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?
Exquisite pain zipped up his arm. His elbow connected to Chulane's temole in a perfect angle. Somewhere, Straia and Weaver whooped in astonished delight, and Erebor nodded in mute approval. Just like they taught him. It never worked against them, but then, they were all trained fighters, just like himself.
The guy that crumpled to the ground behind him was not. But Korbin didn't know that, didn't consider it. He was just glad that the grip loosened on him, and he spun around to jeer at the intrusive fuck who wouldn't leave him alone. "Tolya, gedoff me! Yarown fault, Chulane."
Seeing the guy still lying on the ground, Korbin rolled his eyes. "Oy. Gedupp. We ain' done ere." His blood still boiled from the audacity of the guy. To try and restrain him!? The fucker deserved a headache, and would probably have a nice one after this.
But the figure before his feet did not reply. Didn't move at all, really, and Korbin stared at him. Uncomprehending. It hadn't been that hard a blow, had it? "Hey. Get up, man. Stop 'ucking around, I'll leave you there." Irritation stirred within, along with something else. A deeper unease, that quiet sensible voice that suggested something wasn't quite right here.
Again, Chuy did not respond.
Looking around, as if expecting someone to be hiding nearby and just waiting for the right moment to jump out and shout 'gotcha!', Korbin didn't see anyone. The street was empty, the sun fading in behind a cloud.
If only his head worked properly. Maybe he could figure this one out. Blood kept runneling down his face. Staggering over to a pile of snow near a house wall, he grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it to his forehead. Then reconsidered and shoved his whole head into the drift. Ice burned his skin, darkness eased his straining eyes, and something like panic rose up, a bubble of emotion that wasn't grief steadily rose up in his sea of nothingness. Fear. Guilt.
Gods, what had he done? Chulane wasn't moving.
Breaking free when he couldn't breathe anymore, the boy shook his hair free from snow and stumbled over to the prone figure. He was drunk, and his hands shook from the onset of adrenaline as he peeled off a glove to hold it over the man's face, but he was still not gone enough to be entirely incapacitated. Loren had trained him to deal with injuries. He checked for breath, for a pulse. Examined the temple his own elbow had knocked into, and the snow around Chuy's head, for signs of blood. Careful not to disturb the man's head.
The veneer of calm was thin, a fragile thing with panicked emotions roiling within. "Chulane, can you hear me? Move your fingers, if you can." Korbin spoke slowly, carefully articulating to avoid slurring.
He could have left. Just walked away from this, gone to the bar and left the guy in the snow. It was his own fault for meddling, and Korbin had no obligation to stick around. Wasn't supposed to care. Did not care, at all.
But strangely, the thought of leaving never even occurred to him.
The guy that crumpled to the ground behind him was not. But Korbin didn't know that, didn't consider it. He was just glad that the grip loosened on him, and he spun around to jeer at the intrusive fuck who wouldn't leave him alone. "Tolya, gedoff me! Yarown fault, Chulane."
Seeing the guy still lying on the ground, Korbin rolled his eyes. "Oy. Gedupp. We ain' done ere." His blood still boiled from the audacity of the guy. To try and restrain him!? The fucker deserved a headache, and would probably have a nice one after this.
But the figure before his feet did not reply. Didn't move at all, really, and Korbin stared at him. Uncomprehending. It hadn't been that hard a blow, had it? "Hey. Get up, man. Stop 'ucking around, I'll leave you there." Irritation stirred within, along with something else. A deeper unease, that quiet sensible voice that suggested something wasn't quite right here.
Again, Chuy did not respond.
Looking around, as if expecting someone to be hiding nearby and just waiting for the right moment to jump out and shout 'gotcha!', Korbin didn't see anyone. The street was empty, the sun fading in behind a cloud.
If only his head worked properly. Maybe he could figure this one out. Blood kept runneling down his face. Staggering over to a pile of snow near a house wall, he grabbed a handful of snow and pressed it to his forehead. Then reconsidered and shoved his whole head into the drift. Ice burned his skin, darkness eased his straining eyes, and something like panic rose up, a bubble of emotion that wasn't grief steadily rose up in his sea of nothingness. Fear. Guilt.
Gods, what had he done? Chulane wasn't moving.
Breaking free when he couldn't breathe anymore, the boy shook his hair free from snow and stumbled over to the prone figure. He was drunk, and his hands shook from the onset of adrenaline as he peeled off a glove to hold it over the man's face, but he was still not gone enough to be entirely incapacitated. Loren had trained him to deal with injuries. He checked for breath, for a pulse. Examined the temple his own elbow had knocked into, and the snow around Chuy's head, for signs of blood. Careful not to disturb the man's head.
The veneer of calm was thin, a fragile thing with panicked emotions roiling within. "Chulane, can you hear me? Move your fingers, if you can." Korbin spoke slowly, carefully articulating to avoid slurring.
He could have left. Just walked away from this, gone to the bar and left the guy in the snow. It was his own fault for meddling, and Korbin had no obligation to stick around. Wasn't supposed to care. Did not care, at all.
But strangely, the thought of leaving never even occurred to him.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
