[Azula comes down from her perch, flipping from hand to foot along the edge of the building without any seeming fear of gravity. When she closes in for a strike, albeit sans any burst of flame for once, it is as it was been during their spars in the gymnasium. Her movements to an onlooker who did not know better would seem almost a dance, fluid, sometimes swift, other times slow, but the blows themselves -- how could they have any power behind them? The strikes come from snaps of the wrist or the arm, sometimes the leg, each carrying hidden force.]