[ They've spent days in a train of roach-motels: featureless rooms, saggy twin beds that smell like thirty years of dust and sweat, bathrooms with dismally trickling showers. Driven all night, drinking coffee after coffee, radio on to heavy metal music sung in Spanish, but so low that it just seeps in along with all the other ambient noise of barreling through the night, the engine's rumble, the echoing aromas of the road. All through it, Hei has kept his distance, and most of his silence. Awake, asleep, he experiences the unseen passage of the sun and moon across the sky, the enemy like a lowering threat bearing down, so he can imagine the roof of the motel or the car peeling away like the top of a sardine can, exposing him to fry. ]
[ Now after another night of driving, they are in some little town down near Albuquerque, where he'll meet with the cobbler who'll supply them with fresh identities. Not in a motel anymore but in some sleepy little nearly-empty villa, all peeling white paint and slowly-twirling ceiling fans and every door and window louvered. Korra is impatient: he can almost feel an invisible, stretched-tight line between them vibrate with a silvery chime. He knows she yearns for exercise, stimulation. He feels the same way: like a caged wolf, sick of days of confinement to the car, to small rooms. By nature, he isn't someone who can sit idle for long. ]
[ While Korra does her katas, her movements dancelike yet frenetic, a butterfly caught in a jar, Hei, supine on the bed, finishes customizing an FS Hideaway knife he's gotten from one of the more disreputable shops nearby -- The Redneck Underground -- as he's privately termed it. ]
[ Eventually, without looking at Korra, ]
We'll meet our contact within twenty-four hours.
[ Once they've secured their shiny, newly-forged identities, they can go to different ends of the planet for all it matters. ]
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so many dads
Date: 2015-03-25 03:35 am (UTC)[ Now after another night of driving, they are in some little town down near Albuquerque, where he'll meet with the cobbler who'll supply them with fresh identities. Not in a motel anymore but in some sleepy little nearly-empty villa, all peeling white paint and slowly-twirling ceiling fans and every door and window louvered. Korra is impatient: he can almost feel an invisible, stretched-tight line between them vibrate with a silvery chime. He knows she yearns for exercise, stimulation. He feels the same way: like a caged wolf, sick of days of confinement to the car, to small rooms. By nature, he isn't someone who can sit idle for long. ]
[ While Korra does her katas, her movements dancelike yet frenetic, a butterfly caught in a jar, Hei, supine on the bed, finishes customizing an FS Hideaway knife he's gotten from one of the more disreputable shops nearby -- The Redneck Underground -- as he's privately termed it. ]
[ Eventually, without looking at Korra, ]
We'll meet our contact within twenty-four hours.
[ Once they've secured their shiny, newly-forged identities, they can go to different ends of the planet for all it matters. ]