[Fire Lord means little to him. He's not stupid, it's clearly a title, and you know what, he's heard of stranger things than a fourteen year old being crowned king (or queen, or whatever).
But the thing is: it doesn't mean shit here. Nothing does, not when there's so many people from different worlds, when they none of them recognize the common cultural milestones the others offer. She might well be Fire Lord, but so might he, for all it carries significance.
That bending, though . . . that's something to keep an eye on. That carries significance, though if it's good or bad, he can't tell yet.
Anyway. He doesn't say all that. Just swigs at his bottle, watching her fuss at her hair. And chuckles as she says that.]
Sure ain't.
[He watches her in the reflection, amused and unbothered. He's watching her a little too closely to be called casual, because some instincts don't die.
Initial cravings of alcohol subsiding, he sets the bottle down near and goes through what else he grabbed. A few things are useless, and he tosses them aside. But a knife? Ah, that's helpful, and he smiles thinly. It's engraved, which suggests it belongs to someone else here, but finders keepers and all.
He hefts it a little. It's a good weight, and he tosses it once, which is a very easy way to lose one's fingers unless one knows what they're doing. Which he does, so.]
Haymitch. And I, Miss Azula . . . am a drunk. But one who has his liquor, so I'll be a satisfied one the next . . . oh, let's call it three days.
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But the thing is: it doesn't mean shit here. Nothing does, not when there's so many people from different worlds, when they none of them recognize the common cultural milestones the others offer. She might well be Fire Lord, but so might he, for all it carries significance.
That bending, though . . . that's something to keep an eye on. That carries significance, though if it's good or bad, he can't tell yet.
Anyway. He doesn't say all that. Just swigs at his bottle, watching her fuss at her hair. And chuckles as she says that.]
Sure ain't.
[He watches her in the reflection, amused and unbothered. He's watching her a little too closely to be called casual, because some instincts don't die.
Initial cravings of alcohol subsiding, he sets the bottle down near and goes through what else he grabbed. A few things are useless, and he tosses them aside. But a knife? Ah, that's helpful, and he smiles thinly. It's engraved, which suggests it belongs to someone else here, but finders keepers and all.
He hefts it a little. It's a good weight, and he tosses it once, which is a very easy way to lose one's fingers unless one knows what they're doing. Which he does, so.]
Haymitch. And I, Miss Azula . . . am a drunk. But one who has his liquor, so I'll be a satisfied one the next . . . oh, let's call it three days.
Watch it with those flames near me, huh?