I must confess

KORBIN

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

He dug his fingers into the sand. Sifted it between his fingers, and shuddered at the dry earthiness left behind on his fingertips. Korbin gazed out into the dark as he listened, chewing on the message. Any other time and he would have scoffed at it, rejected it but... after having felt what went on behind that casual, arrogant expression, he had to believe that the Flood knew what he was talking about. No doubt he'd tried everything already.

"Alright... What do I do with the anger, then? Fighting never actually helped..." Weaver might get something out of it, but to Korbin it only made things worse. And he was seething, all the time these days. Bubbling, boiling, with things that just wouldn't leave no matter how he worked, trained, hunted or sparred.

A ferocious energy somewhere on the border between fury and despair.

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

SuNjATA

the flood

He half expects Korbin to ignore his advice — and were he younger he likely would have as well. At Korbin’s age, Sunjata had been through a lot, but it hadn’t been everything. At Korbin’s she is when he met Lusea, when he got into the resistance, when his life started to look good and great before it began to collapse around him. But his life had always gone in waves, and when there were a bunch of lows, of drowning waves and spinning heads, he’d always come up for air in the end.

This point, this moment, this is his air and his breathing room.

So he glances over to Korbin with a light shrug to his question. “If fighting isn’t your style you could always… Create, maybe?” Sunjata wasn’t an artist, wasn’t a creator by any means. He was a fighter through and through. But that didn’t mean he didn’t try it, at least once to see what worked for him.

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KORBIN

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

Create? That sounded like something he'd heard before. Korbin felt the urge to curl up into a ball, physically protect himself against the idea and everything that seemed to follow with it of implications... but he forced himself to resist. To remain sprawled out in the sand, and keep absorbing all these uncomfortable new notions.

He could always see it as punishment for his crimes. Some small attempt to attone for what he'd done.

"Maybe," he conceded. It was hardly a vow, but not a flat out rejection of the idea either. Korbin thought of his lute, of the times he sang to his sister, to their friends. It was true that those were his happiest moments. "Too bad there's not much room for that in Halo."

Not his kind of creations, at least.

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

SuNjATA

the flood

Maybe, comes the answer. And Sunjata nods to that. It was an option at the very least — however, when Korbin continues on, Sunjata can’t help but to hum thoughtfully. “Why not?” A quiet press for more. He understood that life was hard in Halo, but he also understood you could be more than one thing. Hell, he was.

He sits up on the sand now, drawing his arms back over his knees as he looks over at Korbin. “It’s gotta be more condusive than my way of coping.” He winks toward the younger man, a rogue grin crossing his face. “Besides, plenty of people enjoy art and all of that. You might surprise yourself.”

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KORBIN

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

He shrugged. Felt like he'd said too much, now that he had to explain the reasoning. "It's not like I don't enjoy it," he said, not quite meeting the man's gaze. "I already... I mean, I play music. Sometimes. But it's not like I can do it for a living, and if I've got time to play, I should work instead."

It was perhaps a bit late to be awkward about opening up and revealing things. But Korbin still felt like he was giving away secrets by talking about himself. Like it might give this man power over him, somehow... Which of course sounded ridiculous when he vented the thought even to himself.

"Plucking lute strings won't put food on the table," he added, to clarify if it wasn't already plain what he meant.

It still hurt to say it. To keep repeating what he'd come to believe was an undeniable truth. Even more now, after Loren had pushed him to consider making a living off it. Korbin just... couldn't see how it would be possible.

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

SuNjATA

the flood

Korbin doesn’t meet his gaze and Sunjata looks away again to give the man whatever space he might be needing, focusing instead on the task at hand. The idea of creating rather than rampaging. Of making something to channel the anger into. And he can’t help but to consider what information Korbin hands over, mulling them over in his mind. “Could always try to make music for a living.” He shrugs, because it’s not something he would do — he did play the piano but that had been more of a nobility habit. He hadn’t picked it up since learning — hands too full of weapons, alcohol, or bodies to spend the time on it.

