[ He doesn't miss the unabashed enthusiasm as she gobbles up the dumplings. There's a moment to wonder if she's simply hungry, or if all she's been eating lately is fish. Probably option B. (He could, he supposes, send her a meal now and then. Hell knows, there's enough snacks in his refrigerator. But he'll deal with that later.) Her palm is soft, slightly damp in his, radiating a welcome warmth compared to the chilly air. He slips both their clasped hands, by instinct as much as habit, in his coat pocket. Guides her through the streets, cool and gray, the scent and color of smoke. ]
Just outside the Arena.
[ The pavement is cracked and gritty beneath his shoes. His senses are always alert, whether in this portion of the City or elsewhere. But it's the half-synchronized rhythm of their footsteps that feels both strange and familiar to him. They've done this enough times. But for Hei, it's always a novelty. Because here, he can do these things on purpose -- go on outings, take strolls, make impromptu plans. Because here, he can pick and choose the method and way of his life, in small degrees. And he'll never, ever stop feeling like that's worth something. ]
[ Tangles of electrical wires, like comatose snakes, drape heavily across the alleys. The food vendors around the arena are gearing up for their evening traffic; the rich, acrid smoke of grilling meat hangs in the air, mixing with a faint stench of urine and the cloying stench of both fresh and rotting durian. The high gates enclosing the outdoor arena seem not so much buildings, as a world of smoke and milling bodies and loud voices. Resisting the kneejerk urge to flick his gaze from side to side, to try to match sounds to people and people to sounds, Hei nudges his way toward the entrance, making liberal use of his elbows. ]
[ Looks like they're in time. The spectators are still gathering. ]
no subject
Just outside the Arena.
[ The pavement is cracked and gritty beneath his shoes. His senses are always alert, whether in this portion of the City or elsewhere. But it's the half-synchronized rhythm of their footsteps that feels both strange and familiar to him. They've done this enough times. But for Hei, it's always a novelty. Because here, he can do these things on purpose -- go on outings, take strolls, make impromptu plans. Because here, he can pick and choose the method and way of his life, in small degrees. And he'll never, ever stop feeling like that's worth something. ]
[ Tangles of electrical wires, like comatose snakes, drape heavily across the alleys. The food vendors around the arena are gearing up for their evening traffic; the rich, acrid smoke of grilling meat hangs in the air, mixing with a faint stench of urine and the cloying stench of both fresh and rotting durian. The high gates enclosing the outdoor arena seem not so much buildings, as a world of smoke and milling bodies and loud voices. Resisting the kneejerk urge to flick his gaze from side to side, to try to match sounds to people and people to sounds, Hei nudges his way toward the entrance, making liberal use of his elbows. ]
[ Looks like they're in time. The spectators are still gathering. ]