KORBIN
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
To make you bow and spit it out?
That note. It did not cut, nor rend, no tear through any walls or drown out any chatter of the crowd, but Korbin felt it like a burn inside him all the same. A paper cut, something familiar and well known coming at him too fast, too suddenly, and a reaction that used to be instinctual suddenly flayed.
He stood behind the bar counter, tonight. There had been an uproar earlier when two of the hired staff got into a lovers spat and decided to quit both at the same time. Suddenly undermanned, uneducated, unskilled in general, two were left to do a five-person job and when the dust settled, Korbin - who had made the Kraai his latest haunt, indecisive, unable to take charge of what was his and unable to let it pass into the hands of others - had somehow wound up serving drinks.
The hands knew the work, even if the mind was not in it. Somehow he had just slipped back into a role from the past as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and as the music settled the crowd and slowly, song by song, altered the mood, he found himself conflicted. His fingers ached for a lute that no longer existed, throat close with all the songs he had failed to sing.
He used to love music. So why was it that when the last song ended, he felt relieved?
Leaning his arms across the bar like an echo of his sister, without any of her grace and sense of belonging, Korbin watched the girl take a bow and look around. With a nod to one of the remaining serving staff, he sent them off with the customary 'on the house' drink.
He hoped she wouldn't come over. Korbin didn't know what he would say. 'You play well' didn't exactly encompass all that her music did to him.
He stood behind the bar counter, tonight. There had been an uproar earlier when two of the hired staff got into a lovers spat and decided to quit both at the same time. Suddenly undermanned, uneducated, unskilled in general, two were left to do a five-person job and when the dust settled, Korbin - who had made the Kraai his latest haunt, indecisive, unable to take charge of what was his and unable to let it pass into the hands of others - had somehow wound up serving drinks.
The hands knew the work, even if the mind was not in it. Somehow he had just slipped back into a role from the past as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and as the music settled the crowd and slowly, song by song, altered the mood, he found himself conflicted. His fingers ached for a lute that no longer existed, throat close with all the songs he had failed to sing.
He used to love music. So why was it that when the last song ended, he felt relieved?
Leaning his arms across the bar like an echo of his sister, without any of her grace and sense of belonging, Korbin watched the girl take a bow and look around. With a nod to one of the remaining serving staff, he sent them off with the customary 'on the house' drink.
He hoped she wouldn't come over. Korbin didn't know what he would say. 'You play well' didn't exactly encompass all that her music did to him.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
