poly_chromatic | ♦♦ 35TH CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT - Slightly Forwarded to before the 27th

Entry tags:

darker than black - hei

♦♦ 35TH CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT - Slightly Forwarded to before the 27th

It was
a pleasure
to burn

[ A mockery? A salutation? A farewell? Perhaps all three. ]

[ Or perhaps, completely separately, it works for Hei as a statement about his time in the City -- and how he's lived it. He hasn't always embraced it. More often than not, he's been measured and withdrawn. But strangely enough, he's not proud of those times when he's guarded himself against experience. Because although being measured was the rational decision, it was never a pleasure. The times here when he's had the courage to give of himself and experience something without the obstruction of barbed wire and concrete walls has, literally, been like 'burning.' It hasn't been a pleasure in the simple sense of happiness, but in the greater sense of being memorable, mind-altering. Even transgressive. ]

[ He feels that way now. Like he's coming out of a silent stretch of hibernation -- months, years, of being measured, of keeping himself apart. ]

[ Maybe he wants to 'burn' again. ]

[ (Or maybe you're all reading too deeply into it. Maybe he's obliquely advising his teammates on what to do with his body if he accidentally dies during the hullabaloo here.) ]

[ (Don't bury him.) ]

[ ooc: post to tie up loose ends with cr, mostly. Open to action if you want to run into him wherever<3 ]

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[ Exhaustion has worn Hei down into sincerity. Or at least a semblance of it. At Yin's message, something in his chest cracks, full of a sudden bright, aching homeness. Not happiness -- but a calm, purposeful wrench of gravity. When you decide, she says, as if she has no say in it. Isn't entitled. Except she is. He would sacrifice everything -- including his peace of mind -- to keep Yin safe. ]

[ When he speaks, his voice is quiet, fray-edged, but calm. ]

It's your choice too, Yin. You know that.

[It's not that she thinks she has no say, but that Yin has already made her choice, and there is no other one to make, or any need to consider it further.]

This time, you decide. [To her, it only seemed fair that Hei lead this. She didn't have a preference where she returned to, whether it be home, or somewhere new. As long as Hei was there. Preferably Mao, too, but she wouldn't force the cat-Contractor to do anything.]

My choice is to follow you, no matter where you go.

[ At her words, a sense of deja vu ripples through him. There's a pressure somewhere inside his ribcage -- gratitude and responsibility in equal parts. Gratitude because it's miraculous, the kind of quiet belief battening him down against the wild gusts of his self-doubt. Responsibility, because he doesn't want to be parted from Yin, but he can't take her back to their homeworld, either. That's as good as signing her death-warrant. ]

[ In every way, her answer redoubles the pressure. Pressure to be rational, but also self-effacing. Pressure to keep her happiness in mind, even if his is easier to ignore. A sleep-deprived headache makes every muscle in his face hurt, to say nothing of the knots of tension at his temples. ]

[ But his voice remains level. ] I'm not planning to leave you. [ There's a flat finality there. A beat, in which he lets his options tick over. Then: ]

Wherever we go ... It might be somewhere completely different. But I'll keep you safe, Yin.

[ Not Forever and not Always because that's not how Hei functions. But for as long as there's air in his lungs and that slow-burning will to keep going. ]

[If she had known he would be so concerned about her in the equation of finding a new place, she wouldn't have left the decision solely up to him as she had.]

[Yin has only an inkling of what Hei is taking on when he mentions protecting her. Protect, that's something she wants to do for him someday. If she can. He didn't have to give intangible amounts like forever, just the he said it at all means something to her. He does it, and that's more than she would ever ask for.]

[But now she needs to make certain their feline companion is accounted for.]

Mao would prefer going with us.

I know.

[ Somehow, the weight of his two teammates pressing down on his mind, pinning him between his body and the reality of the situation, is terrible, perfect. It keeps him in the moment. It's so strange. In his profession, you don't have comrades. You live your life in extreme isolation. In the end, it's just you and your skills keeping you alive -- or afloat. You don't have friends -- you have allies, cobblers, drug dealers, weapon suppliers, bootleggers and handlers. That's simple and safe; that's something a Contractor can understand, and nothing that can be used to hurt him. Yet the word By yourself has, of late, a bitter tinge to it. (What, he thinks, is the one thing he's always wished he had? Someone who really has his back?) ]

[ Well, how are you going to get that if you reflexively push away people because you're terrified of trusting them? ]

[ He stays quiet, breathing in the newness of things, feeling both disoriented but calmer at the knowledge that one thing is absolute. The team stays together. And because they do, there's no chance of him returning home. (He should ask himself if he is a worse kind of coward than the sort who runs from danger. But it's not so simple. It's one thing to turn your back on a fight. It's another to drag people you care about into that mess too.) ]

There's no reason the three of us should split up. Especially if we're going somewhere completely new.

[ So please don't worry. You're in safe hands. He doesn't say it. But it's implicit in his tone. ]

[She was never worried. Not before, and not now, having trusted Hei would talk to her when he knew where he wanted to go. And if they're not going home, then his profession and the isolation that come with it are no longer a necessity, just a habit.]

