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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

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The Dragon Egg (Parts 14-18)

If she knew that that night would be her last good night, she might have savored it more. Oh, Agni, she would have smiled wider and laughed more freely. But how could she have known that she would be smiling again.

.oOo.

Azula holds her hand against the swell of her belly. It has grown more prominent, seemingly overnight. Pregnancy test or none, morning sickness or peaceful awakenings, mood swings and unstable hormones; until the bump she had still been able to pretend like it wasn’t real, that she still had a chance.

She can’t see her father anymore, not unless she buries herself under bulky layers of sweaters and jackets. Even then her father will know that something is amiss. She used to never wear baggy clothing, of the opinion that it looks sloppy and lazy. He’d surely question why she has traded her crop tops and--formerly--form fitting dresses for loose fitting t’s and sweatpants.

She is some five months along now and certain that it is far too late to terminate the pregnancy. Her window for making that decision has come to a close. As have the window to keep it a secret. Trying to pass it off as a few extra pounds no longer cuts it and even if it did, it wouldn’t earn her a much better reaction than the truth would.

Spirits, what was she thinking, keeping this baby. She should have just ripped the bandaid and told her father. Should have dealt with the screaming and scolding, perhaps a good slap. Those things would have come to pass. The guilt over terminating the pregnancy would have come to pass. She would have given such a stellar performance at Audio of Agni that he’d be forced to forgive her, to love her, and to recognize that she is still his perfect, talented, gleaming star.

This, she runs her hand along the bump, won’t come to pass. It will be with her forever, should the delivery go smoothly. Spirits, she doesn’t want to think about the delivery. And, Spirits, what if she finds herself in the hospital during Agni of Audio? She is certain that her due date will fall around the same date as the performance.

She rakes her fingers through her hairline. Fuck, she doesn’t even know her fucking due date. She is a mess and it is her fault. She can’t even be sure that she and this baby are healthy. She isn’t sure that her diet has been good for the baby, isn’t sure that her lifestyle is safe for it. She knows that the stress can’t possibly be doing it any favors.

She feels her phone vibrate and unlocks it to confirm that they are still on for practice. It won’t be a practice so much as a meeting and, by, Agni she isn’t ready. Not even slightly, but she has to tell someone. She has to tell Chan specifically. Maybe she should talk to Seicho first. Maybe she should speak with Chan alone.

She closes her eyes and taps her phone against her lips. She will assemble all of them and speak with Chan first. It is time to stop delaying. Time to stop stalling. Time to grow up faster than she already has been.

.oOo.

Mai still refuses to speak to him outside of practice. Other than a curt reminder that he is lucky that she was generous enough to snatch her mother’s money and pay his bail, thus incurring the woman’s wrath.

Zuko is certain that Michi’s wrath is nothing like that of the magazines and morning shows. The ones that won’t let his arrest become old news even months later. Somehow they always find some fresh new angle to talk about it from. Some brand new perspective. Seldom are do any of these perspective’s paint him in a good light.

The boy, Kei-Lo, has been getting more attention than he. What started off as a ridiculous clickbait video titled ‘Almost Killed By My Idol!!’ grew into an entire platform. He has been on talk show after talk show, retelling the story of how he almost got ‘murdered’ by the lead singer of From Ashes To Phoenix. He recounts have gotten more and more absurd--“for humor’s sake, I promise!”--to the point where Zuko had allegedly picked up a chair after splintering his guitar. And when that hadn’t worked, he’d allegedly begun trying to stab Kei-Lo with the splintered end of his guitar.

And somehow the media has latched onto that image, churning out t-shirts of him wielding his guitar like some sort of stone age brute and foils stickers of his enraged expression. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so horrible if he were receiving a cut of the cash. Or, at the very least, if the publicity were doing him any good.

No, it is only kickstarting Kei-Lo’s career as a comedian and talk show host. And in the wake of his goals, From Ashes To Phoenix is taking the fall. Even Azula hasn’t so directly kicked him down to lift herself up. At least Azula could say that she was bringing him down on talent alone; that she is simply better without having to make him worse.

Zuko’s brows furrow, when he comes to dwell on it, Azula has been rather quiet lately. Quiet, even after being the subject of talk shows herself. Raava and Vaatu of the Tui La’s and Wan Shi Tong have only been raving about she and the rest of Blue Talon. It has only been fantastic press for her. And she hasn’t even sent him a link to remind him of that.

Maybe she is simply too busy to do so; too important to bother with even mocking him anymore. He balls his fists, if he grips his pencil any tighter, he might break it. And he hates her with more fury than ever. He picks up his phone to tell her off. Why not? He needs an outlet for the anger brewing within him. And she is perfect for it, she could do with someone telling her that she isn’t so great.

He pulls her number upon his phone. He cringes all over again when he sees that he has already messaged her. At least several times and with variations of the same few messages; ‘You think that you’re so great don’t you? You’re so perfect. That’s fine, it’ll make it better when everyone else realizes that you aren’t’, ‘dad start beating you you yet?’, ‘oh so you’re too famous to insult me now’, and one final comment about her one failure, ‘how’s it feel to be in the tabloids, fatass?’ It is a wonder that she hasn’t blocked his numbers. Likely she sees that as a weakness. Likely, she finds his insults laughable, a sign that he’s doing worse than ever. Likely, it entertains her. He rakes his hands through his hair. He doesn’t even remember sending those.

A lot of things are fuzzy these days. He writes songs, he even records them, but he forgets to include Mai and TyLee in them. And on the days that he doesn’t wake up there, he forgets that he has gone to the recording studio at all.

He rubs his hands over his face. His heart is beating so fast and, no matter what he tries, he can’t stop shaking. He can hardly breath, the room feels so small and the more he thinks about those texts and the other things he has forgotten, the smaller the room seems.

He raps the heel of his hand against his forehead.

He should try to sleep, that might do him some good. He hasn’t slept in a while. He is damn certain that, even if the coke wasn’t making him restless, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Every time his head hits the pillow it seems to whisper to him, telling him that he is a waste. His life is a waste. That he is no better than his father.

And the pillow--his own inner voice is right. Just because it isn’t alcohol, doesn’t mean that he isn’t the exact person he hates. He wonders how he’d let this happen, all he needed was a small boost of energy, a shot of confidence, and euphoria when he couldn’t produce it on his own. He supposes that, that is the problem exactly. He never can produce it on his own.

