[ 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.) ]
[She tilts her head a little when he fails to respond right away; he's usually so hyper-aware of everything that it's strange to see him lost in thought. (At least she's not naked this time.) She'd ask if he's okay, but she's learning to pick her battles with him. Her mild curiosity isn't worth risking his almost inevitable testiness at being questioned.]
[ By degrees the faint downtug at his mouth fades, and he manages to quirk a smile. Quietly, he concentrates on his plate, cracking open the lobster part by part and scooping out the meat. He's never been one to fill silences; the atmosphere between him and Korra isn't perfectly companionable, but it's less dire than other silences he's experienced in the past. At least there's food to buffer the disquiet. Count your blessings etc. ]
[ Spearing the last bit of meat on his plate, Hei offers it to her silently. The metallic tines of the fork and the buttery meat catch the sunlight -- silver and white. ]
[Korra is wiping off her fingers after finishing off her lobster (her appetite seems to be back with a vengeance after a week of not wanting to eat), and glances at the fork before looking up at him with a wry grin.]
Feeding your pet catowl again?
[But she leans over and takes the last bite. Hey, if he's gonna offer...]
Easier on the eyes than the iguana, [ Hei responds, with a mild sort of shrug. He watches as she opens her lips and daintily accepts the tidbit. The motion of her tongue and teeth resonate through the metal. ]
[ How sad. He's almost jealous of the fork. ]
[ The poached pears in the fridge don't interest him as much as her mouth does. Nonetheless he pushes his empty plate aside and rises, crossing over to take the dessert out. He pours the thick syrup into two bowls like a small pool of red, topping it off with the pears. Carries them back to the table and reclaims his seat. ]
You could eat that with a scoop of gelato. [ he says, handing her the dessert with a spoon, ] But I doubt you'd like it any better than regular ice cream.
[If given a choice between the pears and other activities, Korra herself would choose the other activities, but she accepts the dessert happily enough. She doesn't have anywhere else she needs to be.]
Ice cream's not bad. I like red bean ice cream.
[She digs into the pear with her spoon and takes a bite. It's a stronger flavor than she'd been expecting, but really good.]
Next time [ If there is a next time ] I'll show you how to make a red bean ice. It barely takes twenty minutes to whip up. [ And a good three hours to freeze. He can compose a list of things he'd do with her for three hours. And no, they don't involve cooking. He cuts and skates a slice of pear around on the plate, bringing it to his mouth. It's cooked to the cool consistency of velvet pudding; he chews thoughtfully, his attention shifting to the slow-darkening sunlight slanting from the window, motes dancing in the warmth of it. ]
[ In his relative ease of being around this girl, it's easy to forget his own disjointed life. To imagine his dots are all connected. Cohesive. Except there's not a fraction of cohesion in this damn City, much less within Hei. The thing he's restarted between them won't lie smooth in his mind, no matter how he pummels it into rational adequacy. It makes him feel like he's running up a big debt on a Syndicate platinum card. Sooner or later -- sooner -- he'll have to work and work to pay it back. ]
[ Which is why it's better to stay in the moment. ]
[ In the clear late-morning light Korra is so distinct. He doesn't take his eyes off her the entire time he finishes the pear; even in the moments where he's apparently absorbed in his plate. He wonders, idly, if his scrutiny bothers her. Or, more obviously, his ponderous silence. ]
[The scrutiny does bother her, and the silence. She can't tell what's going on in his head; he's moving so quickly between open and closed. Is there something on her face? Is he plotting the dirty things they can do together? How best to kill her? Or is he lost in that place in his mind?
She tries really, really hard to let it go. No pushing. He hates being questioned. Whatever's going on in his head is his business.
But. Seriously. What is going on? By the time she finishes her pear, she can't take it anymore. She sets her spoon down in the empty plate, a bit more emphatically than necessary.]
