[Oh, she'll be fine with the lobsters. They're food-shaped. But the lizard reminds her of the stories that Master Katara told her of dragons. You can't eat something that magic.]
[ For what it's worth, he doubts the lizard is magic. More likely crawling with pathogenic bacteria. She clearly doesn't realize the diseases like trichinosis and sparganosis you'd get from supping on an iguana. ]
[ But that's not the point. He hesitates to use the phrase cute when describing her, because he knows Korra would try to punch him in a number of extremely imaginative ways, but right now, the way she scowls up at him is frankly, rather endearing. His hand snakes out to grab her wrist, pulling her in enough to kiss the corner of her mouth -- rough, but almost playful -- before he darts away. ]
All right. [ Not quite a smile, but his tone is relaxed as he turns to head for the kitchen. ] We'll stick to the traditional recipe. For today.
[ In the yellow parallelogram of sunlight spilling in through the window, the silver pots glimmer, heaps of herbs and groceries strewn on the counter. Essentials for the boiled lobster. The dip-sauce. The seaweed stew. The dessert. He lets Korra peer at the spread, her arm a light line of contact against his. Being around her makes him very aware of his own body and the space it takes up, its conjunction to hers, to the kitchen. ]
[ But he can afford to be businesslike, at least on the surface. He's here to teach her how to cook. Not to fool around. ]
I figured you'd start with something simple. Seaweed stew. Pears poached in red wine. And --
[ Crouching, he lifts the cooler onto the kitchen table, popping the lid open. Sprawled in the ice, the lobsters have sunk into a coma-like stasis. He lifts one dark-blue crustacean out, keeping his back to Korra so she can't see the chest's contents. The lobster's shell is icy-cold on his palm, but its pincers still wave sluggishly. Huh. Stubborn little bastard. Dibs on this one, he decides. ]
[ Turning to Korra, he extends the lobster with a half-smile. ] -- And these things.
Simple. Right. [She doesn't look impressed.] Does the word "simple" mean the same thing to you as it does to everybody else?
[But hey, she's not one to back away from a challenge. And if Hei expects her to squeal in horror at the sight of the lobster, he's in for disappointment.]
What is it? A turtle crab?
[She pokes curiously at one of the slowly waving pincers.]
It's easier than it looks. Do everything right, and it won't take more than two hours. [ Here's to hoping. ]
[ In the grand scheme of things, cooking is considerably low on the list of skills he learnt in Heaven's War. But it was a practical tool for a soldier who was always in the flux. (Not to mention more feasible, given his appetite in conjunction to his budget). Besides, kitchen work had always settled his mind. No matter what corner of the world you were in, people had to eat, and he'd long ago learned that he trusted strange food more when he prepared it personally. ]
[ He isn't expecting her to squeal, no. She's not the type. But he enjoys her little frowny faces, a smidge more than he'd care to admit. ]
It's a Maine lobster. [ Which is funny since they're nowhere near Maine. ] I had to do some digging to find it in the Underground. [ His lips quirk. ] Now I'm going to boil it alive and eat it.
[ Side lobster? Oh Jesus Korra. Denmark will be awash in bad sushi by the time even the most benign cultural references stop sailing over your head. ] No. Next time I'll get smaller ones for ...side lobsters. [ Wry but also unbelieveably convincing, which means it's stuffed with enough bullshit to feed a starving household of ten. ]
[ He takes both lobsters out and places them on the counter. They wriggle weakly, claws tied in thick rubber bands, while Hei fills a large pot with water and puts it on the stove at a low flame. At her question, he shakes his head. ]
A lobster's brain is the same as a grasshopper. It's not complex enough to feel pain. [ If you can squash a bug, than you should be able to kill a lobster. ]
[Hey, it's not her fault she comes from a world where Maine doesn't exist!]
Oh. Okay.
[As long as they aren't torturing the creatures, she's cool with that. She pokes idly at the pincers while he heats up the water. (Watching water boil is boring, and at least the lobsters are moving.]