He was just going to use it until he had his first singles out. He wishes that the plan hadn’t worked so well. He wishes that he would have had a trip so horrible that he’d never want to do it again. But he had pumped out singles at a rate that Azula would envy--that she did envy when she saw that he had released his new singles before she did.

And just like that, ‘only until I finish my single’ became, ‘I will only use it until I finish the album.’ By the time he finished the album he found that he couldn’t stop. That he needed the extra kick. He can’t produce anything worthwhile without it.

And now he can’t function without it. Oh, Agni, he wants to function without it.

He slaps at his forehead again. He is more useless than ever and the press is finally catching onto his horrid habits. He wishes that uncle were here to offer him advice, and yet he can’t bring himself to tell the man just how much trouble he is in. He wonders if an hour long video chat a day is enough for him to be able to tell.

He wishes that he were home and not sleeping on a tour bus or in some sketchy motel, where dealers make exchanges in the alley over. He wishes that he hadn’t dragged Mai and TyLee into this one with him.

He has let Mai down; he thinks that she is falling out of love with him and in love with TyLee. Has let TyLee down; she is scared to be alone with him. Has let uncle down; he just doesn’t know it yet. He has let himself down; if he had the opportunity to walk out on himself, he probably would.

He always lets everyone down

He sits in his room, pencil in hand. He can’t seem to write songs when his head is so turbulent. When his hand is so twitchy. When his arms are so soar and bruised. And yet he can’t stop himself from putting down the pencil and taking up a needle.

He has let everyone down and he is doing it again. He can’t stop doing it. His band is a lost cause.

He can hear in his head, his father sneering about how he’d told him so; he told him that he would never make it big. He can hear Azula’s dainty little laugh, “oh, Zuzu, you’re pathetic, Tom-Tom can upstage you by banging on pots and pans.”

He cups his hands over his head. He just wants to succeed. He just wants a chance. He just wants to be happy.

.oOo.

For a moment she allows herself to hope. Perhaps everything will just be okay. Maybe father will handle it better than she anticipates. Even if he doesn’t, she has made a name for herself. She is revered by the metal masters. She has a strong voice, a sharp mind, and the tools to make something of it. Even if he doesn’t, she has her bandmates. She won’t lose everything. Perhaps her father will take well to knowing that there will be someone to inherent the family legacy, another little prodigy to teach.

Perhaps, Chan will make a good father. Perhaps the Blue Talon fandom will find a baby dragon to be precious. She should know better than to get idealistic. It never does her any good.

She swallows hard before pushing the door to the recording studio open. As things are, she is the first to arrive, it is just as well, she can use a few moments to prepare herself. She inhales and exhales several times, until at least some of her nerves settle.

Azula is more than relieved when Chan arrives first, it makes speaking to him in private that much easier. She waits for him to prop his guitar against the wall before greeting him. He looks her up and down. It is the first time in a long while that she has worn something that isn’t baggy. He keeps his thoughts tactfully to himself. “Yes, this is what I want to talk to you about.” She clasps her hands over her bump and clears her throat. “We will proceed with practice, but first I have to tell you something.”

“Are you…? You’re not…” He sputters, his eyes are fixed on her belly. She finds herself growing heavily uncomfortable under his stare. She swallows, the look on his face tells her that she is in for a difficult time. That he isn’t going to take this well at all.

“I am.” She confirms. “I have been for the past five months.” She looks up from her hands. “It’s your baby, Chan.”

He shanks his head. “No. No way.”

She nods. “I’ve only ever…” she trails off. “You’re the only person I got that close to.”

He rubs his hand over his face. “I can’t be a father!” When he pulls his hands away from his face it looks as though he has aged several years. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I wanted to make sure that there were no distractions along the way to battle of the bands. Now that we have a stable standing…”

He shakes his head, “you’re only telling me this because you can’t keep it a secret anymore. Why did you keep it!?” He is pacing rather frantically now. “I don’t want a baby! I don’t want to be tethered to you for the rest of my life!”

Poor word choice or not, it comes like a forceful kick to the teeth. She furrows her brows, “we’re in a band together. And if we make it big we’re going to be spending plenty of time with one another anyhow. If anything, Lo and Li can watch the baby. They took care of me after my mother died.”

The laugh Chan gives is unsettling. “I’m not going to be a father. I have a career to focus on.”

“So do I.” Azula hisses. “You don’t get to just walk away from this.” But that’s just the thing, he very well can. He can walk away in a way that she can’t. “You...we don’t have to keep it. But you’re not going to pretend like it isn’t your baby.”

“Do you know what my dad will say if he finds out?”

“Do you know what my father will do when he finds out?” She isn’t even certain of this and, spirits, does she dread it. She needs someone to be there even if that someone is the asshole who put her in this position in the first place.

“It’s not my fault that you got pregnant!”

“I don’t know if things have changed since I last looked at a biology textbook, but from what I remember, this is a two person job.”

“What’s with all of the shouting?” Zirin grumbles.

“We have a band whore, that’s what.” Chan declares.

Azula’s face colors, a cross between outrage and mortification. “It’s your baby.” She insists through gritted teeth. “Who else’s would it be?”

He turns from her and appeals to Ruon and Zirin instead. “Who knows how many people she’s had backstage.”

“That’s not exactly characteristic of Azula.” Ruon mumbles.

“Neither is party sex.” Zirin shrugs.

“Chan is the father.”

“Just own up, dude.” Ruon frowns.

“Let’s say that it is mine. What the hell am I supposed to do about it? Her dad’s wallet can cover everything, she doesn’t need my help.”

Her eyes narrow, he has missed the point entirely; it isn’t money that she is seeking. She is yearning for something that her father will most certainly deprive her of--something that he has never been that good for in the first place. She craves comfort. She needs reassurance. And yet she is hesitant to ask for either. “Do you really think that my father is going to take this news very well?”

“I can’t do anything about that!” Chan throws his hands up.

“No, I suppose you can’t.” In the silence to follow, she thinks to just walk away. What more is there to say? And, really, what had she been expecting? That Chan, immature Chan, who draws phallic imagery on restaurant menus and attempts keg stands, would readily embrace the responsibilities of having knocked someone up. “Forget it. I’ll deal with it on my own.” She mumbles. “Let’s just get on with practice.”

