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Ozai liked the deep crimson of slightly coagulated blood. There was something almost soothing in the nuance. There was a precise moment when it turned just the right shade. It shouldn’t come from the arteries close to the heart, no. And the one from the veins is too dark, not quite oxygenated enough. The capillaries on the extremities were the best source. Yet still, it took some moments of interaction with air after it was drawn before it turned just the right hue, the right crimson.
Days that started with a good flow of that perfect crimson blood were more than good, and so Ozai had long made it a point to include this in his morning routine. There was always a body ready for him to cut and torture as the steady flow of precious viscous liquid mesmerized him and transported him away from the mundane. He liked to take his time, infusing his bending into the ritual. The vessels didn’t always perish… immediately; which was slightly unfortunate if you asked him, but then again the entire world was a thorough disappointment.
Speaking of disappointments, Ozai remembered General Zhao had mentioned something about his idiot son. As he savoured the life ebbing away from the eyes of this morning’s vessel, without even lifting his eyes, the Fire Lord casually ordered his assistant to make sure Zhao was in his study this afternoon. And then, as an afterthought, to also gather a list of the more brutal assassins available. That pathetic waste of flesh that Ursa had borne him as an heir was overdue for another spanking.
Ozai didn’t want to think about his progeny right now. It was too early in the morning and he wanted to savour the calm fresh, properly crimson blood afforded him. He ordered breakfast be waiting for him at the terrace of his private study and made his way there.
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Looking over Caldera did always get Ozai’s blood pumping. Thus he preferred taking his breakfast on the top terrace of either his private quarters or his private study. Alone. Men had paid with their lives for disturbing his peace. After all, disturbing his time of contemplation (see: basking) had to be considered criminal, and he did consider it just that. Yet that insufferable daughter of his continued on insisting to disturb his private moments. Maybe he should have banished her as he did Zuko. At least Azula was useful, quite unlike her feckless older brother. Still, yet again she needed to be put in her place.
“Why have you decided to encroach on my breakfast, Azula?” A frustrated sigh bubbled its way up Ozai’s body, as she approached the terrace. He didn’t even bother looking up or stop, yet the enjoyment he was just feeling dimmed.
“Father, I just saw Zuan going through the roster of assassins. If there is something that needs to be taken care of, me and the girls are more than ready to–”
“Your bloodthirst is admirable Azula,” Ozai interrupted.
“Thank you, father. I can go get the details from Zua–”
“Azula, my memory might be failing, but I do not remember giving you a task.” Ozai’s voice was calm and steady but murder dripped from every syllable.
“No, father, but I–”
“Hmmm, then you better focus on whatever is still on your plate. Talent can only bring one ahead so much.” Ozai brought the still bloody steak he usually took along with eggs for breakfast to his mouth and gave a few satisfied chews.
“But I–” Azula was seething, fighting hard to keep her emotions under a tight lid. She knew better than to give the Fire Lord a reason to teach her a lesson—especially now with Zuko gone, her brother no longer the main lightning rod for her father’s wrath. Ozai firmly believed that pain was the best teacher, and his children knew that better than anyone. “Yes, father.”
“I think it is high time you finish the task that I had assigned you last week. Dillydallying does not look good on a princess after all.” He finally lifted his gaze to her, prodding, searching, looking for nicks and cracks in the armour. He had cultivated the skill as a child, always on the lookout for things that he could exploit and means to manipulate others. “I would not tolerate your behaviour turning unbecoming like your brother’s. You shall not reflect badly on me.”
The stare with which he fixed her could burn bones to ash. Azula was holding her own, which Ozai did find admirable… to a degree… But the way her eyes and hands trembled, giving way to the true terrors that resided in her heart… Now this excited Ozai to no end. Maybe he could push a little more? Keep her on edge and savour the feeling of seeing her rattled?
“Did you forget to groom yourself today, or has personal hygiene become optional while I was touring the military bases?” Ozai raised an eyebrow quizzically at his daughter. There didn’t seem to be anything out of sorts with her attire but watching her squirm almost made up for the earlier intrusion. And then he went for the kill. “Should I have you sent back to the royal academy for a refresher on manners and etiquette?”
Ozai knew just how traumatic the four years in the academy had been for Azula. Not that she was aware how many eyes and ears he had cultivated all over his domain. Every small tidbit of information was a nail for him to use at the right moment. A knob to squeeze, a button to push. And his eidetic memory kept them all. Just for moments like this.
He took long, endless minutes enjoying his daughter’s suffering but then remembered that he wanted the peace and quiet of his morning ritual back and dismissed her with an irritated sigh and a flick of the hand. “Go take of this before I change my mind, and make sure not to ruin my good mood further today.”
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By late afternoon Ozai was getting irritable again. Why wouldn’t these puny ants just go and die already and rid him of their incessant stupidity? He had better uses for his time than to deal with the oafishness of his puppet generals and the outlandish vain ambitions of people like Zhao. A necessary evil while they were, they irked him to no end. He might need the comfort and calm of more crimson before sleep. Ozai made a note to get his attendant to take care of it. Sometimes he missed having Zuko around. But only because having the insolent child tortured both physically and mentally was the most exquisite pleasure. Especially after Ursa was out of the picture and he could unleash fully. Aaah, glory days. Maybe he should ask Zuan to bring one of the generals instead of one of the many unnamed vessels. Now that was a thought. After all, corporal punishment didn't only work on dimwitted children. The body remembered best, no matter the age. Yes, yes, he should do that. But first to go through the rest of the decrees and maybe some plum wine and biscuits. Ozai hated how his meek brother ruined tea for him. He used to love tea as a younger man, but then Iroh came along and paired the gorgeous drink with his philosophy and morals and stupid parables and ruined it forever. Sometimes he missed the taste of it, mostly of sweet jasmine and tangy burnt bergamot. Everything tasted like ash now. And there was no one else to blame but Iroh. Ozai hoped they would catch him soon. Now that his brother was disgraced, and all the Fire Nation knew, Ozai finally had the opening to publicly destroy him. Yes! He would take his time and strip every layer of righteousness, sage fucking words and adoration that fool had accumulated over the years.
Forget about the decrees and whatever else was there to do before dinner. Forget about dinner. Excitement like no other consumed Ozai. He had waited for something like this for decades, and it was finally within his grasp. Maniacal laughter erupted from his very core along with the fire on his breath. He grabbed a bottle of plum wine and quickly disappeared into his private quarters. There was much to plan and prepare and he was going to enjoy every single moment of it. Then again, daydreaming and grand plans always left him a bit peckish. He yelled at Zuan along the way, not stopping for a second, a light late meal to be delivered directly to his room, and not to forget the general… hmm, Zan… yes, Zan would be perfect. After all Ozai was not one to deny himself any pleasures and he was looking forward to yet another steak, so bloody, and more fresh crimson. The proper kind.
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