[ The drug cuts through one layer of Hei's usual reticence. Away from the blazing lights and reverberating bass, the VIP room is like a void -- a bubble floating through the undifferentiated mass of chaotic waves. Ghostly replicas of sensation still float through his head, and under his feet, the vibrations of the dancefloor are palpable, like the room is in peristalsis. With a breath, Hei shakes it off. The cake, it seems, is giving him sympathetic reactions to almost everything. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the feedback loop, he slips next to Korra. Elbows on knees, fingers interlacing. ]
[ Keeping his gaze on his hands, he says, ]
The cake was drugged. [ There's a strange quality to his own voice, a crumble and slur, like gravel dipped in cool ink. ] Nothing too dangerous. You just have to wait it out. [ A beat, before he glances at her. His gaze is half-lidded and soft as water. ] Not as much fun as dancing. [ It can easily be interpreted as an apology. ]
no subject
[ Keeping his gaze on his hands, he says, ]
The cake was drugged. [ There's a strange quality to his own voice, a crumble and slur, like gravel dipped in cool ink. ] Nothing too dangerous. You just have to wait it out. [ A beat, before he glances at her. His gaze is half-lidded and soft as water. ] Not as much fun as dancing. [ It can easily be interpreted as an apology. ]