[ Hei blinks once, twice, and the look on his face isn't startled -- just perfectly blank. When he sets down his spoon, it's the only gesture that acknowledges that he's even heard her. ] It's nothing. I -- [ He chews the inside of his mouth, the silence heavier than usual. His knee-jerk reaction is to brush her off. There's a wealth of things he could say but can't. The clarity, the numb distance that frames his existence, fades when Korra is close. Except he needs that, like an inexorable drug, to help him continue, from one day to the next, without his mind collapsing. It's how he's survived so far, and he's made his peace with it, because he doesn't know anything else and even if he tried there's too many ragged edges in his personality to fit permanently with normal people. ]
[ The finiteness to this entire arrangement of theirs is inevitable. He knows that. But it makes him wistful -- and that's always dangerous. ]
It's nothing, [ he repeats eventually, mouth twitching in an almost-smile. ] I just start gathering wool when I'm too relaxed. [ It's not glum or self-pitying, it just is. ]
[ Hei bites back a hundred rejoinders, from the cold to the dismissive, and settles on a single shake of the head. She's being the kind of pushy that usually pisses him off. It's an effort not to bite her head off. Instead he scrubs a palm across the back of his neck, his expression a particular kind of flatline that says he's not sure how to respond. He's used to being a liar. It's easier that way, when you have no idea how to be yourself. ]
[ But if there's anything he's imbibed from the past few months in the City, it's how to interact with people as people. Or try to, at least. Give her something. A crumb. A detail. He's not sure if he's compromising or rationalizing. And that bothers him. ]
It's not your face. It's just. You keep reminding me of something. [ Not someone. Because yes, the resemblance to Pai is unavoidable. But mostly it's that vibe about Korra. A simplicity that he's been trained to view as deception. ] And that comes with little gusts of being happy and sad at the same time.
[ And resentful. And bitter. And dubious. How is it so easy for her, easy to feel, easy to ask? When for him ... His head starts pounding. This is why it will always be wrong between them, he'll always be wrong, strange and adrift, because being what he is has gutted him. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ 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. ]
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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?
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[ 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.
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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.]
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[ 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. ]
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It smells great.
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[ 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.) ]
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[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?
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[ 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. ]
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[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.]
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[ 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. ]
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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.]
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[ (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.) ]
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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.]
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[ 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.) ]
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I'd like that. Thanks.
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[ Spearing the last bit of meat on his plate, Hei offers it to her silently. The metallic tines of the fork and the buttery meat catch the sunlight -- silver and white. ]
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Feeding your pet catowl again?
[But she leans over and takes the last bite. Hey, if he's gonna offer...]
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[ How sad. He's almost jealous of the fork. ]
[ The poached pears in the fridge don't interest him as much as her mouth does. Nonetheless he pushes his empty plate aside and rises, crossing over to take the dessert out. He pours the thick syrup into two bowls like a small pool of red, topping it off with the pears. Carries them back to the table and reclaims his seat. ]
You could eat that with a scoop of gelato. [ he says, handing her the dessert with a spoon, ] But I doubt you'd like it any better than regular ice cream.
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Ice cream's not bad. I like red bean ice cream.
[She digs into the pear with her spoon and takes a bite. It's a stronger flavor than she'd been expecting, but really good.]
This is perfect the way it is.
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[ In his relative ease of being around this girl, it's easy to forget his own disjointed life. To imagine his dots are all connected. Cohesive. Except there's not a fraction of cohesion in this damn City, much less within Hei. The thing he's restarted between them won't lie smooth in his mind, no matter how he pummels it into rational adequacy. It makes him feel like he's running up a big debt on a Syndicate platinum card. Sooner or later -- sooner -- he'll have to work and work to pay it back. ]
[ Which is why it's better to stay in the moment. ]
[ In the clear late-morning light Korra is so distinct. He doesn't take his eyes off her the entire time he finishes the pear; even in the moments where he's apparently absorbed in his plate. He wonders, idly, if his scrutiny bothers her. Or, more obviously, his ponderous silence. ]
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[The scrutiny does bother her, and the silence. She can't tell what's going on in his head; he's moving so quickly between open and closed. Is there something on her face? Is he plotting the dirty things they can do together? How best to kill her? Or is he lost in that place in his mind?
She tries really, really hard to let it go. No pushing. He hates being questioned. Whatever's going on in his head is his business.
But. Seriously. What is going on? By the time she finishes her pear, she can't take it anymore. She sets her spoon down in the empty plate, a bit more emphatically than necessary.]
Okay, what's going on?
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[ The finiteness to this entire arrangement of theirs is inevitable. He knows that. But it makes him wistful -- and that's always dangerous. ]
It's nothing, [ he repeats eventually, mouth twitching in an almost-smile. ] I just start gathering wool when I'm too relaxed. [ It's not glum or self-pitying, it just is. ]
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Gathering wool? [What a weird way to phrase things.] On my face?
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[ But if there's anything he's imbibed from the past few months in the City, it's how to interact with people as people. Or try to, at least. Give her something. A crumb. A detail. He's not sure if he's compromising or rationalizing. And that bothers him. ]
It's not your face. It's just. You keep reminding me of something. [ Not someone. Because yes, the resemblance to Pai is unavoidable. But mostly it's that vibe about Korra. A simplicity that he's been trained to view as deception. ] And that comes with little gusts of being happy and sad at the same time.
[ And resentful. And bitter. And dubious. How is it so easy for her, easy to feel, easy to ask? When for him ... His head starts pounding. This is why it will always be wrong between them, he'll always be wrong, strange and adrift, because being what he is has gutted him. ]
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