atla/ouran fic, in this game you either bend or break, (1/?)
Title: in this game you either bend or break (1/?)
Author: Serendipity1/ ivy_chan
Words: 2628
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender/Ouran Host Club
Characters: Azula, Kyouya, and an ensemble cast from their respective canons.
Summary: In which two underaged manipulative masterminds meet each other in the snake's den and form an unlikely relationship based on social politics and chess. Kyouya/Azula crossover set in Hogwarts.
Notes: I just. I don’t even. bookelfe is a highly manipulative individual and you should all blame her for this madness. Also, I have never before written a crossover, so of course my first one would have to encompass three whole canons. Although I think HP is the little black dress of canons- you can stick it anywhere and it fits swimmingly.
found out the way to your goals
i know the weight of your throat
and it's up there, in the books above
found out the sound of your hopeful notes
i know the weight of your throat
(‘I Know the Weight of Your Throat,’ Sunset Rubdown)
As all Slytherins know, a sizable portion of the Hogwarts experience involves Machiavellian power plays in the common room. This is something of a House sport, along with Quidditch, chess, and Wizarding jai alai, which someone from a school in Spain should really have thought twice about introducing. Things are really quite exciting enough without the satanic lovechild of a snitch and a bludger hurtling about their heads like a demented, heavyweight hummingbird. In any case, fellow Slytherins mill about in the artistically-lit atmosphere, soaking up the green-lit gloominess, reclining on the sleek, leather couches, and drinking nonalcoholic absinthe while they plot the intricate demise of their enemies and, sometimes, their peers.
Azula sits in this sea of plotting, unperturbed, a master amongst mere journeymen, her posture betraying not a hint of her innermost thoughts. Her innermost thoughts tell her: If I brew something from Most Potente Poisons, perhaps I can kill this boy in an unobtrusive way and hide his body somewhere convenient, such as in the closet of my worst enemy.
Not a very useful thought at the moment. She busies herself by staring at the chess pieces in front of her, and they shift uncomfortably, afraid of being jabbed at by the tip of a red-hot wand if they so much as sneeze out of turn. Lesser players might need coaching from their game pieces, but Azula Pyrodominus needs advice from no one, especially not her tools.
Especially not her tools.
Sitting with an air of casual boredom, the object of her ire smiles serenely at her, his glasses reflecting the green light in a truly unsettling way. Such impudence. Kyouya Ohtori is truly a formidable opponent. A marvelous specimen of cunning, manipulative genius, and sheer masterminding bastardry. Those traits are most likely why he’d been chosen as a prefect, and then later as Head Boy. She knows those selfsame qualities were the deciding factor in her appointment to her role.
Slytherins prefer their leaders to be sneaky, unapologetic cheaters as long as they don’t get caught at it. Since Azula is exceptional at tying up loose ends, she has yet to be found out in anything. Well, almost anything. Petty first year attempts at toppling the hierarchy notwithstanding. (in any case, she’d won and so it didn’t matter.)
“If I can help you with some of the finer points of the game, please let me know,” Kyouya says dryly, his expression otherwise unreadable.
Azula has the fleeting notion that he would make a killing at poker if he would lower himself to play the game. Not that either of them needs money in particular- she is an heiress to a small fortune and scion of an old pureblood family, and he is something along those lines as well, if she has her peerage and bloodlines down correctly.
“You can help me by answering something,” she says, swiftly moving a pawn in place. “Why is it that our board, which has been so pointedly undisturbed by any of our fellow housemates who don’t wish to be hexed within an inch of their lives, is suddenly and mysteriously rearranged last night?” The very night she’d managed to arrange her pieces into a formation completely guaranteed to crush him, might she add. This is a suspicious set of circumstances, and Azula doesn’t believe in coincidences.
Kyouya responds to the unspoken accusation with immense aplomb. “House elves.”
She stares at him.
