[ 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.]
[ Hei shoots a vaguely amused but also serious look in her direction. The way his brows are raised, it's as if there's zero room for negotiation. ] Who said I was joking? [ But contrary to his remark, he doesn't fetch the lizard. Instead he tips back a a chair to seat himself at the narrow kitchen table. There's a quick glance at the pots, then at Korra, who is glaring at him like he's a puppy-kicker. ]
[ Wordlessly, he gestures for her to sit if she wants. Picks up a book of crossword puzzles lying amid a heap of takeout menus and keychains, halfway completed. It's a thing, don't ask. Used to be he'd never had time for more than one puzzle; nowadays, he can work as many out at his leisure. It helps to keep exercising his brain, which seems clouded by a soporific mist in the City. It's not that he misses the mind-games and paranoia; he doesn't. But he's not cut out for stagnation either. ]
There's fresh juice in the fridge. If you want any. [ A semi-polite nothing, as he taps a pen on the leg of his jeans, poring at the crossword. What's the eleven-letter word for 'Possessed of two conflicting natures'? Hmm. ]
Thanks. [Korra shoots him one last vaguely suspicious look before going to get a glass. She pours herself some juice and takes a seat.
This is weird. This is really weird. She sips her juice and idly peeks through the takeout menus, but even after eight months in the City, she doesn't understand more than a few words of the English characters. She peeks at Hei, tempted to use this opportunity to just look at him, but she doesn't want to be caught staring. She glances over at the pots, considers going back to visit Imugi, and then looks back at Hei.]
It's a word puzzle. You're given clues and have to figure out the words and write them in these little boxes.
[ The incongruity of the moment doesn't escape him. He can practically see Korra's thoughts looming over her head like word balloons. If she was a mark, he'd try to weave a warm atmosphere conducive to conversation. But she's not, so he can't be bothered. It's not indifference; it's relief. There's no pressured performance here. After all, it's not often Hei allows himself moments of relaxing, if you can call it that. He rarely does this with others, except maybe Yin. Doesn't particularly like revealing to most people that he has a personality at all. ]
[ Korra though, despite being from a different homeworld, brims with slivers of normalcy. It's easy to accommodate her -- there's no mind-games -- so Hei lowers the iron curtains a few degrees. It's his definition of kindness. Sort of. ]
The last place I stayed in [ never Lived ] had a store nearby that sold Hanjie. Nonograms. I'd finish at least one on the subway ride to jobs [ various jobs for various undercover assignments ] downtown.
Sounds like fun. [By which she means it sounds like the most boring thing she could possibly imagine doing.
She finishes off her juice and covers the empty glass with her hands so she can rest her chin on it. She doesn't resent the quiet, but it pokes little holes in her defenses, making openings for thoughts to swirl in. The lobster, Chekov, the ghouls, dying... One or even two alone she could process, but altogether? She doesn't even know where to begin.
After a moment, she stands up and goes to peek at the pots, just for something to do.]
It killed time. [ A shift of his shoulders. It's an arbitrary thing; what he considers necessary activities to settle a portion of his mind, even as the rest whirrs on at full steam, Korra would find dull as all fuck, because she inhabits the physical end of the spectrum. Hei remembers being that way when he was younger: energy levels turned up high, mind and body stilling to dead calmness only when it was a matter of life and death. Korra reminds him of those days -- a dragonfly caught indoors, irked not so much by confined spaces as by her own thoughts. ]
[ After a few moments, he finishes his crossword. There's only one space empty: that damn eleven-letter word for a 'conflicted nature.' He parses through his memory for suitable words, his gaze flicking to the clock. How long's it been? Thirty minutes at least. As the pots steam and rattle, the proper word slips into place -- Diophysitic. He fills it in, tosses the crossword on the corner table and, after a beat, throws his pen in too. There's a chipped mug filled with stationary -- his pen arcs in the air and neatly lands inside with a clink. ]
[ Rising, Hei makes his way to the stove. ] I think it's all done. [ About time. He's getting hungry. ]
[FINALLY. Korra's stomach lets out a loud grumble -- great comedic timing there. She steps aside so Hei can get to the stove, but stays close, brushing against his back as she peers over his shoulder.]
