[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.]
[ Hei raises an eyebrow as she drifts off -- Maybe I should cook that lizard. That'll get her to pay attention. By the time she returns, he's heated up a saucepan over the stove. Seasame oil, a pinch of salt, and the surface sizzles as he pours the cut seaweed in with a mixture of minced beef and garlic, sending up a cloud of steam. He stirs methodically with a wooden spoon, glancing over his shoulder at Korra. ]
"Little Dragon"? [ A huff, equal parts wry and impartial. ] The new curse must be inspiring you.
[ He stirs a moment more, then holds out the spoon for her. ] You do this. [ He has to check on the other two pots. The wine is erupting in little plorps. He turns down the heat a shade. The lobsters are nowhere near done yet. But the pot has begun emitting a shrill wail. ]
[ He's vaguely familiar with the Korean legend of imugi, enough to know they're considered a quasi-dragon, cursed in a serpentine shape and unable to reach full form. ]
[ Dryly, ] From what I've heard, imugi have to wait a thousand years until a pearl falls from the sky. Only then do they become dragons. [ Which is fitting. That lizard has delusions of grandeur if it considers itself a dragon. ]
[ He nods over the spitting of the saucepan and the shrill whine of the lobster pot. ] Stir for two minutes. Then I want you to pour three cups of water into the pan, cover it, and reduce the heat.
Our story is pretty similar. [Weird, huh?] I don't really know it that well. [For the first time, this kind of disappoints her. She never really appreciated the stories of her people until she was so completely separated from them.
She stirs the sauce, probably a bit more enthusiastically than is warranted.]
Never cared for stories myself. [ It's a terse reply. He shrugs his shoulders, because he's not particularly bothered with the similarities. It's a sign of collective consciousness, sharing scraps of culture and myth with others. ] I used to know them better as a boy. [ Back before Heaven's Gate appeared. It's been years since then, and Hei has literally traversed several different lifetimes. Hard to remind himself, sometimes, that he's only 23. Just a handful of years older than Korra. ]
[ He eyes the way she stirs with something like quiet amusement and approval, before he opens a cabinet to set a cup on the counter. The cheerful sounds of cooking, the smell of brewing food and wine, weave an almost happy vibe in the kitchen. It's -- nice. Maybe there's no reason it shouldn't be. ]
Me neither. But my dad loved them. He was a storyteller. [She misses his big voice, the faces he'd make and the way he'd wave his arms around as he'd tell his tales. He'd pretend to be a monster and then scoop her up in a giant hug and her mother would come "rescue" her and she felt so safe.
She fills the cup up with water and pours it in, focusing on the routine, mechanical motions in order to drive away an intense bout of homesickness. (If she were home at the beach house, she would go cuddle Naga until it faded to a dull ache, but she doesn't know how to ask for comfort from anyone else. It doesn't even occur to her to try.)]
[ A beat passes and Hei drifts to her side, hip against the counter, arms across his chest. Most of the meal is done -- all that's left is for the lobsters to redden, the pears to soak up the wine, and the stew to boil, before he whips up a dip sauce in under ten minutes. He doesn't say anything, just watches her work with a quiet consideration. She's gone inward again, and in turn, he's all watchfulness. ]
[ Body-language is something he reads very well, but anything involving gravitas or kindness often leaves him at a loss. He's only just getting comfortable with the brief touches that are string-free and patient but that he's never been good with, because why would he be? They served no function in his life back home. ]
[ Eventually, as the stew bubbles, he covers it with a lid, then asks plainly, ] Do you miss them? Your parents?
[ No angles or agendas -- yet. He's just mildly curious. ]
Hm? [It's a slightly delayed response -- it takes her a moment to realize he said something.]
Well yeah. [Duh. But it ain't no thang. It doesn't, you know, hurt or anything.] I haven't seen them in...over a year. Even when I was living in the South Pole, I didn't see them that often.