“Apparently, they’d been cleaning up our common room after the victory with Ravenclaw and someone had spilled butterbeer all over it. Unfortunately, they didn’t manage to remember the positions of the pieces before they cleaned it. They’re simpleminded creatures, though. It really isn’t their fault.” With the cool grace of a professional, he moves one of his rooks across the board.
Eyebrow arching, she continues to stare. Most people back down from that eyebrow, or at least look concerned by the way it subtly menaces them. “You realize, of course, that we are going to take another week to finish the game.”
“Naturally.”
Kyouya merely looks polite. Of course. Sometimes she finds his impeccable calmness frustrating, but only because she knows she’s measuring her own self control against his. So far they seem to be about equal, but Azula is convinced of her superiority. Then again, she’s convinced in her superiority about everything. It’s just that the world is sometimes very slow to present tangible proof that she’s right.
They play like breathing, each move precise and natural. Since both of them tend to predict moves rather than study the board, their plays move almost lightning-quick.
“I might not have that much free time to spare,” she says eventually, her shoulder turned deliberately, her eyelids half-lidded. “I have my OWL prep group to attend to, and I need to keep ahead of the curve.”
It’s crucial not to make this sound like a complaint. She has to sound as though she finds the game and his presence negligible, not that she’s chastising him for possibly extending the game through some perfectly sanctioned craftiness. It’s an important distinction.
(Although she really must think of a way to pay him back for that. She might be a little too old for it, but the old trick of placing a salamander in between the mattresses usually worked. People usually didn’t like to wake up with their bed afire.)
It’s not like she’s lying, really. Perfection is imperative to success, and she has never intended to do anything less with her life.
“I would have thought that you would be able to stay ahead of the curve without needing to resort to cramming,” Kyouya said, a hint of a smile in the lines of his mouth. “You are our House’s lauded prodigy, after all.” It’s easy enough for her to hear the faint mocking tone in what is, quite obviously, a challenge.
“Trusting it all to innate talent would be foolish,” she says sweetly. “The mind is a muscle that needs constant exercise and careful maintenance.”
“Hm,” he nods, “But all muscles need rest as well.”
She leans forward, her lips folded into a sharp-edged smile. “I only have a set amount of free time, Kyouya. What makes you think that I want to spend it sitting at a chess board with you?” She tosses the challenge like a dagger, swiftly and surely.
His expression doesn’t change much, but she swears she catches a hint of triumph in those dark eyes. “Because you hate to lose, and walking away now means you forfeit the game.”
This is so obnoxiously true that she is tempted, for a moment, to go against her nature just to spite him. Either that, or set the chess table on fire in a glorious blaze of defiance. Neither of them would be a particularly intelligent move, so she simply concedes that her opponent has scored a hit. Not verbally, mind you, it wouldn‘t do to admit defeat openly. Not that it matters. He’s watching her with the same unflappable look as always, but she isn’t fooled by the mild demeanor at all. Inside, he has surely acknowledged the small victory.
It’s not that she doesn’t have fun with these conversations. It’s not difficult to find people who converse like they’re trying to win at it, but it is difficult to find people who do it well. The problem here is this: you just can’t let those people start thinking they’re better than you.
Azula decides she’s going to try to incite his chess pieces to rebel. If nothing else, it will help alleviate some stress.
__
Her first meeting with Kyouya Ohtori isn’t anything special. She is in her first year, or about to be, sitting in a compartment by herself on the Hogwarts Express, idly watching Agni, her crested owl, ruffle his feathers. Her useless heap of a brother had abandoned her the minute they set foot on the train, going off by himself with some blue eyed, brown-skinned boy and a girl with the same coloring that looked to be that boy’s sister. No one she knows, which means they certainly weren’t purebloods. Not that she’d expected her brother to follow any sense of propriety.
