[It's just short of overwhelming. No, scrap that -- it is overwhelming, and definitely not Korra's usual idea of fun. Too many people, too much noise, too much stimulus. But right now, it's perfect. (The Beach House is too lonely and quiet now with just her and Mako.)
A little thrill runs down her neck when he leans into her ear; she ignores it and shoots him a grin.]
No, I'm good.
[She's already tugging him deeper into the dance floor, bouncing on the balls of her feet in rhythm with the music.]
[ This really isn't Hei's kind of crowd. Too glammed up, too glitzy. But it's a step up from the teenybopper club Korra invited him to last time. At least there's no dupstep. ]
[ He represses a smile as she tugs him to the dancefloor, the vivid energy of her singing along his skin, like swathes of tonal color. The entrance exhales humid air, brimming with sweat and pancake makeup. All the oxygen seems leached out, and every breath is hot and empty. At the walkway, two women -- one knife-thin girl with metallic blond hair and a Filipino girl in blue micro-mini, both sporting fishnet stockings and three-inch acrylic nails -- stop him and Korra for round two, not an inspection but to stamp their arms and ask if they'd like a reservation to dinner. ]
[ It's tempting make one. But Hei can tell Korra's more interested in the music. ]
[ Inside, on all levels, it's dark. Strobe lighting, LEDs, and neons are in full, disorienting effect. Psychedelic art and sculptures; glowing tiles lining the walkways. The air is filled with machine-generated fog and colorful floating bubbles. Lots of snacks and plenty of booze -- enough to make everyone want to sign up for rehab by sunset. Hei can barely hear anything above the blasting music from the sound system. The noise is deafening. He allows Korra to draw him through the swarm of colorful bodies. Lets the sounds sink into him, feeding an energy that floats up strong and distinct out of his usual blackness. Crowded dancefloors, chaotic melees, adrenalined fights -- they all spark a similar vibe in him. Instinctive motion. ]
[ Catching Korra by the waist, he swings her in. Tentative at first, but then he's guiding her through the steps, breaking to spin her under his arm until she gets the idea on her own. ]
[Hey, that was a great club. Not many places would let you sneak in preteens.]
Woah! [She laughs and grabs his shoulders as he swings her in. It's too loud to talk, so she doesn't bother trying. It takes only a few minutes for her to pick up on the dance moves, and before long she's giving as good as she gets, spinning and twirling until the room is nothing more than a haze of neon colors and a bass beat she can practically see.]
[ Taking Korra through the rhythm, Hei marvels at her smoothness, her grace, while the DJ rips seamlessly through a hot track. While it's habit for him to scan and scope, the flashing lights and blurred bodies make it difficult to draw a bead on anything. Instead he focuses on Korra, steering her round with playful hands, bumping against her as they move in the juddering lines of sound, breathing in the alcohol-tinged sweat on the dancefloor. Eyes closed a good deal of the time, because sight tells him so little. Letting the other senses take over: smell of smoke, booze and bodies, moist heat enveloping his skin, at once sexy and a little repulsive if you stop to think about it. Best to keep moving, absorb the beat, let the sweat flow. Thinking much less of the crowded room than of the image in his mind's eye of a clear starry sky -- limitless space to be solitary in, nothing more at risk in his solitude than his own life. ]
[ It's the closest someone like Hei ever gets to feeling at peace. ]
[ Sliding his palms along Korra's sides and behind her, Hei pulls her against him, feeling the warm shape of her against his clothes. Jumble and flurry of sounds and lights, yet there's a comfort at her proximity; her sweetness radiating everywhere like the energy off a starburst. ]
[Hei thinks of a night sky, but Korra's thoughts are wholly in her body. She feels solid as earth, fluid as water, hot as fire and free as air. (Unconsciously realizing and representing the fundamental truth, that all the elements are the same, the differences merely an illusion.)
She hums, the sound lost in the noise of the dance floor, and wraps her arms around his neck. It forces her to slow down until her movements are more of a bop and sway than actual dancing, but that's fine with her. Her muscles burn deliciously and she's riding high on endorphins.]