[ At Korra's elbow, Hei lobs butter squares into a bowl, sprinkling it with thyme, lemon juice, and crushed garlic before he batters it into a smooth paste. The way Korra looks and sounds, would once upon a time have been where he knew he had to create an opening. Widen a crack of vulnerability into a fissure of spilled secrets. But right now there's no sense of cold purpose. There are things Hei remembers learning (lies, elicitation, snapping necks) and things he remembers forgetting (honesty, simplicity, security). Parents were high up on the latter list. He'd learnt to blot them out, to keep his head up, get on with the mission, and look after Pai. Face forward. ]
[ Too much backwards-looking, and like Lot's wife, you'd end up a part of the landscape. A useless carcass. ]
[ He doesn't look up, making quick work of the paste, like this is an unarguably casual conversation, as he asks, ]
Did they send you to boot camp? Or was there a Spartan structure to raising kids in your homeworld?
[ Hei works with a steady precision, like he handles sutures or explosive chemicals, his fork barely scraping against the edge of the bowl. At her words, he raises an eyebrow. His own childhood was hardly conventional. He'd transitioned (was forced to transition) from a boy to a miniature adult with no period of adjustment. But just because his experiences differed from 'societal expectations,' doesn't mean he's unfamiliar with the other end of the spectrum. He'd be a bad chameleon, otherwise. ]
So they locked you up in an ivory tower. [ It doesn't sound scathing, just matter-of-fact. ] You were the special little Avatar to them. Nothing else. [ It makes sense now, where her naivety, her jittery self-image, stems from. ] They may as well have crippled you.
Everyone has a lot they need to learn. [ His fork clinks against porcelain as he clears the dregs of butter off, setting the bowl aside. He glances at her, and the look on his face isn't cruel -- just calm, eyes searching her face. ] But in the end, the lessons needed to live in the real world are what count. These White Lotus people may have kept you safe in the short-term. But they deprived you of the skills necessary to negotiate with life. And that isn't all about bending or being an unbeatable fighter.
[ After all, there's protecting a child. And then there's the value of the hard truth about life. ]
[She can't deny that. She wants to, but if there's one thing she's learned from Mako & Bolin, from Republic City, even from the City itself, it's how little she knows about life. How useless she is in the face of it. She wants to defend the people who raised her, take responsibility for her own failures, but a part of her knows he's right.
In her distraction & her growing upset, she forgets to turn down the heat on the stove, and yelps as the pot suddenly starts boiling over.]
[ Oh for God's sake. Kitchen-novice Korra and Serious Discussions clearly do not a successful combination make. ]
[ Reaching out, Hei turns the heat lower, then nudges her away from the pot. Using the ends of a dishrag, he mops the spill up, takes the spoon from her, and stirs again. After a moment, he lifts a spoonful out of the pot, holding his hand beneath to catch the drip. ]
[Korra backs off and lets him clean up, sulky and embarrassed and abashed. She relaxes a little when he doesn't push the subject any farther. She doesn't like this topic.
She takes a sip. It isn't anything like her mom's -- the beef flavor just isn't the same as seal meat -- but she likes it.]
[ Carefully, Hei tips the contents past his own lips. For a moment he holds it in his mouth, as if he's thinking. Then he swallows, and a half-smile blooms -- almost Li-like in that it seems lighthearted. Young. But the illusion only lasts a second. ]
Let it simmer for a bit. [ He checks on the two steaming pots, the briny aroma of lobster competing with the tart sweetness of wine. The pears have begun to turn a satisfying shade of maroon, and the lobsters are blooming into a rosy red. Almost done, but not quite there. ] Give the rest ten minutes.
[ With an air of satisfaction, he dries off his hands on a teatowel, then turns to Korra. ] Your first cooking lesson. And you set nothing on fire. [ Yet. His eyes drop to her mouth and linger there for a moment, the rest of his face just this side of unreadable. But whatever he's thinking, or not-thinking, he seems to brush aside, drifting out of her space in the next beat. ]
Now all that's left is baking that lizard. [ He sounds so serious. ]
Thanks for your confidence. [She doesn't usually set things on fire, you know. (Even when she had her firebending.) And let's be fair, Hei did basically all of the actual cooking. Korra's not going to delude herself into thinking she learned much, but she's pleased anyway.
For a moment, she thinks he's going to kiss her, but then he moves away and she doesn't have time for disappointment.]
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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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"Little Dragon"? [ A huff, equal parts wry and impartial. ] The new curse must be inspiring you.
[ He stirs a moment more, then holds out the spoon for her. ] You do this. [ He has to check on the other two pots. The wine is erupting in little plorps. He turns down the heat a shade. The lobsters are nowhere near done yet. But the pot has begun emitting a shrill wail. ]
[ It sounds like a tiny banshee chorus. ]
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Great dragon. [Although the fact that he can translate it all is kind of eerie.
