fuse_box | It's my party

Entry tags:

universe: after the city

It's my party

WHO: Korra & Hei
WHAT: Everything continues to be awkward and terrible. At least there is cake.

[ Tonraq's death had cast a pall over Mai's first birthday. But the second -- navigated by the traditional lunar calendar -- falls on a different day of the year, so there is no threat of celebrations and mourning crisscrossing. Korra isn't one for funeralizing anyway, Hei knows. Her father is gone, and she won't let him out of her heart and mind -- he'll always be with her as long as she's alive. But she needs to live, while remembering her existence is defined not just by death. There's loss, but there's also joy. Old sorrow, but new life, too. ]

[ At least, he figures those are her reasons for this little party. ]

[ Asami had phoned him the week earlier. She'd invited him to brunch at Kwong's, explaining that Korra and Mai would be there. I know you only see them once a week. Maybe it'll be nice to socialize a bit more. Aching to go see his daughter -- but wary of making Korra uncomfortable -- Hei reluctantly declined. In dreams, he saw Korra, Mai and Asami as if in a sumptuous watercolor painting. Imagined them at the restaurant, cozied under the multicolored glow of an expensive stained-glass lamp, sipping tea from colorful crockery. He dreamed, as sloppy brushstrokes filled out the scenery, that they were all relieved by his refusal. He saw Mai's face melting into blankness, a doll devoid of any recognition for him, before the dream shivered away like paper torn into soggy bits. ]

[ He tries not to think about it. Mostly, he keeps himself too busy to think. He's moved out of the dump he'd rented, to the forty-sixth floor of one of the twin high-rises that Future Industries has constructed downtown -- a sleek but affordable complex. He chooses a three-bedroom corner apartment. The place is bright, airy, larger than he needs so most of the rooms go unused. But he likes living on the top floor, with a glittering view of the city, above it all. Also, at the time he'd rented it, it was to his advantage to take a place that didn't fit the profile of what a loner, recently separated and with minimal needs, would take for an apartment. ]

[ (It wasn't his only reason -- sure. But it also wasn't the first time his wishful thinking had blurred so seamlessly with his operational instincts.) ]

[ He's still working with Future Industries. With -- not For. The quirky old tech he'd been assisting has freelanced into weapons manufacturing -- and Hei had resolved to go with him. The arms trade isn't his main interest, though. He's spent the months since returning from the Enterprise rebuilding and restructuring the network he'd left behind. In Republic City, the basis exists for a competitive, free market of intelligence. The police force needs it, the President's entourage need it, as do the Earth Kingdom, the Fire Nation, the Water tribes. The means to access terrorist cells, to infiltrate the dens of well-connected kingpins, to assassinate political rivals, to create elite military units. ]

[ He is working toward developing his own private op. Hell, ever since the furor in the Earth Kingdom, there are new outfits springing up all over, the equivalent of Halliburton and Blackwater and K-Crucible, and it's hard to tell where the governments end and the shady private sector begins. Buyers have got their choice of which faction to gather intelligence, manpower, artillery -- or cannon fodder -- from. Hei intends to make sure his product is better than best. ]

[ (He knows, if Amber were here, she'd be laughing at how his life is playing out.) ]

[ A few nights before the big day, his phone rings late, while he is in bed, his eyes getting heavy over a book. This time it is Korra, inviting him to Mai's birthday. Not a huge celebration -- just a small intimate gathering. Startled, Hei agrees -- before he can think twice about how stupid and heartbroken this will leave him once he's there. He doesn't want to socialize with Korra's friends -- or be reminded of the life he'd tossed away. Doubts, too, that he'll get much private daddy-daughter time with Mai. But it will be enough to see her. She's growing, little by little. He doesn't want her to have no concrete childhood memories of her father beyond their one-hour playtime on Fridays. ]

[ When he first approaches the Beach House, he thinks it has caught fire, but the vapor wafting out of the windows is sweet incense. Something stops him from just knocking on the door; maybe the bright undercurrents of people in the air. Peering through the window, he watches Korra bustle around, her gestures elegant and formalized, like a medieval dance, with a whole host of partners. Tenzin, Pema and the Air Babies. Jinora and Kai. Asami. Mako. Bolin and Opal. And in their midst, impossibly small, the glowy sparkle in her eyes outshining everything in the room, is Mai. ]