Zuko has, after all, been Sorted into Hufflepuff, the most pathetic House out of the lot. It only serves to reinforce their father’s negative opinion of him, of course. Only a truly miserable failure would get sorted into the House for scraps and leftovers- ‘hardworking and loyal’ were traits only useful for servants and laborers, certainly not suitable for anyone from their noble family.
She isn’t going to be content with anything but Slytherin. (because that’s the only house father is content to have them in) Azula knows all about it, of course. Salazar Slytherin, driven out because he’d stood firm about the true traditions of teaching the magical arts. Slytherin, the house of those who were ruthless, cunning, ambitious, everything she’s ever planned to be. And, of course, being Sorted in that House will make her own political machinations so much easier, since everyone who’s anyone at all gets placed there. Everyone knows that.
Hopefully that stupid grungy hat won’t make a mistake. The magics used to make it had been strong enough, but what if the other founders had done something wrong to it, influenced it to make it choose more students for their House to cripple Slytherin? It would be a perfectly reasonable move on their part.
Azula is an exceptional girl, but she is still an eleven year-old child. She clutches her wand tightly in her lap (eleven inches, ebony, phoenix feather,) and bites her lip.
This is how Kyouya Ohtori catches her when he slides the door open, coolly scanning her compartment as if looking for anything that could possibly irritate him further.
“You look quiet enough,” is what he says, and arranges himself on the seat across from her. He seats himself in a very planned way, which is the best description she can think of. Like even sitting down is a calculation for him. She doesn’t really know him yet, but if she did, she’d realize that this means he knows who she is.
Sometimes she wonders now how much of this first meeting was a hook for him to impress her and therefore impress her father. Not often. Trying to dissect Kyouya’s motivations too precisely is a losing battle. It’s simple enough to know what the driving force behind them is and proceed from there.
Eleven year-old Azula just watches him enter, annoyed that he doesn’t ask her permission before he intrudes on her privacy. That’s the polite thing to do. True, this isn’t technically her private compartment, but she was enjoying the peaceful silence and the lack of any interesting company before he barged in and just sat there, insolently reading his book.
(Really, Azula is good at understanding people, but really bad at making friends. She doesn’t understand why. One would think those traits would be connected in some way.)
Agni, however, is immediately enamored with him and swoops over to perch on the seat, tilting his head to the side in what she recognizes as his demand for physical affection. The traitor. Throw someone at him who looked like they were halfway capable of stroking his neck feathers, and he was their immediate friend. Why couldn’t dogs be a recognized familiar? At least they were known for their unswerving loyalty.
(Then again, so are Hufflepuffs. Zuko is still a blood traitor.)
Kyouya glances at the bird, reaches out, and strokes his neck feathers. Agni trembles in joy. Azula represses a snarl but doesn’t quite manage to keep the frown off of her face.
She is trying to make up her mind whether she wants to hex him or if she should get someone else to do her dirty work for her when he looks up and gives her a smile that most people would describe as stunning. She would describe it as well crafted.
“I should introduce myself,” he says, and his voice is remarkably smooth. Like he’s persuading her of something without actually using the persuasive tone. It’s not something she expects from a boy his age. He looks about as old as Zuko, and boys his age are loud and obnoxious when they’re not telling you to go away and stop bothering them. Boys.
“I know who you are.” She can’t keep the touch of pride out of her tone. Azula knows everyone in the web of pureblood relationships, she has studied the trees well. That, too, will eventually lead her to power. "Kyouya Ohtori, third son of the House of Ohtori. I've seen you before at the parties Father throws for his associates." And he doesn't get along well with her brother, or rather, her brother doesn't get along well with him. This makes her reassess him a bit more favorably.
“You have a good memory,” he says, still with the cordial smile. She’s pleased that he doesn’t add the expected ‘for your age’. It proves that he’s also wiser than most people.
She smiles at him, a polite quirk of the lips. “Shall I assume you know who I am, too?”
