tampered | dance dance, we're falling apart to half time

dance dance, we're falling apart to half time

When; Friday, January 18th, evening
Rating; PG
Characters; Korra and her friends and anyone who happens to be in the club. Come one, come all!
Summary; Korra decides to celebrate 6 months in the City by dancing.
Log;She'd been woken up that morning by a incessant beeping noise; it took her a full three minutes to figure out it was her device and how to turn it off (she almost breaks it in her frustration, but she doubts she'd get any sympathy from Chekov if she broke yet another piece of electronic equipment).

What was so important that her device felt compelled to disturb her slumber?

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR SIX MONTH ANNIVERSARY!

Who sent it? How did they know? Korra doesn't bother wondering. Six months… At first the thought horrifies her…but it hasn't been all bad. She fingers the necklace that Chekov had given her.

She can either spend the day distracted and wallowing, or she can remind herself of the good things she has here.

She decides to go dancing.

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It's clear no one ever taught her how to get dressed for clubbing; she's just wearing her "I Mustache You A Question" t-shirt and Chekov's necklace, a strange combination of casual and fancy. Somehow she makes it work. And it's a bit early in the night for the club to really be rocking, but that doesn't slow Korra down any. She's in the middle of the dance floor, being taught some new moves by the club's regulars and just in general having a grand old time.

Come join her?

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[Forget? Goodness no. Korra doesn't forget. She still gets nervous in certain situations, when circumstances get too similar to times he's hurt her before. She just doesn't let it stop her. So far it's worked in her favor. The grudges she's held have been more dangerous than the ones she let go.

She makes a face as he brushes the frigid bottle against her cheek.] I've already got one, thanks.

[She means the water, but at that moment, the bartender comes over with her drink. And the price. Gerk. She pulls out the money in her pocket and counts it out. She really needs to be more careful about this. The move next week is going to cost a fortune. (It's so weird, having to think about money.)

She takes a sip of the drink.] Bleurch!

[Of course the bartender would decide to make a girly drink. A very super sweet girly drink.]

[ He won't deny that past cruelty leaves an impact. But it's discombobulating that she doesn't retaliate. Maybe it comes down to the degree of cruelty committed. Or maybe it just owes to different natures. Hei would nurse a grudge for years, let it concentrate into a cold hard axis of revenge. But he suspects it works differently for Korra, whose outlook is so unique from his. There's an intelligent intuition lurking beneath the girl's brashness that flashes, when he glimpses it, true as steel. ]

[ Lips twitching, he watches her sputter. What did the bartender give her -- a Cherry Coke? A Singapore Sling? ] Too sweet? [ His gaze lifts to peruse the beverage selection. This is the kind of club teenyboppers congregate to. The choices are typically pretentious. Screaming Orgasm. Knock Me Down & Fuck Me. Buttery Nipple. He signals to the bartender, ] Get her a -- [ what won't get a rise out of her? ] a Shirley Temple.

[Korra pushes the "good drink" away and chugs the rest of her water.]

It tastes like pure sugar. [Blech. How do people drink that? She looks a little balefully at her empty glass of water, then sighs and rests her chin on her hand. When he orders another drink, she tilts her head to look at him quizzically.]

Isn't that a person's name?

Better than the alternative. [ He doubts she'd enjoy a double-whiskey sour any better. While they wait for her drink, he drums his fingers against the bartop in idle metronome -- matching the bass-line. He's not even aware of doing it. The beat is almost inviting, but the lyrics remind him of hip-hop tuga that enemies played in South America. Lyrics about shootouts and gang warfare and slapping bitches around. It's a rhythm that puts you on edge, ready to do the same. In battle, it disorients the opponent, screws with his sense of balance. ]

[ Predictable, how reminders of his past life creep in everywhere. ]

It's named after a silver screen actress. It's non-alcoholic. [ He doesn't add, Because it's meant for kids. At length, the drink slides their way -- a pink fishbowl of floating cherries and strawberries. Enjoy, Korra. Or don't -- he has no idea if it'll suit you better. ]

[She eyes this new drink uncertainly.]

Can I get another water, please?

[She might as well have one drink that she knows is drinkable. She takes a sip of this new concoction.

Bleh. Not as bad, but it still has that same sugary fake fruit flavor.]

Don't you people drink anything real here?

