[ He dismisses her skepticism with a light kiss to her cheek, one hand curled around her elbow as he coaxes her to her feet. They make their way across the crowded street, through the crush of camera-happy Japanese, the sunburned Germans, the badly-dressed Americans. Even with the pink slats of evening sunlight pouring across the city, the air is too warm, too moist. Hei wastes no time flagging down a taxi: during the ride, he keeps his stroking hand on the back of her neck, thumb flirting an electric charge millimeters from her skin, but always staying gently, harmlessly in place. ]
[ At the restaurant, they check in under the rafters of the open-air entrance pavilion. As they are guided to their table, Hei scopes the interior, noting the mixed, sleekly-dressed crowd, the votives flickering from a variety of glassware, the art nouveau decor of teak and stone, all the trappings of luxurious dining that he usually avoids. But the place boasts the presence of multiple guards, all extremely discreet. The restaurant is a celebrity-and-politician magnet, and the management takes security seriously. Which, to him, is part of the attraction. Even if Korra informs her employers of her whereabouts, they will have a hell of a time getting in here unnoticed and unobtrusive. ]
[ As uncompromising and paranoid as he is, Hei takes the seat facing the entrance. In a moment of idle whimsy, he remembers Amber once telling him that the deadliest assassins came from the kitchens, not the entrance. Hei had shot back that the deadliest assassins sat across from you. Amber, smiling her maddening little smile, had agreed verbally while never taking her eyes off him. Hei hadn't dissected the double-edged response at the time. But since the disaster at Heaven's Gate, the conversation -- like so many others -- loops ghostlike through his mind. ]
[ Easygoing in appearance, he picks up his menu. To Korra, with that unwavering gentleness, ]
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Date: 2015-04-21 02:48 am (UTC)[ He dismisses her skepticism with a light kiss to her cheek, one hand curled around her elbow as he coaxes her to her feet. They make their way across the crowded street, through the crush of camera-happy Japanese, the sunburned Germans, the badly-dressed Americans. Even with the pink slats of evening sunlight pouring across the city, the air is too warm, too moist. Hei wastes no time flagging down a taxi: during the ride, he keeps his stroking hand on the back of her neck, thumb flirting an electric charge millimeters from her skin, but always staying gently, harmlessly in place. ]
[ At the restaurant, they check in under the rafters of the open-air entrance pavilion. As they are guided to their table, Hei scopes the interior, noting the mixed, sleekly-dressed crowd, the votives flickering from a variety of glassware, the art nouveau decor of teak and stone, all the trappings of luxurious dining that he usually avoids. But the place boasts the presence of multiple guards, all extremely discreet. The restaurant is a celebrity-and-politician magnet, and the management takes security seriously. Which, to him, is part of the attraction. Even if Korra informs her employers of her whereabouts, they will have a hell of a time getting in here unnoticed and unobtrusive. ]
[ As uncompromising and paranoid as he is, Hei takes the seat facing the entrance. In a moment of idle whimsy, he remembers Amber once telling him that the deadliest assassins came from the kitchens, not the entrance. Hei had shot back that the deadliest assassins sat across from you. Amber, smiling her maddening little smile, had agreed verbally while never taking her eyes off him. Hei hadn't dissected the double-edged response at the time. But since the disaster at Heaven's Gate, the conversation -- like so many others -- loops ghostlike through his mind. ]
[ Easygoing in appearance, he picks up his menu. To Korra, with that unwavering gentleness, ]
Order anything you like.