poly_chromatic | ♦♦ 32ND CONTRACT

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darker than black - hei

♦♦ 32ND CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT/ACTION

Oh perfect. A light show. Just what's needed after a month of witches and possessed goats. Sure, everything seems mellow now. No zombies or general epidemics. But distractions are just that. Distractions. No amount of Burning Man rituals and fireworks take away from the fact that everyone is still stuck here. That's not exactly something worth celebrating. Still, it could be worse. Pai could be gone. I could be back home. This 'perpetual darkness' theme could last more than 24 hours. Then there'd be no end to the belly-aching. Of course that's a mixed blessing. Some of you are only tolerable in the pitch dark.Options For Run-Ins:

Cafe: You'll find him behind the display case, sliding in a fresh tray of pinwheel cookies, a sprinkling of flour on his nose. Canapes, bonfire toffee, sausage roll-ups, sticky chocolate pudding, baked apples with cinnamon ... It's like he's trying to kill the City with saccharin-induced diabetes. Maybe he is.

Hey. At least it's a tasty way to go.

Xanadu: Crunching on a toffee-apple, he drifts through the park. Watching, not the brilliant displays in the dark sky, but his periphery. He's still in the habit of thinking operationally, and is as matter-of-fact about it as he is effective. But that doesn't mean he can't stop, for a moment, to listen to the crack-snap-pop of sparklers, or watch the glittering streaks of color exploding like supernovas above.

Anywhere Else: The dark is his element, and he utilizes the opportunity to explore. He stops by the City's outskirts, looking out at the sweep of the lakes, the glittering buildings, the glittering fireworks blossoming in the sky. Festivities seem to be dwindling, and who could've anticipated that he'd feel so rueful about that. Then again, all tonight is, is a lull, before some new curse threatens to snatch everything away in one big explosion of chaos. Whatever intervals of quiet he indulges in are irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Still he doesn't mind this pause. It makes things better and worse at the same time -- but sometimes it's necessary too.

[ ooc: Don't be fooled. Despite the general grumpiness, Hei is actually rather enjoying the fireworks. Backtagging friendly forevermore; I'll be very slow this week<3 ]

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[Eight cats means a lot of cat poop. Normally Korra doesn't particularly mind cleaning up after them, but it's kind of hard to do when you can't turn the lights on.]

I'm going to teach you guys to do this outside. This litterbox stuff is stupid.

[ Newsflash. Cats are stupid. ]

[ The City has fallen into a blackout reminiscent of air-raids. Not disconcerting, for Hei, but familiar. He's in his element in the dark. After a long day at the cafe, it's a relief to get back into the street. 'Li's cover feels like swathes of bandages constricting his chest, cruelly tight, the edges digging into old scars on his skin. It isn't until he's breathing fresh air again that he can properly appreciate how restless he's been the whole day. In the nocturnal gloom, the City is a phantasmagoria. There is a brightness everywhere: dark skies alight with fireworks, sparklers flaring in dramatic blinkings of constellations, thousands of candles and glow-lamps, from store windows and houses, illuminating the pavements. ]

[ Slipping his hands into his coat pockets, his shadow stretching distorted and sharp across him, Hei glides through the streets. His route is aimless, untethered, even as his mind is pinned on Pai. How to help her. How to give her some semblance of purpose in this dreary waystation. Except she's a Contractor. Ordinary people might succumb to the comforting trap of illusion. But not her. ]

[ He doesn't notice when his footsteps switch from concrete to grainy sand. It's only when he hears Korra's voice, in the distance, does he realize he's drifted to the Beach House. ]

Edited 2013-11-07 01:02 (UTC)

[Newsflash: Your face is stupid.

Korra's not actually that much of a cat person, except in that she is extremely fond of all creatures fuzzy and non-talkative. Still, she prefers her companions a little less aloof and a little more able to handle their own excrement.

...or, at the very least, able to handle their own excrement.

She finally finishes emptying the last of the litterboxes, and takes the trashbag outside. She sets it down with the rest of the garbage and freezes as she hears movement in the sand.]

Hei?

[It has to be him. At least, she hopes it's him. The only other visitor she ever gets is Chekov, and he would've shouted hello already.]

[ Not as stupid as your mom. ]

[ At the sound of his name, Hei seems to materialize out of shadows, both palms held up, glowing in the pale starlight. A sign that he's unarmed, and a gesture for Korra to relax. On a tactical level, he's already sweeping the area for Naga. He doesn't fancy being ambushed by a mass of white fur and snapping fangs, if he makes the wrong move. He stops at an angle from Korra, surveying her thoughtfully, his mouth a faint quirk. She makes a nice picture, standing there framed by the Beach House, with her windswept hair and big eyes, the seashore frothing away behind her shoulder. Very postcard-esque, somehow, in a way which is both strange and endearing. ]

You should get a security system for this place.

