The Teahouse
“You, boy!”
Zuko froze. He was bussing a table, but the saucer in his hand was poised like a throwing disc. He shifted his head slightly to the right to look over his shoulder with his good eye.
“Bring me more of that Jasmine tea. It is the best I have ever had!”
“Thank you, sir! I will be sure to bring you a fresh pot!” Iroh swept past Zuko, slapping his back and sending him off balance.
“Ooph!” He sputtered, bringing the saucer down hard on the stout wooden table. The sound of breaking porcelain was barely heard over the din of voices in the teahouse. It had been like this since the owner of the shop had allowed Iroh to take over the tea preparation and brewing. The refugee ghetto was cut off from the city’s main market center, making it difficult to find good food and drink. News of a decent, no, excellent teahouse had spread like wildfire.
But perhaps that was the wrong word to use. “Crazy old man..” Zuko muttered as he knelt on the ground, gingerly picked up bits of shattered saucer. This popularity was dangerous, especially after the incident with Jet.
Jet. Now that was one crazy guy. Zuko had sensed a wildness in him when they had first met, but he had never suspected the vehemence of his hatred towards firebenders. It was a good thing Zuko had been able to hold him off. Lucky he hadn’t been a bender…
“Here.”
Zuko lifted up his head slowly. A small, feminine hand appeared in front of him on the left, with a triangular shard of porcelain resting in the palm. Look normal, look normal.. Zuko opened his left eye a little wider and blinked. A brown eyed earth peasant girl smiled down at him, a few inches from his face. Too. Close.
“You missed a piece.”
“Thank you.” Zuko thought he heard his voice crack. He swept the shard onto his tray and hastily retreated to kitchen. Tipping the contents of the tray into the refuse bin, he let it drop to the floor and leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
“Zuko? There was a cup on there that wasn’t broken.”
“What? Sorry, Uncle, I was distracted.”
“Ah, well don’t worry, we have plenty of dishes. Just remember to make the most of life’s little opportunities.” Iroh gave him a knowing smile and winked. Zuko glowered, then turned abruptly and started washing the teapots in the sink with a brutal intensity.
“Watch the finish, Boy, you’ll take the glaze right off if you keep that up.” The shop owner tut tutted as he walked past him from the alley entrance. Iroh greeted the man warmly.
“Did you bring the leaves I requested?”
“Only the ones I could afford. Your choices surprised the tea tradesmen. They said that the white dragonbush is only available in certain islands in the Fire Nation..”
“A pity. I was able to get it in Omashu.” Iroh spoke the lie so easily it made Zuko’s skin crawl. Zuko had never been good at lying. He never wanted to be, either. He respected his Uncle, but it disturbed him sometimes how easy he was with strangers. Enemies, even.
The shop owner sighed. “Those trade routes have been cut off for some time. I was able to get you the red dragonbush.”
“Good, good. I will start brewing. It won’t be long before the entire street wants a cup.”
“Ho ho..” The shop owner whistled through the gap in his teeth. “I’ll just go out and double the price. Those leaves cost a pretty penny!”
“Great.” Muttered Zuko. He scrubbed away, listening with growing irritation to the sounds of increasing foot traffic. The scent of fragrant dragonbush effused through the building and out into the street, but it just made Zuko want to sneeze. Or maybe that was the cold water in the sink making him shiver. A swift movement of his hand, and that water could be boiling. Instead, he had to put up with cold, wet , raisin fingers.
“Zuko, I think those pots are clean enough, and tables’ seven and eight need clearing.” Iroh was humming his stupid little tune again.
“Yes, Uncle, I’ll be there in a minute.” He hated saying those words. He, exiled prince of the Fire Nation, now a teahouse busboy. This was not a new life, this was a travesty. Wringing his wrinkled fingers he stalked back into the front room. He reached for a tray at the counter and had begun picking up dishes when he noticed the earth nation peasant. She was still at her table, with a cup of tea in her hands.
Not my business, thought Zuko. He busied himself with the piles of cups and pots. As he passed the girl he couldn’t help but glance at her cup. It was nearly full, and he could tell it was ice-cold.
“Do you want a fresh cup, miss?” He asked this pointedly, enunciating each syllable carefully.
“What?” The girl glanced up at him. Hmph, as if she wasn’t watching him the whole time. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
Zuko nodded, and went back into the kitchen. He almost felt relaxed. Here she was, the spy he had been waiting for, and he’s been able to see through her in no time. A few more incidents like this, and he would be able to tell Uncle.
