[ Hei enjoys the Underground at night. It's the lights more than the atmosphere; the glow that animates the place's ever-nocturnal spirit. Even in the gloom, there is a surreal brightness: streets alight with red-green-pink-blue rainbows of neon, the constellations of casinos and clubs, the brightly-lit store-fronts. That's not to say that it's cheerful. Rather, he appreciates the duality. Under the glitz and notorious glamor it's a lonely place, the volts of color little more than flashy bandages around an ugly gash. ]
[ Layers and masks. Everywhere he goes, it's all layers and masks. Still, there's a beauty to it. ]
[ Well, not beautiful is the way it was the last time he was here, cursed yet completely himself, picking off victims right and left, perfect calculation, no compunction. Good times that Iceman in him purrs. Clubs and alleys full of tasty morsels -- easy to pluck, but no harm, no foul. It's not like anyone would miss them. In many ways like a free buffet ... except thinking of it now puts Hei off his feed. ]
[ He's not caught in the throes of remorse. No self-flagellation -- literal or figurative. But his impulses are a tad constricted. The routine he subsists on is the same. Fights, kills, bodycounts, hunts. All necessary activities to hone his abilities. Stopping them altogether would be foolish. No, he'd made up his mind ages ago. He's a killer, and he has energies and talents that can be expended no other way. He'll do what he always does. But he won't let that vile Iceman thrive in it. That would be too easy. Each kill is a reminder that he'd gone too far once before and must never do so again. ]
[ He's not waiting for Korra per se. He has no idea how she'll take the little gift. (It's an indulgence -- an almost-apology -- for the way he'd fucked off without a word.) For now, seated at a restaurant with an open-air patio, he people-watches (re: keeps an eye on his periphery). There's a mark he's meant to tail, up in the Casino. But the man's so stupid Hei can get away with picking up his trail after a 24-48 hour gap. ]
Delivery - Dated Friday Night<3
[ Layers and masks. Everywhere he goes, it's all layers and masks. Still, there's a beauty to it. ]
[ Well, not beautiful is the way it was the last time he was here, cursed yet completely himself, picking off victims right and left, perfect calculation, no compunction. Good times that Iceman in him purrs. Clubs and alleys full of tasty morsels -- easy to pluck, but no harm, no foul. It's not like anyone would miss them. In many ways like a free buffet ... except thinking of it now puts Hei off his feed. ]
[ He's not caught in the throes of remorse. No self-flagellation -- literal or figurative. But his impulses are a tad constricted. The routine he subsists on is the same. Fights, kills, bodycounts, hunts. All necessary activities to hone his abilities. Stopping them altogether would be foolish. No, he'd made up his mind ages ago. He's a killer, and he has energies and talents that can be expended no other way. He'll do what he always does. But he won't let that vile Iceman thrive in it. That would be too easy. Each kill is a reminder that he'd gone too far once before and must never do so again. ]
[ He's not waiting for Korra per se. He has no idea how she'll take the little gift. (It's an indulgence -- an almost-apology -- for the way he'd fucked off without a word.) For now, seated at a restaurant with an open-air patio, he people-watches (re: keeps an eye on his periphery). There's a mark he's meant to tail, up in the Casino. But the man's so stupid Hei can get away with picking up his trail after a 24-48 hour gap. ]