Kyouya inclines his head slightly. “Azula Pyrodominus, second child of Lord Pyrodominus.” She thinks he could probably trace both of her bloodlines back a few generations, but he leaves it at that. Really, there doesn’t seem to be much point introducing people among purebloods- they are all related to some degree, and all of them are trained to know their family trees.
For the first time, she notes his robes, the green-and-silver tie poking out from beneath them, the serpent crest affixed to them, right above the heart. “Oh, you’re a Slytherin!” she says, seeing him in a better light for it, “Father says there’s no better House to be in. I’m going to be Sorted there, of course,” she adds, but her confidence isn’t entirely solid on that point. She’s ashamed to say her tone probably falters the slightest bit.
He smiles as if he’s been expecting the revelation. “Well, then. I’ll be happy to show you around the dungeons when we arrive.”
“The dungeons?” Azula frowns, wondering if he’s making some kind of joke.
“The Slytherin dormitories are located there.” She must have a sour expression, because he laughs. “It’s nothing like you might think. They are quite well maintained, well lit, and very comfortable. Salazar chose the location himself and fortified it both architecturally and magically. Think of it as sort of an underground fortress in it’s own right.”
“A wise decision, but only if he left escape passageways,” she says, her eyes narrowed. The thought of living in a dungeon is still unappetizing, no matter how tactically sound the placement may be.
She thinks he probably knows about any secrets the Slytherin dungeons have to offer. He seems like that sort of person. Azula has a particular talent for assessing people at a glance, and Kyouya is a collector- of knowledge, of secrets, of information. And, since he is in the House of cunning, he doesn’t simply store his collection to be picked over like a secret treasure horde. No, he uses it the same way she would: as a weapon. It’s all in the eyes. They are far too calculating to be merely friendly, or even interested.
Kyouya smiles, amused at her obvious displeasure. “Slytherin was known for his cunning,” is all he says.
Folding her fingers and placing her hands demurely on her lap, she meets his smile with one of her own: sweetly poisonous and hovering on precocious. “So am I.”
In this way they meet. It’s a good representation of their relationship from that point on.
Author: Serendipity1/ ivy_chan
Words: 2628
Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender/Ouran Host Club
Characters: Azula, Kyouya, and an ensemble cast from their respective canons.
Summary: In which two underaged manipulative masterminds meet each other in the snake's den and form an unlikely relationship based on social politics and chess. Kyouya/Azula crossover set in Hogwarts.
Notes: I just. I don’t even. bookelfe is a highly manipulative individual and you should all blame her for this madness. Also, I have never before written a crossover, so of course my first one would have to encompass three whole canons. Although I think HP is the little black dress of canons- you can stick it anywhere and it fits swimmingly.
found out the way to your goals
i know the weight of your throat
and it's up there, in the books above
found out the sound of your hopeful notes
i know the weight of your throat
(‘I Know the Weight of Your Throat,’ Sunset Rubdown)
As all Slytherins know, a sizable portion of the Hogwarts experience involves Machiavellian power plays in the common room. This is something of a House sport, along with Quidditch, chess, and Wizarding jai alai, which someone from a school in Spain should really have thought twice about introducing. Things are really quite exciting enough without the satanic lovechild of a snitch and a bludger hurtling about their heads like a demented, heavyweight hummingbird. In any case, fellow Slytherins mill about in the artistically-lit atmosphere, soaking up the green-lit gloominess, reclining on the sleek, leather couches, and drinking nonalcoholic absinthe while they plot the intricate demise of their enemies and, sometimes, their peers.
Azula sits in this sea of plotting, unperturbed, a master amongst mere journeymen, her posture betraying not a hint of her innermost thoughts. Her innermost thoughts tell her: If I brew something from Most Potente Poisons, perhaps I can kill this boy in an unobtrusive way and hide his body somewhere convenient, such as in the closet of my worst enemy.