[ Hei adds two tablespoons of salt to the water, a sprintz of squeezed lemon, then turns the flame up higher. Gray wisps of steam rise from the surface. Not quite yet. (They're not going to stare at a pot of boiling water. There's a lot more to do. Korra won't gain anything useful by watching him. She's the type who learns by doing; he's caught that quickly enough. ]
They'll turn bright red. And the feelers will come off easily.
[ He selects a large knife, then places both lobsters on a cutting board. ] Although they can't feel pain, it's a good idea to kill them anyway. [ Not for humane reasons. Just to discourage tail-flips in the pot. ] Sever the 'spinal cord.' Like this -- [ He places the blade in the horizontal groove at the first lobster's head. Slices with a quick, downward force that ends on a neat crunch. Voila. Dead lobster. ]
[ Turning, he offers her the knife, ] Now you do the second one.
[ It's callous, making her wield a blade so soon after that bloodbath with Pavel. But that's exactly why Hei's doing it. He's been raised on a refusal to soft soap himself in any way. Fear takes root in the wake of trauma. But if you expect to survive, it's your job to uproot it and to never let those sickly tendrils spread. Because once you stop trusting your mind or body, once you start freezing up at every little trigger, everything else falls apart too. ]
[ He watches Korra cut the lobster's head. She's businesslike, but imperceptibly trembling around the edges like a sighted deer, unsure, caught in a warp of memory. But when she goes through with it, there's a sense of almost-pride. So young and naive -- but a tough kid. She'll be okay. ]
[ He smiles like he has a secret locked behind the curl of his lips. A casual shift in weight, and then his hand settles around the crook at her elbow. He leans in, the movement telegraphed and careful -- giving her an out if she wants to pull away -- to press a light kiss to her cheek. ]
Quietly: ] Not bad. [ Honest, in his own way. Hand slipping off her elbow, he drifts out of her immediate space in the next blink. In the pot, water bubbles in a haze of steam. Lifting a lobster by the thorax, he lowers it head-first into the pot with a plop. ] Now drop yours in.
[...well consider that sufficient distraction from painful memories. She watches him with wide, surprised eyes as he moves away like he isn't messing with the dynamics of their relationship. Innocent kisses, gestures that for anybody else would simply be displays of affection... he doesn't do that. She doesn't do that, except for the occasional "thank you" or "goodbye" kiss.
Coming over just for cooking lessons. Little kisses leading nowhere. What exactly are they starting with this "start again"?
She banishes the thought, setting it aside to deal with later. It's not a question she wants to avoid, but she wants time to think about it alone, without Hei around to all but read her thoughts. She picks up her lobster, imitating the way he held his, and drops it into the water. She doesn't have his skill, so it splashes a bit, getting drops of boiling water on her arm.]
[ He'd advise her, if he could track her pinwheeling thoughts, not to read too deeply into every which way he handles her. Physicality is a neutral thing for Hei -- all his close touches are manufactured with a purpose behind them. It's no different here. Korra is almost a litmus paper; someone to measure his own rusty humanity, or lack of it, against. Hei's life has been about honing the sharp edges in his nature; now he has to learn to function without them. But for once, it's a choice, not an order. He doesn't quite know what to do with that. ]
[ Having the freedom to make a choice. Being cognizant of the fact that a choice exists. ]
[ That doesn't mean there's no affection there. He's aware what he feels for Korra is more than lust. But it isn't enough at the same time. Not an emotion the way normal people feel it. More like a photocopy; a diluted substitute. But why brood about it? He's beyond that point of his life where he thinks about anything other than where he is. It's too dangerous. The issues between him and Korra will always be like shark's teeth. Knock one out, and there's ten rows waiting to fill in the gap. ]
[ Best to keep it in the moment. Carpe diem etc. ]
[ He glances up as water splashes her arm, eyebrow quirked. Shifts to the sink to turn the tap on, in the same smooth motion. ] Easy. Rinse your hand out. [ It might be a good idea for her to put gloves and an apron on. ]
[Hei's line of thought would be beyond her understanding. She knows that touches can be faked and calculated for an agenda, but she couldn't even begin to guess what that agenda might be.
