[ The breeze blows through the park with an eerie rustle, unbroken by the sparse trees. A thick crust of snow crunches under Hei's boots as he walks by, his shadow looming on the whiteness. Above his head the half-moon hangs cool and perfect. He's just finished patrolling the Underground. But he's not tired -- the idea of returning to his apartment (a pet, he needs to get a goddamn pet) -- is off-putting. There are too many thoughts in his head, fixed like a hummingbird on a string. Ideas fluttering but with no direction. Sleep, when it comes at all, is fevery with dreams. Disturbing, gory, chilling, sexual. But nothing about Amber or Pai. Nothing about Tokyo, about Evening Primrose, or Heaven's Gate. ]
[ It's as if his sleeping mind refuses to let him off so easy; he isn't allowed to process the past events through the medium of dreams. Not that it's important here, is it? ]
[ He crosses the park with an indolence that has more to do with time-killing than cold. He doesn't mind the weather. He isn't exactly looking forward to the summer nights -- too warm for his mood, too short for his objectives. It's only in these hours, taking in the prehistoric stillness, as if he's the only person alive, that he feels settled in himself. So much space, it's a cliche. But it gives him perspective. ]
[ He's contemplating a stop-over at a 24/7 dinette, when he spots a figure in the snow. A bolt of déjà vu crackles. For a moment it's like seeing Pai after battles, lying in a pool of blood as she pays her remuneration. Except it's not Pai. It's Korra. Hei frowns, resolving to let her be. Not his problem if she's lying in the goddamn snow. But what if she's passed out or in trouble? He exhales wearily. Hands stuffed in his quilted jacket, a red scarf looped around his throat, he makes his way over to Korra. Nudges her lightly with edge of his boot, like she's a heap of roadkill left in the snow. ]
[ Not the most tender of moves. But if she's dead or drugged, he'd rather not leave fingerprints. ]
action - Sunday 2/3
[ It's as if his sleeping mind refuses to let him off so easy; he isn't allowed to process the past events through the medium of dreams. Not that it's important here, is it? ]
[ He crosses the park with an indolence that has more to do with time-killing than cold. He doesn't mind the weather. He isn't exactly looking forward to the summer nights -- too warm for his mood, too short for his objectives. It's only in these hours, taking in the prehistoric stillness, as if he's the only person alive, that he feels settled in himself. So much space, it's a cliche. But it gives him perspective. ]
[ He's contemplating a stop-over at a 24/7 dinette, when he spots a figure in the snow. A bolt of déjà vu crackles. For a moment it's like seeing Pai after battles, lying in a pool of blood as she pays her remuneration. Except it's not Pai. It's Korra. Hei frowns, resolving to let her be. Not his problem if she's lying in the goddamn snow. But what if she's passed out or in trouble? He exhales wearily. Hands stuffed in his quilted jacket, a red scarf looped around his throat, he makes his way over to Korra. Nudges her lightly with edge of his boot, like she's a heap of roadkill left in the snow. ]
[ Not the most tender of moves. But if she's dead or drugged, he'd rather not leave fingerprints. ]