[ Hugged up close to Korra, their feet occasionally colliding, Hei feels both stoned and weightless, the bass and drums throbbing in the pit of his gut. The music is fast, but they've slowed down. Down into almost a grind, a grind done in their own private bubble. Hands spanning her torso, he holds her tightly, feeling the architecture of her under her clothes, all hot-damp with sweat: ridge of hipbone, sweet slope of belly under his thumbs while his palms find her ribs. He barely skims his fingertips across her breasts -- the touch more affectionate than seductive. ]
[ For him, the first dance is always crap. He's trying to get his levels of awareness down from the height they're in, to shut out unnecessary stimuli and go with the beat, and it's always a long time before he gets a feel for how he's going to segue into the song. He's used to something like an antennae that tries to catch the flow of an invisible current that runs between the music and the dance. The flow dissipates and then and loops back on itself. Mostly, it eludes Hei. But tonight he feels that familiar rush, the flow catching him and pulling him into the center -- there's nothing so sweet, not even fighting or sex. ]
[ By the end of the third track he's sunk right into the loop, moving Korra is an easy rise and fall, not long, but long enough to make him want more of her. Tipping his head low, he lets his lips brush against hers. It's almost a questioning touch. ]
[She's buzzing, dizzy and giddy and perilously close to overstimulated. A part of her is ready to jump him (and get away from the chaos), but mostly she wants to dance. She's still got months of pent up energy to work off, and she dances so rarely.
Stay, her lips answer, rubbing against him with a promise for later. She slaps his hand away when it rubs against her rear. Later!
Except. That wasn't his hand. It's some skeezy bearded creep who's dumb enough to try again. She grabs his wrist and twists hard.]
[ For one surreal moment, Hei wonders if the Hands off, creep was directed at him. ]
[ But no. It's just some mop-headed idiot in an expensive blazer, perfectly groomed three-day facial stubble and a spaced-out smile on his face. There's a very brief, very sharp flare of temper. Hei's energies are always looking for an outlet. For a pleasant moment he considers breaking the guy's arm in two, shoving one half down his throat and the other up his ass, and putting the whole thing back together inside his chest. But that would get him and Korra in trouble, and then some. The last thing he's interested in is a juvenile club fight. ]
[ Instead he leans across to take hold of the guy's free wrist. He stares at Hei, annoyed, and tries to yank free. Eccentric hand and forearm strength is one of the consequences of a lifetime of near-daily martial arts, and most soldiers in Heaven's War did additional exercises to augment their grip -- enough so that they could crush an apple in one hand if they wanted to. This time, fortunately for Stubble Boy, Hei doesn't want to. But he lets him know he can. Quietly and clearly, so the guy reads his lips, he says, ] Don't do that again.
[ Stubble Boy looks like he's going to protest, but a little more pressure on his wrist and the flat look in Hei's eyes makes him think better of it. ] Jesus, you don’t have to get so huffy![ he yelps with a wince. Hei stares at him for a moment longer, then releases his wrist and turns back to Korra. The guy shuffles off, grumbling a stream of racial slurs extra loudly to try to restore some of his damaged pride. Shaking his head, already largely forgetting him, Hei says to Korra, ] A break for drinks? Then more dancing? [ It's clear she's not ready to part ways with the floor too soon. ]
Drinks. [She says it without thinking, her attention mostly on the asshole walking away. She's gone from a little annoyed to kind of pissed off. Not because he groped her ass, but because it took Hei being all macho to get him to back off. He'd acted like her almost breaking his wrist was funny.
Amon is the only person she's ever needed protection from in any way. She's always fought her own battles, always protected herself. The idea of some stupid creeper in a club being as big a threat to her as the Equalist leader... it makes her queasy, and does her self-esteem no favors. Instead of celebrating the fact that she doesn't need her cane anymore, she's reminded of how helpless and pathetic she felt, getting injured enough to need it in the first place.]
[ It wasn't machismo but reflex. In a lot of ways, his protective compass -- that centers on Pai -- has extended to a lot of people in Hei's reality. Yin, Korra, sometimes even Pavel. But of course Korra won't see it that way. She's a fighter; used to handling her own battles. But all that independence and self-absorption, all that spirit and strength, all that compressed energy and focus -- she still hasn't learnt that they're not all that comprises her. They're just the bracing that protects the person within. By that logic, Hei realizes with a chill, it's easy to see the trap that lies between them. He'll always want control -- sometimes to take care of her, sometimes because he thinks he's taking care of her -- but if she doesn't understand who she is, she'll never be able to rely on him. She'll end up defined by him -- and struggling against it, the way she struggles against all the other definitions of herself. ]
[ His bones tingle as a deep reverberant bassline splits the air. The song choice is so ironic: Don't you think I know/ Exactly where I stand/This world is forcing me/To hold your hand. Shaking it off, he slips his fingers through hers, gently squeezing, ]
Hey. Don't go.