[ For a minute Hei just stares at her, as if he is watching some mimed play. His daughter, and Korra -- his best beloveds -- right there on the other side of the glass. A strange object lesson -- of everything he'd almost had, and foolishly squandered. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Simple, was Asami's declaration, when she'd dropped by with a housewarming gift, the week after Hei had moved in. What she'd meant was spartan: even after two months of residence, the place maintains a tidy, almost sterile air. With a particular cruelty, it is furnished for two -- mostly, when Hei stays indoors, watching the second armchair stay empty, watching the bath fill, watching the kettle boil, he realizes how unaccustomed he's grown to solitude, and its unlooked-for freedoms. ]

[ The bedroom is simple. A wide dark futon bed and a nightstand. A sprawling rug in geometric patterns of red and black. No weapons in sight; the spring-loaded blades are tucked into digital and manually operated enclaves in the walls, at strategic spots in the flat. The rest of the heavy artillery rests in the antique, unpolished naga dansu -- a big, top opening chest with trick compartments. It is securely locked, draped with an embroidered blue obi, then decked with a small sculpture of a lion-turtle, and lacquered red sake bottles, the better to deflect attention from the chest's contents. ]

[ Such precautions are part of Hei's routine. But for Mai's sake, more than anything, he plans to keep his defense subtle and layered. ]

[ The livingroom is large: sparsely but elegantly furnished in shades of charcoal gray and cream. A collection of black leather sofas, a single hanging scroll with a Thangka-esque motif, a marble fireplace that is filled with vases of white hydrangea. A highly polished knee-holed desk faces a wall lined entirely with tightly-packed volumes of books. Well-thumbed tomes that include many on the bugei, or warrior arts, some of them quite old and obscure, containing information on combat techniques thought to be too dangerous for modern air-bending -- spine locks, neck cranks, and the like -- techniques that are, consequently, largely lost to the art. ]

[ The last wall consists almost wholly of glass. In the evenings, when dusk falls, the cityscape is a mosaic of living color and motion. Tonight, the buildings are a hazy smear, blotted out by the watery glitter of rain on the glass. It is felt rather than seen, and adds a sense of dreamy enclosure to the atmosphere. ]

[ Hei's neighbors -- who've left a tray of grass jelly in his fridge -- have complimented that flat as an abode for someone with a sense of neatness and aesthetic. No one would realize it's the home of a murderer. ]

[ In anticipation for Korra's visit, he's prepared meat empanadas with a sweet-sour sauce seasoned with parsley and oregano. His stomach is frothy; whipped up to a pitch of quiet excitement that is almost dread. He doesn't want to make presumptions about Korra's visit. He understands this is a test: she wants to ensure the apartment is up to baby-standard, so she's comfortable with bringing Mai over. ]

[ But if she's here for other reasons ... His imagination stalls, dies. He doesn't want to be a credulous fool; he knows better than to place hopes where there are none to be expected. He's bought into that wishful mindset before and it is galling. Worse than that. ]

[ Dinner and civil conversation. That's all it is. All it can be. ]

[No, Korra has no other reason for coming by — though it'd be a lie to say she didn't harbor secret desires. This is, after all, the first time they'll have been alone together in over a year... actually, this will probably be the first time they've been alone together since Mai was born, if you don't count that terrible hospital visit. It's exciting, no matter how much she wishes that it wasn't. If only losing trust in someone meant losing desire for them as well...

She reaches his door, her stomach doing flipflops as her entire body tingles in anticipation. Get a grip on yourself! She shakes her head and knocks on the door.]

[ He's just placing the final touches on the dessert -- a rich creme caramel flan nestled inside a dome of pastry. He uses only his left hand; the creations from his right are clumsy, they are never what he imagines; it is as if they are coming from some far-off place by way of primitive facsimile, losing detail and meaning along the way. But he uses that hand more and more when he cooks for himself, and begins to like the messy results for their very gracelessness. They are like him; sad, awkward, trying to get on. Maybe improving, just a little bit. ]

[ After the table is set, he slumps for a few moments with his cheek on the desk, eyes closed, as if waiting for a guillotine to come down; as if wishing for it. He's not sure the evening is worth his enthusiasm, his efforts. Korra may just drop in for five minutes, decide the flat isn't baby-proof enough, then walk out. In a dissatisfied mood he abandons the imbroglio of food the dining table has become and begins preparing for the day. Between shower and shave he wonders if Korra plans to sell the Beach House and move in with Asami; when getting dressed he thinks about Mai in those swanky baby-clothes at her birthday and recalls an olfactory expensiveness to them that undermined her dusty-powdery-little-girl scent. Most likely they were a gift from Asami. ]

[ This bugs him, in a way he can't pin down. Not anger at Asami, exactly -- just a crumbling realization that strangers are lavishing more attention and money on his child than he ever has. ]

[ It's your own damn fault. ]

[ The knock rouses him. Nerves jangling to the sound, he goes to answer the door. He knows it's Korra, yet there's a strange jolt in seeing her there, at the threshold of a place he inhabits but she doesn't. It is like running toward an open doorway in a state of high enthusiasm and colliding with a pane of glass. A reminder that their lives are separate now. ]

...Hey.

