[ Enjoyment over safety? Sounds more like Russian Roulette disguised as thrill-seeking. ]
[ He is peripherally aware of her movements in the bedroom. Creaking floorboards, whining mattress-springs, muted huffs -- she's certainly doing her best to deplete her energy levels. Not that it's working. She's like a bee caught in a glass jar. ]
[ Forcibly, Hei tunes her out. In the small sitting room, the television has been tuned to an old black and white movie that he's seen a dozen times. In the final bit, when the shooting is done and the chips have fallen, the heroine's eyes brim, and her lip trembles; the hero looks at her with an expression of devoted renunciation, but can't leave her without first taking her in his arms. Hei yawns, half-bored, half-transfixed, until the screen fades to black, then hits mute on the remote. ]
[ When Korra sneaks out, he doesn't instantly know. No sixth sense, no magical precognition. But he's been trained to catalog anything and everything -- nerves drawn taut to catch vibrations no one else picks up on. There's not much he misses. He's halfway through polishing his blades with an oil rag and a whetstone -- when he becomes aware of the silence. No sounds emanating from the bedroom. No secondhand soundtrack of restless Korra-ness. ]
[ When he checks the bedroom, the window is half-open, a breeze fluttering the curtains -- and he doesn't need any other clues. ]
[ NC-108 has snuck out. ]
[ Exhaling, Hei rubs his eyes. He's too tired to feel anything but a dull, bone-deep anger. But by now he knows how to deal with that. It seems to spark somewhere inside him at all times. Part of him weighs the pros of alerting the Syndicate of their wayward operative. They'll deal with her -- with a bullet to the brain. She isn't sanctioned to exit the safehouse. Hasn't been authorized to interact with third parties. To disobey those orders -- barely three hours after the assignment -- would imply that she's either contacting a bridge agent for a rival syndicate, or attempting to flee with her newly-acquired funds. ]
[ Except he knows Korra. She's too short-sighted for such plans. Most likely, she's at a trashy bar, spread-eagled under some tatted-up biker and moaning to the breeze. ]
[ Typical. On a scale of one to ten on the 'how many fucks BK201 can spare on any given day', it's usually about a middling .... zero. But he needs to drag Korra back before the Syndicate finds her. If the higher-ups suspect double-dealing, they'll both end up on the hit list. ]
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-03-17 12:25 am (UTC)[ He is peripherally aware of her movements in the bedroom. Creaking floorboards, whining mattress-springs, muted huffs -- she's certainly doing her best to deplete her energy levels. Not that it's working. She's like a bee caught in a glass jar. ]
[ Forcibly, Hei tunes her out. In the small sitting room, the television has been tuned to an old black and white movie that he's seen a dozen times. In the final bit, when the shooting is done and the chips have fallen, the heroine's eyes brim, and her lip trembles; the hero looks at her with an expression of devoted renunciation, but can't leave her without first taking her in his arms. Hei yawns, half-bored, half-transfixed, until the screen fades to black, then hits mute on the remote. ]
[ When Korra sneaks out, he doesn't instantly know. No sixth sense, no magical precognition. But he's been trained to catalog anything and everything -- nerves drawn taut to catch vibrations no one else picks up on. There's not much he misses. He's halfway through polishing his blades with an oil rag and a whetstone -- when he becomes aware of the silence. No sounds emanating from the bedroom. No secondhand soundtrack of restless Korra-ness. ]
[ When he checks the bedroom, the window is half-open, a breeze fluttering the curtains -- and he doesn't need any other clues. ]
[ NC-108 has snuck out. ]
[ Exhaling, Hei rubs his eyes. He's too tired to feel anything but a dull, bone-deep anger. But by now he knows how to deal with that. It seems to spark somewhere inside him at all times. Part of him weighs the pros of alerting the Syndicate of their wayward operative. They'll deal with her -- with a bullet to the brain. She isn't sanctioned to exit the safehouse. Hasn't been authorized to interact with third parties. To disobey those orders -- barely three hours after the assignment -- would imply that she's either contacting a bridge agent for a rival syndicate, or attempting to flee with her newly-acquired funds. ]
[ Except he knows Korra. She's too short-sighted for such plans. Most likely, she's at a trashy bar, spread-eagled under some tatted-up biker and moaning to the breeze. ]
[ Typical. On a scale of one to ten on the 'how many fucks BK201 can spare on any given day', it's usually about a middling .... zero. But he needs to drag Korra back before the Syndicate finds her. If the higher-ups suspect double-dealing, they'll both end up on the hit list. ]