[ Perhaps, a year ago, Hei would've disagreed. Korra -- the original, shiny, sweet-seventeen Korra with the bouncy stride and bright eyes -- is tinted in primary colors in his memory, and would've stood out fantastically brightly in the Underground's murk. A walking bullseye. She's changed so much since then. At least on the surface. Atrophied by bitterness and disappointment -- but at her core, still glowing. Hei keeps his fingers laced with hers, his thumb finding her palm and pressing there as if imparting a secret. Around them, the street is sinking into blue; and into dark grey. The lanes are shadowed now as they drift past the bustling market, steeping slowly in the dark, nearing the pitch blackness of night. The streetlamps are floating, glowing circles on either side of them. ]
[ To Korra's question, he says, ]
The gangs have short memories. Especially with internal conflicts to focus on.
[ By now, the incongruous tale of the Baby Ballbuster is a distant memory here. Drifting through a warren of streets, he leads her to a soot-faced apartment. The area reminds him vaguely of Sengoku, near the remnants of old Tokyo, what the natives had called Shitamachi -- the downtown. The area has the same antique feel to it -- the cracked pavements, the buildings set out like crumbling but sturdy cakes. He leads Korra up a dark, damp-smelling staircase, to a corridor smelling of mildew and profound ennui. The door seems to sag in its warped frame -- but that's utterly deceptive. Everything on the other side is armoured and sealed tight. ]
[ Gesturing to an electronic slot, he says to Korra, ] Try your key out.
no subject
[ To Korra's question, he says, ]
The gangs have short memories. Especially with internal conflicts to focus on.
[ By now, the incongruous tale of the Baby Ballbuster is a distant memory here. Drifting through a warren of streets, he leads her to a soot-faced apartment. The area reminds him vaguely of Sengoku, near the remnants of old Tokyo, what the natives had called Shitamachi -- the downtown. The area has the same antique feel to it -- the cracked pavements, the buildings set out like crumbling but sturdy cakes. He leads Korra up a dark, damp-smelling staircase, to a corridor smelling of mildew and profound ennui. The door seems to sag in its warped frame -- but that's utterly deceptive. Everything on the other side is armoured and sealed tight. ]
[ Gesturing to an electronic slot, he says to Korra, ] Try your key out.