[ Hei stifles a brief smile at her growling stomach. It turns into a scowl when his own follows suit, like a game of call and response. It's a bizarrely familial scene, at the end of the day. The two of them preparing food and dancing around each other in the kitchen. Like it's normal. Like they do this kind of thing alot. ]
[ He removes the lobsters -- bright-red and piping-hot -- from the pot with tongs, setting them in a plate to drain and cool. The pears, wine-steeped, are poured into a glass tray with the syrup, then tucked into the freezer to cool down. Last, he ladles the stew out into a bowl. ]
[ Turning to Korra, Hei says, ] Get a pair of nutcrackers from the cabinet. I'll set the table. [ He tries not to look at her like he's sizing up the last entree on the menu. (He's accustomed, from prior experiences, to expecting sex in exchange for time spent or meals prepared. This strangely decorous pace between them feels outdated. Weird. Usually he goes for the jugular right off.) ]
[She catches a hint of what he's thinking in his eyes and is glad for the excuse to turn away -- as pleasant as the warm flush is. (She still feels self-conscious about the glares she got from the neighbors, not to mention that creepy leering kid.)
She digs around in the cabinet for the nutcrackers.]
Yeah. [ He nods with a half-smile, not so much at how quickly she found them, but at her blush. Ordinarily that wide-eyed innocence grates on his nerves. But on her, it's one of the things he always finds arousing; the combination of unrestrained greed she exhibits in the heat of the moment, and the shyness she still hasn't overcome outside that sphere. ]
[ Turning, he burrows into the cabinets for the crockery. Meticulously sets the dishes and silverware at the table, then arranges the lobsters on a platter, carrying them over with the stew and the buttery dip-sauce. It hardly classifies as a romantic setting. It's the middle of the day, no champagne, no candles, and Hei is likely going to ignore the flatware and start ripping the lobster shells apart with his hands, soon enough. But he's enjoyed himself better than he expected. Not Cloud Nine levels of fun -- he's never been capable of that. But it's nice. More than he wanted it to be. ]
[ A sudden chill cuts through Hei, reviving old memories and doubts. He glances over at Korra, thinking, What am I doing this girl? ]
[ Fighting it down, he gestures her closer. ] Come here. [ His expression is perfectly unreadable. ]
[She holds the nutcrackers, just a little defensively. A part of her always gets nervous when he goes unreadable, waiting for that moment when he turns. But she steps closer even as she speaks, without any hesitation. Experience tells her to be on her guard, while instinct tells her it'll be okay.]
[ She looks so small and tense as she approaches, like a wary puppy expecting to be kicked. Hei can't blame her, or offer much in the way of verbal reassurance. He's always been an unstable element, and there's no guarantee if that'll improve or deteriorate. No one can anticipate so much as the next minute of the future. Sometimes it's better to track that progress organically. ]
[ There's nothing suggestive in his expression. No hint, no clue. But in one step he closes the gap between them. His hands fit around her hips, then lower down, sliding over the curve of her rear and deliberately pressing her closer to him. He squeezes for good measure before he dips in for a kiss, openmouthed but slow, because he's in no rush. It's not a seduction, or the first of a series of steps to a selfish goal. He only wants to prove a point. (To himself, to her maybe.) ]
[ When he draws back, his smile is quiet and a little ironic; like he's saying that he doesn't usually do this, he tends to focus on the final objective instead of the extra details, but that doesn't mean it's all there is. ]
Time to eat. [ That's not an innuendo. Letting her go, he crosses over to the table. ]
[Mmm. The kiss is a pleasant almost-surprise: familiar in its heat, and strange in its lack of agenda. She closes her eyes and presses against him, fingers curling into his shirt, still holding the nutcrackers.
He pulls back and she answers his smile with a little one of her own. It could easily be mistaken as adoring, except there's too much history between them for that. Rather, it's simple pleasure -- guileless and unrestrained, if still a little shy. It's a moment before she follows him to the table. She sits across from him, cheeks warm and lips tingling, and reaches immediately for the seaweed stew. That main lobster looks good, but it's hardly the main event for her.]
[ Her smile is almost pure Korra -- that element of almost giddy sparkle she sometimes has. (In another life, this is where he'd known he was doing his job right, that he was on schedule, that he'd have the info or goods soon.) Slipping into the chair opposite, Hei surveys the spread and picks up a spoon. Far from watching her, he only takes her in in little glimpses. His whole manner is contained, reflective. ]
[ (It's too much like when he'd fix meals for Pai, watching her take a first bite with a suspense worthy of a Grand National.) ]
[ He sips the stew noiselessly from the side of the spoon, never clinking it against the bowl. Tries not to read her face by trained habit, or to second-guess what's going through her mind. In his case, his thoughts are all so disparate, that he doesn't know what mood to settle on. Instead he finishes the soup, with a methodical silence, but with barely a pause, until there's nothing left. Finally, he cracks open the lobster in a veil of steam. Separating the meat from the shell, cracking joints, feels almost like a dissection. Or dismembering a body to disperse the evidence. ]
[ (Abruptly, he thinks it's a miracle none of the food tastes like blood, after what his fingers have done.) ]
[Yeah, the soup is definitely not as good as her mom's recipe, but you can't beat Water Tribe food as cooked by a Water Tribe native. She finishes the bowl quickly and burps with satisfaction before moving on to the lobster. She cracks it open, hissing a little in pain as her fingers are hit with hot steam, but it doesn't slow her down. She chomps down merrily and, while not excessively sloppy, with no concern for mess.]