Not a very useful thought at the moment. She busies herself by staring at the chess pieces in front of her, and they shift uncomfortably, afraid of being jabbed at by the tip of a red-hot wand if they so much as sneeze out of turn. Lesser players might need coaching from their game pieces, but Azula Pyrodominus needs advice from no one, especially not her tools.
Especially not her tools.
Sitting with an air of casual boredom, the object of her ire smiles serenely at her, his glasses reflecting the green light in a truly unsettling way. Such impudence. Kyouya Ohtori is truly a formidable opponent. A marvelous specimen of cunning, manipulative genius, and sheer masterminding bastardry. Those traits are most likely why he’d been chosen as a prefect, and then later as Head Boy. She knows those selfsame qualities were the deciding factor in her appointment to her role.
Slytherins prefer their leaders to be sneaky, unapologetic cheaters as long as they don’t get caught at it. Since Azula is exceptional at tying up loose ends, she has yet to be found out in anything. Well, almost anything. Petty first year attempts at toppling the hierarchy notwithstanding. (in any case, she’d won and so it didn’t matter.)
“If I can help you with some of the finer points of the game, please let me know,” Kyouya says dryly, his expression otherwise unreadable.
Azula has the fleeting notion that he would make a killing at poker if he would lower himself to play the game. Not that either of them needs money in particular- she is an heiress to a small fortune and scion of an old pureblood family, and he is something along those lines as well, if she has her peerage and bloodlines down correctly.
“You can help me by answering something,” she says, swiftly moving a pawn in place. “Why is it that our board, which has been so pointedly undisturbed by any of our fellow housemates who don’t wish to be hexed within an inch of their lives, is suddenly and mysteriously rearranged last night?” The very night she’d managed to arrange her pieces into a formation completely guaranteed to crush him, might she add. This is a suspicious set of circumstances, and Azula doesn’t believe in coincidences.
Kyouya responds to the unspoken accusation with immense aplomb. “House elves.”
She stares at him.
“Apparently, they’d been cleaning up our common room after the victory with Ravenclaw and someone had spilled butterbeer all over it. Unfortunately, they didn’t manage to remember the positions of the pieces before they cleaned it. They’re simpleminded creatures, though. It really isn’t their fault.” With the cool grace of a professional, he moves one of his rooks across the board.
Eyebrow arching, she continues to stare. Most people back down from that eyebrow, or at least look concerned by the way it subtly menaces them. “You realize, of course, that we are going to take another week to finish the game.”
“Naturally.”
Kyouya merely looks polite. Of course. Sometimes she finds his impeccable calmness frustrating, but only because she knows she’s measuring her own self control against his. So far they seem to be about equal, but Azula is convinced of her superiority. Then again, she’s convinced in her superiority about everything. It’s just that the world is sometimes very slow to present tangible proof that she’s right.
They play like breathing, each move precise and natural. Since both of them tend to predict moves rather than study the board, their plays move almost lightning-quick.
“I might not have that much free time to spare,” she says eventually, her shoulder turned deliberately, her eyelids half-lidded. “I have my OWL prep group to attend to, and I need to keep ahead of the curve.”
It’s crucial not to make this sound like a complaint. She has to sound as though she finds the game and his presence negligible, not that she’s chastising him for possibly extending the game through some perfectly sanctioned craftiness. It’s an important distinction.
(Although she really must think of a way to pay him back for that. She might be a little too old for it, but the old trick of placing a salamander in between the mattresses usually worked. People usually didn’t like to wake up with their bed afire.)
It’s not like she’s lying, really. Perfection is imperative to success, and she has never intended to do anything less with her life.
“I would have thought that you would be able to stay ahead of the curve without needing to resort to cramming,” Kyouya said, a hint of a smile in the lines of his mouth. “You are our House’s lauded prodigy, after all.” It’s easy enough for her to hear the faint mocking tone in what is, quite obviously, a challenge.
“Trusting it all to innate talent would be foolish,” she says sweetly. “The mind is a muscle that needs constant exercise and careful maintenance.”
“Hm,” he nods, “But all muscles need rest as well.”
She leans forward, her lips folded into a sharp-edged smile. “I only have a set amount of free time, Kyouya. What makes you think that I want to spend it sitting at a chess board with you?” She tosses the challenge like a dagger, swiftly and surely.
His expression doesn’t change much, but she swears she catches a hint of triumph in those dark eyes. “Because you hate to lose, and walking away now means you forfeit the game.”
This is so obnoxiously true that she is tempted, for a moment, to go against her nature just to spite him. Either that, or set the chess table on fire in a glorious blaze of defiance. Neither of them would be a particularly intelligent move, so she simply concedes that her opponent has scored a hit. Not verbally, mind you, it wouldn‘t do to admit defeat openly. Not that it matters. He’s watching her with the same unflappable look as always, but she isn’t fooled by the mild demeanor at all. Inside, he has surely acknowledged the small victory.
It’s not that she doesn’t have fun with these conversations. It’s not difficult to find people who converse like they’re trying to win at it, but it is difficult to find people who do it well. The problem here is this: you just can’t let those people start thinking they’re better than you.
Azula decides she’s going to try to incite his chess pieces to rebel. If nothing else, it will help alleviate some stress.
__
Her first meeting with Kyouya Ohtori isn’t anything special. She is in her first year, or about to be, sitting in a compartment by herself on the Hogwarts Express, idly watching Agni, her crested owl, ruffle his feathers. Her useless heap of a brother had abandoned her the minute they set foot on the train, going off by himself with some blue eyed, brown-skinned boy and a girl with the same coloring that looked to be that boy’s sister. No one she knows, which means they certainly weren’t purebloods. Not that she’d expected her brother to follow any sense of propriety.
Zuko has, after all, been Sorted into Hufflepuff, the most pathetic House out of the lot. It only serves to reinforce their father’s negative opinion of him, of course. Only a truly miserable failure would get sorted into the House for scraps and leftovers- ‘hardworking and loyal’ were traits only useful for servants and laborers, certainly not suitable for anyone from their noble family.
She isn’t going to be content with anything but Slytherin. (because that’s the only house father is content to have them in) Azula knows all about it, of course. Salazar Slytherin, driven out because he’d stood firm about the true traditions of teaching the magical arts. Slytherin, the house of those who were ruthless, cunning, ambitious, everything she’s ever planned to be. And, of course, being Sorted in that House will make her own political machinations so much easier, since everyone who’s anyone at all gets placed there. Everyone knows that.
Hopefully that stupid grungy hat won’t make a mistake. The magics used to make it had been strong enough, but what if the other founders had done something wrong to it, influenced it to make it choose more students for their House to cripple Slytherin? It would be a perfectly reasonable move on their part.
Azula is an exceptional girl, but she is still an eleven year-old child. She clutches her wand tightly in her lap (eleven inches, ebony, phoenix feather,) and bites her lip.
This is how Kyouya Ohtori catches her when he slides the door open, coolly scanning her compartment as if looking for anything that could possibly irritate him further.
“You look quiet enough,” is what he says, and arranges himself on the seat across from her. He seats himself in a very planned way, which is the best description she can think of. Like even sitting down is a calculation for him. She doesn’t really know him yet, but if she did, she’d realize that this means he knows who she is.
Sometimes she wonders now how much of this first meeting was a hook for him to impress her and therefore impress her father. Not often. Trying to dissect Kyouya’s motivations too precisely is a losing battle. It’s simple enough to know what the driving force behind them is and proceed from there.
Eleven year-old Azula just watches him enter, annoyed that he doesn’t ask her permission before he intrudes on her privacy. That’s the polite thing to do. True, this isn’t technically her private compartment, but she was enjoying the peaceful silence and the lack of any interesting company before he barged in and just sat there, insolently reading his book.
(Really, Azula is good at understanding people, but really bad at making friends. She doesn’t understand why. One would think those traits would be connected in some way.)
Agni, however, is immediately enamored with him and swoops over to perch on the seat, tilting his head to the side in what she recognizes as his demand for physical affection. The traitor. Throw someone at him who looked like they were halfway capable of stroking his neck feathers, and he was their immediate friend. Why couldn’t dogs be a recognized familiar? At least they were known for their unswerving loyalty.
(Then again, so are Hufflepuffs. Zuko is still a blood traitor.)
Kyouya glances at the bird, reaches out, and strokes his neck feathers. Agni trembles in joy. Azula represses a snarl but doesn’t quite manage to keep the frown off of her face.
She is trying to make up her mind whether she wants to hex him or if she should get someone else to do her dirty work for her when he looks up and gives her a smile that most people would describe as stunning. She would describe it as well crafted.
“I should introduce myself,” he says, and his voice is remarkably smooth. Like he’s persuading her of something without actually using the persuasive tone. It’s not something she expects from a boy his age. He looks about as old as Zuko, and boys his age are loud and obnoxious when they’re not telling you to go away and stop bothering them. Boys.
“I know who you are.” She can’t keep the touch of pride out of her tone. Azula knows everyone in the web of pureblood relationships, she has studied the trees well. That, too, will eventually lead her to power. "Kyouya Ohtori, third son of the House of Ohtori. I've seen you before at the parties Father throws for his associates." And he doesn't get along well with her brother, or rather, her brother doesn't get along well with him. This makes her reassess him a bit more favorably.
“You have a good memory,” he says, still with the cordial smile. She’s pleased that he doesn’t add the expected ‘for your age’. It proves that he’s also wiser than most people.
She smiles at him, a polite quirk of the lips. “Shall I assume you know who I am, too?”
Kyouya inclines his head slightly. “Azula Pyrodominus, second child of Lord Pyrodominus.” She thinks he could probably trace both of her bloodlines back a few generations, but he leaves it at that. Really, there doesn’t seem to be much point introducing people among purebloods- they are all related to some degree, and all of them are trained to know their family trees.
For the first time, she notes his robes, the green-and-silver tie poking out from beneath them, the serpent crest affixed to them, right above the heart. “Oh, you’re a Slytherin!” she says, seeing him in a better light for it, “Father says there’s no better House to be in. I’m going to be Sorted there, of course,” she adds, but her confidence isn’t entirely solid on that point. She’s ashamed to say her tone probably falters the slightest bit.
He smiles as if he’s been expecting the revelation. “Well, then. I’ll be happy to show you around the dungeons when we arrive.”
“The dungeons?” Azula frowns, wondering if he’s making some kind of joke.
“The Slytherin dormitories are located there.” She must have a sour expression, because he laughs. “It’s nothing like you might think. They are quite well maintained, well lit, and very comfortable. Salazar chose the location himself and fortified it both architecturally and magically. Think of it as sort of an underground fortress in it’s own right.”
“A wise decision, but only if he left escape passageways,” she says, her eyes narrowed. The thought of living in a dungeon is still unappetizing, no matter how tactically sound the placement may be.
She thinks he probably knows about any secrets the Slytherin dungeons have to offer. He seems like that sort of person. Azula has a particular talent for assessing people at a glance, and Kyouya is a collector- of knowledge, of secrets, of information. And, since he is in the House of cunning, he doesn’t simply store his collection to be picked over like a secret treasure horde. No, he uses it the same way she would: as a weapon. It’s all in the eyes. They are far too calculating to be merely friendly, or even interested.
Kyouya smiles, amused at her obvious displeasure. “Slytherin was known for his cunning,” is all he says.
Folding her fingers and placing her hands demurely on her lap, she meets his smile with one of her own: sweetly poisonous and hovering on precocious. “So am I.”
In this way they meet. It’s a good representation of their relationship from that point on.