CHULANE
The tears flowed, fast and furious, sad and sorrowful, and Chuy sat through them, his own building up in his eyes, falling freely every now and then, being mopped up by a sleeve pressed to his cheek every other moment. Emotion wasn't weakness, he knew that, it had a time and a place, he was just so practiced in packing his away, in ignoring them indefinitely, that even when faced with the immense load of being plucked from one's whole world and delivered to a new one, he had managed to continue on with an illusion of life. He did it with the hope that the illusion would become reality, even if he didn't always feel genuinely enthused about aspects of it all the time - running errands, slaughtering livestock, stacking wood and delivering food could only give one so much satisfaction. But somewhere along the way, he had found enjoyment in it, had found the reality to be manageable, survivable, had let it stir his ambition to aim for something better, to make something better of himself, had let him process his feelings and then develop different, more positive feelings for another…
Fake it till you make it, perhaps it wasn't the best or most appropriate advice, but it had seemingly been what had got him through his time. Death and despair was seemingly rampant in Caido, those who survived each disaster would continue to live on, remembering those lost to them but living on regardless.
Korbin didn't want to live on though, and that was where Chulane was at a loss.
The words came, the emotions with them - Chuy heard them, absorbed them, held them all dearly, for even though Korbin hated him, loathed him, he was still complying with his orders now, giving him what he asked for. Tell me about Weaver he had demanded, and he received so much more - about Korbin, about the family, the disaster, the life they had built that was now falling over. About the seemingly age-old resentment he had about Outlanders, about the world changing and Weaver, ever the one to live life to the fullest taking it in her stride, leaving him behind. About how he had dedicated his life just to her, to her whims, her bar, her happiness, in amongst all of it, none of it was for Korbin, his joy seemingly only coming from Weaver. He understood now, at least as best he could with the boy's words - Weaver was not just a sister, not in the sense Chulane might have thought of sisters. In this world, this region of ice and snow and isolation, Weaver was Korbin's everything, his very reason for existing, for guiding him, protecting him, nurturing him (in her own way, of course). Weaver Weaver Weaver…
Chulane had liked Weaver, had appreciated her humour, her business acumen, her style. He felt like now he knew her better than before, knew another side to her - the sister who stepped up when parents were gone, who kept the family together when it would otherwise fall, who despite the harsh region they lived in, rose up and survived all the while. Weaver had been placed on a totem, she was an idol to be worshipped, and worshipped she was. Now she was gone, her totem smashed to pieces, and like a fanatic being told the god they prayed to didn't exist, she left a gaping and deep unknown fear in those she left behind.
Korbin's words stumbled to another pause, his voice breaking, his expression almost stunned. Chulane could only guess at what realisation had hit him now - surely it was better to come to this realisation here, with him, the Outlander he hated but who cared for him, who felt like he owed him, or Weaver, or himself, to at least try and help the boy through this crisis, if not completely, then at least partially? He wasn't a hero, not in how he was executing his 'help', and he wasn't trying to be a hero - he was just trying to do the decent thing, to help a fellow being in need. Had Korbin not done that himself, even recently? He took a steadying breath, again hating himself for the words that had to be said, prepared to act should they elicit more than scornful words thrown back at him.
"You claim you lived for her. You hold her responsible for a lot of your own purpose and feelings… that's a lot to put on one person. Did you ever do or feel anything for you? Did you expect she would be around forever, for you to constantly lean on, for you to shift the blame to, for you to be able to feel and do whatever you want without ever owning those actions or feelings for yourself?" He looked at the boy, frowning through the misted eyes, trying to get Korbin see that he would have had to come to this conclusion at some stage - he would have to take responsibility for himself one day, whether Weaver was still around or not. It was a stark and harsh reality, but the boy was well overdue in getting there - he had burned his nest to the ground it was time to build himself a new one.
Fake it till you make it, perhaps it wasn't the best or most appropriate advice, but it had seemingly been what had got him through his time. Death and despair was seemingly rampant in Caido, those who survived each disaster would continue to live on, remembering those lost to them but living on regardless.
Korbin didn't want to live on though, and that was where Chulane was at a loss.
The words came, the emotions with them - Chuy heard them, absorbed them, held them all dearly, for even though Korbin hated him, loathed him, he was still complying with his orders now, giving him what he asked for. Tell me about Weaver he had demanded, and he received so much more - about Korbin, about the family, the disaster, the life they had built that was now falling over. About the seemingly age-old resentment he had about Outlanders, about the world changing and Weaver, ever the one to live life to the fullest taking it in her stride, leaving him behind. About how he had dedicated his life just to her, to her whims, her bar, her happiness, in amongst all of it, none of it was for Korbin, his joy seemingly only coming from Weaver. He understood now, at least as best he could with the boy's words - Weaver was not just a sister, not in the sense Chulane might have thought of sisters. In this world, this region of ice and snow and isolation, Weaver was Korbin's everything, his very reason for existing, for guiding him, protecting him, nurturing him (in her own way, of course). Weaver Weaver Weaver…
Chulane had liked Weaver, had appreciated her humour, her business acumen, her style. He felt like now he knew her better than before, knew another side to her - the sister who stepped up when parents were gone, who kept the family together when it would otherwise fall, who despite the harsh region they lived in, rose up and survived all the while. Weaver had been placed on a totem, she was an idol to be worshipped, and worshipped she was. Now she was gone, her totem smashed to pieces, and like a fanatic being told the god they prayed to didn't exist, she left a gaping and deep unknown fear in those she left behind.
Korbin's words stumbled to another pause, his voice breaking, his expression almost stunned. Chulane could only guess at what realisation had hit him now - surely it was better to come to this realisation here, with him, the Outlander he hated but who cared for him, who felt like he owed him, or Weaver, or himself, to at least try and help the boy through this crisis, if not completely, then at least partially? He wasn't a hero, not in how he was executing his 'help', and he wasn't trying to be a hero - he was just trying to do the decent thing, to help a fellow being in need. Had Korbin not done that himself, even recently? He took a steadying breath, again hating himself for the words that had to be said, prepared to act should they elicit more than scornful words thrown back at him.
"You claim you lived for her. You hold her responsible for a lot of your own purpose and feelings… that's a lot to put on one person. Did you ever do or feel anything for you? Did you expect she would be around forever, for you to constantly lean on, for you to shift the blame to, for you to be able to feel and do whatever you want without ever owning those actions or feelings for yourself?" He looked at the boy, frowning through the misted eyes, trying to get Korbin see that he would have had to come to this conclusion at some stage - he would have to take responsibility for himself one day, whether Weaver was still around or not. It was a stark and harsh reality, but the boy was well overdue in getting there - he had burned his nest to the ground it was time to build himself a new one.
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