Ruon seems to cringe.

“Really, I can deal with it on my own.”

His expression doesn’t change. If anything he is flinching harder still. “Azula, should there even be a practice?”

She furrows her brows, “What? What are you talking about, of course there should be a practice.” She thinks that her voice has raised a pitch or two.

“You’re pregnant.” He says gently, carefully. “Should you really be focusing on music right now?”

She swallows, feeling almost nauseous with nerves. “I can do both. I’ve been doing both. I can think about two things at once.”

“Realistically,” Ruon begins, “are you really going to have time to tour?”

She nods almost frantically, “I’ve been managing.”

“You haven’t been going to the doctor.” Ruon points out. “That takes up time.”

“If Zuzu was able to manage school and being in a band, then I can manage being in a band and one appointment every now and again.” She rolls her eyes, “are you really underestimating me now?”

“Am I? Or are you overestimating yourself?” Ruon asks. “Being in a band is a lot of stress and pressure without a baby…”

But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how essential being in the band is. Doesn’t understand how every aspect of her life hinges on it. On how well she performs at Audio of Agni. The competition will be the make or break moment of her life. Things have fallen into place so well and so neatly, she can’t imagine that she will have another chance at it. “Ruon, I can handle it.” She punctuates every word.

“Well maybe we don’t want to.” Zirin throws in. “Every fucking time it’s all about you. What you want. How being in this band effects you. I need this band too, and I can’t afford a wild card.” Her eyes wander to Azula’s bump.

“It’s not a wild card, I can plan…”

“Even if it’s not a wild card, it’s a risk. Zirin can’t afford risks right now.” Ruon replies. “She needs to be able to get out of that home and this band is her way out.”

And Azula is reminded of each time that Zirin has wandered into the recording booth with a collection of fresh bruises on her arms and legs, on her ribcage and back. “Which is why I need to be here. I can get where we need to be and Zirin will be able to…”

Zirin shakes her head. “You don’t get it do you? You’re still making this about you.”

“You’re not the only person in this band who has talent!” Chan speaks up again. “Zirin can sing too. I can sing. You aren’t creative and you need to be creative to be an artist.”

“I am creative.”

“No, you’re good at planning and organizing. You’re good at taking our ideas and fine-tuning them. Anyone can do that. Ruon and I write the lyrics and concepts for our videos.” He pauses for a breath. “You shoot down any ideas that aren’t copies of what we’ve already done. You refuse to try new sounds and styles.”

“I wrote the last few songs.”

“And they sound like everything else that we’ve ever done! Fine. Maybe surf rock isn’t it, but we need to change our sound somehow. We need to try something new. And you’re holding us back.”

“Holding you back, I--”

“And you’re going to hold us back more and more the further along you are.”

She clutches her belly, unsure of which emotion has the strongest grip on her--anger, distress, hurt, or anxiety. She can feel the baby kick, adding another layer of pulsing to the unsavory emotions already throbbing and throbbing within.

“Chan, that’s enough.” Ruon puts a hand on his shoulder.

He shakes it off. “Is it? She’s been giving us demands, talking down to us, and blaming us for setbacks this whole time! And this whole time she’s been carrying a bigger setback than any of us.”

“Because of you!” She hisses. She is nearing her compousre’s very end and she isn’t sure what is going to tear out when the last of it is worn away.

“We’ve been pushing along and pretending like nothing is wrong. Something needs to change.”

Her stomach sinks even further and the queasiness in her tummy grows, twice so with the shifting of the baby. “And what needs to change, Chan?” Her voice has dropped so dangerously low. Not that it can vocalize anything more than an empty threat. She is outnumbered and out of cards in a hand that wasn’t even winning to begin with.

“The lineup of this band.” Zirin puts in. Chan nods in agreement.

She waits for Ruon to tell them that that is ridiculous. She looks to him, letting her mask slip long enough for the plea to reflect in her eyes. He only turns his head. “Ruon?”

He sighs heavily. “I’m not saying that I agree with everything Chan said just now. But I do think that it might be a good idea if you...took a break from Blue Talon.”

“Ruon!?” Her composure splinters further and her voice cracks.

He takes her hand, she knows that he means it as a comforting gesture but she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t want to be touched right now. She snatches her hand away.

“I guess I can’t tell you what’s best for you but I don’t think that being in the band is good for you right now. How are you going to handle the headlines and the bad press? It’s going to be a lot. I don’t think that I’d be able to deal with it very well.”

“I’m not you, I can handle it just fine.”

“You can’t even adjust to changing the band’s style, how are you going to adjust to…”

Ruon cuts him off.

“How far along are you right now, Azula.”

‘Five months.” She answers, her voice so small and quiet now.

“From the looks of it, by the time Audio of Agni comes around, you’ll be expecting to have your baby at any time.”

She swallows hard, tears are finally starting to well up behind her eyes. Because he is right. Even if they don’t kick her out of her own band, she is almost certain that she won’t be in any shape to perform, especially not to the degree she would like. It was a lost cause from the start. A losing battle that she tried to fight single handedly anyways. What is the point in wasting her energy on a battle that can’t be won; perhaps it is time for a while flag. Perhaps the time to wave one is well overdue.

She takes a deep breath, regaining as much composure as she can and mustering all of the poise as she can manage. “Good luck with Audio of Agni.” She picks up her microphone stand and hastily strides away.

The slamming of the recording studio door is the closing of the door to her aspirations, her future.

__________

She wonders how long it will take for the tabloids to tear her self-esteem to thinner ribbons than it is already in. How long it will take for them to churn out headlines officiating her departure from the band. She supposes that she could save herself some dignity and post an open letter of sorts on her social media before the other three can.

If only she had the drive.

If only it mattered.

She is already simmering in shame, what’s one more layer?

Anyways, she has to conserve her planning and word play for when her father comes home. And her time is running thin, his vacation expires two days from now. She has a feeling that there is no adequate dialogue; that even the most seasoned authors, poets, and intellectuals wouldn’t be able to scrape up a speech that would satisfy Ozai.

She longs to pull her knees up to her chest and bury her face in them. This is just one more thing that her baby gets in the way of. She settles for leaning her head against the wall and rubbing her hands over her face.

Her phone vibrates again.