[ He doesn't mean literally. He means Don't do what I do. Don't tumble into your head so you can't get out again. ]
Edited (/edits merrily into the night ) 2013-08-20 04:56 (UTC)
[His fingers draw her back again, not out of her disgust but into a frame of mind where she can smile. (There's a comfort in the contact and the affection it implies, but not much. Because if she could only have one, Korra would rather be strong and self-reliant than cared for.)]
I'm not going anywhere. [She squeezes his hand back and bumps his shoulder with hers. I'll be okay.
[ In a lot of ways, Korra's insecure fugue is something Hei can relate to. He hasn't felt helpless in a long time; if there's a threat in his path, an impediment to his goals, he's learnt to cut it down. But the City puts a completely new spin to it. The unpredictability is nothing new. But the pervasiveness, the absoluteness of insanity, is. He feels so isolated, severed off from logic; like he's shadowboxing with himself. But there are so many real things to fight. He hates the wasted effort. So inconclusive. How do you tell if you've won? ]
[ Of course, in his case, it's not an identity crisis. It's about securing a foothold here to protect Pai. ]
[ There's a frisson dangerously close to relief when Korra squeezes his hand. But that energy -- that brilliant colorful energy about her -- is diffused. Hei hopes a few drinks and a fresh string of dances will restore it. Not dropping her hand, he guides her past the surging bodies to the bar at the top-level. Sleek and rhombic, it runs across the border of the dancefloor, with an illuminated mirror behind it. The design is neon retro. The collection of bottles is impressive, the bartenders young and attractive in both genders. Most of the stools and tables are occupied. Waitresses sport ultra-short shorts and bandeau tops. They look as if they're available later for other duties. ]
[ Slipping onto a stool, Hei orders a stoli for himself before glancing at Korra, ] Just water? Or something stronger?
[She holds his hand tightly. With the buzz gone, she's a lot more aware of how everyone around her is dressed...and how badly she sticks out. Wow. Maybe she should have worn that dress... Except then she'd feel more alien to herself than she already does.
She slides next to him.]
Just water. [Pretty much all the all the drinks she's had at these places have been too sweet. Besides, between the dancing and the heat, she's pretty dehydrated.]
[ Hei's grown altogether too comfortable with segueing into different skins, different costumes, different identities. Clothes may make the man -- or woman -- but only ostensibly. The dress was more to help Korra blend into one end of the spectrum -- the club's ambience if not its vibe. He thinks it's a pity she doesn't flaunt what she's got; but then, Korra's never needed to gild the lily by dressing up, in his opinion. ]
[ He asks for a plain bottled water, and in a minute the order slides their way. Knocking back his drink, Hei scans the room. Everything seems all shined up. Lots of chrome and glass and glitter. The entire world looks as if it's been wiped down by a paper towel and a bottle of Armor All. Adjacent to them, a group of tweenies -- somewhere between his and Korra's age -- are digging into a platter of chocolate funnel cakes. A few are inhaling stogies; he can smell the cannabis mixed up with the smoke. Loud and obnoxious jokes; sober X hangover patches on every other arm, beers at hand. Meaningless mayhem seems on the horizon. ]
[ One of the girls, catching Hei's stare, smiles and extends the platter his and Korra's way. ] Heyyy, you guys wanna try these?
[ Hei starts to tell Korra: Nothing you'd be interested in. But the girl is already edging the tray towards her. Her hair is two blazing shades of red; she sports a tongue-ring and a bright smile. There's a peculiar childlike luminance in her eyes. Hei wonders if it's the lighting or there's E in her bloodstream. ] Have you ever had sachertorte? Because this is totally better than sachertorte! Not as sweet, but just the right kick.