[ He'd imagined himself greeting her calmly, without hesitation. When he brings the word out though, it is nearly a whisper. ]

[He opens the door and Korra is hit with a wave of homesickness too powerful to be labeled mere "nostalgia", nearly bowling her over. The familiar smell of his cooking wars with the smell of a new shampoo; together it's a brutally taunting reminder of what they had and lost, and she's torn between running away and kissing him.

Except she's an adult, so she does neither. She's here for a reason, after all. For Mai's sake, she'll endure these painful feelings.]

It smells great. Can I come in?

[Dangerous, dangerous territory, but it's all for her daughter.]

[ Hei had been standing in the gap of the door, one hand up on its edge, the other on the frame, allowing it open no wider than his body. His gaze is on Korra's, convincingly casual: he fights to keep it from lingering and lowering. She looks good today. In the golden light of the entryway, buzzing with energy, both shying towards and shying away from him -- defiant, wary, seeking comfort and control in equal parts -- he can see echoes of the girl she'd once been. Not exactly beautiful -- at least not back then -- but always immensely alluring. She'll never lose that. ]

[ Her words cut through his sentimental fog. Blinking, he remembers himself. ]

Sure.

[ He steps back, drawing the door open wide. Tension gathers up a fine knot in his stomach, but his face stays politely impassive. They're just two exes together to dredge up a proper arrangement for their child. Half-family, half-strangers. That's all it can be -- no matter how terribly he wishes it was different. ]

[ Inside, the rainfall splatters the windows in graceful motions, a leisurely sweeping from one side of the sky to the other. The water, backlit against the glass, throws mosaic reflections across the livingroom. Gesturing for Korra to make herself comfortable, he drifts to the gleaming kitchen space, getting laquered cups from the shelf. He needs to treat her as merely a guest. That will keep it simple. ]

You want something? Tea. Water. Sake.

[Sake would be a terrible idea right now, for both of them.]

Tea, please. [While he prepares the tea, Korra takes the opportunity to look around without leaving the living room. (Tempted as she is to explore the other rooms, she'll wait until Hei gives her the tour. This isn't her home; she can't wander through it at will.)]

This place is beautiful. [Just as spartan as you'd expect from Hei, but the amount of sunlight coming through the windows, even on a rainy day like this, softens it, making it seem homey. No sign of his weapons, but that's no surprise. Of course he wouldn't leave his weapons out in the opens -- but has he secured them from an inquisitive toddler? That's what she's worried about. Mai has a way of getting into the things you'd least expect.]

Thanks.

[ He takes down cups and saucers, brings out the sugar bowl with its tiny spoon, slices a lemon, pours evaporated milk into a crystal glass creamer. When the kettle boils he warms the pot and makes the tea, a frothy black pu'er, the steam wafting fragrantly through the air. He brings the hot drinks over with the plate of his neighbors' grass jelly -- he hasn't tried it yet, but it seems mild enough that it won't spoil Korra's appetite. ]

[ Quietly, he follows her gaze around the satisfying proportions of the loft, the glow of lights filling the skyline outside the rain-blurred window. Beautiful she calls it, and he can tell it's not exaggerated politesse. The question is: will she find it suitable for Mai? There are no weapons in sight; no barbed edges or sharp corners, no delicate curios that a toddler could grab and accidentally choke on. Everything dangerous is sealed and mechanized: the keypads to activate the heavy artillery are concealed, and too high up for a child to reach. ]

[ Carefully, he hands her a steaming cup of tea. The gesture makes him weirdly shy and self-conscious, a transfer so ordinary that it calls up every longing for family and domesticity and every atom of maladjusted solitude defining him, things he can't even put into words. ]

[ Clearing his throat, he says, ]

I'll show you around.

[Korra uses her water-bending to cool the tea to the perfect temperature before taking a sip. He still remembers exactly how she likes it -- a small kindness that frustrates because it endears. She sets it down on a nearby table when he offers to show her around.]

