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?
Others seemed determined to keep stabbing him too. He could have ignored Noah when the man came to sit by the table. It was a forgiveable offense, especially with how crowded it was. But he went further. Broke the silence, spoke, twisted the knife by dragging up the woman they had both loved, if by different degrees.
Korbin's knuckles whitened around the empty glass, his grip tightening until it was a miracle that it didn't crack. His gaze flitted to the sticky table tops, the sweaty seats, the uncleaned hearth, a serving boy picking his nose behind the bar while someone repeatedly delivered the wrong food to the wrong table and couldn't seem to get it right. Refugees were sleeping on the floor along the walls and a gaggle of ningo-brained teenagers marginally younger than himself were throwing knives at a wall, whooping and growing rowdier by the minute.
"Then she shouldn't have left it to do someone else's job," he said, his growl made rough from booze and sentiment. "If she had stayed here, she would still be alive."
But when had Weaver ever minded her own business? And once again Korbin was left behind to deal with her mess, whether he wanted to or not.
Ironic. He always hated this place. And now he wished for nothing more than to see her behind the counter again. Leaning on her elbow, sphinx lazy and mysterious. Always a gleam in her eyes.
Korbin's knuckles whitened around the empty glass, his grip tightening until it was a miracle that it didn't crack. His gaze flitted to the sticky table tops, the sweaty seats, the uncleaned hearth, a serving boy picking his nose behind the bar while someone repeatedly delivered the wrong food to the wrong table and couldn't seem to get it right. Refugees were sleeping on the floor along the walls and a gaggle of ningo-brained teenagers marginally younger than himself were throwing knives at a wall, whooping and growing rowdier by the minute.
"Then she shouldn't have left it to do someone else's job," he said, his growl made rough from booze and sentiment. "If she had stayed here, she would still be alive."
But when had Weaver ever minded her own business? And once again Korbin was left behind to deal with her mess, whether he wanted to or not.
Ironic. He always hated this place. And now he wished for nothing more than to see her behind the counter again. Leaning on her elbow, sphinx lazy and mysterious. Always a gleam in her eyes.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
