to a discordant melody

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Point, and point. The alcohol did suck, and Korbin had learned early on that it was next to impossible to lie through the bond. There weren't too many Attuned around these parts, but those he knew were all the same. He couldn't do it either. So he reluctantly had to accept that Sunjata told the truth, at least partly.

That still left a heaping pile of questions to be answered, though. And Korbin was nothing if not curious. "Fine... let's say I believe you. Still doesn't answer why Weaver's drinking with the clients would be any help to you," he retorted.

He watched Sunjata work for a while. Eventually, the itch of having empty hands while there was stuff to be done got the better of him, and against his better judgement the blue-eyed raven rounded the bar, and began to put up bottles from the crates onto the shelves behind it. His hands were steady and sure, movements easy; the kind of comfortable that spoke of plenty of time spent around kitchens and merchandise both.

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

The question is one that Sunjata has to consider, unsure of what all Weaver has said about the Guild. So he pulls bottles from the crates, lines them up according to type, spending a few moments to consider how to word certain things, when he notices Korbin begin to help out finally. He watches the man once more with a hint of curiosity, watching with the ease and comfort the other attuned has around bottles and what not like this.

“People say very interesting things when they’re drunk. I just want to know what they have to say.” He offers, giving a characteristically rogue smirk toward Korbin before he moves back to the crate and pulls the empty one away to stack in the corner as he reaches for another one. “But if it’s really just me that leaves a sour taste in your mouth, I live in Torchline. I won’t be up here often.” There’s a shiver of something cold and dark that passes through the bond despite how much Sunjata wishes to hide it, of the thought of remaining in Halo.

He really isn’t a fan of this place, but sacrifices were to be made for what he wants to do. And if his sacrifice is something as small as visiting a place he doesn’t like, it’s hardly a sacrifice at all.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Without even turning, Korbin pointed an accusatory finger towards Sunjata when he felt the mental shudder, heard the man say he wouldn't be in Halo much. "Nope. It's that kind of attitude that pisses me off. You come here and you stir things up. You get Weaver dreaming, and promise big things."

Picking up a bottle, he tossed it in the air, made it spin and caught it deftly. Put it up on the shelf, and reached for another couple of bottles. "But what will you do when the going gets rough? When the cold sets in, when the sun disappears and the booze run dry. Where will you be? Not sticking around to do the real heavy lifting, I bet."

Torchline. From what Korbin heard, it was all sunshine and sandy beaches. Blue ocean and warmth. He couldn't even picture it. Sounded very soft and cushy, and quite on purpose he opened up his barriers to send a lazy coil of scorn towards Sunjata.

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

Ah, to be young and arrogant. Korbin’s voice reaches him and Sunjata pauses in his attempts to remove the bottles from the next crate as he leans back from it to stare back at the other man. “Everyone needs to dream of something, Korbin. To live a life otherwise is hardly living.” He offers with some hint of frustration slipping through. He pulls another bottle from the crate, sets it up, pointedly ignoring the tricks the other man shows when the next comment hits him.

“Real heavy lifting?” He snorts, pushing away from the crate to focus on Korbin again. “I’ll let you in on a secret. You don’t know me. But I’m impressed that you think you do.” Had this kid already forgotten about the cut on his neck? Of the daggers he holds within an arm's reach, of the way he’d spun and pinned the other attuned to the crate with a certain threat that he’d have no problem taking out someone that threatened this?

And still he has the audacity to claim there’s no heavy lifting on his end. “What did Weaver tell you about me?” ‘What do you think you know?’ He asks, folding his arms across his chest again, just waiting for a reason to knock the kid on his ass.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Korbin rolled his eyes. The mask of amusement was slipping, his mocking smile fading away until the lips was a narrow line. A sensitive mouth, that one. Easily able to express emotion, had it not been so carefully schooled into trickery. His smiles were not the kind to be trusted. But his eyes, oh, they were cold when the young man turned, and braced large hands on the bar counter. Calloused from weapons and scarred from heavy use - too scarred for a boy his age.

"I don't claim to know you, but Weaver thinks she does. She calls you 'friend', like she believes you'll actually have her back. I think that's stupid." He hadn't forgotten the dagger to his throat, no. The wound had stopped bleeding already, but the sting was still there, whenever he turned his head. But killing was easy, anyone could do that. Others, themselves... it was staying alive, keeping people alive that was the hard part.

"She said you wanted secrets, and would trade her booze for them. That you want to tack your name to this bar, and let her do the actual work of running it. That you'll be elsewhere, building your 'empire', whatever that means. Sounds shady as LongNight to me." Obviously it was Korbin's words, his take on whatever his sister had tried to convey, and it was equally clear he didn't believe that was all there was to it.

