It all started as a joke, really. They'd all been a more than a little drunk, and they'd broken into the university's museum. Well- sort of. Ursa had a key, because she wanted to be a history major at the time. But she was expressly forbidden from using the museum to party.
It wasn't a party, really. It was just her, and Ozai, and a couple of friends.
(They hadn't been friends before, but they'd had a couple of bottles of rum together, and now they were all the best of friends.)
There were tablets on the walls. Hundreds of them, from the ruins of the great walls of Ba Sing Se. Ursa was working on a project with them, which is why she had the key.
“What are these?” Ozai slurred.
“Prayers,” Ursa said. She began reading them to him. It seemed like the thing to do, because she was too drunk find more alcohol, and the tablets were even more interesting when she was drunk than when she was sober, somehow.
“Please give our children the gift of manipulating fire” she read. “Oh Agni, spirit of fire, if we have offended you, look upon us now with favor and-”
The rest was smothered in a hungry kiss. Apparently Ozai was not as interested in the tablets as she was.
Their friends had wandered off to another part of the building, and Ursa thought she probably ought to be worried about the damage they would do to the exhibits.
But then the kiss turned to something more urgent and heated, beneath the solemn gaze of those old prayers, and she stopped thinking about anything much at all as Ozai's mouth moved to more interesting places.
Later, the head of the department took her key and gave her a lecture about letting drunk hooligans into the museum, and she decided to pick a new major because the professors kept glaring at her. And much later than that, she realized that praying to the spirits in jest was, perhaps, a bad idea.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2010-01-03 02:10 am (UTC)It wasn't a party, really. It was just her, and Ozai, and a couple of friends.
(They hadn't been friends before, but they'd had a couple of bottles of rum together, and now they were all the best of friends.)
There were tablets on the walls. Hundreds of them, from the ruins of the great walls of Ba Sing Se. Ursa was working on a project with them, which is why she had the key.
“What are these?” Ozai slurred.
“Prayers,” Ursa said. She began reading them to him. It seemed like the thing to do, because she was too drunk find more alcohol, and the tablets were even more interesting when she was drunk than when she was sober, somehow.
“Please give our children the gift of manipulating fire” she read. “Oh Agni, spirit of fire, if we have offended you, look upon us now with favor and-”
The rest was smothered in a hungry kiss. Apparently Ozai was not as interested in the tablets as she was.
Their friends had wandered off to another part of the building, and Ursa thought she probably ought to be worried about the damage they would do to the exhibits.
But then the kiss turned to something more urgent and heated, beneath the solemn gaze of those old prayers, and she stopped thinking about anything much at all as Ozai's mouth moved to more interesting places.
Later, the head of the department took her key and gave her a lecture about letting drunk hooligans into the museum, and she decided to pick a new major because the professors kept glaring at her. And much later than that, she realized that praying to the spirits in jest was, perhaps, a bad idea.
But by then, it was too late.