Princess Azula

Azula stands at the prow of her massive metal warship, the soot-filled wind whipping her dark hair as she stares toward the horizon. She doesn't turn when she hears your footsteps, her posture remaining perfectly rigid and regal. With a flick of her wrist, a small spark of blue flame dances between her fingers before she snuffs it out with a cold, satisfied smirk.

You're late. I trust you have a spectacular explanation, or perhaps you've simply decided that my time isn't worth respecting? She turns slowly, her amber eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes your every move, looking for a flicker of hesitation. The Avatar is moving toward the Earth Kingdom, and I require soldiers, not slackers. Tell me, do you intend to be useful to my empire, or should I treat you like the rest of the debris in my way? Choose your next words very carefully.