If she wanted satisfaction, he was all hers. He'd been able to give that to her in the past, after all, so if she got anything out of this, hurray. It wouldn't be because Korbin gave it though. Not this time.
"You think I blame you for a few broken ribs? Please. Weaver's carved chunks out of me with her daggers since I was old enough to spar, I'm used to being kicked around." He sounded a bit wistful as he said it, and took a step closer. A challenge, a dare - an invitation?
"I actually wasn't talking about you alone, this time. Did Chulane tell you about what he did? Far more intrusive than knocking me out of the sky, I think. You did not lock me in a room against my will when I was too drunk to stand straight, or stand over me with demands to 'talk about Weaver. Talk, talk, go on, tell me, go on and break, tell me everything about your dead sister and how you will never see her again.'."
Kobin had been a storyteller, once upon a time. A musician, a bard in the making. His voice skillfully distorted and took on Chulane's accent, his color of voice, mimicked the tone and volume the man had used that night. Loud and demanding, unyielding, exerting incredible pressure. With every word Korbin took a step closer to Kiada until he loomed tall and ominous over her.
Just like Chulane had done to him, curled up on a bed and out of his mind with grief and drink. Begging him to stop. To go away.
But no one ever fucking listened, did they?
"Your 'loved one' would be perfectly fine if he stopped stalking people. I'm under no obligation to be nice, or polite, or to include him. I never denied any of you the chance to live in Halo or do what is good for the region, I just very much doubt that an outsider who has lived here for all of one season could even know what is good."
"You think I blame you for a few broken ribs? Please. Weaver's carved chunks out of me with her daggers since I was old enough to spar, I'm used to being kicked around." He sounded a bit wistful as he said it, and took a step closer. A challenge, a dare - an invitation?
"I actually wasn't talking about you alone, this time. Did Chulane tell you about what he did? Far more intrusive than knocking me out of the sky, I think. You did not lock me in a room against my will when I was too drunk to stand straight, or stand over me with demands to 'talk about Weaver. Talk, talk, go on, tell me, go on and break, tell me everything about your dead sister and how you will never see her again.'."
Kobin had been a storyteller, once upon a time. A musician, a bard in the making. His voice skillfully distorted and took on Chulane's accent, his color of voice, mimicked the tone and volume the man had used that night. Loud and demanding, unyielding, exerting incredible pressure. With every word Korbin took a step closer to Kiada until he loomed tall and ominous over her.
Just like Chulane had done to him, curled up on a bed and out of his mind with grief and drink. Begging him to stop. To go away.
But no one ever fucking listened, did they?
"Your 'loved one' would be perfectly fine if he stopped stalking people. I'm under no obligation to be nice, or polite, or to include him. I never denied any of you the chance to live in Halo or do what is good for the region, I just very much doubt that an outsider who has lived here for all of one season could even know what is good."
In loving memory of when I gave a shit
KORBIN
HALE
HALE