She takes the spoon, holding it awkwardly.]
I'm just stirring?
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[ Dryly, ] From what I've heard, imugi have to wait a thousand years until a pearl falls from the sky. Only then do they become dragons. [ Which is fitting. That lizard has delusions of grandeur if it considers itself a dragon. ]
[ He nods over the spitting of the saucepan and the shrill whine of the lobster pot. ] Stir for two minutes. Then I want you to pour three cups of water into the pan, cover it, and reduce the heat.
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She stirs the sauce, probably a bit more enthusiastically than is warranted.]
Where do you keep the cups?
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[ He eyes the way she stirs with something like quiet amusement and approval, before he opens a cabinet to set a cup on the counter. The cheerful sounds of cooking, the smell of brewing food and wine, weave an almost happy vibe in the kitchen. It's -- nice. Maybe there's no reason it shouldn't be. ]
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She fills the cup up with water and pours it in, focusing on the routine, mechanical motions in order to drive away an intense bout of homesickness. (If she were home at the beach house, she would go cuddle Naga until it faded to a dull ache, but she doesn't know how to ask for comfort from anyone else. It doesn't even occur to her to try.)]
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[ Body-language is something he reads very well, but anything involving gravitas or kindness often leaves him at a loss. He's only just getting comfortable with the brief touches that are string-free and patient but that he's never been good with, because why would he be? They served no function in his life back home. ]
[ Eventually, as the stew bubbles, he covers it with a lid, then asks plainly, ] Do you miss them? Your parents?
[ No angles or agendas -- yet. He's just mildly curious. ]
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Well yeah. [Duh. But it ain't no thang. It doesn't, you know, hurt or anything.] I haven't seen them in...over a year. Even when I was living in the South Pole, I didn't see them that often.
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[ Too much backwards-looking, and like Lot's wife, you'd end up a part of the landscape. A useless carcass. ]
[ He doesn't look up, making quick work of the paste, like this is an unarguably casual conversation, as he asks, ]
Did they send you to boot camp? Or was there a Spartan structure to raising kids in your homeworld?
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No. The White Lotus built a training compound in the South Pole after they found me. I've lived there full time since I was thirteen.
[She remembers being so excited when she found out she'd get to live "all on her own"...and after a month, how much she wished they were there.]
They wanted me to concentrate on my studies, free from "worldly distractions."
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So they locked you up in an ivory tower. [ It doesn't sound scathing, just matter-of-fact. ] You were the special little Avatar to them. Nothing else. [ It makes sense now, where her naivety, her jittery self-image, stems from. ] They may as well have crippled you.
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It wasn't like that. [The lack of conviction is obvious. She shakes her head.] I had a lot I needed to learn.
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[ After all, there's protecting a child. And then there's the value of the hard truth about life. ]
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In her distraction & her growing upset, she forgets to turn down the heat on the stove, and yelps as the pot suddenly starts boiling over.]
Aaaah!
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[ Reaching out, Hei turns the heat lower, then nudges her away from the pot. Using the ends of a dishrag, he mops the spill up, takes the spoon from her, and stirs again. After a moment, he lifts a spoonful out of the pot, holding his hand beneath to catch the drip. ]
You taste. Tell me if it needs more salt.
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She takes a sip. It isn't anything like her mom's -- the beef flavor just isn't the same as seal meat -- but she likes it.]
That's really good.
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Let it simmer for a bit. [ He checks on the two steaming pots, the briny aroma of lobster competing with the tart sweetness of wine. The pears have begun to turn a satisfying shade of maroon, and the lobsters are blooming into a rosy red. Almost done, but not quite there. ] Give the rest ten minutes.
[ With an air of satisfaction, he dries off his hands on a teatowel, then turns to Korra. ] Your first cooking lesson. And you set nothing on fire. [ Yet. His eyes drop to her mouth and linger there for a moment, the rest of his face just this side of unreadable. But whatever he's thinking, or not-thinking, he seems to brush aside, drifting out of her space in the next beat. ]
Now all that's left is baking that lizard. [ He sounds so serious. ]
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For a moment, she thinks he's going to kiss her, but then he moves away and she doesn't have time for disappointment.]
Okay, seriously, that's not funny. [GLARE]
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