Let's start with Mai's space. [Korra is far from ready to offer sleepovers, but there should be a part of the apartment dedicated to storing toys and baby supplies and where she can be changed. If Hei expects that Korra will schlep all of the baby's necessities along with the baby herself for a visit... Well, that will tell her a lot.]

[ Obediently, he dips his gaze, showing her to a small room he's designated as a makeshift nursery. The walls, unlike the rest of the minimalist white-chrome apartment, are painted a cheerful pale-cream blue. It is empty of toys or any colorful accouterments, but is neatly fitted out with a changing table, rocking chair and a cozy toddler bed shaped into the proportions of a rustic wood-paneled house. The little room is flooded with shimmery patterns of rainfall and cloudy evening sun. There are windows on three walls, and a slanting stained-glass ceiling with a large skylight let into it. Everything -- except the house-bed -- came built-in with the flat. Hei rarely ever goes into it: each time, the bitterness sloshes over him, threatening to swamp him altogether. ]

[ Quietly, without looking at Korra, ]

It's the sunniest room here. Tends to heat up, though. So I had a special glass installed.

[ He touches the controls on the wall just outside the door, and watches as the glass in all the windows goes first grey, then dark. ]

[Korra stops herself from asking if that was Asami's idea — it's the sort of expensive high-tech thing that Asami would recommend. But it was also a very Hei gesture. As utilitarian as he is, he has an incredible eye for beauty, and it shows in the most subtle ways.]

It's great. [She unconsciously reaches out to squeeze his hand, though she drops it quickly enough as she comes to her senses. You can't fall into old patterns.

A little brusquely, she adds: ] You're going to need some shelves, though — or boxes. Someplace to put her toys so they aren't lying around.

I'll get a few fabric bins from the store.

[ His pulse rises to a hopeful waver, though his expression remains guarded. Her response isn't a definitive Yes, but there's a promise in the way she demands that he get boxes, mentions Mai's toys as if intimating that she'll be spending more than a single hour here. His heart races at the idea -- slow steady tread, up, down -- and he thinks of the little girl superimposed in the brightly-lit blue room, her soft paddling footsteps, the way she giggles out in high clear joy as she dandles her toys or smears paint across paper with her tiny fingers. Impossible for his mind to maintain its usual cold pitch of sobriety, with memories of his daughter. Happiness always nibbles at the edges of his aloofness, infecting him with warm thoughts. ]

[ From the corner of his eye, he notices Korra's hand flutter toward his -- before hastily withdrawing. Blinking slowly, feeling torn between wishfulness and cynicism, he says, ]

You can ... make a list. If you want. Tell me all the things Mai would need.

[ Her preferred brand of diapers. Powdered milk. Cereal. Her favorite toys. ]

[Korra nods. Making a list sounds reasonable.]

I'll do that before I go tonight.

[She gestures for him to lead on, because he's not the only one feeling wistful. This could have been their home — they could have lived here, together, an actual family instead of broken fragments tentatively held together in Mai's tiny hands.]

[ Held together in Mai's hands. In moments where he's hazy drunk -- sometimes late in the night, when he's a heavy-limbed heap under the bedclothes, one arm dangling off the edge of the futon -- he thinks of himself and Korra that way. Of their separate, outsized abodes, like two doll's houses, where you can lift the roofs to peer inside. He sees Korra, ensconced in bed, one little upturned hand slipping off the pillow and gliding towards the edge of the bed, in his direction. Soon their hands are in perfect alignment, so that, if this really were a doll's world, he could imagine Mai removing not only the roofs, but internal walls and buildings as well, and sliding the two bedrooms into each other, joining the couple's hands like the clasp of a necklace. ]

[ Each time, he thinks what a fucking idiot he is -- before he flips over onto his back, and sinks into restless sleep. ]

[ Quietly, he guides Korra out of the nursery. Their tour is brief -- he shows her the extra room which he's converted into a training area: a cool, austere space, no color, no furniture or scrolls or symbols, only twenty woven mats and walls framed by mirrors, like a dance studio. The bedroom, gray with shadows, is dominated by the narrow neatly-made futon, with a whole wall of windows divided into smallish panes, looking down on the quaint sakura park in the block's interior, a vibrant green-and-pink patch blurred by the dripping rain. ]

[ Back in the livingroom, he zaps their cooling teas, and offers Korra a black square of grass-jelly in a bowl. ]

[ In a stilted voice, ]

So what's the verdict?