[ She tucks a lock of dangling hair behind one ear and picks up a heavy silver fork. Spears a mouthful and extends it Korra's way, flirty, the love-drug in full effect. The moment she does, Hei wants to slap her hand away. Aloud, he says, ] Korra, I don't think you should -- [ But she's already guiding the treat airplane-style into Korra's mouth. ]
Have I ever had what-- [The last word gets warbled because this strange girl is SHOVING FOOD INTO HER MOUTH WTF!!!!!!!! Korra tries to protest, but she's got a mouthful of food and ugh it's gross ew ew ew. But she's too well bred to just spit it out, so she swallows as quickly as possible and then guzzles down her water.]
WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!? [She yells at the girl when the taste is almost out of her mouth.]
[ It's so sweetly matter-of-fact it'd be amusing. Except it's not. Reaching out, Hei grabs the girl by the wrist. ] What's in that cake?
[ A girlish giggle. ] Relax, It's just hash-oil.
[ Repressing a wince, Hei levels his gaze on Korra. ] Throw it up. Now. [ He hasn't brought her here to get her high. If he can help it, he'd rather keep away from drugs or getting wasted, period. That pungent smell of cannabis holds no pleasant associations for him; it takes him back to South America, not a man but just a boy, really, on leave with comrades smoking the magic stick some enterprising rear-echelon type had smuggled in on a military flight all the way from from Bangkok, because Brazilian marijuana was for shit. ]
[ He'd never liked it then -- never liked the way it altered his perceptions. He likes it even less now, preferring more dependable dependencies. His strained expression communicates his dismay. ] Korra. Throw. It. Up.
[ At his elbow, the tweenies protest, ] Maaan -- cm'on! Don't be a party-pooper! Get fried with us and we'll have a riot, promise.
[ Hei hates the Share All aspect of stoner culture. ]
[ The bartender gets a death-glare for his trouble. Gently extricating Korra's wrist from his hand, Hei looks her over. He calculates that if he gets her to the bathroom right now, gets her to vomit, she'll be able to avoid the worst of the stone. Except ... it's her first time. Cambodian hash pales in comparison to the wares here. No one makes drugs like the City's Underground set. ] Fuck. [ He can't help it. He has no polite expletives for the mess, the sheer clusterfuck of this situation. After a slow breath, he slides his hand down, enfolding it in hers and interlacing the fingers. ] It's okay. I'll keep an eye on yo --
[ He doesn't get to finish. The girl, smiling beatifically, has driven her fork into the deep brown wedge and stuffed a forkful of it into Hei's mouth while attempting to be as well-meaning as possible. ]
[This whole thing is beginning to freak Korra out. She doesn't understand what's happening or why Hei's so angry or anything. It scares her, and when she gets scared, she gets angry.]
BACK OFF!
[She airbends, a wind strong enough to knock Miss Fork on her ass (and take down a good number of the drinks on the counter. Unintentional good fortune, most of the drinks end up on the girl.)]
[ The bartender slams both hands on the counter, just as the air-blast whooshes the giggly girl off her stool, drinks in tow. Glasses roll across the carpet. Her hair and clothes are soaked, but she still has that vacant little smile on her face. Unfazed, she wobbles back to her feet, while a few harried-looking waitresses rush to mop up the spill. Hei watches the scene unfold with a cringe. Things have come to a pretty pass, now Korra is rescuing him from stoners. Except it doesn't make a lick of difference. The cake, which he'd planned to spit out, is halfway down his gullet. It feels like lead sinking into his belly. From the corner of his eye, he notices the bartender gesturing to a bouncer. Decides to grab Korra's wrist and leave, before they're spoonfed anything else -- or ejected out of the club. ]
[ Walking through the crowd, Korra's fingers wrapped in his, Hei feels a tingling heat spread over his whole body, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, but not nearly as gentle. Whatever this is, it isn't ordinary hash. Glancing at Korra, he asks, ] Are you okay?
[It takes her a moment to register that he asked her a question. She's distracted by the colors and the music. She can SEE the music. She's never seen music before!]