She ought to put it on silent.

Once or twice the doorbell had rung.

She wouldn’t have answered even if she had the willpower to do so.

The phone vibrates. This time it is only a text. She has a growing list of missed call notifications. A steady steam of names; mostly Ruon and Seicho but Chan and Zirin are in the mix. There is one or two from her father and a voicemail message from Zhao.

She doesn’t answer any of their calls or texts. She doesn’t want to. They are just like Mai and TyLee. Perhaps worse. She’ll leave it to them to explain her departure to Zhao. Chan has left her with a mess to clean so she will leave him one.

Her phone lights up with an incoming call, Seicho’s name appears on the screen.

She should answer it.

It would have been better if she did. But her life has been reduced to one mistake after another, just what is one more anyways?

.oOo.

The empty pouch lies several feet from her. She hadn’t meant to. But she is at her wits end, her sanity’s very edge. And she hates to admit it, but she loved it. She loved it so much. She hadn’t felt that energetic and inspired in a very long time. For a time, her appetite hadn’t been so horribly ravenous. And by Agni, conversation had come much easier when she finally got around to responding to that stream of missed calls. It was a sublime half an hour. She finds that she can no longer blame Zuko at all for craving the drug so furiously.

She can’t quite remember what she said to everyone. She doesn’t think that it matters anyways. She is so thoroughly drained, so much so that she can’t fathom leaving her bed. Can’t fathom anything at all. And this is a mercy to what comes next. To the slap of awareness that comes the next day.

Azula hasn’t felt so dreadful about herself since seeing her pregnancy test marked positive. She thinks that she might feel worse now than she had then. Her mind is a whirlwind of shame and guilt. She wishes she could pretend that she hadn’t done cocaine but she had been too lethargic in the crash to have even discarded the pouch.

It sits upon her dresser amid a light dusting of the powder, reminding that she is a failure just as miserable as her brother. That she is more so. At least Zuko never had a chance. She had all of the cards in line for her, all of the game pieces set in place and she still has managed to lose.

The noise that tears from her throat is hideous, tortured. The product of a failed attempt to conceal a sob. She used cocaine.

There is a baby in her belly and she used cocaine.

Spirits, she has probably killed it. She digs her nails into her hairline. She didn’t want to kill it. Whether she wanted it or not the baby is still hers. It is still a part of her. It might be the only thing that she will have left. And she might have just killed it or poisoned it.

She can’t stop the tremors and shakes that run through her body and she isn’t sure if it is an effect of the drug or if she is simply an anxious mess. Can cocaine give someone the shakes after one use? She trembles harder still.

She needs help.

She should call someone.

She is scared.

She has no one to call.

She wipes it her nose, she can still feel tingles and tickles. A faint static dancing on her nostrils and it won’t go away. No matter what she does or tries to think about, it doesn’t go away. The feeling builds in her sinuses until she is overtaken by an urge to claw at her nose.

It is ludicrous, the power is not there anymore--she has been to the mirror five times over to check.

She rubs her hands over her face.

She hears her phone vibrate.

She covers her ears.

She still hears it vibrate and it vibrates in unison with the static.

She slides onto the floor and bunches herself up as much as her bigger belly would allow. She finds that she is no longer even allowed to take comfort in bunching herself up. And so she lays there, strewn haphazardly, on the kitchen floor, tangled locks of hair fanning out around her.

Maybe she should lay there and die. Maybe she should go fetch the rest of her father’s stash and hit it all in one go. Maybe it is a mercy that she has probably gotten her baby killed. It doesn’t need to be born into a world that will emotionally rip it to tatters. It doesn’t need to be born to an inept mother...an inept person like her.

She should get off of the floor.

She can’t.

She is terrified.

She still has no one to call.

________________

Azula doesn’t remember opening the door. She doesn’t think that she had. But Seicho is there all the same. There and cradling her tightly, running her hand over her hair. Azula feels so, so weak. Weak and somehow more drained than she had even before.

“What happened, Azula?” She mumbles into her hair.

“They kicked me out of my own band.” She says softly, her voice straining as she tries to choke back a fresh batch of tears. “Chan got me pregnant and they kicked me out. It’s my band. My father is the one who…” she loses it at ‘father’, her words falling into the sob that she tried to suppress. “He’s going to...Agni, he’s going to disown me. Just like he did to Zuzu.”

Seicho’s brows furrow. “He’s your father, he wouldn’t…”

Azula shakes her head. “He’s a drunk, Seicho! I found the drugs in his desk.”

“You took drugs!?”

Azula grits her teeth. “I…” she what? There is no excuse. “I fucked up.”

Seicho squeezes her tighter and mutters, “let’s get you to the doctor.” She helps Azula to her shaky feet. “You should have seen one months ago, anyways.”

“What’s wrong with me, Seicho?”

“You’re stressed and pregnant and stressed because you’re pregnant.”

“I can’t afford to see a doctor. My father isn’t going to pay for that. I only have so much money saved up from the band…”

“Let’s just get you to this first appointment.”

Azula sucks in a deep breath. Seicho is right. She needs to regain rationality and start figuring out what to do. Really figuring it out as she should have done in the first place. Seicho helps her into the car.

.oOo.

Watching a dragon lose its wings is worse than finding out that her idol is the sort of asshole who would abandon his daughter for drugs and then abandon her twice over when she makes a mistake of her own.

Azula had been such a proud woman, head held high and vibrant. She is pale now, her eyes baggy and bloodshot, hair in a state of disarray and her clothes unkempt. She is softer, her face rounder. But there is no warmth in it; there is no glow of pregnancy. There is no glow at all. It is hollow and grey.

She squeezes Azula’s hand as she lingers in front of the door. It is as though walking in will put the final nail in a coffin that has been sealed for quite some time now. “Come on,” she implores softly, “I think that you’ll feel a lot better once the doctor tells you your options.”

Azula nods.

“How far along are you?” Seicho hears the receptionist ask.

“Five months.” She sounds so small.

“And you haven’t seen a doctor yet?”

She shakes her head.

“Why have you waited so long?”

“I didn’t want to tell my father…”

The receptionist sighs. “I’m sorry, we can’t take you as a patient.”

Azula’s dreary eyes grow that much more dismal. “What do you mean?” Her voice is caught somewhere between distress and anger. Seicho thinks that it is pure shock. “Why not?”

