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?
Flickering firelight spilled from the hearth and set the shadows dancing in the corners. Inky devils smiling wickedly, teeth gnashing, claws scraping, whispering bitter truths to whoever was foolish enough to listen. Korbin thought he saw them flit across the room, along seams of ceiling and wall, down by the floor, back and forth just out of focus. Maybe they were figments of his imagination. Maybe he was just seeing things that weren't real.
He sat on the floor, with his back against the mantlepiece framing the hearth. Someone had set up a medical station in the room, but no one was there except him. Korbin was fine with that. He was buzzed. Just a little bit, enough to set his blood to singing, to make the room spin and sway if he didn't focus properly. The sound and movement of people out by his 'bar' made his head pound, but in here it was cool. Dark. The fire burning low amidst gray ashes. Eventually he would have to add more fuel, so that it didn't burn out, but not yet. It was a good excuse to be here, and he had reached a point where keeping on his feet, moving, working, just wasn't feasible anymore.
Exhausted. So tired. Blinking made his eyes sting and burn, as painful to keep them open as to have them closed. Pus and goo crusted at the corners and made the dark lashes stick together, but his fingers were so stained with soot that he didn't want to set them to his face. Not because the dirt bothered him - he didn't care about rumpled clothes, uncut hair or offensive odors - but because the ashes would make everything worse.
Weaver was moving in the shadows too. Sitting across from him, just a little bit off to the left. A dark shape that might be only a pattern in the wall, but also might be her ghost, staring fixedly at him from the dark. At times he could almost see her breathe. Adjust the braid back over her shoulder to hide the scar, blink. Every once in a while her mouth would twist, a brow rising as she gave him that look. The 'what the hell are you doing, silly?' expression that always made him feel like a child.
His eyes burned from staring back at the image, and as he blinked, a tear slipped down the cheek. Korbin would give anything to have an answer for her. But the shadows was dancing in his head too, and there was no light to stave it off in there.
He sat on the floor, with his back against the mantlepiece framing the hearth. Someone had set up a medical station in the room, but no one was there except him. Korbin was fine with that. He was buzzed. Just a little bit, enough to set his blood to singing, to make the room spin and sway if he didn't focus properly. The sound and movement of people out by his 'bar' made his head pound, but in here it was cool. Dark. The fire burning low amidst gray ashes. Eventually he would have to add more fuel, so that it didn't burn out, but not yet. It was a good excuse to be here, and he had reached a point where keeping on his feet, moving, working, just wasn't feasible anymore.
Exhausted. So tired. Blinking made his eyes sting and burn, as painful to keep them open as to have them closed. Pus and goo crusted at the corners and made the dark lashes stick together, but his fingers were so stained with soot that he didn't want to set them to his face. Not because the dirt bothered him - he didn't care about rumpled clothes, uncut hair or offensive odors - but because the ashes would make everything worse.
Weaver was moving in the shadows too. Sitting across from him, just a little bit off to the left. A dark shape that might be only a pattern in the wall, but also might be her ghost, staring fixedly at him from the dark. At times he could almost see her breathe. Adjust the braid back over her shoulder to hide the scar, blink. Every once in a while her mouth would twist, a brow rising as she gave him that look. The 'what the hell are you doing, silly?' expression that always made him feel like a child.
His eyes burned from staring back at the image, and as he blinked, a tear slipped down the cheek. Korbin would give anything to have an answer for her. But the shadows was dancing in his head too, and there was no light to stave it off in there.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