[ The club feels like a nighttime carnival on fast-forward. The lights are almost knifelike; the dancers turning into kaleidoscopic blurs. Hei blinks, trying not to be hypnotized by a barrage of sensory stimuli. The music seems to sing to his skin and dip into the pit of his belly, teasing with a million warm fingers. Blood rushes and pulses with blind insistence. Even in the heat of the crowd, every follicle on his body stands up; he's very aware of the material of his clothes against his skin. ]
[ Fighting it off, he keeps his focus on Korra. With the seething darkness at her back, the ambience haloes metallic needles in her hair. Her pupils seem huge, but her face is serene, impossibly innocent. Terrifyingly lovely. Squeezing her hand, he says, ]
[She'd been close to overstimulated before the brownie incident, but now she is definitely overwhelmed. Like, seeing music is cool and all, but she can feel everybody. Every single person in the room has an energy and she can feel it. It's clawing at her skin, tearing it. She feels like a block of salt dissolving in boiling water. If she stays here any longer, she's not going to exist anymore.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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A little thrill runs down her neck when he leans into her ear; she ignores it and shoots him a grin.]
No, I'm good.
[She's already tugging him deeper into the dance floor, bouncing on the balls of her feet in rhythm with the music.]
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[ He represses a smile as she tugs him to the dancefloor, the vivid energy of her singing along his skin, like swathes of tonal color. The entrance exhales humid air, brimming with sweat and pancake makeup. All the oxygen seems leached out, and every breath is hot and empty. At the walkway, two women -- one knife-thin girl with metallic blond hair and a Filipino girl in blue micro-mini, both sporting fishnet stockings and three-inch acrylic nails -- stop him and Korra for round two, not an inspection but to stamp their arms and ask if they'd like a reservation to dinner. ]
[ It's tempting make one. But Hei can tell Korra's more interested in the music. ]
[ Inside, on all levels, it's dark. Strobe lighting, LEDs, and neons are in full, disorienting effect. Psychedelic art and sculptures; glowing tiles lining the walkways. The air is filled with machine-generated fog and colorful floating bubbles. Lots of snacks and plenty of booze -- enough to make everyone want to sign up for rehab by sunset. Hei can barely hear anything above the blasting music from the sound system. The noise is deafening. He allows Korra to draw him through the swarm of colorful bodies. Lets the sounds sink into him, feeding an energy that floats up strong and distinct out of his usual blackness. Crowded dancefloors, chaotic melees, adrenalined fights -- they all spark a similar vibe in him. Instinctive motion. ]
[ Catching Korra by the waist, he swings her in. Tentative at first, but then he's guiding her through the steps, breaking to spin her under his arm until she gets the idea on her own. ]
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Woah! [She laughs and grabs his shoulders as he swings her in. It's too loud to talk, so she doesn't bother trying. It takes only a few minutes for her to pick up on the dance moves, and before long she's giving as good as she gets, spinning and twirling until the room is nothing more than a haze of neon colors and a bass beat she can practically see.]
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[ It's the closest someone like Hei ever gets to feeling at peace. ]
[ Sliding his palms along Korra's sides and behind her, Hei pulls her against him, feeling the warm shape of her against his clothes. Jumble and flurry of sounds and lights, yet there's a comfort at her proximity; her sweetness radiating everywhere like the energy off a starburst. ]
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She hums, the sound lost in the noise of the dance floor, and wraps her arms around his neck. It forces her to slow down until her movements are more of a bop and sway than actual dancing, but that's fine with her. Her muscles burn deliciously and she's riding high on endorphins.]
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[ For him, the first dance is always crap. He's trying to get his levels of awareness down from the height they're in, to shut out unnecessary stimuli and go with the beat, and it's always a long time before he gets a feel for how he's going to segue into the song. He's used to something like an antennae that tries to catch the flow of an invisible current that runs between the music and the dance. The flow dissipates and then and loops back on itself. Mostly, it eludes Hei. But tonight he feels that familiar rush, the flow catching him and pulling him into the center -- there's nothing so sweet, not even fighting or sex. ]
[ By the end of the third track he's sunk right into the loop, moving Korra is an easy rise and fall, not long, but long enough to make him want more of her. Tipping his head low, he lets his lips brush against hers. It's almost a questioning touch. ]
[ Do we stay? Or go somewhere else? ]
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Stay, her lips answer, rubbing against him with a promise for later. She slaps his hand away when it rubs against her rear. Later!
Except. That wasn't his hand. It's some skeezy bearded creep who's dumb enough to try again. She grabs his wrist and twists hard.]
Hands off, creep.
[Way to ruin her buzz, asshole.]