This is really good.
[The quality of his silence is a little unsettling, but it's easy enough to ignore anxiety in favor of food.]
Hm...? [ Hei glances up as if startled out of a reverie. The red of the lobster against the whiteness of the plate is too dark to be blood, but there's still a strange feeling as he forces his thoughts to settle, like tumblers clinking into place inside a lock. (Damage control inside your own mind is never an easy job, but he's learnt to be quick about it.) Instead of answering right away, he focuses on her hands. Strong fingers, solid joints, nothing like Pai's dainty-looking fingers. ]
[ It's not a disappointment but a relief. ]
There's three more dishes I ended up basing off the recipe. I'll show you sometime. [ It's a sincere offer, for what it's worth. It's surreal, this kind of domesticity, a pantomime that Hei's only ever done when he was ordered to. But he's good at adjusting. (He just can't see himself wanting this, nice as it is. Not in a permanent sense. A life without danger and adrenaline is never a life he can visualize living, because that's all he knows.) ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ 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?
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
It wasn't like that. [The lack of conviction is obvious. She shakes her head.] I had a lot I needed to learn.
no subject
[ After all, there's protecting a child. And then there's the value of the hard truth about life. ]
no subject
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!
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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]
no subject
[ Wordlessly, he gestures for her to sit if she wants. Picks up a book of crossword puzzles lying amid a heap of takeout menus and keychains, halfway completed. It's a thing, don't ask. Used to be he'd never had time for more than one puzzle; nowadays, he can work as many out at his leisure. It helps to keep exercising his brain, which seems clouded by a soporific mist in the City. It's not that he misses the mind-games and paranoia; he doesn't. But he's not cut out for stagnation either. ]
There's fresh juice in the fridge. If you want any. [ A semi-polite nothing, as he taps a pen on the leg of his jeans, poring at the crossword. What's the eleven-letter word for 'Possessed of two conflicting natures'? Hmm. ]
no subject
This is weird. This is really weird. She sips her juice and idly peeks through the takeout menus, but even after eight months in the City, she doesn't understand more than a few words of the English characters. She peeks at Hei, tempted to use this opportunity to just look at him, but she doesn't want to be caught staring. She glances over at the pots, considers going back to visit Imugi, and then looks back at Hei.]
What's that?
no subject
[ The incongruity of the moment doesn't escape him. He can practically see Korra's thoughts looming over her head like word balloons. If she was a mark, he'd try to weave a warm atmosphere conducive to conversation. But she's not, so he can't be bothered. It's not indifference; it's relief. There's no pressured performance here. After all, it's not often Hei allows himself moments of relaxing, if you can call it that. He rarely does this with others, except maybe Yin. Doesn't particularly like revealing to most people that he has a personality at all. ]
[ Korra though, despite being from a different homeworld, brims with slivers of normalcy. It's easy to accommodate her -- there's no mind-games -- so Hei lowers the iron curtains a few degrees. It's his definition of kindness. Sort of. ]
The last place I stayed in [ never Lived ] had a store nearby that sold Hanjie. Nonograms. I'd finish at least one on the subway ride to jobs [ various jobs for various undercover assignments ] downtown.
no subject
She finishes off her juice and covers the empty glass with her hands so she can rest her chin on it. She doesn't resent the quiet, but it pokes little holes in her defenses, making openings for thoughts to swirl in. The lobster, Chekov, the ghouls, dying... One or even two alone she could process, but altogether? She doesn't even know where to begin.