[At least it has real fruit. She picks out a strawberry and pops it into her mouth. She notices his fingers tapping on the table and grins.]

If you wanna dance, just say so.

If you want real drinks, go to Jamba Juice. Not here. [ He watches her pop the strawberry in her mouth with interest. Disconnects his gaze, briefly, as a woman in a tight black dress, glitter all over her skin, goes by. Her hair falls down her back in a long green wave. But it's unabashedly artificial. She notices his stare and gives him a once-over. Concludes in less than a second she'll never sleep with 'Li'. He's failed the litmus test of doable and undoable. The girl falls into the latter category herself. Too much make-up. Not enough meat on the bones. ]

[ It's just her hair. He shrugs it off, lets old memory slip away in favor of what is right in front of him. Dance? ] I don't -- [ He notices his tapping fingers. Stops at once. ] I'm sure you have other takers. [ He doesn't want to dance. He shouldn't even be here. He feels ridiculous, one cold little killer in a teenybopper club, all the noise and wildness spinning around him to no effect. ]

[ Too caught up by the noise and wildness in his own head. ]

[She notices his eyes break away to follow the other woman. There's a brief frown, a little petulant and hurt, and she shoves the cherries in her mouth to distract herself. When he looks back, he'll find her cheeks puffed like a chipmunk's.

She swallows and feels much better when he speaks. I'm sure you have other takers. The remark is answered with a grin.]

So? Who said you had to dance with me?

[She'd like it better if you did. Her energy's back and she's ready to hit the floor again. If it's with him, all the better.]

Come on. You know you want to.

[Is she seriously giving him the puppy dog eyes? Yes, she's seriously giving him puppy dog eyes, even though she's quite aware how ridiculous it is. He's not the kind of person she should make puppy-eyed pleas to. It's not wise -- but she's doing it anyway.]

[ He nearly misses that little frown. Nearly. The chipmunk cheeks get a half-smile, though. He isn't sure which is worse, that he's grown used to her moods and manners, or that he's so wrapped up in his own shit he can't give her anything more than a few table-scraps of attention. It's awkward and terrible, being in this pas de deux she's putting so much energy in, and he not quite enough. ]

[ They've danced before. They've had their dance. It's finished now. ]

[ He watches her make eyes at him. Watches her smile that too-bright smile. There's a jolt of irritation. He's not a trained bear to lead on a string. He showed up. He chitchatted. Now he's ready to go. But that pout, irrepressibly, makes him think of Pai. Her Killing Pout. She's so -- not beautiful yet; he knows what makes a woman beautiful, and at her age, there's too much prickliness and sulking, not enough polish -- but she is so damn pretty. Glowing and alive and enjoying everything Pai never could. ]

[ Suddenly, something in him, that's been cold and hard up until now, lets go. His voice descends into a tired sigh. ] Fine. [ One dance. Just one. Then he has to go. ]

[VICTORY! She jumps to her feet with a little twirl, all brightness and cheer. No reaching for his hand -- there's sense enough at least to know that would be unwelcome. But there's an irrepressible bounce in her steps.

She can't help it. She can't give anything less than 100% to the things she does. Go big or go home. The worst part is, she doesn't even see the imbalance. In some ways, this is normal for her. Her parents had loved freely; Katara had loved her openly, but the rest of her teachers, the people who had been the biggest parts of her life, had not given their affections easily. Praise and affection were things she needed to earn. She'd learned how to work hard for it.

So she doesn't resent it; she just puts more of herself in.

Come on and dance, Li! The music is pounding and a pretty girl is waiting for you.]

[ Hei may be an amateur at experiencing or dispensing emotion. But he's learnt from relentlessly protecting Pai, learnt from Amber's astonishing sacrifice, that any affection that is conditional, that has stipulations and Buts -- isn't worth the effort. Leftovers of attention, demands to sit up and beg, to show your belly for approval, aren't genuine. They're a calculated conditioning. Like Pavlov's Dog. ]

[ He would know. He's used that tactic to control, to subdue and destroy, so many marks. ]

[ He follows Korra through the dancefloor -- sizzling temperatures, sizzling girls and sizzling beats. The bass vibrates like thunder. Strobes flickering like lightning. For a minute his senses are overwhelmed. Impossible to get focused. Just for a moment. The crowd is thick and the song is fast, not the sort that involves close contact. But he catches her hand, swinging her in anyway. Lets 'Li's stuttering awkwardness fade to something smoother, something fluid. Maintaining eye-contact, all the while, to keep a bead on her beaming face. ]

[ The whole scene feels a little juvenile. But he's learning it's fine to allow himself such moments. His mind may be full of shrapnel. But he can still enjoy the simple movements of a dance. ]

[Someday maybe she'll learn that. Someday, when she learns how to meditate, to let go. To just be.