The receptionist has the decency to cringe. “You’ve already missed several important screenings, tests, and milestones. You’re also very young…”

“So?”

She flinches back further. “You’re a liability. There are a lot of risk factors and most physicians don’t want that liability.”

Azula grows paler still. “I-I don’t know what to do. I need to see someone.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. We can’t accept new patients that are this far along.”

Azula doesn’t speak another word. Stiff and tense is her walk back to the car and all Seicho can do is rub her hand in small circles on her back as they walk. Azula lays back against the headrest, almost limp in defeat. “Is there anywhere else we can go?”

“We can try the next place over.” Seicho suggests. And she suggests it again and again until she has to look up clinics she has never heard of. Azula finds one, a small practitioner. And they drive there.

.oOo.

Azula is under the impression that they have only taken her as a patient as a good will gesture. That the receptionist had taken one look at her dejected state and called for the doctor herself. Azula shifts uncomfortably in the chair as the woman looks her down with a smile that is much too big.

“Geez, that Joo Dee woman is creepy.” Seicho whispers.

Azula shrugs. “At least she’s giving me a chance.” She will stomach the creepiness as she stomachs everything else that is thrown at her. At last a woman appears, she is terribly old with bright white hair and fierce blue eyes.

“Azula, is it?” She greets.

Azula nods.

“My name is Hama.”

“You’re going to take me as a patient.”

“You’ve come unorthodoxly late.” She clicks her tongue. “But I’ve been doing this for a very long time so I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Azula exchanges a glance with Seicho. One that is not missed by Hama. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not.”

The old woman chuckles. “I suppose it’s strange to be in a place like this instead of some facility that smells like ammonia. But I think that better births happen in a relaxed environment. Hospitals are not relaxing. Nothing comforting about giving birth when someone is dying just down the hall.”

“No, that’s not comfortable at all.” Azula agrees but it is no less comforting to be in what looks like someone’s house. “Do you even have…” “The medical equipment necessary to deliver a baby?” She quirks a brow. “I get asked that all the time, girl. I certainly do and if you will follow me I can show you. Forgive me, I know that I just criticized the scent but it does smell like disinfectants back here.”

Azula doesn’t think that there is anything to forgive. It is a comfort to know that the woman is properly sanitizing everything. She supposes that, that is a good sign. The room Hama leads her to is much like a standard doctor’s office, save for the wallpaper, a helping of potted plants everywhere, and a faint odor of incense that cuts through the disinfectants.

“Please sit. We have quite a lot of things to go over. Namely your situation with your father, Joo Dee informed me that he is not aware.”

“He isn’t, no.”

“This first visit will be free of charge, dear.”

For the first time all day, perhaps in months, she feels a refreshing current of relief. She could very well cry.

“Thank you.”

“Because you are coming in so late, I need you to sign a waiver. There could be complications that are...difficult for me to work with, things that haven’t been detected because…”

And she hasn’t even told the woman about her cocaine use. She isn’t sure that she should, Agni forbid she loses her last chance. She reads the forms over and signs them. Hama hands her more of them. “I need you to fill out your medical history. Allergies, past illnesses, the usual. After you do that I will give you a general check up and we can schedule your first real appointment.”

“What if I can’t pay?”

Hama considers for a moment. “I will work with you, dear. My daughter is a fan of your music. Perhaps you can sing for her some time.”

.oOo.

Azula looks better, if only a little, now that she is sitting in the car with a rather clean bill of health; a healthy heart rate and body temperature, no fever nor infection, and a body weight that is rather typical for someone at five months.

She looks better still to see that Ozai’s car is still not in the driveway.

“Spend the night with me?”

“I can do that. Just let me text my parents.” Seicho smiles.

_________

It is a mercy that her father is so late to return home, she thinks to call and ask him why he hasn’t come home. She is beginning to wonder if the man has overdosed in his hotel room. Drank himself to death and yet to be discovered. More likely, he has heard word of her departure from the band and is leaving her to fester in her dread for a while.

Still, it is better this way; she had needed the extra time with Hama unable to get her in for another three days. It is just as well, the cocaine should be out of her system. It has been decided that she will pay for the treatments using her band savings, it isn’t as though she has any use for them anymore, anyhow. She still feels awkward sitting in Hama’s chair. Though the woman has been more than friendly.

Seicho lounges in the corner while Hama lifts Azula’s shirt above the bump. The ultrasound gel that she applies is cool on her belly, uncomfortably so.

“We will call you with the results of your blood work as soon as we receive them.” Hama says as she carefully sweeps the transducer over Azula’s bump.

“Alright.”

“So far, it looks like your baby’s development is on the right track.”

She wouldn’t say that if she knew about the drugs.

“It’s a girl.”

“A girl.” She repeats distantly. At least she can stop calling the baby an ‘it’ now.

Hama cleans the gel away and pulls Azula’s shirt back down. “Based on what we’ve discussed I’ve given you a care plan going forward. I also have a list of foods and drinks to avoid. I’d like to see you again in two weeks.”

.oOo.

Ozai’s car is in the lot when Seicho pulls into the driveway. Her throat constricts.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Azula shakes her head. It is better if she faces him alone. It is better if she is alone when she is shamed. She takes a deep breath and steps into the foyer. She looks to the recliner that he usually occupies when he is seeking to yell at her. It is vacant.

She finds him at the dinner table, with a bottle that is already half empty. She feels nauseous but she forces herself into the room. She tries to be quiet about it when she pulls out her chair but it still squeak and scrapes upon the floor. Not that she isn’t in plain sight of her father anyhow. Even still she feels as though she should take her seat with a stealthy silence. As though sound will break whatever peace there is left. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

Her father looks her over, taking her in. And she realizes that it has been several weeks since he has seen her. She wonders how she looks to him with her belly swollen and her sad eyes. She braces herself for a good scolding but he doesn’t say anything at all. Somehow this is so much worse. She clears her throat, “father.”

“Don’t call me that.”

The lump in her throat grows, swelling until she can barely breathe. “I can fix this.”

His expression says it all. She has made a perfect fool of she and him both. He wants nothing to do with she and her baby. He simply lifts his arms and slides the sheets of paper that were underneath them over to her. She picks them up and looks them over, they are printouts from various online newspapers.

