think. Be fun to try them out."

She'd noticed that, about his hair. It makes it fun to play with, teasing out the thick black locks, even stroking the short brush where the new hair's growing it. "Are you going to shave this again?"

[princeinexile]

"I don't know. Haven't found a long razor and I'm wary of using those-- stubby little ones from the pharmacy on more then my face." That was a miserable adventure...

But he shrugs. "It grows in very awkward around the scar. So I either grow it all out hope it gets long enough to not make me look like a poorly trimmed wild hedge on one side, or I shave it. I doubt I'll ever cut the knot, though-- but maybe, now that it doesn't... mean anything."

[slayer_fray]

It's probably easier on the head then on the face, although Mel wouldn't exactly know. The tip of her thumb runs lightly across the very edge of the scarred region, but she doesn't offer any opinion about that.

"What did it mean?"

[princeinexile]

He doesn't flinch from her touch there; she doesn't seem to mind his scars, or do more then take it as a part of the whole of him. That makes the touch... okay. Better then okay. But the hair does grow in patchy at the edge, where the flesh melted in ripples...

"It'd be my crown-knot. It'd be woven with the flame the Lord wears. It means, essentially, I'm a prince."

[slayer_fray]

"Oh." Blandly.

A small pause, and then she gives the smallest of shrugs. "no reason to cut it or not, here."

[princeinexile]

"None at all, either way, beyond that I'm used to having it long. And I'll be lopsided a while if I let the rest grow in." He grins and scratches at his scalp a little. "Itches coming in, though. Used to shave every three days."

He drops his hand, and then fingers the little green braid. "You wear yours just because you like it that way? No meaning, no symbols in it?" Curious; hair's a big deail to them... but her people? Apparently not. "What about your tattoo?"

[slayer_fray]

She smirks slightly and shakes her head. "Nothing. I'm just an insignificant thief, remember? No one cares what I do with my body.

"I just liked it. It was in the shop front, and I liked the curves. Think it might have been the symbol of some political movement about a century ago? I dunno."

[princeinexile]

"And people tell me I'm classist," Zuko says, smirking, before he persses a kiss to her shoulder. "It's like a weapon. Kind of like a chakram." A weapon. Figures.

"So," he says, "In a couple of days, you think we ought to go fish some matresses out of the mall? Take some people down -- you, me, Spoon, someone else... And see about hauling a few matresses back?"

Since the floor's okay for some things, but... you know, eventually? A matress would be nice.

[slayer_fray]

Mel knows she's classist. But she also thinks, in most cases, she's right to be. She turns her head as he lowers his to her shoulder, not moving her hand from his head.

"What's a chakram?" Guns, she can use. Any other weapons, she has no idea about.

"Sounds like an idea. And maybe there's hammocks or something. Harper could help carry, maybe. Or if he's busy, Wash."

[princeinexile]

"Harper... should stay and work, and teach Sokka." He purses his lips. "He's sick, Mel. And will get worse. The --radiation, it won't hurt us, but it;'ll hurt him. I don't know what it all means, but it's... cumulative somehow."

He shrugs. "He wants to -- build what we need, and teach Sokka to take care of it and make it and run it. So... he won't be doing much outside the apartment buildings."

Leadership's a bitch.

[slayer_fray]

"Radiation's a bitch," Mel says bluntly. "It'll probably hurt all of us eventually. Back home... we've had radiation problems for generations. Least Harper still looks human."

But she agrees with his need to stay at home. And Sokka's busy with all his training. "Wash, then," she says. "Or maybe the cop."

Not that she wants anything to do with her.

[princeinexile]

"Haven't even talked to Angua since yesterday," Zuko says, glancing away. "She seems alright, though." For a cop. "But, yeah, Wash." He's a good choice.

He nestles down then, and says, "...What is your world like, anyway? It sounds like things like this have happened, but-- you've got a world still." He considers, and then risks himself to ask, "I... is the radiation why Harth is frail?"

[slayer_fray]

She's had this conversation before, sort of, with Sokka, so at least she has some idea of where their worlds differ.

"Nothing on this scale," Mel says. "This looks like some kind of war happened. Most of our radiation comes from the sun. Not as intense, but it builds up over prolonged exposure."

She shakes her head and shrugs. "He just... is. Always has been." It's like asking why she's strong. She just is.

[princeinexile]

Zuko's brows go up. The sun? WTF. The sun is love! Firebender = little minisuns! "Huh." That's a bit to digest. "We'll have to just wait it out. I wonder if there's a medicine or something... maybe we can do something about it..."

