[ Hei half-wants to take her hand, give it a squeeze. But it doesn't seem like either an appropriate gesture or moment. Instead he fetches the mage. She comes in briskly, like a nurse: a perfectly nondescript young woman, yet something about her holds the gaze. Maybe it is the eyes. They are perfectly ordinary: round, stubby-lashed, deep-set. But it is difficult to tell their color. They seem to be all colors at once, including ones eyes don't usually come in, like the fuchsia of sunset, and the green of the first sprigs of pine-trees. ]
[ To Korra, she extends a hand, bedecked in rings, ]
I understand you're suffering from Secondhand Dreams.
[ Is that what they call it? Hei thinks, but doesn't say anything. Instead he remains stationed by the door, part-sentinel, part-accomplice. Magic, unlike science, leaves him in a frustrated limbo where he can't do much to directly help the situation -- relieve some pressure, sure, but not to fix anything. ]
no subject
[ To Korra, she extends a hand, bedecked in rings, ]
I understand you're suffering from Secondhand Dreams.
[ Is that what they call it? Hei thinks, but doesn't say anything. Instead he remains stationed by the door, part-sentinel, part-accomplice. Magic, unlike science, leaves him in a frustrated limbo where he can't do much to directly help the situation -- relieve some pressure, sure, but not to fix anything. ]