Now that she has seen the headlines she is grateful that she had been too busy fretting over appointments to seek them out and pay them any mind at all. Surely there are article that lament her departure, sympathize with her, or wish her a safe pregnancy. But the ones that Ozai has selected for her to read are brutal and merciless; ‘Blue Talon to Enter a New, More Creative Era Following Departure of Lead Vocalist’, Blue Talon Vocalist Lets Down Fans’. ‘Disappointing News: What Losing Their Vocalist Means for Blue Talon and Audio of Agni.’ The ones addressing her pregnancy are worse still; ‘Tour Bus Sex: Blue Talon Vocalist Pregnant’. They quite bluntly imply that she is slut, that she is easy all the while they try to speculate who the father is.

There is an interview with her former bandmates. She only needs to read Chan’s denial of being the father to decide that the article isn’t worth reading.It is teeming with lies and stirs the rumors. And she has missed her window of merit; to tell her side with some scrap of believability. Chan has ruined her and she thinks that he probably knows it. She supposes that it is better her than him in his mind. She can’t say that she wouldn’t do him the same if the roles could be somehow swapped.

She looks up from the printouts. She opens her mouth but she doesn’t trust herself to speak without choking up or sobbing. She waits for Ozai to begin yelling. She practically yearns for it as the silence drags on.

“I finished reading them.” She manages finally. Maybe now he will begin his tirade, now that she has a full understanding of how disgraceful she is, he will elaborate. He still holds his tongue. She shifts in her chair, absently and nervously rubbing circles on her belly. He reaches for his bottle and takes a swig, he refuses to look up from his phone. But he finally speaks, “get out.” He noisily clatters the bottle against the table top.

She swallows. She must have misheard him. He wouldn’t just kick her out without a discussion. “What?”

“Get out of my sight.” He says it with such finality that she can only rise shakily to her feet and hope that Seicho will answer her phone. Her mouth is dry and her fingers shake as she punches Seicho’s number into her phone. She can barely see the numbers with her eyes as misty as they are.

She makes her way to her room and tosses her favorite clothes into a suitcase alongside her microphones and critical recording equipment. She takes her comb, her toothbrush, a bar of soap. Her fingers hover over her first musical award and her invite to Audio of Agni. She retracts her hand, they will only take up necessary space in her suitcase.

Upon gathering everything that she needs, she drops onto Ozai’s recliner and sits there, shaking, until she sees the headlights through her window.

“What’s going on?”

Azula shakes her head. She isn’t sure where Seicho is taking her, she isn’t sure that Seicho knows where she is driving to. Right now she is just driving. Right now Azula wants to just drive. Right now Azula wants her to drive into a lake.

“Are you alright?”

She is anything but.

“Please tell me what happened.”

“He...he told me to leave.”

“Like, just for tonight, or…”

“He doesn’t want me back.”

And Seicho’s parents want nothing to do with her. They want their daughter to have nothing to do with an influence so negative; with the sort of tramp who would find herself knocked up at sixteen.

Despite scathing protest from Seicho, they evict her from their daughter’s car. She finds herself wandering down the streets, suitcase in hand. She finds herself a park bench, the metal is too cold for sleep but she can’t imagine herself getting any anyhow.

She opens her phone; Seicho is already apologizing profusely, making promises to find a way to see her. Right now she doesn’t have the optimism to believe that she will be able. She scrolls through the names on her phone; Chan, Father, Mai, Mother, Ruon, Seicho, Tylee, Uncle… She scrolls all the way to the bottom, her finger hovered over Zuko’s number. She can’t bring herself to enter it.

She can’t think of anything else to do so she decides to return Zhao’s call. Maybe he can help her work out how to salvage her musical career and her reputation. She finds that he can do no such thing; he is no miracle worker. She needs a miracle worker but she will settle for a samaritan.

It isn’t ideal by any means, but she doesn’t see any other options so when his car pulls up she gets in. Her head is dizzy with many scenarios, many unsavory possibilities. She braces herself to just deal with them, take whatever ugly things life throws at her.

Of all of the dark stories she has written in her head, she could have never anticipated what did happen; she is greeted by three children and a rather plump woman with gentle eyes and a warm smile to match. She kisses Zhao’s cheek and welcomes him back home as his children fuss about at his feet. “Misaki, this is Azula. She is going to stay with us.”

She is so inexplicably relieved that the worst discomfort that Zhao gives her is informing her that her options are the floor or the sofa.

__________

While they get better, she gets worse. Blue Talon rises and Azula falls. They rise on her material, on her story, on her hardwork and soul.

She doesn’t know why she has taken to keeping such close tabs on Blue Talon. There is nothing to be gained from watching each new live performance. Nothing to be gained from stalking about their social media and viewing their announcements about introducing a brand new sound.

Nothing to be gained but more self loathing, a heavier heart, and a renewed hatred of her former friends. She can’t even be sure if she can call them that; were they ever her friends, they would have the decency to stop performing songs about her abuse. Bad split or not, they can afford her the respect of not letting Ruon sing her story, her pains.

It is a mockery, a hollow rendering of the person wrapped in those lyrics. Really there is nothing she can do; though it is fully hers, Blue Talon has the right to those lyrics, to that story. She doesn’t have the legal backing or the funds to take them back.

Azula supposes that she shouldn’t be surprised, she doesn’t have the ability to reclaim the story she has yet to tell either. And so she clicks the next link.

She does this for hours, an endless stream of mindless scrolling. Her only comfort comes in the form of radio silence from From Ashes To Phoenix. An arrest and then total silence is never a good sign. At least she is not alone in her failure. At least it, like most sufferings, is a family activity but without the bonding that could make it worthwhile.

Late in the night, she shuts the computer down. She drags herself to her suitcase and finds herself a pair of pajamas. She curses herself for--in her moment of distress--forgetting to make sure that she grabbed pajamas that would fit. It is an extra kick when she needs it the least to find that she has packed only one set of pajamas designed for pregnancy and only a few accommodating day clothes. She sinks to her knees and grips the sides of her head, nails digging into her hairline--it is just one impulse disaster after another, ranging from minor to major.

She’ll deal with the awkwardness of asking Zhao’s wife to take her shopping or borrow clothes in the morning. She slips out of her day clothing and into the pajamas, they are just snug enough to let her know that these pajamas she had brought during month four.