She obediently puts her hand under the cold tap water. It doesn't hurt much now, but Korra had enough accidents during her water and fire bending training to know that burns are best taken care of before the pain sets in. (On a whim, she tries to use the tap water to pull the heat out. It's one of the first healing techniques Master Katara ever taught her. But the water doesn't respond. It never does.)]
How long does it usually take?
[If any of her disappointment comes through her voice, it's only as a hint of wistfulness, almost imperceptible. Not counting those days when the City taunted her, she hasn't had her bending for almost eight months. She's learned to live without it; the ache is as much a part of her as her heartbeat, and just as easy to ignore.]
[ Hei watches from the corner of his eye as she rinses her hand out. The bright sunlight affords him a view of her hair and the curve of her cheek and the snub of her nose. For a moment she seems to go vague, inward, but he knows better than to press her. Instead he uses that opportunity to observe. All fresh and tawny, with a little touch of puppyish roundness to her face, she's not beautiful, but she is startlingly pretty. He's thought it before too. ]
[ It wouldn't be a temptation on an assignment. He'd have his head in the game, his focus on the straight and narrow. But here, he's interested in more than a good look. ]
[ Knock it off. Cooking lessons. That's what they're here for. ]
[ He covers the lobster-pot and moves to the counter, selecting a pear to place on the cutting board. From a drawer, he retrieves a vegetable peeler. ] They're 3-pound lobsters. Give them about twenty-five to thirty minutes. [ Carefully, he sheers off the bright green skin of the pear with in one unbroken spiral, handing it to her to munch on. ] We'll handle the dessert in the meantime. Then the stew.
[She takes the skin and for a moment just holds it, unsure why he handed it to her. (She's not the eater he is -- the only thing that stops her from eating everything in sight isn't that the food might be poisoned.) When he continues peeling and doesn't give her any instructions for the skin, she shrugs a little and takes a bite out of it. It's a little different from the pears she's used to, but it has a light, natural sweetness better suited to her palate than most of the sugary concoctions people have gotten her to try.]
So what is "poaching" a pear? [She's only ever heard of poaching in terms of unlawfully killing animals -- it's a Fire Nation thing.]
It just means cooking something at a simmer. [ Finished denuding two pears, Hei hands Korra the last fruit with the peeler. His calm look makes the intent clear: You do this one. Taking the bottle of red wine, he twists it open with a sharp crack. Sets a non-reactive saucepan at the stove over medium flame, and pours roughly three cups of wine in. A sprinkle of sugar, one bright strip of lemon zest and a cinnamon stick follow, before he adds over his shoulder, ]
Make sure you leave the pear's stem attached. [ Then, more wryly, ] This dessert won't get you drunk. But it's not so sticky-sweet you'll puke it up either.
[Korra takes the fruit and peeler nervously -- not because of trauma; just because she's never done anything like this before. But she quickly gets her gameface on.
Challenge: Accepted.
She holds the pear close to herself to get a better handle on it as she tries to imitate what Hei did. Except it keeps slipping and she ends up with multiple strips instead of the single long winding ones that Hei got. She's concentrating too hard on the pear to react to his dig about the wine (you get tipsy and sleep with a guy one time...).
The finished product isn't pretty, and Korra knows it. She sets it next to Hei's pears, sulking a little. She hates failing. Why doesn't he have another pear for her to try again on?]
[ (Hey, if she hadn't gotten tipsy that one time, things might've gone very differently. He doubts they'd even be in his kitchen right now. Circumstance is a mind-fuck that way.) ]
[ The wine gives off a sweetish aroma as it bubbles. Turning, Hei starts to drop the pears into the pot -- then huffs out a half-laugh at the little monstrosity Korra has skinned. Back in Heaven's War, his eerie proficiency with blades -- on flesh and on fruit -- had made for snarky jibes among teammates. It's (mildly, like all things) hilarious that Korra ... doesn't share that talent. But it's not her fault. Practice makes perfect, etc. If he can help it, he's determined to ensure the practice sticks to food, not people. ]
[ (It helps that her sulky faces can be pretty amusing sometimes.) ]
Interesting. [ He examines the pear at eye-level, before dunking it into the pot with the others. ] We'll call that one Quasimodo.