[ Baby-worthy -- or not? ]

As long as she can't get the windows open... [Korra has an immediate horrifying vision of Mai discovering she's an airbender by falling out the window, which she shakes off.] And you stock up on actual baby supplies... I think we could stop by for an afternoon a week.

[She pops the jelly square in her mouth as she watches for his reaction. It's a little bitter and earthy and strangely familiar in a way she can't pin down... but she likes it.]

Have you made these before? It's good.

[ An afternoon a week. Hei's stomach flutters, and some of the lines in his face relax. He's both dizzily grateful -- and quietly incredulous. He's become so used to that heavy space in his chest, the sense of constant futility congealing behind his ribs, stuck in his throat. Since he's parted from Korra and Mai he's grown so heavy on the inside, everything within him thickening and chilling and hardening. An effigy of the real Hei -- whoever that person is. ]

Okay.

[ The shocky happiness is so raw it's an effort to force the single word out. Trying to cover up for the feeling, he piles the quivering jelly-squares into his own bowl. Takes precise bites. Delicious -- not too sweet, with a pleasantly herbal aftertaste that goes straight up the sinuses and seeps right into his skull. At the window, shapes blur in the rain: the apartment swims underwater. Or is that just a trick of light? ]

[ Blinking, he glances up at Korra's question. ]

The neighbors sent them over. They're from a new bakery downtown.

So you've actually gotten friendly with the neighbors here? [She takes another piece of jelly and pops it into her mouth.] I'm surprised.

[Which she really shouldn't be. He's always made some kind of connection with his neighbors, at least in most of the places they've lived. That old couple in the first apartment they slept together in, the kid in his first apartment here... She's just gotten used to the way he isolated himself when they lived together.

The thought disturbs her a little. She takes another piece of jelly and goes to look out the window.]

I haven't seen Yin in awhile. How's she doing?

[ It's true he'd withdrawn completely while he was living with her. After filing through the countless number of roles he'd played before he'd met Korra, it was hard not to treat his new (honest, Syndicate-free) life like a deep-immersion mission in itself. It always felt odd to talk to people who weren't Korra. It was as if he'd completely inverted sky for ground, and she had become the bright little sun in his orbit. Spending time with anyone else was irrelevant. ]

[ Maybe he'd known -- in a gut-shocky premonition -- that his days with her were numbered. That their precariously-spun peace could fall apart at any moment. So he didn't want to miss any more of his sweet time-out with her than was strictly necessary. ]

[ Later on, he'd want to cherish every bit of it. ]

[ Since he's moved out -- and up, in Republic City's social ladder -- he's cultivated a new persona. It goes with the privatized intelligence outfit he's running: a discreet and slyly competent professional, his influence quietly spiderwebbing across the political sphere into an elaborate barbed-wire net. He knows that cover would lack crucial verisimilitude if he stayed absolutely reclusive. When Asami suggests a fundraiser, a formal dinner, a jet-setter get-together -- and if his silent partner-in-crime, the ex-tech, wheedles him to wrangle up venture capital backing -- he goes. ]

[ To his considerable relief, he has little to do with the typical party-manner hypocrisy at these events. The men he meets immediately separate themselves from compliant wives and mistresses, shake hands as if testing his grip, and discuss business bluntly and succinctly. Men he can relate to -- if not always respect. There is a method to his introductions: he meets no small-fry businessmen, no fronts, no lower-end politicians, but active players in military policymaking and espionage -- men who, as he rises, he'll be dealing with often. ]

[ Neutral-faced, eyes half-lidded, he watches as Korra drifts to the window. Her attention seems fixed on the shimmery rainfall across the glass; an afterimage of the shifting droplets plays on her face. Her profile is pure, throat-catchingly beautiful. It's an effort to yank his wayward libido on the right track and answer her. ]

She's fine.

[ Less subdued, less ephemeral, by the day. More human, in fact, than he'd ever imagined a Doll could be. He visits her at least twice a week; brief moments that buoy him up with a bittersweet calm, a sensation of wistful sanctuary. ]

I'm glad. I'll have to visit her sometime. [Korra feels bad for how she let Yin drift away once they came to her world. As fond of the other young woman as she still is, Yin became an afterthought so easily.

Korra blinks a little as a peculiar kind of fuzziness creeps up on her. Maybe I just need to sit down. She plops abruptly on the couch.]

