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?
It was apt, and since Korbin was the one who had decided on the name for the drink, he could only nod in quiet satisfaction as she fought the burn. He almost smiled again, and went to refill her glass with a smooth cider this time. Easier to talk around... it was only as he sent the glass towards the girl that he caught himself, wondering when he had decided not to chase her off. The offer, the drinks... what was he doing?
"I used to play, so... guess you could say that," he shrugged, hands pushed back against the counter... he didn't know what to do with them. "And this is my sister's bar. Was... I guess it's mine now." His expression tensed, fell as he looked around. Things had gone to seed around the tavern since Weaver died. No one had been around to direct the staff, and while they had kept working... too much had been left for later, or been done improperly, or...
His jaw clenched. Turning back to the girl, he looked at her properly this time, tried to place her face in a context. She was pretty, cute and eclectic in an interesting way. Not someone he had interacted with directly before, but... Snowcloak was a small town.
"You're... Mac Girr's youngest, right?" he guessed, recalling a man he'd seen a few times at the old tavern, and a few older siblings around the town. They were more around Weaver's and Erebor's age, likely friends of theirs at some point. "I'm Korbin Hale."
Offering up a slim, long fingered hand in greeting, Korbin couldn't quite shake the feeling of being out of place. Unaligned with the whole situation, like he viewed himself from the outside. Was this real? Was he actually doing this?
"I used to play, so... guess you could say that," he shrugged, hands pushed back against the counter... he didn't know what to do with them. "And this is my sister's bar. Was... I guess it's mine now." His expression tensed, fell as he looked around. Things had gone to seed around the tavern since Weaver died. No one had been around to direct the staff, and while they had kept working... too much had been left for later, or been done improperly, or...
His jaw clenched. Turning back to the girl, he looked at her properly this time, tried to place her face in a context. She was pretty, cute and eclectic in an interesting way. Not someone he had interacted with directly before, but... Snowcloak was a small town.
"You're... Mac Girr's youngest, right?" he guessed, recalling a man he'd seen a few times at the old tavern, and a few older siblings around the town. They were more around Weaver's and Erebor's age, likely friends of theirs at some point. "I'm Korbin Hale."
Offering up a slim, long fingered hand in greeting, Korbin couldn't quite shake the feeling of being out of place. Unaligned with the whole situation, like he viewed himself from the outside. Was this real? Was he actually doing this?
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