[ Hei's lips quirk. (Oh, how Huang would piss himself to see this. BK201 offering a teenager cooking lessons. Being almost humorous. Is the world ending?) ]
[ He reaches out and curls a hand against the nape of her neck, fingers a light press into the warm skin. The smile creeps into his voice, even if his expression is neutral. ] I'm going to eat that pear. That makes it marginally more personal. [ Feel free to interpret that -- or the contact -- however you wish. A considering pause, before he adds, ] If you're so hung up on the lizard, you name it.
[Okay seriously this touchy-feely stuff is beginning to weird her out. It's nice! She just doesn't understand where it's coming from, if this is the new status quo, if this is something she should get used to or if it's going to switch off abruptly like a light. He's so unpredictable; it makes her nervous when he changes patterns.]
You're so weird.
[Whether that's about his comment about the pear or him telling her to name his lizard...well, maybe it's a bit of both. She leans just a little into his hand and contemplates names.]
[ I must be, letting you in here at all. He doesn't say that. Or bother reading as deeply into the touches as she seems to be doing. (Then again, you don't overanalyze and obsess when you're petting a cat, either.) In the end, it's simply Hei's way of testing the waters. Determining what she'll allow, how at ease she truly is in his presence. He's never been one for words where tactile evidence just fine. ]
[ Unlike with other professionals, the physicality isn't something Korra's learnt yet to disguise. ]
[ His hand slips away by degrees. He focuses on the watery bowl of seaweed he'd left to soak for the stew. Draining the water out in the sink, he sets the drippy weeds on the board, knife at hand. Proceeds to cut them into two-inch pieces, his blade quick and precise, asking, ]
Think of a name yet?
[ He's indifferent either way. But it'd be interesting to see what she comes up with. ]
[When he lets go of her neck, she takes the chance to wander off to get another look at the lizard. (It's not like she came here to learn to cook or anything.) He has one clawed foot resting on an unusually round pebble and gives off a kingly impression that makes her grin a little.
She heads back to the kitchen when Hei speaks again.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I don't want to try your "personal twist."
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[ But that's not the point. He hesitates to use the phrase cute when describing her, because he knows Korra would try to punch him in a number of extremely imaginative ways, but right now, the way she scowls up at him is frankly, rather endearing. His hand snakes out to grab her wrist, pulling her in enough to kiss the corner of her mouth -- rough, but almost playful -- before he darts away. ]
All right. [ Not quite a smile, but his tone is relaxed as he turns to head for the kitchen. ] We'll stick to the traditional recipe. For today.
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She follows him to the kitchen, still trying to figure out whether he was joking bout the lizard.]
Good.
[She stands next to him, her arm brushing against his as she peeks at the ingredients.]
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[ But he can afford to be businesslike, at least on the surface. He's here to teach her how to cook. Not to fool around. ]
I figured you'd start with something simple. Seaweed stew. Pears poached in red wine. And --
[ Crouching, he lifts the cooler onto the kitchen table, popping the lid open. Sprawled in the ice, the lobsters have sunk into a coma-like stasis. He lifts one dark-blue crustacean out, keeping his back to Korra so she can't see the chest's contents. The lobster's shell is icy-cold on his palm, but its pincers still wave sluggishly. Huh. Stubborn little bastard. Dibs on this one, he decides. ]
[ Turning to Korra, he extends the lobster with a half-smile. ] -- And these things.
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[But hey, she's not one to back away from a challenge. And if Hei expects her to squeal in horror at the sight of the lobster, he's in for disappointment.]
What is it? A turtle crab?
[She pokes curiously at one of the slowly waving pincers.]
