[ Hei doesn't acknowledge the Thanks. Or the shoulder bump. His face remains entirely without expression, but there is a tension in him as if he might smile. The possibility feeds a singing pitch to the air, making it vibrate. Or perhaps that's just his mind's fingers, closing tentatively around that one whirling thought: ]
[ He wants more moments like this. Hours, minutes, split-seconds, where the City blurs on the fringes of his vision, and nothing else matters. ]
[ He doesn't tell Korra that. Near the marketplace, the food stalls are crowded with carnivores. Selecting the most popular, he lets Korra's hand drop to squirm his way through, in a fashion that anyone on Topside would find incredibly rude. But if he waits politely in line, they'll never get served; someone is always hungrier, pushier, more determined. (Funny, how that principle applies to so many aspects of his life.) He returns with a brace of satay sticks, a white styrofoam container and two plastic bottles of fresh-squeezed mango juice. Tugs Korra's sleeve -- and guides her down the street toward the safehouse. ]
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[ He wants more moments like this. Hours, minutes, split-seconds, where the City blurs on the fringes of his vision, and nothing else matters. ]
[ He doesn't tell Korra that. Near the marketplace, the food stalls are crowded with carnivores. Selecting the most popular, he lets Korra's hand drop to squirm his way through, in a fashion that anyone on Topside would find incredibly rude. But if he waits politely in line, they'll never get served; someone is always hungrier, pushier, more determined. (Funny, how that principle applies to so many aspects of his life.) He returns with a brace of satay sticks, a white styrofoam container and two plastic bottles of fresh-squeezed mango juice. Tugs Korra's sleeve -- and guides her down the street toward the safehouse. ]