You wouldn't think that's a problem she has, watching her dance. She's spinning and twirling, kicking up her heels, throwing up her hands, shaking her hips. There's no particular pattern to her movements, but somehow she makes it look natural and graceful rather than uncoordinated flailing. The music runs straight through her veins.

She keeps a tight grip on his hand all the while.]

[ Controlled chaos. That's the best word for how she dances. He watches her, glowing with sweat, dark hair sweeping. Feels how her grip on his hand is so tight and her movements so dizzying that you can't stand still, can't think, can't survive unless you flow with her. An impartial observer would think she's on Ecstacy -- she seems so damn high. But he knows she's just immersed in the beat. Floating as if on ether, no anchors or weight. ]

[ Free. ]

[ He keeps his motions subtle, corresponding with her rhythm instead of the DJ's. The music is weird, iterations of piano and electronica melding with dissonant blasts of drums. But it seeps into him in a way that is familiar, enlivening. Little by little, he relaxes. Enjoying the anonymity. Enjoying the moment. ]

[ Lightly, his hand squeezes hers -- a moment of deep sensory déjà vu. ]

[Not high, but more than a little drunk — on the music, on adrenaline, on grief and gratitude and homesickness and guilt and more feelings than she even has words for. (The sip of that sugary monstrosity also helps. It doesn't take much to get her tipsy.)

She feels a thrill when he squeezes her hand, running up her arm and through her body. The little gesture earns him a bright smile.

The song winds down, transitioning to a slower song. Korra feels a prickle of irritation and disappointment. She doesn't want this dance to end. (A part of her is still looking for patterns of behavior, ways to predict when Li will change. Their last dance hadn't ended well.)]

[ He feels the tempo drop, the DJ switching to a slow-dance mix, lights flashing in corresponding bursts of color. He'd conceded to one song, and it's over now. Tempting as it is to escape back into the music, unmoored to anything but her hand in his, it's time for him to go. ]

[ But he doesn't make his withdrawal abrupt. His free hand eases around her waist. He draws her in, close enough to feel her warm breath on his coolish skin. He has to talk right into her ear to be heard. His lips brush the rim lightly; it can't rightly be called a kiss, but the touch is deliberate, to show that he means no cruel distancing. ]

I have to go. [ It's quiet, but not dismissive, in the way someone might say: I'll see you later. ] Have fun.

[ At least as much of it as can be managed in a place like this. The noise, the crowds, the headiness and hormones aren't his idea of relaxing. But most people would say assembling dirty-bombs or rigging a complex alarm system indoors aren't their ideas of fun either. ]

Edited 2013-01-22 14:12 (UTC)

Okay. [There's a little disappointment in her voice, but really, she doesn't mind. She's not a clingy kind of person. Naga is her best friend in the entire world, and even they don't spend much time together. He came; he danced; and he's leaving without shutting himself off. That's enough to make her happy.]

Thanks for coming.

[She wraps her arms around his waist and gives him a quick hug before stepping back and letting him go.]

[ He lets her step into his space for the hug. Squeezes back, a silent It's nothing. Slowly, he draws away, letting her melt into the full-blown pandemonium of the dancefloor. On exit, he spots the green-haired girl again. Seated at the bar, chin in hand over a too-sweet drink. This time she glances his way. Maintains eye-contact. Almost flirty. ]

[ For a moment -- just a moment -- Hei wonders if the bathrooms in the club are unisex. In the next beat, he shakes it off. Too many fucking ghosts. He glances back at the dancefloor, at Korra. Enjoys the whimsy of seeing her from a distance, absorbed and unaware. In that rare moment, dancing, she reminds him of no one he's known before, and he's glad for it. ]

[ Then he's outside the club, and the triggering noise -- inside, outside -- ceases. ]

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