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 tempting to retreat back behind the reticent wall and stop talking when the topic grew difficult. And it was. Not only Weaver's death and life and dreams, but his own mental landscape too was one giant quagmire and every step brought pain and discomfort. But... Noah had gotten him to start talking now, and it grew a little bit easier each time. Ever since Chulane's drubbing, Korbin had been... trying. Not always successful, but at least attempting to do all the things.
Still, that didn't mean he had any real answers. "I don't want an outsider to be in charge of the bar," he replied, after a beat of silence. "That's... about as far as I've come." And dealing with that was a path, a mountain to climb. Maybe it would lead to him taking back what was rightfully his - it seemed likely, but not certain - but it was... gods, it was still difficult.
Glancing sideways at Noah, Korbin thought back to the last time they met. If you could even call it that. Complete refusal to interact on his part, quiet stubbornness to leave on Noah's. No words had been exchanged, but clearly his old friend had been able to gague the danger he was in. His assumption was not wrong. A knife - Weaver's own dagger - had cut him around that time. Was it slightly after, or just before? The days had been a blur, Korbin couldn't remember. Not slicing wrists, but biting into his neck... A thin white scar across his throat was all that remained of the act, and obviously he had been stopped. But somehow Korbin couldn't bring himself to tell Noah about it. Kiada knew, and Loren, but.. probably no one else.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, as he stared down at his own hands. Couldn't meet Noah's eyes. "I couldn't... didn't know how to accept what you offered. Still don't." The idea of being taken in and provided for, of being surrounded by so much kindness... for some reason it was more terrifying and confusing than having nothing and no one but himself. And if that meant he would sleep in the kitchen or among the rafters instead of a bed under someone else's roof, then... at least he would only be making himself uncomfortable.
Still, that didn't mean he had any real answers. "I don't want an outsider to be in charge of the bar," he replied, after a beat of silence. "That's... about as far as I've come." And dealing with that was a path, a mountain to climb. Maybe it would lead to him taking back what was rightfully his - it seemed likely, but not certain - but it was... gods, it was still difficult.
Glancing sideways at Noah, Korbin thought back to the last time they met. If you could even call it that. Complete refusal to interact on his part, quiet stubbornness to leave on Noah's. No words had been exchanged, but clearly his old friend had been able to gague the danger he was in. His assumption was not wrong. A knife - Weaver's own dagger - had cut him around that time. Was it slightly after, or just before? The days had been a blur, Korbin couldn't remember. Not slicing wrists, but biting into his neck... A thin white scar across his throat was all that remained of the act, and obviously he had been stopped. But somehow Korbin couldn't bring himself to tell Noah about it. Kiada knew, and Loren, but.. probably no one else.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, as he stared down at his own hands. Couldn't meet Noah's eyes. "I couldn't... didn't know how to accept what you offered. Still don't." The idea of being taken in and provided for, of being surrounded by so much kindness... for some reason it was more terrifying and confusing than having nothing and no one but himself. And if that meant he would sleep in the kitchen or among the rafters instead of a bed under someone else's roof, then... at least he would only be making himself uncomfortable.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