[ That's a Hello in any other language. ]

[Bitch you did not just talk shit about her mom. THEM'S FIGHTING WORDS.

She rolls her eyes a little at him and dumps the trash down.] My security system is currently herding some very frightened sheep. [When the fireworks first started, the sheep had practically run into the sea. She'd told Naga to herd them into the forest where hopefully it would be a little more quiet, and make sure they didn't get attacked by predators.]

What brings you all the way out here?

[ Heh heh heh. He knows. ]

[ She really shouldn't be relying on just Naga to keep the place safe. There are additional layers that can insulate the Beach House from intruders. Magical wards from the Underground. Alarm systems. Electric eyes and motion detectors. Not enough to fence off the creeping tendrils of a curse. But certainly good enough to circumvent low-level threats. Maybe he'll bring the subject up -- but another time. For now, he blinks at her question, slipping his hands into his pockets and curling the fingers into his palm. His face feels curiously warm, a little like he's been drinking. But looking straight into the blinding force of Korra's ridiculous, guileless expression, he's surprised by his own frankness, ]

I wanted to see you.

[ Perhaps subconsciously, if not deliberately. ]

Seriously? [She looks at him incredulously. Not at the fact that he'd want to see her -- her self-esteem is hardly that low -- but at the fact that he'd cop up to it. Emotional statements aren't something Hei does without some kind of screaming argument and violence (or the threat thereof).]

[ Why, Hei wonders, is he always attracted to women who make him curdle inside? At her Seriously, his expression shifts, tetchy. Parts he prefers to keep hidden feel exposed. Rubbed raw. Around them, the vista seems to be growing darker and darker, and Hei watches their lengthening shadows slip before them -- his longer and with the sharp angle of his collar clearly outlined; Korra's curvier and with her torso padded out -- both stretched out on the sand. Giving free reign to your emotions is an honest way to live, as the saying goes. What it fails to mention is the surface of your brain feeling like a missle crisis, or the knee-jerk springs in your muscles ordering you to Run. ]

[ A little irritably, he says, ]

Is that so hard to believe?

[ Of course it is. He knows that better than anyone. ]

No. Just never thought I'd hear you say it. [She shrugs a little awkwardly. His irritation registers with her, but it doesn't worry her. (Growing confidence, or growing depression? It's hard to tell.)]

Do you wanna come inside?

[ He does a doubletake; just a small, subtle one. Then he shakes his head ruefully -- not at her question but the Never thought I'd hear you say it. Her words come with a heavy dose of futility but no surprise. There's no circumlocution he can come up with to best describe this business between them. Theirs is an affair of expediency. He's just lucky to have found someone like Korra -- who's either too naive or too stubborn or too chock full of self-doubt to run the other direction, far away from him. Duress, that's what has done it in the end. He's long since given up on relying on good sense or willpower where Korra's concerned. After all, neither has proven themselves exactly trustworthy of late. ]

[ He thrusts his hands awkwardly deeper in his pockets, looking like he wants to avert his eyes from the spectacle of Korra's disbelief. But he doesn't. There's a fraction of a pause, before he says, ]

I'm not staying long.

[ It's not No thanks, but it's not Yeah, okay either. As it is, he can feel something flickering to life inside his head with industrial buzzes and clatters. A light that leaves him half-blinded; that makes his skin itch. ]

You never do. [Dry rather than bitter. Korra heads up the steps, not bothering to check and see if he's following her.

Of course, she had forgotten how dark it is inside without lights. Some of the starlight filters in through the windows, but not a lot. Fortunately, there isn't much furniture on the first level -- the training level -- to trip on. There are, however, as previously established, cats.]

Or we could stay outside.

