KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
She went off on a rant of rants then, that made his mutterings seem like a polite 'thank you but no'. Only the mention of their mother's name kept him listening, jaws clenched and face darkened into a scowl that said everything about how much he hated hearing all of it.
There was a cold, callous practicality to all of it that he knew well. That he had tried to emulate all his life, and kept failing to maintain. Why? Because he felt too damn deeply about everything. If he didn't hate it, he loved it with a passion. Either he would protect something with his life, or punt it off a cliff himself. It was black or white, all or nothing, and maybe it just was the youth of him that couldn't stand the idea of 'waiting and seeing' but he didn't feel that cunning. That clever.
He could fly how damn high he wanted, and it felt like he would never be able to see the whole picture the way Weaver could.
Korbin stalked along in fuming silence for a while. Unonsciously picking up the pace with his long legs, as if the inner heat brought on a speed meant to leave Weaver behind. But then he stopped too, and spun around. Frustration blazing in his eyes, all that raw energy in him so pent up and with nowhere to go.
"It's damn easy for you to say sit tight and wait when you already know what you want," he snapped. "You have your job, you have your place and you've always had it, Weaver. You're exactly what mom wanted you to be, while I'm... I'm just the odd jobs guy, the extra. No one actually needs me. Not even you."
Ah. And there it was. The reason.
There was a cold, callous practicality to all of it that he knew well. That he had tried to emulate all his life, and kept failing to maintain. Why? Because he felt too damn deeply about everything. If he didn't hate it, he loved it with a passion. Either he would protect something with his life, or punt it off a cliff himself. It was black or white, all or nothing, and maybe it just was the youth of him that couldn't stand the idea of 'waiting and seeing' but he didn't feel that cunning. That clever.
He could fly how damn high he wanted, and it felt like he would never be able to see the whole picture the way Weaver could.
Korbin stalked along in fuming silence for a while. Unonsciously picking up the pace with his long legs, as if the inner heat brought on a speed meant to leave Weaver behind. But then he stopped too, and spun around. Frustration blazing in his eyes, all that raw energy in him so pent up and with nowhere to go.
"It's damn easy for you to say sit tight and wait when you already know what you want," he snapped. "You have your job, you have your place and you've always had it, Weaver. You're exactly what mom wanted you to be, while I'm... I'm just the odd jobs guy, the extra. No one actually needs me. Not even you."
Ah. And there it was. The reason.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
