poly_chromatic | ♦ ♦ 13th Contract

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darker than black - hei

♦ ♦ 13th Contract

[ The weekend has come and gone. ]

[ Familiar faces have come and gone with it, leaving him feeling like an animal who's been taunted through the bars of a cage. Ugly memories, dormant for so long he expected to be free of them, emerge now as if risen from the dead. Horrors worse than what lurk in a crate of vodka have his head pounding -- tick tick tick like the City Clock. Like a time-bomb. Sometimes he sees Amber, free-floating, whispering riddles in his ears. Sometimes it's Yin, watching him with blank eyes and a sad not-smile. Pai is almost always closeby: never quite visible, calling out to him from behind a spray of blood. ]

[ Barely able to distinguish sleep from wakefulness, he isn't sure which is worse. The City feels twice as surreal after the atmosphere of the weekend, the atmosphere of his mind. ]

[ Fortunately there are ample distractions. ]

[Audio]

~~So this place has taken its 'prison' aspects a step further.~~

...Is this a practical joke?

[ Options For Run-Ins: ]

[ Shed: Pent-up energy and a mind for solitude have him trekking through the woods. He's in no mood for the chatter and music of smoky bars. He can't muster that effort to be On tonight -- to handle human faces and prying questions. Worse, the City's full of pests and spies. He'd rather not be out in public, where he could be recognized. The outdoors are a better bet, particularly so late at night. Holed up in an unheated shed, a flask of something foul in his coat pocket, he can lull himself into imperfect numbness. ]

[ If he doesn't freeze to death, locked and stranded, first. ]

[ Houseguest: The moon is pale in the sky. Masked and armed, Hei slinks through rooftops in the early-night darkness. Passing like a shadow past signboards and sloping tiles -- graceful, nearly weightless. He's alert, keeping track of everything. But his mind is fixed on Pai, on Amber and Yin and all the possibilities wasted. The thought-pattern is irrational. A time-waster. Dropping into an empty flat, he tries to snap out of it. It's chilly in here. He doesn't bother switching on the lights. Changing into civilian clothes in the bathroom, he splashes cold water on his face and resolves to head home. ]

[ Until he realizes he's stuck in. ]

[ What now? ]

[OOC: open to action and network replies. I'm cool with assuming he was stuck with more than one person during this curse. On that note, those he's trapped with are welcome to threadjack any network responses! Hei's in a tetchy mood after 4th Wall, so GIVE HIM HELL<3 ]

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[Yeah, okay, she kinda figured. She'd been hoping for a different answer.

She looks at the flask again, then shrugs slightly. Better her than him. She's got nothing to lose.

She takes a chug of the drink, and then starts coughing. Spirits that burned!]

[ He shakes his head. Someone needs dire instruction. ]

Not like that. Open your throat and let it in.

[ Nevermind how dirty that sounds. ]

[It takes awhile before she can speak]

It BURNS!

It's supposed to. [ Her disgusted expression isn't notably attractive. Still he's amused. On the inside. ] Sip slower. Hold it in your mouth for a few seconds. Then swallow.

[She doesn't understand how anybody could like this. She prefers sake.

But she does what he says, sipping slower, holding it in her mouth and savoring a bit before swallowing. She still coughs a little, but it goes down much easier this time. And she can kinda understand now why people liked it.

Her head feels a little funny. Is she getting tipsy? She's dead; how can she get tipsy? (She resolutely doesn't think about the fact that she can still get turned on. If she ignore it hard enough, it will stop being true. She hopes.)

She takes another sip.]

I still like sake better.

[ Hei thinks of Huang, who lamented that no matter how much he drank, he could never get sloshed. He isn't particularly partial to alcohol either (not yet...). It dulls the senses, impairs judgement he prefers to keep cold and impartial. But some days, he needs something a little stronger than tea. There's too much input in his head to process, so why not drown it all and be done with it? ]

[ That's not happening here, though. Korra's presence sharpens him up when what he wants to be is dull. ]

I prefer using sake for dobin mushi.