[ Hei's mouth quirks, just a tad. In the distance, the floating, crackling pools of fireworks are becoming less and less numerous, a dark silence seeming to settle over everything. It's nothing like the dark in Heaven's War, which blanketed the horizon and seeped in claustrophobically over the hills, laying its cheek on the grass. This was hushed, stifled, wary -- as if the City is holding its breath. Shaking it off, Hei settles on the porch. Except for Korra, the house feels hollow, even with the animals shuffling indoors. There seems to be no sound at all except the distant waves and the far-off crack-crack-crack of firecrackers, and the giant leaves of the palm trees tossing in the breeze. ]

[ Reaching out, he curls his fingers around her wrist, drawing her to sit next to him. His gaze is shaded; he wonders if he should pass an arm around her, or leave her be. Glances at Korra, and decides to go for Option A, because there's no need to choreograph body-language, no hidden threats or messages in each touch of skin on skin. It's enough to sit beside her, to gather her in, to not a concede to meticulously-planned schemes of what he's supposed to do -- (lie, manipulate, mislead, prevaricate) -- as opposed to what he wants to do. (Nothing but enjoy her pressed against him for one brief, gloriously pointless moment.) ]

[This is getting weirder and weirder. A distant part of her wonders where all this almost-affection is coming from; she can count on one hand the times he's just held her, and they've all involved some deep emotional trauma. He's just not an expressive person.

But she's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. She leans into him, enjoying his warmth and the simplicity of the moment. Everything's been so crazy and complicated and painful recently; it's nice to have at least a few heartbeats of simple pleasure. To that end, she doesn't say a word. Why risk ruining it?]

[ Hei can feel the uncertainty pouring off her in tiny ripples. Part of him thinks: he must be half-dead, or half-monster, if his sincerity can be so opaque to Korra. He must already have lost his humanity. It must be true -- there's nothing generous about this tenderness, after all. It's sincere, sure. But it's all for him. All because his memories of that killing-spree in October, his worries for Pai, are digging gritty graves in his psyche. He can't turn to bottles full of battery acid for quiet; can't exorcise the knowledge with fights and workouts and experiments with blades on the fleshy whiteboard of new victims. This is the closest, most effective alleviation. Tactile reassurance. ]

[ Even now, you're putting her to use. ]

[ The thought blossoms in Hei's brain and he stuffs it impatiently back into its box. Still, the sensation of having Korra so close gives off a kind of warmth somewhere. He cherishes it with a slightly confused smugness. He doesn't understand it, except for a quiet triumph that there's no darker agenda behind this. Fine, so it's all for him. But there are few things in his life that he can say that about. ]

[ Quietly, ]

How are you holding up?

[ It's pitched in the same tone he uses for Status report? But the interest -- clear-eyed, calm -- is apparent. ]

Fine. [She shrugs a little. She's settled in pretty well to this new pattern of living. It's not like she was a hugely social person to begin with. And Naga doesn't seem particularly traumatized by being the walking dead, so there's that.] You?

[ A shrug in return. Part It doesn't matter, part Nothing of interest to share. He can't tell her about Pai. About the dark seepage of her unhappiness is weighing his mind down -- a symbol of personal failure. Instead he loops both arms around Korra, carefully. It's the kind of deliberation he reserves for dangerous chemicals, or priceless weaponry found in a the stripped-bare char of a war-zone. Something that can kill you, if mishandled, but the possession of which gives you a secret, selfish happiness. Because it's something you never expected to get your hands on. Because it suffuses you with a ferocious promise that you'll live longer, even if by a day or a month. (Even if that promise is either real or imagined. ]

[ Bowing his head against her hair, he murmurs, ]

You can drop by if you need anything, you know.

[ He doesn't sound like he's offering anything. More like he's confirming something he knows inside out, something he's only mentioned for conversation's sake. ]

[She shivers, feeling his words against her skin.]

Hn. [She leans in and wraps her arms around him, a silent thank you.]

[ If the City's been holding its breath before, by now it seems to have come to the point of unconsciousness. The black is thick, pressing, totally alien to the dull rumble and shimmer of fireworks which still perseveres, the hum of far-off crowds and festivals ghostly in the deep dark. But that's not what he focuses on. There's a flare of surprise when Korra hugs him back, but it doesn't last; his breathing is slow and measured and he's comfortable in a way he can't quite explain. It can't always be like this, he knows, but it's nice to have it while it lasts. ]

[ There's a moment's consideration, before he cups her cheek with his hand and kisses her. Not careful but certain, eyes only half-shuttered. It really makes no difference to the darkness. Surreal, to be this close to someone. Surreal, to be so glad of it. ]

[Why the surprise? Korra's always been affectionate, always been tactile. Hugs are one of the few things that have never gone wrong between them. She likes the solidity of an embrace, maybe even more than she likes kisses.

And she likes kisses quite a bit. She hums into his mouth and presses closer. His body is like a furnace, like Naga's had been. As warm as the rest of the animals are, they just can't compare. (Even Naga loses, just a little. Soft fur isn't quite as nice as hot kisses.)]