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[ In the grand scheme of things, cooking is considerably low on the list of skills he learnt in Heaven's War. But it was a practical tool for a soldier who was always in the flux. (Not to mention more feasible, given his appetite in conjunction to his budget). Besides, kitchen work had always settled his mind. No matter what corner of the world you were in, people had to eat, and he'd long ago learned that he trusted strange food more when he prepared it personally. ]
[ He isn't expecting her to squeal, no. She's not the type. But he enjoys her little frowny faces, a smidge more than he'd care to admit. ]
It's a Maine lobster. [ Which is funny since they're nowhere near Maine. ] I had to do some digging to find it in the Underground. [ His lips quirk. ] Now I'm going to boil it alive and eat it.
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She does frown when he mentions boiling it alive.]
Isn't that cruel?
[She's always been taught you kill quickly and efficiently, causing the animal as little pain as you possibly can.]
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[ He takes both lobsters out and places them on the counter. They wriggle weakly, claws tied in thick rubber bands, while Hei fills a large pot with water and puts it on the stove at a low flame. At her question, he shakes his head. ]
A lobster's brain is the same as a grasshopper. It's not complex enough to feel pain. [ If you can squash a bug, than you should be able to kill a lobster. ]
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Oh. Okay.
[As long as they aren't torturing the creatures, she's cool with that. She pokes idly at the pincers while he heats up the water. (Watching water boil is boring, and at least the lobsters are moving.]
How do you know when they're done boiling?
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They'll turn bright red. And the feelers will come off easily.
[ He selects a large knife, then places both lobsters on a cutting board. ] Although they can't feel pain, it's a good idea to kill them anyway. [ Not for humane reasons. Just to discourage tail-flips in the pot. ] Sever the 'spinal cord.' Like this -- [ He places the blade in the horizontal groove at the first lobster's head. Slices with a quick, downward force that ends on a neat crunch. Voila. Dead lobster. ]
[ Turning, he offers her the knife, ] Now you do the second one.
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Okay.
[The blade hovers for a moment over the lobster's head. With a deep breath, she slices down. It's a neat job. The lobster dies quickly and painlessly.
Unlike Chekov.
She quickly pushes lobster and knife away, and wipes the clear blood off on her pants. (A part of her expects to see smears of red.)]
What next?
[Just focus on the next step. Step by step, like going through her forms. Don't freak out.]
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[ He watches Korra cut the lobster's head. She's businesslike, but imperceptibly trembling around the edges like a sighted deer, unsure, caught in a warp of memory. But when she goes through with it, there's a sense of almost-pride. So young and naive -- but a tough kid. She'll be okay. ]
[ He smiles like he has a secret locked behind the curl of his lips. A casual shift in weight, and then his hand settles around the crook at her elbow. He leans in, the movement telegraphed and careful -- giving her an out if she wants to pull away -- to press a light kiss to her cheek. ]
Quietly: ] Not bad. [ Honest, in his own way. Hand slipping off her elbow, he drifts out of her immediate space in the next blink. In the pot, water bubbles in a haze of steam. Lifting a lobster by the thorax, he lowers it head-first into the pot with a plop. ] Now drop yours in.
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Coming over just for cooking lessons. Little kisses leading nowhere. What exactly are they starting with this "start again"?
She banishes the thought, setting it aside to deal with later. It's not a question she wants to avoid, but she wants time to think about it alone, without Hei around to all but read her thoughts. She picks up her lobster, imitating the way he held his, and drops it into the water. She doesn't have his skill, so it splashes a bit, getting drops of boiling water on her arm.]
Ow!
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[ Having the freedom to make a choice. Being cognizant of the fact that a choice exists. ]
[ That doesn't mean there's no affection there. He's aware what he feels for Korra is more than lust. But it isn't enough at the same time. Not an emotion the way normal people feel it. More like a photocopy; a diluted substitute. But why brood about it? He's beyond that point of his life where he thinks about anything other than where he is. It's too dangerous. The issues between him and Korra will always be like shark's teeth. Knock one out, and there's ten rows waiting to fill in the gap. ]
[ Best to keep it in the moment. Carpe diem etc. ]
[ He glances up as water splashes her arm, eyebrow quirked. Shifts to the sink to turn the tap on, in the same smooth motion. ] Easy. Rinse your hand out. [ It might be a good idea for her to put gloves and an apron on. ]
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She obediently puts her hand under the cold tap water. It doesn't hurt much now, but Korra had enough accidents during her water and fire bending training to know that burns are best taken care of before the pain sets in. (On a whim, she tries to use the tap water to pull the heat out. It's one of the first healing techniques Master Katara ever taught her. But the water doesn't respond. It never does.)]