“Or, you do both. It is possible, you know.” He offers with a light chuckle. “I run a guild and work the position I have here. And then after all of that, I do what I like to.” He tilts his head back toward Korbin with that. “An even balance is needed, even if you feel guilty about it. No use wrecking yourself into the ground to keep going when you could’ve channeled that anger out a bit, hm?” A raise of his brow to that.

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KORBIN

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

Try, he said, but hadn't Korbin already stated that it work? Who would pay to hear him play? Who would take time from their busy lives enough times to even give him the chance? Loren seemed to think people would be eager to, but the young raven couldn't really share the optimism.

And doing both? He sighed, and sat up. Dragged his hands through the dark hair, and leaned an elbow against a knee. "You make it sound so simple," he said, a bit dryly. "I don't know if you noticed, but life is a bit more lax here than it is in Halo. Half-measures is a good way to get yourself killed."

Yet the notion wouldn't quite let go. He'd been offered a job in the infirmary. Had waved it off without taking it seriously, but... If he took the healer up on that? If he could set something up at the Kraai too? People already gathered there...

It was a wild thought. Felt crazy, impossible, uncomfortable as he'd have to ask for more than one favor, but...

He breathed in deep, tried to push the notion aside. Leave it in the sand, let it go, before it took root.

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

SuNjATA

the flood

It wasn’t simple, and Sunjata knew this far more intensely than Korbin might realize. So when the youth quips back, Sunjata snorts lightly and shakes his head. “So what if you’re not a hunter? You don’t have to be, is what I’m saying.” He tilts his head back toward Korbin with a raise of his brow, a toothy and fanged grin. “Art is just as important as the rest of it. Besides, how else would ballads or stories be made, if all the writers and musicians went off to battle with them?” Another bounce of his brow to that before he taps a finger along his tattooed arm.

“You have the Kraai now. Use it. Perhaps on a rowdy day you can pull out the lute and get the place to sing with you.” He hums thoughtfully, a soft chuckle leaving his lips with it as he focuses on the waves before him. “You might surprise yourself.” Sunjata had surprised himself with everything he had stuck his hands into, thinking he couldn’t do it.

“And if it helps, where I was born… I was supposed to be this soldier – which I guess I still am in a sense – but anyway, I was supposed to enforce the laws of my world. They were backwards, wrong, meant to put people down more than they were to bring people up. So I joined the resistance that had formed.” He inclines his head again toward Korbin. “Joining a resistance when you’re the son of the king of the land is not a good look, as I’m sure you can imagine. It meant a lot of death, and yet… Yet I still did it, even if I thought it wouldn’t work or I couldn’t do it. I did.”

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KORBIN

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

He shook his head. "So I'm to sit safely in the Citadel and let others risk their lives to keep me fed? Just so I can do something that's not necessary to keep anyone alive?" It felt so incredibly selfish and yes, even the thought made guilt roil and churn through his insides.

"Besides. The Kraai is Weaver's. Not mine. She's made it perfectly clear she doesn't need me there." And yes, the connection the bar had to Sunjata still irked him, for all that he sat and spilled his guts to the man. It was a tether and chain he didn't want, a debt he would hate to carry around. Or repay.

He listened with growing disbelief to the recounting Sunjata gave of his past. Probably he was supposed to take something away from this to apply to his own life, but damn. "Wait, so you joined a rebellion that got people killed, even though you didn't actually believe it would succeed? Did it get you anywhere?"

That just sounded stupid, to him. Reckless, selfish.

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

SuNjATA

the flood

A snort leaves Sunjata with the implications Korbin presents. “It’s just as important, you know.” He shrugs. “The same person that preps the inns and beds are just as vital as the people going and getting the food, hm?” A bit of perspective he hopes gets across. But he draws silent again as Korbin continues, as he misinterprets Sunjata’s story of trying to relate to the younger man.

“No, I meant that I didn’t think my joining would work. They could’ve easily killed me and offered my head on a platter for my father.” He looks back over to Korbin with a raise of his brow. “I was supposed to snuff out the resistance, and I joined them instead. And I used the knowledge I had from being on the other side to benefit the rebellion.” People were going to die either way, but with Sunjata’s help, it meant he could at least try to prevent walking into the land mines.

