Work Text:
Sokka can no longer keep count on the amount of pranks Azula has pulled so far. And that alone struck a nerve.
Today was no exception. After having spent his morning basking in the mundane, something odd just had to happen. What's a day in the office without some mishaps and jokes that make you question reality?
Sokka wore his blue suit with a punctual glint. Although that didn't get rid of the fact that he was exhausted from work. His eye bags were a fashion statement. Just as valuable as Gucci, he could argue. But that wasn't the point. His morning has now been completely ruined with his sanity now questioned to the brim. All because he decided to go to work.
He often dreads coming to the office due to the relentless and elaborate pranks of his desk mate, Azula. On many occasions, the joke would completely fly over his head. But at this point could you blame the guy? It was a part of his mundane—y'know, questioning your sanity? Who doesn't do that on a daily basis? Not Sokka, that's for sure.
Entering the office was one thing, walking over to his desk was another.
"Morning, Sokka." A deep and hoarse voice had now assaulted Sokka's ears. Was Azula succumbing to a flu? A sore throat maybe?
—The answer was none of the above.
"Who are you?" He stated in mock offense. His chair creaked at the weight of his bag after being aggressively put down.
Red scar, short hair—and a man?! This was not Azula. Not the same woman he knew and hated.
"Who am I? I'm Azula. We've been working together for twelve years." The stranger tutted. He certainly resembled Azula and it was uncanny. But for goodness sake this random man was not her!
"Weird joke, Sokka," The man added.
Sokka argued. "You're not Azula. Azula doesn't have a scar—" he paused, "and she's not man." He followed with a harsh emphasize on she.
The stranger perked before shrugging his shoulder like it was just another Tuesday. To which it was. But certainly not a normal Tuesday.
"You seriously never noticed? Hey, hats off to you for not believing in gender stereotypes." His hand flicker dramatically over his scar with a reminiscent sigh.
"I used to get bullied for this scar, glad you never judged me for my appearance—"
"Okay, 'Azula' Why don't you tell me about that sale you made yesterday?"
Sokka was sure he'd caught this identity thief on a dead-end.
"Uh... Wellington Systems? Sold them ten cases of twenty-four-pound letter stock." He raised a brow before his eyes sparkled in what seems to be realization.
"Azula" reached towards the telephone. "Or were you talking about Krieger-Murphy?"
He breathed. "Because I didn't close that one yet."
"But I'm hoping," he trailed off, now precisely clicking through their company telephone. "I've got a voice-mail from Paul Krieger waiting for me."
Sokka circled around him, his face now twisted into scrutinizing judgement. None of which his glasses attempted to hide. Not his furrowed eyebrows and especially not the crinkle that painted in between the brows.
"𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍."
Sokka's eyes widen twice it's initial size after witnessing some STRANGER type the password in secret as if he was actually working for this company?! Worst of all, it worked!
"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎."
"How did you know—NO, no" Sokka frantically rushed to cover up the phone, now agitated, wary, and most especially questioning his reality.
"That is sensitive information, only for employees, not outsiders!"
He sighed. "Sokka, cut it out. I'm trying to work."
"You don't work here! You're not Azula—"
To add to his horror, Ty Lee—Azula's wife—decided it's best to walk over towards them like there was seriously nothing wrong!
"Azula, I got us that dinner reservation. Kwong's Cuisine, seven thirty." They kissed. Yes, kissed. That oozie act couples do where they press their lips together and share saliva? That one.
"ᴀᴢᴜʟᴀ'ꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴜɴᴄʟᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴢᴜᴋᴏ ɪꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴏʟᴅᴇʀ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ ʜᴇʟᴘᴇᴅ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴘʟᴀʏꜱ ɪɴ ᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ɪꜱʟᴀɴᴅ." -Ty Lee.
"I don't know who you are, but you are not Azula! This is Azula!" Sokka declared, now exasperated with this act. He raised the picture frame with more certainty than he did from when he was asked to perform Haiku in middle school.
"Um..." He was slapped in the face to see that in this family portrait with Ty Lee—was a man. This man. The same "dude" Sokka's been working with for twelve years. There's just no way.
Sokka stammered. "Oh, dear. How did..."