There were things they didn't tell him, and his feathers itched with not knowing what it was. It had the smell of a storm brewing when the sky was clear, like trouble coming from somewhere he couldn't see. And now his sister was mixed up in it.

"Why don't you cut the bullshit and tell me what's really going on here?"

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

His gaze finds Korbin’s, steel and stormy greys meeting cold blues as he listens to what Korbin says. Something about Weaver calling him a friend does spark a hint of satisfaction, but he doesn’t let it show across the mask of blank predatory watchfulness he gives Korbin. “You don’t trust her.” He offers instead. Because it didn’t matter to him whether Korbin thought it was a good idea or not. Sunjata would have her back, whenever needed.

The fact that Korbin doesn’t know him enough to trust it isn’t his problem, really.

So he turns a bit more fully, leaning against a crate as Korbin says what Weaver had told him, some sort of sense of bitterness from Korbin’s words that Sunjata fights the urge to roll his eyes. Shady as LongNight is a term he hasn’t heard before, but he remains silent until Korbin tells him to cut the bullshit and tell him what’s really going on – a bit of fur on edge, a bit of feathers wanting to bristle with the tone of this kid.

“I have a bar in the Grounds. Is it not that surprising I’d want to expand for another place that needs one?” He asks with a tilt of his head. “I do want secrets. I want to know what else is going on here to make sure that those I care about are safe. Weaver’s included in that.” Though the feathering in his jaw is a sure sign of the frustration that flickers through the flood. “So if it means sharing some decent alcohol and giving her something she wants in exchange for something I want, then it seems a pretty fair deal.” As for the other things? Well, Sunjata would certainly have Weaver’s back for any of those as well. All he needs to know is a time and place to be there for her and he would.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Korbin bristled, more and more as the man went on. The suggestion that he didn't trust his own damn sister drew a hoarse hiss from him, that would have fit better in the open beak of a raven. It was outrageous, and from a complete stranger, who knew nothing about the Hale family or their history. And even if Weaver had spilled everything, Sunjata still wouldn't know, because he hadn't been there to live it.

As for the rest? It was too neat, to well wrapped and tidy an explanation, and he trusted it not at all.

"I trust her to do anything she thinks is right and necessary to protect her family," he said grimly. "Including getting involved with outsiders and strangers. You honestly expect me to be thrilled that she's making deals like this to keep us fed and safe?" If safe was the right word for it. Again, Korbin didn't trust it.

"So, you're just some regular samaritan good guy? Right. Fine. If you're not gonna tell me what you're up to, I'll just have to figure it out on my own." He shrugged, turning back to the unpacking of bottles. It wouldn't be that hard. Halo wasn't big enough for secrets to stick. People talked, and given his good name with the locals, there wasn't much they wouldn't tell him.

And Korbin was still convinced this pretty speech was just a sham. He'd felt Sunjata's intensity first hand, how ready the man had been to kill him. You didn't get skill and intent like that by being an honest businessman, Attuned or no.

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

Sure, Korbin could talk all he wanted about how much he trusted his sister – but he didn’t trust the way she went about it. He could claim it along the rooftops of Snowcloak for all that Sunjata cared, but that didn’t mean the flood believed him any. So instead, his gaze remains on the other man, a snort leaving him when he tells him he’s not thrilled. “I don’t expect you to be thrilled. Most people aren’t toward Outlanders.” He says casually, despite the fact the majority of Natural’s he’d met had been fine with him. One of them even in love with, but he doesn’t dare mention it.

The comment of being a regular good Samaritan has him chuckling quietly as he also returns to the boxes, pulling out more bottles and setting them aside to be put up atop the bar. “I never claimed to be good.” He offers, knowing it won’t help ease any of Korbin’s mistrust. Frankly, he doesn’t care. All he needs is Weaver to trust him – she’s the one in the Guild after all. He only cares what she thinks, in the end.

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes and lived to learn from them all. Doesn’t mean I need to tell you about them just so you find some trust in me.” He picks up the bottles and places them on the shelves before grabbing that empty crate and setting it with the others. “But if you want to paint me as some bad guy here to ruin your life, go for it. I really don’t care.” And he doesn’t care. How old was this kid, even? Why would he care what he thought?

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

How could Weaver see anything likeable in this guy? All Korbin saw was an arrogant ass who waltzed in and made changes where they weren't welcome. Or needed. For all he knew, Sunjata was the bad guy. The reason his sister wanted to leave the house, change their ways, change everything. When they had been just fine before.

"Talk all you want, I don't give a damn about words," Korbin muttered. "I'll trust people who earn it, nothing else." Shaking his head, he kept working in silence.

Weaver wouldn't be happy about this, he knew that. In her pretty fantasy, this tavern was supposed to be their new home, a foundation for a lot of things. Hope, safety, full bellies... perhaps even something like happiness. And for some reason, she was willing to let this man be a part of that.