[ Hei blinks as she slumps across the couch, a pretty jellyfish-legged heap. He starts to get up, except there is a familiar, faint tingle of something at the base of his spine, the beginnings of a fizzy heat-wave. Breathing in carefully, he rises, then lets it out slow and evenly. Something's wrong. ]

[ Glancing up, he stares at Korra with a surface calm, a muscle in his jaw ticcing once. ]

...You okay?

[ His voice rises barely enough to make it a question; the pitch laps peculiarly at his own ears, sleep-syrupy. ]

I'm fine. Just a little lightheaded. [In a way that feels rather familiar... Korra tries to think when she's felt like this before. Hunger dizziness? Food poisoning?

Does it look like Hei is about to fall over? She frowns, and reaches out for his hand.]

You should sit down. [She's so close to figuring out why this feeling is familiar, if she could just think a little more clearly.]

Who gave you the jelly again?

[ She reaches for his hand, and the muscles flex down his arm, transmitting into motion before he can control them. Gently, he folds his palm across hers, thumb circling the pulse point -- habit and tenderness melding together -- before he lets their fingers curl together. He doesn't sit. He stays standing, while the room ripples perceptibly at the edges, her grip a warm anchor. ]

[ At her question, he frowns. There is a buzz in his ears; like fluttering moths, or maybe his own disconnected thoughts. ]

My neighbors...

[ Dubiously, he flicks his gaze toward the squares of glossy jelly. Then, with a plodding deliberation, it clicks. ]

...Oh...

[ Try it with condensed milk and tea. It will help you unwind. Their exact words, though he hadn't given it much consideration at the time. He knew their routines, their backgrounds; nothing about them set off his radar. They didn't seem likely to poison him. ]

[ But offer him loaded sweets with a well-meaning but poorly-timed generosity? Oh yes. ]

[If she were sober, Korra's mind would probably jump to paranoid fantasies, but she's buzzed enough right now to recognize it as an innocent mistake.]

Don't let Mai eat anything they make. [And she leaves it at that. It feels weird having him stay standing, so she tugs him down onto the couch next to her.]

[ She's taking this whole thing with remarkable equanimity. But, Hei reminds himself, that's likely the effects of the body-stone. His own paranoia -- always a quiet, low-level simmer -- has likewise evaporated. He has an image of someone opening up their heads like a pair of tin cans, and taking a slender needle to draw out the juice from that three-millimeter area of their brains that is the fear center. ]

[ At the tug of her hand, he glances down. With a blurred shock, he thinks she's so close, even as she seems so vanishingly far these days. That little gesture of hers, that way of tipping her face back to look up into his height, reminds him again of her teenaged self, more than any particular feature. She is still enveloped by that same, strange, wonderful luminosity: a quicksilver liveliness. ]

[ Against his will, he reaches out. A splay of fingertips across the curve of her cheek, skimming her jaw and chin -- before he gently detaches the other hand folded around hers. He settles next to her -- tilted out of alignment so they can face each other across one couch, feet nearly touching left to right, his socked foot near her leather-shod one. ]

[ His mouth feels disconnected from his brain. Blinking slowly, he wills both of them to syc up. ]

Should I call you a cab?

[Her eyes flutter as he strokes her cheek, and a tremor runs through her entire body. Fuck. She really ought to leave. He even offers to call her a cab, but she shakes her head.]

No. I can't go home stoned. [That's a perfectly good excuse, isn't it? When the real reason is she doesn't want to leave him, is enjoying the lack of tension and the feel of desiring him without the guilt that usually comes along with it.]

[ I can't home stoned. He can't explain why that tugs the suggestion of a wretched out-of-place smile on his lips. Maybe the idea of her returning to Mai -- who already babbles like she's in her cups, her cadence exactly the same as a drunk trying to explain why their pants are on that bush over there or why they've stuffed baby carrots into their socks. That perfect mix of utter conviction and complete incoherence. ]

[ What adventures she and stoned-Korra could get up to.... He imagines them on a casual sunlit afternoon, attempting to eat cereal, read picture books -- but with screwy circuitry. Shredding the book's pages into a bowl and pouring milk on it. Shaking cornflakes over the table. Morbid hilarity. ]

[ A sound escapes him, halfway between a hiccough and a hum. It is followed by another. His mouth twitches, then splits, the sound turning into a chuckle, then a barking Huh that rings off the white marble walls. Blinking in shock, he covers his mouth. Except he is sliding down the couch; on reflex, he grabs Korra's arm, but only succeeds in pulling her with him. They sit down hard on their tailbones. ]

Mai already talks like she's stoned.

[ He imparts this in a half-whisper, as if confiding a delightful secret. ]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject