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?
Being bothered usually led down one of two paths at this point. Either he blew the top and stormed off, uncommunicable until he had finished raging or spiraling or drank himself into numbness. Or it cheered him up, ever so slightly. Which path the conversation took was entirely random and not even Korbin could predict which word might set him down which path, and it was as exhausting to live through as it was to be around. He really should not be working around people right now. One might question if he even should work at all. But no one actually cared about his emotional fireworks, when he didn't cause himself or others deliberate harm, and Korbin tried to keep them to himself.
In this case, the hint of a smile crept over his face at her crestfallen look. His criticism seemed to shoot straight at some hidden insecurities, and he was a little bit glad to know that he wasn't the only one who questioned himself. Just a little bit. For a moment. Then he felt bad for causing her to worry.
Straightening up, he considered the empty glass and her concern, then reached for a shot glass and arranged one of Weaver's favorite drinks. A nasty mixture of different spirits that kicked like a mule. "Here. A Gutpunch." Pushing it over to the girl, Korbin regarded her thoughtfully as he leaned back down onto the counter top, fingers loosely braided together while thumbs tapped out a slow beat.
"A little bit, yes," he confirmed, standing by his claim. "But you'd need a trained ear to hear it... so no. I doubt they noticed. Seemed happy enough to me... Feel free to come back any time you like."
It felt strange to be doling out offers like that. He didn't actually work here, and it was Weaver's call to make, so... Then he caught himself. Had to breathe slowly to stave off the stab of pain, and looked about the bar for other customers as an excuse to turn away. There weren't any, unfortunately, and Korbin had no excuse to leave.
In this case, the hint of a smile crept over his face at her crestfallen look. His criticism seemed to shoot straight at some hidden insecurities, and he was a little bit glad to know that he wasn't the only one who questioned himself. Just a little bit. For a moment. Then he felt bad for causing her to worry.
Straightening up, he considered the empty glass and her concern, then reached for a shot glass and arranged one of Weaver's favorite drinks. A nasty mixture of different spirits that kicked like a mule. "Here. A Gutpunch." Pushing it over to the girl, Korbin regarded her thoughtfully as he leaned back down onto the counter top, fingers loosely braided together while thumbs tapped out a slow beat.
"A little bit, yes," he confirmed, standing by his claim. "But you'd need a trained ear to hear it... so no. I doubt they noticed. Seemed happy enough to me... Feel free to come back any time you like."
It felt strange to be doling out offers like that. He didn't actually work here, and it was Weaver's call to make, so... Then he caught himself. Had to breathe slowly to stave off the stab of pain, and looked about the bar for other customers as an excuse to turn away. There weren't any, unfortunately, and Korbin had no excuse to leave.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