[She takes another sip. It doesn't warm her any, but she's beginning to enjoy the buzz.]

What's that?

[ Astonishingly, there's a responsible adult somewhere in Hei. He's keeping a careful eye on her intake. He's not sure City Dead can get hammered. But it's not his responsibility to deal with a drunken Korra. ]

It's a pine mushroom soup. Served with chicken and shrimp. Good for winters. [ Christ, he is hungry. His stomach -- pining dog -- growls. Exhaling, he looks away. ] A few tablespoons of sake add flavor.

Sounds good.

[She's tipsy enough that the sound of his growling stomach makes her giggle, and impulsive enough to reach out and poke his stomach.

Poke. Poke.]

[ He wasn't expecting the drink to loosen all her knots that fast. He doesn't react to the poking except to raise his eyebrows at her. ]

Stop that.

[ His tone of voice suggests strongly that listening to him right now is the best idea. ]

[Yeah, she's a lush. She takes another sip and pokes him again.]

Or what? You can't kill me.

[She's already dead.]

[ He should've known the booze was a bad idea. Suddenly it's very important that he move, and when he does, it's very important to go over to her, though at each stage in the process he forgets what was so almighty important about the stage prior. ]

No. But I can cut you off.

[ Matter-of-factly, he reaches for the bottle. ]

Nu-uh.

[She hides the flask behind her back. There's a slight thrill going through her, partly the alcohol, and partly the chance of a fight. It doesn't matter that he's beaten her badly every single time; it pushes her to fight better, and she gets off on a challenge.]

[ Wrestling her off should be easy. She's loose and bendy and harmless, right now -- a strip of taffy. Nothing like Hei, whose sparks of anger can turn into a full-force rush of bitterness with enough alcohol. ]

Korra.

[ All didactic emphasis. He reaches behind her for the flask. This feels like playing. He can't remember the last time he's played. Let alone in a shed with a girl. ]

Edited 2012-11-14 02:29 (UTC)

[Not all that is loose and bendy is harmless. Not that Korra is doing much harm now, besides being annoying. She pivots, not putting any more distance between them but ensuring that the flask is out of his reach.

She almost responds with a teasing "Li," but it suddenly occurs to her that that might not be his actual name. It might be as much of a cover as his innocent and stupid act.]

What's your name?

[ He leans in closer, face to face, nearly touching. Snatches at the alcohol. Not like they haven't been in more compromising positions during fights. Not like it even means anything. This is practically chaste for him. At her question though, there's definitely a shift in his expression -- something half-shuttered, half-open. The usual smooth lie doesn't come on time. ]

...Does it matter?

[ Names don't count for much in the Syndicate. Even Hei is an alias. ]

[Oh. Hello. Wow he's close. She has enough presence of mind to keep the flask just out of his reach still, but he's very, very close. And warm. The heat anchors her in place, keeping her from trying to step back and put a little more distance between them. She misses warmth.]

I can't call you Li. He's an idiot.

[ Conversely, he feels no heat radiating off her. It's interesting. He's warm and she's cool -- yet their temperaments are ironically in reverse. Leaning in, he attempts a reach-around for the flask. Their bodies are separated by the thinnest sliver of space. But her remark stops him short. ]

[ He fixes on her eyes. Clear blue and white against the dark skin. ]

We're the same person.

[ A lie. Yet not. ]

[Right. Like Noatok and Amon are the same person. Except it's not the waterbender with the tragic past who still hunts her dreams, but the Equalist hiding behind the mask.]

Fine. Li.

[She swallows thickly as she once again manages to keep the flask out of his reach -- barely. He can't be trying all that hard. It's like they're playing a game.]

You're still not getting the flask.

[Or maybe he's playing a game with her. His eyes remind her of a wolf's.]

[ Their proximity is curious -- especially in relation to all she knows about him. Is she really so trusting? Does she think charades and a few smiles make him a safer person? There's so many ways he can hurt her. Broken joints. Sliced veins. Fried nerves. He knows all too well how pain can force out all rational thought, feed total compliance. ]

[ The thought of it, however, settles something strange in his chest. ]

You can't keep it either.