He really couldn't see it.

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

”I’ll trust people who earn it, nothing else.” Well, if that doesn’t sound like someone he’d known lifetimes ago. Still, his jaw is set hard and he sits in some small amount of silence, moving boxes here and there with Haai that enters and grabs a few things to move to a different room for him while he considers it. “Fair enough.” What did he honestly have to prove to this kid? Nothing, and yet… Sunjata can see a bit of himself in it – that protectiveness, that need to ensure that nothing else bad happens to those he has around him.

And with a quiet sigh while they keep working, he glances down to the tattoo briefly and the memory of the daggers before shooting a glance toward Korbin. “You really should know better than to sneak up on people though. Especially when you don’t know what they have or can do.” He offers as a bit of friendly advice, handing the griffin another small bag within a different crate to take toward the space that would become the kitchen. He doesn’t know what else to say, other than the truth of the matter.

Perhaps this meeting would have gone differently, without blades to throats just yet. Still, Korbin looks fine, but Sunjata’s sure it’ll spark an interesting conversation later with Weaver. Perhaps over a drink by the fire, like she’d suggested once before.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Ah, the guy just wouldn't shut up, would he? Sometimes, it was better to just leave well enough alone.  Still, the comment brought a smirk to the lips of the youth, like it was somehow amusing.

"You shouldn't let people sneak up on you, if you're gonna be that twitchy." Emptying the crate he had been working on, Korbin took it in one and and strode over to Sunjata, to find a new one. When he was a few steps away, he flicked something towards the man with a snap of clever fingers, sending a small metal hoop spinning through the air.

"You didn't even notice when I pinched it, did you?" Still smirking, Korbin pointed to the man's ears, where one of the earrings had mysteriously disappeared.

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

He’s just about to explain why he’s twitchy in Halo, but doesn’t particularly get a chance to as the youth walks toward him with the empty crate. But he remains well aware of where the other attuned goes, focusing on that when he hears something akin to a plink leave the other mans hand, and Sunjata shifts just enough to spot the flash of gold as it soars through the air.

His gaze narrows on it, snatching it out of the air and moving to set the item in his other hand down as he turns to Korbin with an actual roll of his eyes. “They’re just earrings, they can be replaced.” He replies, hiding the fact that the one he’d snatched had been the fancy earring – the one that allowed him to hear whispers regardless of whether he’d naturally be able to or not. Still, he frowns as he reaches up to place it back in his ear, slipping it into the lobe and ensuring it and the other one is there before his gaze settles on the other man again.

“If you’re in the habit of taking things, perhaps Torchline is a better fit for you than here.” He turns away from Korbin again, picking up the rest of the crate with items within it, stepping toward the kitchen to place it down on the counter top. “No cannibals or ursurs to be seen out there.” Thankfully. Part of him can still taste the blood from the cannibal he'd killed and he shakes his head to push the feeling away, running a tongue along those same partially shifted fangs.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do

KORBIN

And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,

Prying open the lid of another crate to see what was inside, Korbin huffed a sound of amusement. "Doesn't change the fact that I took it without you noticing," he pointed out, sounding rather smug. Not like he expected a pat on the back or anything, but considering he'd almost had his throat cut moments before, that slight of hand had been one of his better feats. All that chaos, and not even a tremble of the finger.

At the suggestion he would like it in Torchline though, the raven-haired boy just shook his head. "It's just a trick," he said, with a disparaging shrug. "Gets under people's skin, is all. Besides, Weaver's here, I'm not leaving her." If cannibals and ursurs were the worst things Sunjata could think of, then Torchline must be cushy indeed.

"Why, they pinchy down there, in sunshine land?" He couldn't help but to be curious though. It was a personality flaw.

Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

SUNJATA

the flood

'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading

A quiet annoyed hum is given back toward Korbin in response to the fact he’d taken it without his noticing. Yeah, the kid might have gotten that one up on him, but Sunjata had held a blade to the man’s throat moments prior. At the very least, the kid had balls. Can’t fault him for that. So instead, he works on listening to him in the other room, pulling things out of that crate and finding a space for the items within – things like utensils and plates and the like.

He’s silent for a few moments when he mentions Weaver, emptying the crate while he considers it. “And if Weaver had some business to do in Torchline, you’d stay?” A raise of his brow to that, whether Korbin could see it or not. Filtering information for later, not sure when or how useful it was, but at the very least it was something to avoid the annoyance of losing the earring without notice.

The question of whether they’re pinchy in Torchline has Sunjata snorting, however, a rogue smirk crossing his face as he takes the empty crate back out where Korbin was. “Quite a lot, actually.” He offers, looking to Korbin with that same smirk along his face. “A whole cave system dedicated for it.” He doesn’t comment on what he’s done in the cave with a certain Ascended, but focuses on the space instead.

you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do