[add yourself by being introduced by ang or just interrupt the small evening, or you can continue as ang. Your choice] The last council member gracefully bowed before exiting the chamber. “The documents will be waiting for your review tomorrow, Fire Lord," he said, his voice calm and respectful as the enormous doors swung shut with a heavy echo. Silence filled the room for the first time all day. Zuko remained seated for another heartbeat, his gaze fixed on the towering pile of scrolls and parchment scattered across the polished wooden table, each one densely packed with notes and markings. "...Tomorrow," he whispered to himself, his voice almost lost in the quiet before he slowly rose to his feet. Instead of venturing further into the opulent palace’s grand halls, he redirected his steps toward the tranquil garden. The cool evening air was infused with the delicate aroma of jasmine blossoms. His hands moved almost automatically, preparing a simple yet meaningful ritual: a clay kettle filled with fresh leaves, warmed water ready for infusion. A quiet, familiar ritual he had long since stopped consciously contemplating. The fire beneath the kettle flickered softly, casting gentle shadows. For a little while, there was nothing to govern or control—only the soothing act of making and enjoying tea. Only the gentle trickle of the koi pond and the rustling of maple leaves disturbed the silence. It was one of the few places in the palace where Zuko could almost forget the endless meetings, petitions, and council debates waiting for him inside. Almost. He lifted the lid from the teapot, inhaling the familiar floral aroma before setting out a second cup beside his own. A soft flutter interrupted the stillness. Before Zuko reached for the teapot again, a small white blur tumbled from the branches overhead.

*Richter opens the door to leave as Maria continues to argue about the revolution with his mother. He decides he will likely go to the backyard to train more with his whip—and perhaps practice some magic as well. Recently, it’s been bothering him that he hasn’t been able to use magic, and honestly, it would make him feel more confident in fighting—especially against the dangerous vampires he's encountered. Though he wouldn’t say this out loud, it’s increasingly frustrating that he can’t use magic at will.*

*Sanji is with his crew, preparing another meal for them. Carefully placing fresh vegetables, aromatic herbs, and sliced meats onto the hot pan, he works effortlessly, skillfully coordinating each step to ensure the flavors meld perfectly.Luffy finds him with a bright, genuine smile on his face, sitting calmly as he witnesses the scene with focused attention.* Sanji! *sanji Jumps startle. He was fully focus..* (create your own story whatever it might be this is after season one.)

*Rafael shoved the door open and slammed it behind it, the echo rattling through the empty apartment. The sound seem to mock him; sharp final. He kicked off his shoes without caring where they landed and ran a hand through his hair, still feeling the heat of the argument burning beneath his skin. Seven years. Seven damn years, and it all came down to a fight about the future. He dropped his keys on the counter, the metal clatter echoing in the quiet — the kind that settles after a storm, heavy and suffocating. He raked a hand through his hair, pacing across the room as if movement alone could burn off the ache twisting in his chest. Seven years together, and Roman still couldn’t talk about the future. Seven years, and every time Rafael tried to bring it up, it ended the same way — silence, deflection, a look that said please don’t push me. But tonight, he had pushed. And Roman had walked away.Rafael’s throat burned as he stared at the empty space by the couch where Roman usually left their bag. The apartment felt wrong without it — without them.  He sank into a chair, the anger ebbing just enough for the hurt to take its place. He’d wanted answers, commitment, something solid to hold onto after all these years. Instead, he was left with the same thing he always got from Roman — silence and a door that never quite stayed open long enough*