She lays herself down on the couch. Agni, she wishes that they didn’t have a mirror hanging across the room from it. Now that her eyes are locked on her reflection, she thinks that it would have been infinitely healthier to have kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen. It is so much better to hate her old bandmates than it is to hate herself.

Her life is a mess and her entire being reflects it. In her life she has never looked so dreadful. Her hair is such a mess--she hasn’t bothered with it in several days--it frames a face that seems swollen and puffy to her. Her entire person seems swollen, no doubt, the result of eating for two. She wraps her hands around her middle only to be dismayed by the way her shirt stretches over her chest. It doesn’t feel right and her only comfort comes from the knowing that the occasional tenderness in that area has already reached a peak and subsided. She should tear her eyes away from the glass but they have already locked on patches of discolored skin. She furrows her brows, unsure if this is normal. She supposes that, that is just one more uncomfortable question that she will have to ask Zhao’s wife. Each and every one of her birthmarks and freckles seem to have darkened as well.

To some degree, she has trouble recognizing the haggard person who stares back at her as herself. She could reach out her hand but she doesn’t want the extra confirmation.

But worse than her bump, her softened face, her swollen chest, and those unsightly discolorations is the inky blue dragon curling around her bicep. Its blue talon stretches out to remind her of what she no longer has. She brushes her fingers over it, with a sudden impulse to claw it away. To rake her nails across her skin until scar tissue engulfs the whole of the inkwork.

She resists the impulse and swaps it for another. She punches Seicho’s number into the phone and screams at her until her voice goes raw and her mind numb to the point where she can’t even remember what she had said. She knows that at least part of it had to do with yelling at the girl for tattooing her with no questions asked.

Lucidity only comes back in with a slap when Seicho, tearfully from the sound of it, shouts, “my parents were right about you!” The line goes dead before she can even begin to explain why she’d called in the first place. Before she could even try to articulate some sort of apology.

In that one end call tone, she knows that she has no one left. No one and nothing.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #2021atlasummerevent #Azula #Zuko #Azula/Background Character #Mai #Maiko #Fanfiction

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 3 years

Text

The Dragon Egg (Parts 4-6)

Long post because I neglected uploading for a few days. For @secrettunnelatla

It is all about fibs and careful twists. Change a few names and situations and suddenly Ozai is just a nameless man. A vague set of lyrics and verses on a page. A collection of words that shape the story of an abuser and his victim.

It is all the easier, picturing Zuko as the victim. Surely it can’t be her. Father treats her well; he has given her this recording studio. He has rewarded her for her three new singles with a newer car. He has given her nothing but praise for surprising him with so many new songs all at once.

Father buys her so many new stage outfits and lets her pierce her tongue and decorate it with genuine ruby. She has everything. He loves her. He is proud of her. It is only a hiccup, a lapse in judgment when he shows anything but affection. It is the alcohol that makes him smash the windows on her car. She doesn’t remember what he did it for but she knows that it was the alcohol because he has a brand new car waiting for her the next day.

And she drives it to Seicho’s house to deliver her birthday present. She will open the box and find a skateboard and tickets to see her show. Seicho is a delight and a somber presence all at once. In many ways, she reminds Azula of TyLee and that stings.

Sometimes she misses TyLee. Misses that sweet smile. Misses playing make believe in her backyard. Once upon a time, TyLee was going to be her drummer and they were going to tour from nation to nation in a bus with diamond studded tire caps. Once upon a time, she, Mai, and TyLee were going to be the rock trio that the world wouldn’t be able to forget.

And once upon a time, Mai decided that she liked Zuko more and TyLee decided that she liked Mai more. Zuko always had been the more lovable of the two. But Azula is the more successful. She has made a promise to herself that they would regret abandoning her for him when her faces is everywhere and Zuko is a sellout.

Seicho invites her inside, her friends are already there, a girl named Song, a girl named Jin, and a younger boy named Hide.

“Have a slice of cake or a whack at the pinata.” Seicho offers. She holds out a bat, wrapped with skull patterned duct tape and studded with nails. “You can have the first swing.”

Azula is sure that it would only take one good swing for the nails to shred the pinata. “I’ll have a slice of cake. I can’t stay for too long. I have a show.” There is a part of her, a very large part of her that wants more than a taste of this world. A simpler world where goals and aspirations aren’t make or break. “But I had to drop this off for you.” The skateboard in the box is expensive, it is more than enough to make up for not being able to stick around for the party.

Seicho’s face falls and Azula tells herself that it is only because she hasn’t unwrapped the gift yet. She knows that the smile is forced when she replies, “thanks, Azula. Maybe you can join us next year.”

Regret doesn’t hit her in full until she has already stepped back into her car. By now it would only be rude to change her mind and ring the doorbell again. Maybe this is why it was so easy for TyLee to choose Mai and for Mai to choose Zuko; she tends to choose her career over companionship.

She promises herself that after Audio of Agni, she will make more time for social obligations.

.oOo.

The stage doesn’t quite have its thrill tonight. The energy itself is excitedly frantic, vibrant with enthusiasm but it doesn’t quite reach Azula. It doesn’t matter, she is good at pretending. She knows what she is supposed to feel like--she has felt it before when the band was brand new, when Mai and TyLee were her backup vocalists.

So she emulates the vibe she is supposed to give off. She pretends like the crowds cheers and shouts and claps mean everything. She pretends like their liveliness gives her life too. Pretends like she can feel the music in her body and soul the same way everyone else does. But she only feels empty.

Empty and alone. A disorienting feeling when she is looking upon more faces than she can count.

All the while she sings lyrics that make her stomach squirm and her heart ache. If her father knew that he is the inspiration behind them, she’d have another song to write.

She doesn’t understand why singing these songs hurts so much. She is singing about Zuko and her father, not about she and her father. Or maybe she isn’t singing about her father at all, but a nameless father and his nameless child. Hell, it can be a mother too. Just a vague musical rendition of a dreadful parent who is merely neglectful on a good day.

It dawns upon her that she is the victim that she sings of when she finds herself getting teary on that stage. They think that it is part of the act. They think that she is a stellar actress on top of a damn good lyricist.

She doesn’t correct them. The only thing that sells more than sex is sorrow.