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[ But no. It's just some mop-headed idiot in an expensive blazer, perfectly groomed three-day facial stubble and a spaced-out smile on his face. There's a very brief, very sharp flare of temper. Hei's energies are always looking for an outlet. For a pleasant moment he considers breaking the guy's arm in two, shoving one half down his throat and the other up his ass, and putting the whole thing back together inside his chest. But that would get him and Korra in trouble, and then some. The last thing he's interested in is a juvenile club fight. ]
[ Instead he leans across to take hold of the guy's free wrist. He stares at Hei, annoyed, and tries to yank free. Eccentric hand and forearm strength is one of the consequences of a lifetime of near-daily martial arts, and most soldiers in Heaven's War did additional exercises to augment their grip -- enough so that they could crush an apple in one hand if they wanted to. This time, fortunately for Stubble Boy, Hei doesn't want to. But he lets him know he can. Quietly and clearly, so the guy reads his lips, he says, ] Don't do that again.
[ Stubble Boy looks like he's going to protest, but a little more pressure on his wrist and the flat look in Hei's eyes makes him think better of it. ] Jesus, you don’t have to get so huffy! [ he yelps with a wince. Hei stares at him for a moment longer, then releases his wrist and turns back to Korra. The guy shuffles off, grumbling a stream of racial slurs extra loudly to try to restore some of his damaged pride. Shaking his head, already largely forgetting him, Hei says to Korra, ] A break for drinks? Then more dancing? [ It's clear she's not ready to part ways with the floor too soon. ]
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Amon is the only person she's ever needed protection from in any way. She's always fought her own battles, always protected herself. The idea of some stupid creeper in a club being as big a threat to her as the Equalist leader... it makes her queasy, and does her self-esteem no favors. Instead of celebrating the fact that she doesn't need her cane anymore, she's reminded of how helpless and pathetic she felt, getting injured enough to need it in the first place.]
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[ His bones tingle as a deep reverberant bassline splits the air. The song choice is so ironic: Don't you think I know/ Exactly where I stand/This world is forcing me/To hold your hand. Shaking it off, he slips his fingers through hers, gently squeezing, ]
Hey. Don't go.
[ He doesn't mean literally. He means Don't do what I do. Don't tumble into your head so you can't get out again. ]
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I'm not going anywhere. [She squeezes his hand back and bumps his shoulder with hers. I'll be okay.
She always is, eventually.]
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[ Of course, in his case, it's not an identity crisis. It's about securing a foothold here to protect Pai. ]
[ There's a frisson dangerously close to relief when Korra squeezes his hand. But that energy -- that brilliant colorful energy about her -- is diffused. Hei hopes a few drinks and a fresh string of dances will restore it. Not dropping her hand, he guides her past the surging bodies to the bar at the top-level. Sleek and rhombic, it runs across the border of the dancefloor, with an illuminated mirror behind it. The design is neon retro. The collection of bottles is impressive, the bartenders young and attractive in both genders. Most of the stools and tables are occupied. Waitresses sport ultra-short shorts and bandeau tops. They look as if they're available later for other duties. ]
[ Slipping onto a stool, Hei orders a stoli for himself before glancing at Korra, ] Just water? Or something stronger?
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She slides next to him.]
Just water. [Pretty much all the all the drinks she's had at these places have been too sweet. Besides, between the dancing and the heat, she's pretty dehydrated.]
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[ He asks for a plain bottled water, and in a minute the order slides their way. Knocking back his drink, Hei scans the room. Everything seems all shined up. Lots of chrome and glass and glitter. The entire world looks as if it's been wiped down by a paper towel and a bottle of Armor All. Adjacent to them, a group of tweenies -- somewhere between his and Korra's age -- are digging into a platter of chocolate funnel cakes. A few are inhaling stogies; he can smell the cannabis mixed up with the smoke. Loud and obnoxious jokes; sober X hangover patches on every other arm, beers at hand. Meaningless mayhem seems on the horizon. ]
[ One of the girls, catching Hei's stare, smiles and extends the platter his and Korra's way. ] Heyyy, you guys wanna try these?
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What is that? [cough cough]
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Have you ever had sachertorte? Because this is totally better than sachertorte! Not as sweet, but just the right kick.