How long does it usually take?
[If any of her disappointment comes through her voice, it's only as a hint of wistfulness, almost imperceptible. Not counting those days when the City taunted her, she hasn't had her bending for almost eight months. She's learned to live without it; the ache is as much a part of her as her heartbeat, and just as easy to ignore.]
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[ It wouldn't be a temptation on an assignment. He'd have his head in the game, his focus on the straight and narrow. But here, he's interested in more than a good look. ]
[ Knock it off. Cooking lessons. That's what they're here for. ]
[ He covers the lobster-pot and moves to the counter, selecting a pear to place on the cutting board. From a drawer, he retrieves a vegetable peeler. ] They're 3-pound lobsters. Give them about twenty-five to thirty minutes. [ Carefully, he sheers off the bright green skin of the pear with in one unbroken spiral, handing it to her to munch on. ] We'll handle the dessert in the meantime. Then the stew.
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So what is "poaching" a pear? [She's only ever heard of poaching in terms of unlawfully killing animals -- it's a Fire Nation thing.]
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Make sure you leave the pear's stem attached. [ Then, more wryly, ] This dessert won't get you drunk. But it's not so sticky-sweet you'll puke it up either.
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Challenge: Accepted.
She holds the pear close to herself to get a better handle on it as she tries to imitate what Hei did. Except it keeps slipping and she ends up with multiple strips instead of the single long winding ones that Hei got. She's concentrating too hard on the pear to react to his dig about the wine (you get tipsy and sleep with a guy one time...).
The finished product isn't pretty, and Korra knows it. She sets it next to Hei's pears, sulking a little. She hates failing. Why doesn't he have another pear for her to try again on?]
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[ The wine gives off a sweetish aroma as it bubbles. Turning, Hei starts to drop the pears into the pot -- then huffs out a half-laugh at the little monstrosity Korra has skinned. Back in Heaven's War, his eerie proficiency with blades -- on flesh and on fruit -- had made for snarky jibes among teammates. It's (mildly, like all things) hilarious that Korra ... doesn't share that talent. But it's not her fault. Practice makes perfect, etc. If he can help it, he's determined to ensure the practice sticks to food, not people. ]
[ (It helps that her sulky faces can be pretty amusing sometimes.) ]
Interesting. [ He examines the pear at eye-level, before dunking it into the pot with the others. ] We'll call that one Quasimodo.
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And. WTF.]
You won't name your lizard but you'll name a pear?
[You. Are so. Weird.]
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[ He reaches out and curls a hand against the nape of her neck, fingers a light press into the warm skin. The smile creeps into his voice, even if his expression is neutral. ] I'm going to eat that pear. That makes it marginally more personal. [ Feel free to interpret that -- or the contact -- however you wish. A considering pause, before he adds, ] If you're so hung up on the lizard, you name it.
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You're so weird.
[Whether that's about his comment about the pear or him telling her to name his lizard...well, maybe it's a bit of both. She leans just a little into his hand and contemplates names.]
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[ Unlike with other professionals, the physicality isn't something Korra's learnt yet to disguise. ]
[ His hand slips away by degrees. He focuses on the watery bowl of seaweed he'd left to soak for the stew. Draining the water out in the sink, he sets the drippy weeds on the board, knife at hand. Proceeds to cut them into two-inch pieces, his blade quick and precise, asking, ]
Think of a name yet?
[ He's indifferent either way. But it'd be interesting to see what she comes up with. ]
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She heads back to the kitchen when Hei speaks again.]
How about Imugi?
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