Things change after that. There is more attention, more interviews, more magazine photoshoots, and more simmering resentment from From Ashes To Phoenix. She basks in the limelight and relishes in Zuko’s envy. And with the spotlight shining so brightly, she can no longer see the darkness that had helped put it on her.

****

Seeing her on TV is hell. Even when she isn’t right in front of him, flaunting her riches, talents, and everything he could have had, she is still able to mock him.

These days, he can’t escape her. She is everywhere; on the radio, on the magazines, on the TV, and on posters. He even sees her in the hallways of Caldera Capital High. He sees her there, though she has been pulled out months ago for a private education tailored to her personal schedule. It is just one more thing for him to envy. He has to manage his band and school, of course his progress is slower. Sometimes stunted altogether.

And for his troubles he averages C’s and D’s--B’s if he is lucky--and music that is half done and not nearly what he had imagined in his mind. He knows that he is going to have to make a choice and he thinks that he has begun to make that choice a few months back. He has lost track of how many times he has stayed after class to discuss his grades. He wonders how uncle will take to him dropping out. Should he turn in the forms that are tucked away in his backpack and seal the deal there won’t be any turning back. He will have to make it big. It will be his only chance.

A gaggle of fangirls fawning over the brooding lonewolf with the choker and black nailpolish can only take him so far. It doesn’t leave the hallways. But he does, he evades the teachers and hall monitors and climbs his way onto the roof. Mai is already there, he can see the smoke trail.

“Want one?” She offers.

“I’ll take a drag from yours.”

Mai passes the cigarette. “Have you told your uncle yet?”

He takes his drag and passes it back. “No.”

Mai gives a little hum. “Make a decision and commit, Zuko. Either you tell your uncle that you’re dropping out or start hustling to fix your grades. You have to succeed somewhere.”

He flinches. She sounds all too similar to Azula. She sighs. “Sorry. I just worry about you, Zuko. Indecisiveness is going to ruin you if you let it.”

There are a lot of things that are going to ruin him if he lets them. To some degree he thinks that he is already ruined. That he should just fester in the failure. “I could use another drag.”

“Sure.” Mai replies.

He takes his drag and watches the smoke curl up to the mid-afternoon sky. Mai leans back with her hands behind her head.

“What are you doing up here, Mai?” He asks. “You can actually pass your classes, why are you letting me drag you down?”

“Zuko, I’ve never felt more...up. Sometimes I just need to get out of there.” She spares a glance to the door. “It’s suffocating and smells like cheap perfume and testosterone. I smoke at least a cigarette a day, gym class is pointless anyways.”

He chuckles. He feels right when he is on the roof with her. When he is with her in general. Pessimistic as she nihilistic as she is, he feels the most hopeful when he is with her. Even if it is just for a moment, Azula’s shadow doesn’t envelop and shroud him. Even if it is just for a moment, he can forget about she and her antics and everything her overachieving has helped steal from him. Even if it is just for a moment he can see, truly envision and believe in a reality where he strums his guitar before an arena full of adoring, audio hungry fans.

He makes a decision, he is going tell uncle that high school isn’t for him. That he is meant for...that he deserves better things. As the sun reaches its zenith, he decides that he will truly work for his dream.

****

The darkness floods right back in when she is away from the stage. When the lyrics that echo through the venue become a reality. She doesn’t know exactly what she has done. Maybe she has done nothing at all. He very well may just be in a bad mood. She is texting Seicho when he enters. “Hello father.” She greets with a smile.

He returns it with a blank face and folded arms. “What is this?” He slaps a piece of paper onto the table. He nods for her to read it over.

“It’s a…” she knits her brows, “a printout of our ticket sales.” She looks up from the paper. “What’s wrong with it?”

“How many tickets were sold for the first show?”

“It was sold out.”

“What about all of last week’s shows and the week before that?”

“Sold out.” She says again.

He nods. “Yes, sold out. What about last night’s show?”

Azula swallows, “1,684.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

She thinks that it could be a lot of things; that night had also been the night of the high school homecoming baseball game, people might have been short on cash, the time slot had been a tad earlier than usual. All of these answers seem like excuses--she should have a performance more compelling than baseball, she should have had a performance with spending money on, she should have pushed for a more favorable time slot. “It was a smaller venue.” She says at last much.

Wrong answer.

“I was selling out all of my shows.” He slaps the page and she flinches. “These aren’t metal legend numbers, they aren’t even Audio of Agni numbers.”

She wants to point out that he probably hadn’t been selling out all of his shows when his band had been as young as hers is. Instead she very quietly promises, “I’ll do better, father.” She must and she will because he is right. Only 1,684 tickets sold in a venue that could hold 2,000 people? That is embarrassing.

“Maybe if you weren’t fooling around with that tattoo artist… you won’t be seeing her anymore”

“Wh-what?” She sputters. “No, that’s not it! Seicho isn’t a distraction!” She realizes too late that she has gotten too loud.

She closes her eyes and tenses for the strike that is sure to come. When it doesn’t she cracks an eyelid. He hasn’t even closed the distance between them. She allows herself to relax. It is only then that his hand snakes out and finds her cheek.

Reflexively her own hand comes to rub it. She bites the sides of her cheeks and swallows down the cry that is waiting to come up. More than anything she hates knowing that she has failed him. That she has disappointed him. These moments are few and far between, she makes sure of that. But they are still there and she has just given herself one more ill mark. Has put herself one step closer to ending up like Zuko. “I’ll do better.” She says again when she finds the words.

It was never like this before. She glares at the empty bottles. It was never like this--he used to love her. She used to be is gleaming little star. He would yell at her, sometimes until his face went red, but he has never hit her before. She looks at the bottles, but it might be that she has finally made enough mistakes for him to see her as a splendid failure instead of his rising rockstar.

She takes out her phone and taps the screen a few times before holding it up, “see no more distractions. I deleted her number.” She forces a smile. “I needed to focus on memorizing my new material anyways.”

At last he returns the smile. The tightness in her chest slackens, giving way to an optimistic and relieved fluttering in her tummy. He ruffles her hair, “that’s my girl.” He gives her a small hug. “I should know better than to doubt you.” He smells so strongly of booze.

But she has satisfied him. She is still is gleaming little star.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Zuko #Mai #TyLee #Azula/Background Character #Azula/Cupholder girl #Maiko #Fanfiction #2021atlasummerevent

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