KORBIN
Remember when I swore
That you and I would never die
That you and I would never die
He savored the touch, the closeness. It was something that had become rare as of late, and Korbin knew it was just as much his own fault. By trying to close out the world, he inadvetently shut her out as well. And possibly that was part of the reason for his misery. His methods of coping weren't working, and he seemed incapable of finding a new plan.
When she withdrew, he straightened up and waited, leaving the work to sit until they were done. It wouldn't do to make mistakes with the gift for a god, and this conversation was really more important. The leather could wait; she could not.
"Good, I'll do the same," he agreed, not planning on setting rules that wouldn't apply to both of them. Or making her ask permission for anything; it would irk him just as much. "What else... I would like to get a chance to be involved in what you do, Weaver. Be given the option of saying yes or no to participate, before you assume what my answer will be." That was where things had gone wrong with the Kraai; before he knew it she was already doing it, smiling and assuming he would be as delighted as she. If he'd been invited in the deal from the start, not just a sidekick tagalong to leech off her success, then maybe he wouldn't resent it as much. But the way things stood now, he felt redundant. Unnecessary, because he was only there to help. It did not belong to him, however much she claimed the opposite.
"You gotta realize too, that your life is not just yours. And my life is not just mine. As long as we are family and share this space, your decisions will affect me. Just as mine affect you. I'm not sure when we stopped, but somewhere it feels like we lost the respect for that. Your decision to open the bar... I know you had the best of intentions and it's what you wanted, but it still turned everything about how we do things upside down. You effectively fired me from my part or the job in keeping us afloat, and threw me the Kraai as a replacement. One that I'm not even needed in - you're too good at doing what needs to be done." And he was too proud to accept that kind of thing. He needed to be needed, to have a role, a purpose. Being 'the brother' who decorated the space behind the bar just wasn't enough.
There had been a balance, in their responsibilities. Weaver brought home game, and Korbin made sure to turn it into more than food. They each had a role, and even if the weight of them had been too skewed, it could have been shifted to lighten the load on her if she'd wanted it to. But now that balance was gone. Their sole income had become the bar, because without the game, Korbin had nothing to trade for other things except his labor. He had to help her make it work... and when he wasn't actually needed there - except for sentimental reasons - it left him without a role to play. A freeloader in his own home. And even though he accepted the Grand Healer's offer for a job and could contribute more on his own... the connection was gone. They weren't working together anymore, not like before. In a single blow, they'd become separate entities sharing the same too large house, barely seeing each other as they went about living separate lives.
It was a change he resented, a distance and division he never wanted or asked for.
"I know we can't go back. You wouldn't give up the bar even if I asked you, and I won't do that because I know you want to stay off the tundra. I just... I'm not as quick to adapt to change as you as, sis. I know I've been an ass lately, and I'm sorry for that. But I can't change any quicker than I already am. I need time, and space. So... please stop pushing me to do things, or accept people. It won't work, and it won't help." Mulishly stubborn when he didn't want to do something, it rather had the opposite effect. The more people pushed to be let in, the tighter he closed himself off. The harder she campaigned for the world to be part of their lives, the more he would reject it.
All Korbin craved was quiet, and solitude, and space - to mope, yes, and lick his wounds. Some small familiar routine while his nerves settled and repaired, until he was ready - and willing - to face the world again. On his own terms.
When she withdrew, he straightened up and waited, leaving the work to sit until they were done. It wouldn't do to make mistakes with the gift for a god, and this conversation was really more important. The leather could wait; she could not.
"Good, I'll do the same," he agreed, not planning on setting rules that wouldn't apply to both of them. Or making her ask permission for anything; it would irk him just as much. "What else... I would like to get a chance to be involved in what you do, Weaver. Be given the option of saying yes or no to participate, before you assume what my answer will be." That was where things had gone wrong with the Kraai; before he knew it she was already doing it, smiling and assuming he would be as delighted as she. If he'd been invited in the deal from the start, not just a sidekick tagalong to leech off her success, then maybe he wouldn't resent it as much. But the way things stood now, he felt redundant. Unnecessary, because he was only there to help. It did not belong to him, however much she claimed the opposite.
"You gotta realize too, that your life is not just yours. And my life is not just mine. As long as we are family and share this space, your decisions will affect me. Just as mine affect you. I'm not sure when we stopped, but somewhere it feels like we lost the respect for that. Your decision to open the bar... I know you had the best of intentions and it's what you wanted, but it still turned everything about how we do things upside down. You effectively fired me from my part or the job in keeping us afloat, and threw me the Kraai as a replacement. One that I'm not even needed in - you're too good at doing what needs to be done." And he was too proud to accept that kind of thing. He needed to be needed, to have a role, a purpose. Being 'the brother' who decorated the space behind the bar just wasn't enough.
There had been a balance, in their responsibilities. Weaver brought home game, and Korbin made sure to turn it into more than food. They each had a role, and even if the weight of them had been too skewed, it could have been shifted to lighten the load on her if she'd wanted it to. But now that balance was gone. Their sole income had become the bar, because without the game, Korbin had nothing to trade for other things except his labor. He had to help her make it work... and when he wasn't actually needed there - except for sentimental reasons - it left him without a role to play. A freeloader in his own home. And even though he accepted the Grand Healer's offer for a job and could contribute more on his own... the connection was gone. They weren't working together anymore, not like before. In a single blow, they'd become separate entities sharing the same too large house, barely seeing each other as they went about living separate lives.
It was a change he resented, a distance and division he never wanted or asked for.
"I know we can't go back. You wouldn't give up the bar even if I asked you, and I won't do that because I know you want to stay off the tundra. I just... I'm not as quick to adapt to change as you as, sis. I know I've been an ass lately, and I'm sorry for that. But I can't change any quicker than I already am. I need time, and space. So... please stop pushing me to do things, or accept people. It won't work, and it won't help." Mulishly stubborn when he didn't want to do something, it rather had the opposite effect. The more people pushed to be let in, the tighter he closed himself off. The harder she campaigned for the world to be part of their lives, the more he would reject it.
All Korbin craved was quiet, and solitude, and space - to mope, yes, and lick his wounds. Some small familiar routine while his nerves settled and repaired, until he was ready - and willing - to face the world again. On his own terms.
Remember when you swore
we had it all?
we had it all?
