[ Suppressed irritation pours off Korra, and its heat lights a strange, answering glow inside Hei. He's missed that fire. Misses the fireside. ]
[ He doesn't talk. Simply sips his tea. Through the curl of steam, his gaze wanders across Korra from boots to hips, from the fidgeting hands curled around her cup to the blouse fitted tantalizingly tight across her pretty breasts and strong shoulders, until he catches himself at it, makes himself look away. Her whole manner yields a strange nostalgia: the seventeen-year-old Korra, bristling with pent-up energy and ornery insecurity. That cool night in the City, during the zombie curse, when she'd dropped by. Craving relief, craving distraction, craving any outlet that was on offer. ]
[ It's obvious she's here tonight for something similar. Hei wants to comfort her, but he can't remember how. There is too much bitterness, too much clogged-up discomfort, in the fact that this is not the first time she's come to him for reassurance, validation. Who is he to console her fears, to talk about right and wrong? He is a killer -- then, now -- and he's failed her too entirely to be any use to her. ]
[ Gaze dipped, he murmurs, dryly, ]
If you won't have dessert, can I interest you in leftover roasted duck?
no subject
[ He doesn't talk. Simply sips his tea. Through the curl of steam, his gaze wanders across Korra from boots to hips, from the fidgeting hands curled around her cup to the blouse fitted tantalizingly tight across her pretty breasts and strong shoulders, until he catches himself at it, makes himself look away. Her whole manner yields a strange nostalgia: the seventeen-year-old Korra, bristling with pent-up energy and ornery insecurity. That cool night in the City, during the zombie curse, when she'd dropped by. Craving relief, craving distraction, craving any outlet that was on offer. ]
[ It's obvious she's here tonight for something similar. Hei wants to comfort her, but he can't remember how. There is too much bitterness, too much clogged-up discomfort, in the fact that this is not the first time she's come to him for reassurance, validation. Who is he to console her fears, to talk about right and wrong? He is a killer -- then, now -- and he's failed her too entirely to be any use to her. ]
[ Gaze dipped, he murmurs, dryly, ]
If you won't have dessert, can I interest you in leftover roasted duck?