Zuko froze. He was bussing a table, but the saucer in his hand was poised like a throwing disc. He shifted his head slightly to the right to look over his shoulder with his good eye.
“Bring me more of that Jasmine tea. It is the best I have ever had!”
“Thank you, sir! I will be sure to bring you a fresh pot!” Iroh swept past Zuko, slapping his back and sending him off balance.
“Ooph!” He sputtered, bringing the saucer down hard on the stout wooden table. The sound of breaking porcelain was barely heard over the din of voices in the teahouse. It had been like this since the owner of the shop had allowed Iroh to take over the tea preparation and brewing. The refugee ghetto was cut off from the city’s main market center, making it difficult to find good food and drink. News of a decent, no, excellent teahouse had spread like wildfire.
But perhaps that was the wrong word to use. “Crazy old man..” Zuko muttered as he knelt on the ground, gingerly picked up bits of shattered saucer. This popularity was dangerous, especially after the incident with Jet.
Jet. Now that was one crazy guy. Zuko had sensed a wildness in him when they had first met, but he had never suspected the vehemence of his hatred towards firebenders. It was a good thing Zuko had been able to hold him off. Lucky he hadn’t been a bender…
“Here.”
Zuko lifted up his head slowly. A small, feminine hand appeared in front of him on the left, with a triangular shard of porcelain resting in the palm. Look normal, look normal.. Zuko opened his left eye a little wider and blinked. A brown eyed earth peasant girl smiled down at him, a few inches from his face. Too. Close.
“You missed a piece.”
“Thank you.” Zuko thought he heard his voice crack. He swept the shard onto his tray and hastily retreated to kitchen. Tipping the contents of the tray into the refuse bin, he let it drop to the floor and leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
“Zuko? There was a cup on there that wasn’t broken.”
“What? Sorry, Uncle, I was distracted.”
“Ah, well don’t worry, we have plenty of dishes. Just remember to make the most of life’s little opportunities.” Iroh gave him a knowing smile and winked. Zuko glowered, then turned abruptly and started washing the teapots in the sink with a brutal intensity.
“Watch the finish, Boy, you’ll take the glaze right off if you keep that up.” The shop owner tut tutted as he walked past him from the alley entrance. Iroh greeted the man warmly.
“Did you bring the leaves I requested?”
“Only the ones I could afford. Your choices surprised the tea tradesmen. They said that the white dragonbush is only available in certain islands in the Fire Nation..”
“A pity. I was able to get it in Omashu.” Iroh spoke the lie so easily it made Zuko’s skin crawl. Zuko had never been good at lying. He never wanted to be, either. He respected his Uncle, but it disturbed him sometimes how easy he was with strangers. Enemies, even.
The shop owner sighed. “Those trade routes have been cut off for some time. I was able to get you the red dragonbush.”
“Good, good. I will start brewing. It won’t be long before the entire street wants a cup.”
“Ho ho..” The shop owner whistled through the gap in his teeth. “I’ll just go out and double the price. Those leaves cost a pretty penny!”
“Great.” Muttered Zuko. He scrubbed away, listening with growing irritation to the sounds of increasing foot traffic. The scent of fragrant dragonbush effused through the building and out into the street, but it just made Zuko want to sneeze. Or maybe that was the cold water in the sink making him shiver. A swift movement of his hand, and that water could be boiling. Instead, he had to put up with cold, wet , raisin fingers.
“Zuko, I think those pots are clean enough, and tables’ seven and eight need clearing.” Iroh was humming his stupid little tune again.
“Yes, Uncle, I’ll be there in a minute.” He hated saying those words. He, exiled prince of the Fire Nation, now a teahouse busboy. This was not a new life, this was a travesty. Wringing his wrinkled fingers he stalked back into the front room. He reached for a tray at the counter and had begun picking up dishes when he noticed the earth nation peasant. She was still at her table, with a cup of tea in her hands.
Not my business, thought Zuko. He busied himself with the piles of cups and pots. As he passed the girl he couldn’t help but glance at her cup. It was nearly full, and he could tell it was ice-cold.
“Do you want a fresh cup, miss?” He asked this pointedly, enunciating each syllable carefully.
“What?” The girl glanced up at him. Hmph, as if she wasn’t watching him the whole time. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”
Zuko nodded, and went back into the kitchen. He almost felt relaxed. Here she was, the spy he had been waiting for, and he’s been able to see through her in no time. A few more incidents like this, and he would be able to tell Uncle.