[ She's not the only one who feels stuck in a mover. If anything, the recent sexcapades remind Hei why it's wiser to keep himself apart. Relationships are poison. And when they're not poison, they're a chaotic mess. They exist to screw with your mind and interfere with your life. They expect you to abnegate your Self and be someone else's creature -- whether it's in the shape of a fucktoy, a crutch, or a confidant. It's invasive and insane. ]
[ He glances up at Asami's words, his attention re-focusing on her, his thoughts still elsewhere, circling a darker spot like vultures round a corpse. It's disquieting that his once-infamous pokerface has dissolved into sad transparency. But it's not as if he's been surviving in an environment that requires him to be on total red-alert, 110% focused, his agendas masked behind an impregnable facade of calm. ]
[ The luxury of living freely, loving freely... They've made him undeniably soft. ]
[ He doesn't answer Asami. But he can't help but think, not for the first time: Why is she so damn nice? Her gaze is so clear and soft; he feels held in place by its mildness. His own eyes drop coolly, absently, to the rim of his sake cup, more tactfully dismissive than uncomfortable. But he can see her in his peripheral vision, her long legs crossed as if there is a tickling secret between them, all big eyes and red-ribbon mouth and her dark head to one side, like a pedigreed listening dog. ]
[ Except it's not conversation she's inviting. ]
[ He ignores the physical cues -- at least for the moment. Reaching across the table, a curl of rough-tipped fingers around her delicate wrist, he draws it toward him. Lets her upturned hand unfurl, revealing the pale palm. It is softer than Korra's; the lines are smooth, articulated grooves. A lucky hand, the palmists in Hong Kong would call it. He circles a thumb over its surface, as if to smooth it over. ]
[ After a beat, almost idly, ]
Not lost. More ... transitioning between purposes.
[ And he's always been able to find a purpose within himself. Eventually. ]
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Date: 2015-01-15 05:06 am (UTC)[ He glances up at Asami's words, his attention re-focusing on her, his thoughts still elsewhere, circling a darker spot like vultures round a corpse. It's disquieting that his once-infamous pokerface has dissolved into sad transparency. But it's not as if he's been surviving in an environment that requires him to be on total red-alert, 110% focused, his agendas masked behind an impregnable facade of calm. ]
[ The luxury of living freely, loving freely... They've made him undeniably soft. ]
[ He doesn't answer Asami. But he can't help but think, not for the first time: Why is she so damn nice? Her gaze is so clear and soft; he feels held in place by its mildness. His own eyes drop coolly, absently, to the rim of his sake cup, more tactfully dismissive than uncomfortable. But he can see her in his peripheral vision, her long legs crossed as if there is a tickling secret between them, all big eyes and red-ribbon mouth and her dark head to one side, like a pedigreed listening dog. ]
[ Except it's not conversation she's inviting. ]
[ He ignores the physical cues -- at least for the moment. Reaching across the table, a curl of rough-tipped fingers around her delicate wrist, he draws it toward him. Lets her upturned hand unfurl, revealing the pale palm. It is softer than Korra's; the lines are smooth, articulated grooves. A lucky hand, the palmists in Hong Kong would call it. He circles a thumb over its surface, as if to smooth it over. ]
[ After a beat, almost idly, ]
Not lost. More ... transitioning between purposes.
[ And he's always been able to find a purpose within himself. Eventually. ]