“We were pretty successful for a while there.” He offers, shrugging lightly to that and focusing on the water again. “But the point I’m trying to get at is that you won’t know it won’t work until you try.”

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KORBIN

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

He understood the message, even if the comparison wasn't exactly on point. Anyone could make a bed, but people able to hunt and fight were less common. Being young and able bodied, Korbin felt a responsibility to do what he could... even when though he hated it. Perhaps especially because he hated it. Anything else would feel like giving up and running away. Leaving an unpleasant task to someone else. It wouldn't be... fair.

It seemed he misinterpreted what Sunjata said, and listened to the correction with slightly less thorny opinions of the man. He sighed and rubbed his face with a hand. Felt the weight of expectation added to his shoulders with that hateful phrase. 'Won't know until you try'... well, that may be, but what of the cost if he failed? And did he even want to succeed, when it would be an undertaking for entirely selfish reasons, underlaid with so much guilt?

It wasn't even a problem of lacking confidence in his own ability. Korbin just didn't think his music was needed. Or wanted.

His silence was full of doubt, heavy and conflicted. What was he supposed to say to all these optimistic people who kept telling him to believe when he couldn't muster any faith?

Fuck off, came to mind. Except it never worked. They kept coming back, kept talking.

"Do you ever get the urge to just... shift and fly off?" he mused instead, thoughts turning dark as the urge to run grew inside. "Let instinct swallow you up and forget you were ever anything else?"

It was a growing urge, these days. And his tether to other humans was a single young woman, who would never forgive him if he left her.

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

SuNjATA

the flood

He doesn’t add anymore to it than what Sunjata had said. And it doesn’t bother him, not when he knows that Korbin would have to want to get out of the mindset in order to do it, to go for those things without feeling guilty. And Sunjata? Being an Outlander and an outsider of Halo would have little effect, little push for it. Weaver, perhaps… Might stand a better chance at it.

He keeps those thoughts to himself.

Instead, Korbin’s question is met with a raised brow, a glance back toward the man. “Used to.” He rumbles quietly, shoulders rising and falling. “Never helped though. You come back and everything is just the same as you left it.” Perhaps that’s where the difference came from. It’s only been a year since Sunjata’s attuning, and with it he hadn’t had the option to simply give into other instincts before.

Other instincts aside from the Korofian instilled in him, one he still shied away from. “I’m just taking each day as it is, now.” What use was there for planning if the plans never amounted to anything anyway?

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KORBIN

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

In Korbin's thoughts, he wouldn't really be coming back. To live out the rest of his days as a raven didn't seem like such a bad thing. How long before he forgot about being human? How long before he would be a bird through and through?

But then he sighed. Long and heavy, and thumped back onto the sand, like someone had cut whatever puppeteer's chords that held him up.

He couldn't leave anyway. No while he still had Weaver. So it was a moot point, and thinking about it would get him nowhere.

"Living day by day, huh. You know... that's not really something I expected a follower of Safrin to say. I'd have pegged you more as a Frey type, if that's all I heard." Judging on what little Loren had told him about the deity, they sounded the fickle type, flitting from pleasure to pleasure without planning anything.

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

SuNjATA

the flood

Korbin flops back among the sand, and Sunjata remains upright, reaching up to rub at his neck briefly. At least, until the other man’s words reach the air and Sunjata hears them in such a way that has him barking a laugh, turning to look at Korbin with a raise of his brow and a slight smirk crossing his face. “Frey?” He repeats as if in disbelief, before he rolls his eyes and sits forward again.

“Ouch.” He offers with a huff of laughter, before he sighs and shakes his head. “No thanks, I’m good. Dealt enough with Frey to not want to deal with them at all if I can help it.” He looks back across the water with a small shrug, nothing but honesty and amusement lingering in his voice and through the attuned bond, replacing all those feelings of despair. “What makes you say that, anyway?” Because he’s curious what pegs him as a Frey follower over Safrin.

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