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?
Another difference. Prideful and occasionally haughty though Weaver sometimes could be, she was a flame. Always warm. Always able to find a smidge of compassion in her for everyone, enough empathy to keep listening even as she planned out how to kick their asses later.
Weaver was never cold.
It was enough of a differenxe that Korbin did not thaw further. His heart was bleeding and the scabs made it hard, jagged. His grief was raw and visceral, not the kind you stepped over after a day of drinking. The bond with his sister had not been that shallow.
Korbin shrugged. Reached out a hand and nudged the still steaming bowl of stew so that it skidded over the table to the woman and stopped before her. It was not a kindness; Korbin had already discarded the meal. It cost him nothing to give it away.
"You are standing in the Kraai, my sister's tavern. It is located in the town of Snowcloak, within the walls of the Citadel, in the region of Halo, on the continent - and world - of Caido. And you've got some nerve, Outlander, to carry that attitude. As if you have a right to demand anything from anyone here. If you want anything you better fucking earn it."
It was a pretty little speech, and should have been accompanied by frowns and smirks, straightened backs and a lifted chin. The pompous preening of some young rooster, convinced of his own solid place in the world.
But his words rang hollow, empty, and there was no fire in his eyes. It sounded like a phrase rehearsed to boredom, an attitude pulled on like oversized costumes. Awkward, listless, numb. Korbin rolled the glass between his palms, and seemed to neither notice bor care that his attitude was just as deplorable.
Weaver was never cold.
It was enough of a differenxe that Korbin did not thaw further. His heart was bleeding and the scabs made it hard, jagged. His grief was raw and visceral, not the kind you stepped over after a day of drinking. The bond with his sister had not been that shallow.
Korbin shrugged. Reached out a hand and nudged the still steaming bowl of stew so that it skidded over the table to the woman and stopped before her. It was not a kindness; Korbin had already discarded the meal. It cost him nothing to give it away.
"You are standing in the Kraai, my sister's tavern. It is located in the town of Snowcloak, within the walls of the Citadel, in the region of Halo, on the continent - and world - of Caido. And you've got some nerve, Outlander, to carry that attitude. As if you have a right to demand anything from anyone here. If you want anything you better fucking earn it."
It was a pretty little speech, and should have been accompanied by frowns and smirks, straightened backs and a lifted chin. The pompous preening of some young rooster, convinced of his own solid place in the world.
But his words rang hollow, empty, and there was no fire in his eyes. It sounded like a phrase rehearsed to boredom, an attitude pulled on like oversized costumes. Awkward, listless, numb. Korbin rolled the glass between his palms, and seemed to neither notice bor care that his attitude was just as deplorable.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