[ It shouldn't be a surprise. Hei knows that. Yet every time she brushes too close, the sensory shock seems to explode in his brain, whiting out the rational compartments. Leaving him feeling breathless and scattered. Maybe it's because he's too used to distance, as a shield and a weapon. Maybe because spontaneity is too alien to him. Maybe it's because too much honest contact is what secret codes are to spies; a password to unlock dangerous formulas and vulnerabilities. He doesn't know. His head feels juddery and full of lights, like the fireworks blossoming in the sky, and he's irritated with himself for wasting time here. He has things to do. He shouldn't be camped out on Korra's porch, billing and cooing the night away. ]

[ But instead of jerking back, he edges closer. Lets his lips part against Korra's, not gentle or chaste, but not demanding anything either. With his fingertips, he traces her shoulders, the interesting, agreeable shape of her back, how it tapers invitingly to her waist. Thick. Is she thick? Hei isn't sure. Maybe a little, yeah. There is a stunning solidity to her. A refusal to be anywhere but where she is. She fills her clothes smoothly and efficiently and kisses and fights and fucks the same way. Strong and sweetly unstrained. ]

[ Breaking away, he nudges his nose lightly against hers, ]

You want to go back inside?

[ Because Are you cold? seems too fussily, pathetically cosseting. ]

[There's needy intake of air, just short of a gasp, when he pulls back.]

I thought you weren't staying long. [She slips her cold fingers beneath the waistband of his pants to warm them up. Wryness aside, the answer to both the spoken and unspoken questions is Yes.]

I'm not. [ Her fingers worming into his waistband are cool and small and insistent, sending a thousand messages skittering across the surface of his skin. It leaves him with a thirst to feel the heat of her body, its dynamic throb. But he really shouldn't be staying long. Should get up, brush the sand off his clothes, and exit. He kisses her again, as if trying to expel all his impossible wants right out of his mouth and into hers. It doesn't work. Breaking away, he captures her wriggling fingers, popping them out of his waistband. Then can't resist keeping them, like small animals to be gentled, in the clasp of his palm. ]

[ Doesn't pull away, and rests his warm forehead against hers instead. Quietly, (wryly), ]

But that depends on your definition of 'long.'

[ A half-hour? Forty five minutes? He can manage that. ]

Edited 2013-11-08 03:32 (UTC)

Okay then. [Her sense of time is still very broad, measured more in hours than minutes. Quitting the Welcome Center has only made it worse. So who knows how long "long" is to her. She certainly doesn't. Nor does she really care.

She just smiles a little and stands, tugging him up with her. Not quite sure how far they'll make it, between the darkness and the cats and the fact that she'd much rather be kissing him than walking, but whatever.]

[ Hei deals too closely with precision and accuracy -- and their inextricable ties to averting disaster -- to squander time. The absence of its regard -- Korra's carelessness -- makes him wonder just how deeply she's mired in her grief. You only stop looking at the time once it ceases to matter. Once the spaces in between stop presaging a new sequence to your day, and just thicken and stretch and blot out everything else to become your state of being. Hei can't be that way -- not unless he's completely and irrevocably shattered. He has punctuality built into him -- a perfectly calm air of almost military order which people seem to strive for, accented with a cool wariness. ]

[ He wants to say something. Maybe ask how Fine she truly is. ]

[ Instead he kisses her again, a hum of want fizzling just beneath his skin. Lets her tug him to his feet, and indoors. Unable to escape a flash of a disquieting image. Like Korra's luring something outsized and shark-mawed and radiating the red, red stench of blood into her home. Squeezing his eyes shut, he keeps kissing her, hungry and hard. It's pitch-black in the Beach House; he can hear the pets rustling around the corners like mice. But he's familiar enough with the place's layout, via his cameras, to have a general sense of where they're heading. ]

[ At the couch, he tips Korra back, spilling her into it. Comes down on top of her, covering her mouth with his, a dim buzzing light like from an electric lamp shuttering across the inside of his brain. ]

[It's not a grief thing, Hei. Not entirely, anyway. Korra comes from a world largely without clocks -- a world that barely has the concept of a second, much less milliseconds or nanoseconds. It's why she struggled with punctuality when she first started working; not because she didn't take her responsibilities seriously, but because measuring time that precisely was a wholly foreign concept to her. She's adjusted somewhat, but now that she's freed of the obligations that tied her to the clock, she's slipping back to what feels most natural.

She's a little surprised they make it up the stairs to the living room. Maybe they'll make it up to her --

Nope. She tumbles onto the couch, Hei covering her like a blanket and they aren't going anywhere, which is fine by her. She hooks her legs around his waist and wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him even closer.]

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