[Yin's voice is soft, a little airy. There's no chirp or cheerful tinge, but she might as well be bubbling, for a Doll.]

Agreed.

[And now with it all settled and clear, she'll wait quietly and patiently until Hei tells her just where, even if it's down to the very last second.]

[ He can only hope it becomes a habit, not a necessity. Except Hei is always wary of hope. That word is synonymous with an acknowledged lack of control. Wherever he chooses to go, he needs to ensure that he's at least partly familiar with the sociopolitical climate. The layout. The customs. If need be, a native from that world would be useful. Back with the Syndicate, he'd never liked doing a job in a new place. Not unless he knew how to get in and out undetected, to know what tools he'd need to access his target, to know where he'd stick out and where he'd be able to fade into the background or disappear in a crowd. Tactics like those have kept him alive, and even prosperous, during the decades of doing what he's best at. ]

[ He has no intention of abandoning that operational skill now. Not when there's so much at stake. ]

[ He catches the lilt in Yin's monotone. The sound burns a hot, sweet wave through him. But the rest of his mind is somewhere organized and dark. Parsing out choices. Coming to a decision. ]

[ Finally, his gaze both soft and calm, ]

For someone with our abilities, Korra and Jinora's world is the safest bet. The easiest environment to adapt to. If you're comfortable with that, tell me. If not, I'll find another gate.

[ His feelings for Korra are besides the point. (Love -- or whatever approximation Hei is capable of -- isn't a ring or whispered promises of forever. Love is mounting a defense -- inside and out. To love is to accept the risk of Goodbye.) ]

Edited 2014-03-01 02:40 (UTC)

[Fortunately, this is only audio, as her eyes widen. However, she goes silent for a very long time, and that can't be missed.]

[Hei had told her his emotions wouldn't last past the City, and therefore didn't matter. That ended if he actually went back with Korra to her world, though.]

[Now it's Yin who will say goodbye, just in a different way. She had, after all, told him to go to Korra, given him her well wishes, and if this was a byproduct of her decision, then so be it. They would remain friends, as she intended. She wasn't going to keep Hei from Korra's world, or Korra, not for any reason. Her voice even sounds perfectly neutral when she speaks.]

That's fine.

[ Hei hears the silence, and it's not impossible to pick up the thread of Yin's reluctance. He knows that if he goes to Korra's world, their last conversation will be rendered null and void. He imagines her sitting by her device, her irises lilac-dull. Her face: bright, light, pale as a sprig of frost. Funereal before its time. He wishes they were having this conversation face-to-face. Wishes he knew what to say. Assurances don't come naturally to Hei. There's no reason they should, because half the time he's better with bodies rather than words -- words deceive, but bodies are harder to fool. Except this is Yin She knows how to be without saying anything. ]

[ Quietly, ]

Are you sure? If you want to go somewhere else, you need to tell me.

[ It's not an ultimatum, but it is a choice. That if this isn't what she wants, then he'll understand. ]

I'm sure. [Her response is much quicker this time. And as far as she's concerned, the conversation is over. Still, she stays there until Hei is ready to hang up.]

[ Hei tries to think of something to say -- something gentle, kind, apologetic -- but the words don't make it out his throat. There is, he realizes, nothing that can be said. So instead, seguing into operational efficiency, he orders, ]

Pack whatever essentials you need. We'll leave by midnight.

[ Simple. Cut. Dried. The time for irresolution has passed. ]

[There isn't room left for much else between them at this point.]

Where do we meet?

At the fountain.

[ At beat, in which that cold-water prickle of It's happening; you're leaving soaks through him, and he shakes it off. He'd felt it when they were escaping Tokyo too, his thoughts rattling to and fro like crazed clockwork. The edges of his clarity had blurred then set in harder than ever. It's no different here. ]

[ In a lower tone, almost gentle, he adds, ]

If you have goodbyes to make, do them before then.

[ To anyone else, it would be absurd. Dolls don't say goodbye. Dolls aren't capable of that depth of attachment. (Hei knows better). ]

[She nods on the other end, then remembers it's only audio.]

Goodbye.

[She'll be there, with Mao in tow, and her gifts, the ones she can carry. She'll miss the piano, but can live without it. It's Hei she's attached to. More than she should be. More than a Doll can understand.]

[Click.]

[ He can get her another piano -- or an approximation of it -- in Korra's world. Things are easily replaceable. So are people. But a miraculous few aren't -- a lesson that's taken him entirely too long to grasp. Now that he does, he'll do what it takes to keep those he values safe from danger. And in their homeworld, the very air is shot through with danger, bright and dark and juicy-bitter as the toxins in nightshade. Better for all of them, to stay away. ]

[ He listens to the crackle of static a moment, as if it will reveal some shimmering emotional signature. But there's nothing there. Nothing to do but move on. ]

[ So that's what he does. ]

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♦♦ 35TH CONTRACT - ANONYMOUS TEXT - Slightly Forwarded to before the 27th

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