After a moment, she stands up and goes to peek at the pots, just for something to do.]
no subject
[ After a few moments, he finishes his crossword. There's only one space empty: that damn eleven-letter word for a 'conflicted nature.' He parses through his memory for suitable words, his gaze flicking to the clock. How long's it been? Thirty minutes at least. As the pots steam and rattle, the proper word slips into place -- Diophysitic. He fills it in, tosses the crossword on the corner table and, after a beat, throws his pen in too. There's a chipped mug filled with stationary -- his pen arcs in the air and neatly lands inside with a clink. ]
[ Rising, Hei makes his way to the stove. ] I think it's all done. [ About time. He's getting hungry. ]
no subject
It smells great.
no subject
[ He removes the lobsters -- bright-red and piping-hot -- from the pot with tongs, setting them in a plate to drain and cool. The pears, wine-steeped, are poured into a glass tray with the syrup, then tucked into the freezer to cool down. Last, he ladles the stew out into a bowl. ]
[ Turning to Korra, Hei says, ] Get a pair of nutcrackers from the cabinet. I'll set the table. [ He tries not to look at her like he's sizing up the last entree on the menu. (He's accustomed, from prior experiences, to expecting sex in exchange for time spent or meals prepared. This strangely decorous pace between them feels outdated. Weird. Usually he goes for the jugular right off.) ]
no subject
[She catches a hint of what he's thinking in his eyes and is glad for the excuse to turn away -- as pleasant as the warm flush is. (She still feels self-conscious about the glares she got from the neighbors, not to mention that creepy leering kid.)
She digs around in the cabinet for the nutcrackers.]
Are these it?
no subject
[ Turning, he burrows into the cabinets for the crockery. Meticulously sets the dishes and silverware at the table, then arranges the lobsters on a platter, carrying them over with the stew and the buttery dip-sauce. It hardly classifies as a romantic setting. It's the middle of the day, no champagne, no candles, and Hei is likely going to ignore the flatware and start ripping the lobster shells apart with his hands, soon enough. But he's enjoyed himself better than he expected. Not Cloud Nine levels of fun -- he's never been capable of that. But it's nice. More than he wanted it to be. ]
[ A sudden chill cuts through Hei, reviving old memories and doubts. He glances over at Korra, thinking, What am I doing this girl? ]
[ Fighting it down, he gestures her closer. ] Come here. [ His expression is perfectly unreadable. ]
no subject
[She holds the nutcrackers, just a little defensively. A part of her always gets nervous when he goes unreadable, waiting for that moment when he turns. But she steps closer even as she speaks, without any hesitation. Experience tells her to be on her guard, while instinct tells her it'll be okay.]
no subject
[ There's nothing suggestive in his expression. No hint, no clue. But in one step he closes the gap between them. His hands fit around her hips, then lower down, sliding over the curve of her rear and deliberately pressing her closer to him. He squeezes for good measure before he dips in for a kiss, openmouthed but slow, because he's in no rush. It's not a seduction, or the first of a series of steps to a selfish goal. He only wants to prove a point. (To himself, to her maybe.) ]
[ When he draws back, his smile is quiet and a little ironic; like he's saying that he doesn't usually do this, he tends to focus on the final objective instead of the extra details, but that doesn't mean it's all there is. ]
Time to eat. [ That's not an innuendo. Letting her go, he crosses over to the table. ]
no subject
He pulls back and she answers his smile with a little one of her own. It could easily be mistaken as adoring, except there's too much history between them for that. Rather, it's simple pleasure -- guileless and unrestrained, if still a little shy. It's a moment before she follows him to the table. She sits across from him, cheeks warm and lips tingling, and reaches immediately for the seaweed stew. That main lobster looks good, but it's hardly the main event for her.]
no subject
[ (It's too much like when he'd fix meals for Pai, watching her take a first bite with a suspense worthy of a Grand National.) ]
[ He sips the stew noiselessly from the side of the spoon, never clinking it against the bowl. Tries not to read her face by trained habit, or to second-guess what's going through her mind. In his case, his thoughts are all so disparate, that he doesn't know what mood to settle on. Instead he finishes the soup, with a methodical silence, but with barely a pause, until there's nothing left. Finally, he cracks open the lobster in a veil of steam. Separating the meat from the shell, cracking joints, feels almost like a dissection. Or dismembering a body to disperse the evidence. ]
[ (Abruptly, he thinks it's a miracle none of the food tastes like blood, after what his fingers have done.) ]
no subject
This is really good.
[The quality of his silence is a little unsettling, but it's easy enough to ignore anxiety in favor of food.]
no subject
[ It's not a disappointment but a relief. ]
There's three more dishes I ended up basing off the recipe. I'll show you sometime. [ It's a sincere offer, for what it's worth. It's surreal, this kind of domesticity, a pantomime that Hei's only ever done when he was ordered to. But he's good at adjusting. (He just can't see himself wanting this, nice as it is. Not in a permanent sense. A life without danger and adrenaline is never a life he can visualize living, because that's all he knows.) ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)