Given her sheltered life, Korra never expected herself to be such a deviant. Even with her insecurities concerning boys, she quite likes the idea of being on top, figurative and literally. The emotional stuff just fails her, flusters her when she's supposed to be headstrong. Ugh. In battle, she's not afraid of anyone. Well, except Amon and Mister Ponytails, the latter shoving her in this stupid box before she could show him her true skills.
She knows that Katara will be ashamed of her. Bloodbending is wicked, cruel, but Korra isn't really that good at listening. She considers it a nice back up, considering her repeated failures in the spiritual realm.
Bloodbending is exhausting, and she was previously wracked with guilt. But she just saw that Aang escaped Yakone's bloodbending grasp by going into the Avatar State. Because of her spiritual block, that's not an option. She was too stunned to retaliate when Tarrlok bloodbent her, too exhausted. But it's what has kept her from soaking in her own urine and collapsing here.
Sweat drips down her forehead as she rests her head on the cool metal, breathing evenly. Inhale, exhale. Focus, Korra.
Korra won't use bloodbending. It's illegal. People will condemn her. Their savior—resorting to a great evil. They don't see the healing benefits, don't feel the warmth on especially cold nights.
"Electrocute the box. I will take care of the Councilman."
Well, who will be the wiser?
Tarrlok is still with her; she can feel the pulse throbbing in his neck.
"What was that?" he says.
"Let me out, Tarrlok." Korra slams her hands lightly on the metal door, mustering all of her might in sounding genuinely concerned. "I can fight them."
Quickly (yet reluctantly), he opens the door before the Lieutenant and the other Equalists descend the stairs.
Dumb ponytail man.
He crumples with a slight gesture on her part. Her hand aches as his blood becomes hers, their pulses following the same beat.
Tarrlok croaks his next words, his eyes wide and set in—betrayal? "H-How?"
"There's a lot you don't know about me," she mocks. Before he can fight back, Korra knocks him unconscious. Half-baked Avatar indeed.
The Equalists are no match for her. They fall like marionettes without strings, and when Amon walks with aplomb down the stairs, his mask glimmers in the dark room.
"How about this, Amon?" Korra smirks sweetly, her hand on her hip. "No one leaves until I say so."