[ Somewhere along the line, it has become a game. But not one he should be playing. Not with her. He's surprised at himself. At this impulse within. He closes in, gloved fingers curling over hers, around the flask. ]

[ Except it's not the target anymore. ]

[Yes, she is. For all the horrible things that have happened to her, leaving scars both visible and hidden, Korra still trusts her gut instincts about people. She's been betrayed -- Tarrlok, pretending to be her friend, and Mr. Sato, pretending to be against the Equalists -- but she had been suspicious of both of them before their betrayals came to light.

She knows Li's dangerous, and that he uses violence to solve his problems even more often than she does (which is saying something). But she also knows he won't hurt her without a reason.]

Why not?

[The teasing tone cuts off as he takes her hand. Even through the gloves, the warmth almost burns her. There's no breath to catch in her throat, but she still finds herself unable to speak.

It's weird the things you feel, even after you're dead and shouldn't be able to feel anything. Confusion. Hesitation. Shyness. Wistfulness. A strange sort of longing. Her feelings have always been so simple (which did not make them easy to deal with). Nothing as complex and mixed as this.]

[ Li wouldn't kill her. But BK-201 would, because his sole deliberating system relies on cold logic. Except there's nothing logical about the City. Or this. He hears a voice suspiciously like Mao's: Deep-six the deep thoughts. Just go with it. Even if it's a mistake -- he's 99% positive it is -- there's only so much self-abnegation in the world, and he's used all his up. Morality is a complicated mess. ]

[ He moves nearer to her. This close, he radiates a tightly-wound energy. He thinks he feels her pulse vibrating between them, but of course that's just his own. A free hand tips her chin up. It'd be easy to stop this. Just one cold word, one sarcastic jibe, and the tension will re-coalesce into another fight. That's her call, though. ]

Because it'll get you in trouble.

[ The double-meaning couldn't be clearer. ]

[He's going to kiss her.

Korra doesn't know what to do. She's never been in a situation where she's had time to think about these things. All her other kisses have been impulsive (and/or curse related). There was no tense expectation, no air thick enough to cut with a blade.

She thinks about Mako, and realizes with surprise that this is the first time she's thought about him all evening, when generally he's never far from her thoughts. The realization hurts, like she's betrayed him somehow, but there's hope in it too.

Maybe she doesn't have to be in love with him. Maybe she can recapture those two weeks where the sight of him and Asami together didn't cut her up on the inside. Maybe she really can move on.

If she thought about it any more, she would panic. So she tossed all thoughts aside and bridged the distance between them, pressing her lips against his in a shy kiss.]

[ Her kiss is shy. His is not. He presses her against the wall, tips her head back. The hand cradling her head spreads to tangle in her hair, gentle but with the potential for roughness. His other pries the flask loose from her fingers, letting it drop with a thud. The sound echoes through the shed, though his head, firing a snap-crackle-pop of images. Carmine's mangled fingers. Yin's tear-bright eyes. Amber's wicked little smile. Too much left unanswered. Too much to process. ]

[ He stops trying. ]

[ He dips his head and skims her lips with his, once, twice, again, testing the difference in heat and chill. His mouth is hot, with a strange energy to it, almost like licking a 9-volt battery. His tongue slips into her mouth. It's not really his thing -- kissing. It's too intimate, too emotional. But there's a funny thing about kisses. They seem so natural and easy once you're into them, you wonder how they were ever something to be refused. ]

[She lets him take the lead, feeling like she's been caught in a riptide. She doesn't know what she's doing, or how to react when his tongue slides in. Her hands hover uncertainly before they settle on his hips.

Everything's awkward and strange and electric. She's painfully aware of how inexperienced she is, and the idea of breaking away and hiding under a rock for the rest of her life is tempting except for the part that involves breaking away. Every time he pulls back, a little whimper escapes her throat and her fingers clutch at his shirt as though to keep him from leaving.]

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