[ Whoa, jumpy. Keeping his expression mild, he edges closer as two clubbers sway drunkenly past him, arm-in-arm, drinks sloshing like they're on the AA's Yellow Brick Road. Crowds always make him feel like a werewolf at a full moon; hyperaware and on edge. Memory serves up scoops of so many kills he's made in clubs like these. A brush-pass. A slit of a dagger. A silenced gun. Each victim lurching and crumpling like a drunk, unnoticed in the darkness and strobing lights. ]
[ At her question, his mouth takes on a small quirk. Oh, Korra. You and words sometimes. ] You invited me. [ The reason for which he still isn't sure. But honesty is the best policy (unless it suits him otherwise). He adds, with a tilt of his head, ] Why?
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[ At her question, his mouth takes on a small quirk. Oh, Korra. You and words sometimes. ] You invited me. [ The reason for which he still isn't sure. But honesty is the best policy (unless it suits him otherwise). He adds, with a tilt of his head, ] Why?