[ She tucks a lock of dangling hair behind one ear and picks up a heavy silver fork. Spears a mouthful and extends it Korra's way, flirty, the love-drug in full effect. The moment she does, Hei wants to slap her hand away. Aloud, he says, ] Korra, I don't think you should -- [ But she's already guiding the treat airplane-style into Korra's mouth. ]
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WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!? [She yells at the girl when the taste is almost out of her mouth.]
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[ It's so sweetly matter-of-fact it'd be amusing. Except it's not. Reaching out, Hei grabs the girl by the wrist. ] What's in that cake?
[ A girlish giggle. ] Relax, It's just hash-oil.
[ Repressing a wince, Hei levels his gaze on Korra. ] Throw it up. Now. [ He hasn't brought her here to get her high. If he can help it, he'd rather keep away from drugs or getting wasted, period. That pungent smell of cannabis holds no pleasant associations for him; it takes him back to South America, not a man but just a boy, really, on leave with comrades smoking the magic stick some enterprising rear-echelon type had smuggled in on a military flight all the way from from Bangkok, because Brazilian marijuana was for shit. ]
[ He'd never liked it then -- never liked the way it altered his perceptions. He likes it even less now, preferring more dependable dependencies. His strained expression communicates his dismay. ] Korra. Throw. It. Up.
[ At his elbow, the tweenies protest, ] Maaan -- cm'on! Don't be a party-pooper! Get fried with us and we'll have a riot, promise.
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'Scuze me. [She grabs a bowl from the person sitting next to her and sticks it down her throat to trigger her gag reflex.]
HEY! [The bartender grabs her wrist and pulls her hand out of her mouth.] Chill the fuck out, girl. And no throwing up at my bar.
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[ The bartender gets a death-glare for his trouble. Gently extricating Korra's wrist from his hand, Hei looks her over. He calculates that if he gets her to the bathroom right now, gets her to vomit, she'll be able to avoid the worst of the stone. Except ... it's her first time. Cambodian hash pales in comparison to the wares here. No one makes drugs like the City's Underground set. ] Fuck. [ He can't help it. He has no polite expletives for the mess, the sheer clusterfuck of this situation. After a slow breath, he slides his hand down, enfolding it in hers and interlacing the fingers. ] It's okay. I'll keep an eye on yo --
[ He doesn't get to finish. The girl, smiling beatifically, has driven her fork into the deep brown wedge and stuffed a forkful of it into Hei's mouth while attempting to be as well-meaning as possible. ]
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BACK OFF!
[She airbends, a wind strong enough to knock Miss Fork on her ass (and take down a good number of the drinks on the counter. Unintentional good fortune, most of the drinks end up on the girl.)]
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[ The bartender slams both hands on the counter, just as the air-blast whooshes the giggly girl off her stool, drinks in tow. Glasses roll across the carpet. Her hair and clothes are soaked, but she still has that vacant little smile on her face. Unfazed, she wobbles back to her feet, while a few harried-looking waitresses rush to mop up the spill. Hei watches the scene unfold with a cringe. Things have come to a pretty pass, now Korra is rescuing him from stoners. Except it doesn't make a lick of difference. The cake, which he'd planned to spit out, is halfway down his gullet. It feels like lead sinking into his belly. From the corner of his eye, he notices the bartender gesturing to a bouncer. Decides to grab Korra's wrist and leave, before they're spoonfed anything else -- or ejected out of the club. ]
[ Walking through the crowd, Korra's fingers wrapped in his, Hei feels a tingling heat spread over his whole body, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, but not nearly as gentle. Whatever this is, it isn't ordinary hash. Glancing at Korra, he asks, ] Are you okay?
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Coooooooool.
[Wait. He said something. Right.]
Yeah, I'm fine. I think. Things are weird.
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[ Fighting it off, he keeps his focus on Korra. With the seething darkness at her back, the ambience haloes metallic needles in her hair. Her pupils seem huge, but her face is serene, impossibly innocent. Terrifyingly lovely. Squeezing her hand, he says, ]
We should ... go someplace quieter.
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[She'd been close to overstimulated before the brownie incident, but now she is definitely overwhelmed. Like, seeing music is cool and all, but she can feel everybody. Every single person in the room has an energy and she can feel it. It's clawing at her skin, tearing it. She feels like a block of salt dissolving in boiling water. If she stays here any longer, she's not going to exist anymore.]
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