He shrugs, and then nods about Harth. "Originally--who was older? Younger?" Since it seems as if she's outgrown him a great deal!

[slayer_fray]

"Ask Simon," Mel suggests. "Lucky we have a doctor who can read the labels in the pharmacy.

"Him," is the answer. "By about twenty minutes. We're twins."

[princeinexile]

Zuko's brows go up. "Twins?" Well, that's new. "Huh. You know in some places, my people believe the second born twin is the oldest. Because they stepped aside to let the younger go first into the world, since it's the duty for the older sibling to make life easier for the younger."

He thinks of Zula, and then his expression fades.

[slayer_fray]

Mel considers this, and smiles. "Yeah," she says. "Or that he wouldn't have made it through without me pushing."

Watching his expression fade, she lifts herself up slightly on an elbow. "What's up?"

[princeinexile]

Zuko chuckles; soft, ironic, but not bitter -- not yet, anyway. "Just-- reflecting on the irony," he says. "I -- gave my sister everything, with one little screw up. Guess older siblings are there to make the way easier for the younger."

[slayer_fray]

"Wish my sister would," Mel mutters, but watches him, brow furrowing. "What happened?"

[princeinexile]

"I got exiled," he says, looking at her for a moment. "That gives her my throne. When Father dies... she takes it. Not there to try and get back, and that leaves her in the clear."

He shrugs; not anything he can change now.

[slayer_fray]

He said something like this in that fight they had in the sports court. He doesn't think hihs sister would be a worthy queen.

Mel holds his gaze for a second, and nods.The politics of their world aren't important, here, but that doesn't mean they can't worry about what they've left behind.

[princeinexile]

"When you think about home," he begins, "who do you think about?"

It's a -- intimate question, but -- sharing is good. And it's hard to get more phyically intimate then they have. Still, he thinks of this differently then she does.

[slayer_fray]

"Huh?" It's not so much the intimacy of the question, which bearly registers, as it is a strange question.

"No one. It's just me, since..."

Harth died.

[princeinexile]

His eyes flutter closed a minute, and then says, "... just you. Since..." Harth died.

It's really not hard to do the math.

But he doesn't press, because she'll tell him when she's good and ready, if she's ever good and ready. "Didn't you ever get lonely?" He wants to hear a yes, as if that'll make it somehow easier to admit I did, all the time.

[slayer_fray]

There's a beat, and Mel moves, rolling onto her side away from him. It just makes admitting this slightly easier.

"We did everything together. Everything. What do you think?"

[princeinexile]

Zuko would not knock himself for just anyone. But there's a hand on her hip, just-- a presence unwilling to ... go away because she's been terse. He's gotta get a thick skin, if he's going to make this world.

He just doesn't want it to be all scar tissue.

"... sorry. That was brainless."

[slayer_fray]

"It was," Mel agrees, running her uppermost hand through her hair. And that, really, seems to be an acceptance of his apology.

"I got used to it, though."

[princeinexile]

"You can get used to anything. A palace to an iron ship, a brother at your side or emptiness. It won't make the transition pleasant, happy, or the result ... good." Zuko says, and he knows that from experience.

He creeps closer, not quite spooned against her, but -- trying to be -- somehing. Good, nice, comforting, not an idiot...

Something. Flying blind, here.

[slayer_fray]

The hand leaves her hair and reaches slowly and gently backwards, searching for his face.

"He's here, now." she says simply. "It doesn't matter."

[princeinexile]

"Funny," he says. "How this is endings for some, and new starts for others."

He smiles at her, lips curved, a crescent against her palm; he kisses lightly, and then says, "I hope you can meet my uncle. Someday-- I want him to come here. He's..." he laughs. "He's everything I'm not."

But, but, Harth.

He kisses her palm again, and then says, "...It's getting-- on. Are you going to get back?"

He's in no rush to lose her, but-- he doesn't want her to feel guilty lingering here, leaving the boy alone.

[slayer_fray]

She rolls back now, smiling up at him. She likes this, watching that smile, hearing him laugh.

"You have to tell me about him," she remarks. Because anything that can make him laugh like that should be encouraged.

But - and she doesn't want to do, but if she doesn't she'll fall asleep - he's right about the hour. She even stifles a small yawn.

"I... should," she agrees.

[princeinexile]

"That involves a lot of embarassing stories of my youth, and that's... he tells htem so much better then I do. He should never have been a general. He should be a storyteller, poet, musician--something that really suited him."

War didn't, no matter how good he was at it.

But he nods, and smirks at her yawn; after her agreement, he kisses again, lightly, affection over desire, and then says, "...now the question is where did our clothing wander off to?"