[ He spends the rest of the night not-thinking of Korra -- to do so would entail a certain degree of self-indulgence, and that's not Hei. There's enough to do as it is. He focuses on combing through the city, altered on the surface but not irredeemably changed. Things, he learns, have moved around. Some hotspots for gathering intel -- taverns, restaurants, shops -- have shut down. Other establishments, once respectable, have dissolved into nests for lowlifes. His first safehouse has been broken into, years' worth of dirt and leaves accumulating inside. All the equipment's been looted; beercans and bottles are scattered everywhere, along with wrappers and used condoms and wrinkled skin-mags. A hobo's paradise. ]
[ The second safehouse is no better. Grown over with weeds and vines, almost past recognition. The remains of the cottage peer bleakly over the overspilling hedgerow, and he peers bleakly back. Time, it seems, has given them both a kicking. But the locks are secure, the doors and windows intact. When he forces his way in, the air reeks of rot and mildew. But his weapons and supplies are where he'd stashed them. Along with something he hadn't. ]
[ A coded message in a sealed bottle. It would read as gibberish to anyone in this world. But Hei discerns it in a moment. It's a contact number. From Mao, or Yin, or both? He isn't sure. Following it through doesn't reveal much. Just an office on the fifth floor of a commercial building; the name plate hanging from the red door says it's a branch of Future Industries. When he breaks in, the place is a wasteland of swathed furniture and sedimentary dust. Unoccupied for ages, by the looks of it. ]
[ Yin. Mao. ]
[ Where are they? ]
[ Slumped on a park bench outside, Hei's guts feel like stone. It's as if the cast-iron seat of the bench is the only thing stopping his body from emptying its heavy innards onto the ground beneath. Everything is so strange. Nothing of his is where it should be, and what's still here is no longer his. ]
[ It is the palest tip of morning when he finally goes to Air Temple Island. He's exhausted from the long day, the worse night. It shows on his face, but only at the edges; skin a shade too wan, dark circles extending halfway down his nose, and the general slow-moving stiffness of a zombie. ]
[ No Yin. No goddamn cat. Frayed pieces of a network. And to top it off, Korra -- the girl he's changed himself in such immense and insignificant ways for, but who might no longer be his. ]
[ Leaning by the railing, Hei waits to see if Korra will arrive. He doesn't want to head to the temple, to alert Tenzin and his family. He can't endure their queries and chatter and fuss. Not yet. Instead, eyes sliding half-shut, he listens to the rushing water of the sea, an imperceptible gurgle that knits with the rustle of the nearby whiplike willow branches. ]
[ Everything seems as if it's fallen apart. But right now, in this moment, he doesn't feel out of place, or lost in space -- and that's mysteriously comforting. ]
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Date: 2014-12-04 03:38 am (UTC)[ The second safehouse is no better. Grown over with weeds and vines, almost past recognition. The remains of the cottage peer bleakly over the overspilling hedgerow, and he peers bleakly back. Time, it seems, has given them both a kicking. But the locks are secure, the doors and windows intact. When he forces his way in, the air reeks of rot and mildew. But his weapons and supplies are where he'd stashed them. Along with something he hadn't. ]
[ A coded message in a sealed bottle. It would read as gibberish to anyone in this world. But Hei discerns it in a moment. It's a contact number. From Mao, or Yin, or both? He isn't sure. Following it through doesn't reveal much. Just an office on the fifth floor of a commercial building; the name plate hanging from the red door says it's a branch of Future Industries. When he breaks in, the place is a wasteland of swathed furniture and sedimentary dust. Unoccupied for ages, by the looks of it. ]
[ Yin. Mao. ]
[ Where are they? ]
[ Slumped on a park bench outside, Hei's guts feel like stone. It's as if the cast-iron seat of the bench is the only thing stopping his body from emptying its heavy innards onto the ground beneath. Everything is so strange. Nothing of his is where it should be, and what's still here is no longer his. ]
[ It is the palest tip of morning when he finally goes to Air Temple Island. He's exhausted from the long day, the worse night. It shows on his face, but only at the edges; skin a shade too wan, dark circles extending halfway down his nose, and the general slow-moving stiffness of a zombie. ]
[ No Yin. No goddamn cat. Frayed pieces of a network. And to top it off, Korra -- the girl he's changed himself in such immense and insignificant ways for, but who might no longer be his. ]
[ Leaning by the railing, Hei waits to see if Korra will arrive. He doesn't want to head to the temple, to alert Tenzin and his family. He can't endure their queries and chatter and fuss. Not yet. Instead, eyes sliding half-shut, he listens to the rushing water of the sea, an imperceptible gurgle that knits with the rustle of the nearby whiplike willow branches. ]
[ Everything seems as if it's fallen apart. But right now, in this moment, he doesn't feel out of place, or lost in space -- and that's mysteriously comforting. ]