I cannot defend you, but I'll try and I'll be there.

[callinallfreaks]

All is quiet in the Kashtta lobby. You know, the way things ...probably shouldn't be, considering the Kashtta, but that's beside the point. At least it doesn't stay that way for long

Comments

[godtooksides]

As the angel's attacking, he's still yelling at Robin: "You don't know what this fucking is. You don't fucking know -- I can't fucking feel anything, that's--it's not like--this is fucking wrong and you wouldn't fucking know because you--"

The swings don't cut off when the words do; really, the words just cut in and out, as though he just forgets, sometimes, that he was saying anything. "I used to be a fucking angel." Hit, connect. "I'm not going--" Hit, connect. "--to fucking Fall, I already fucking lost--" Hit, connect. Hit. Connect. "Cut your fucking wings off--" Hit, connect. "--see how it fucking feels then."

He stops, after awhile, the rage suddenly exhausted. It never sticks around for long, and afterwards he always wants to curl into a ball, to hide away from the rest of the world. Instead, he just cringes away, as if expecting Robin to hit back, finally, to retaliate somehow. They always do. "No," he says, slumping against the wall, curled in against himself. He's trying not to double over or run out the door. "Don't you fuc--don't talk to me until--until you fucking know. You--you don't." The words are angry, but the delivery is just weak, the complete opposite of the confrontational he was just seconds ago.

[despite_myrage]

Robin doesn't say anything. It's useless. It's useless to speak, and he's getting what he wants anyway.

What more would he say?

The words that he's saying doesn't matter to Robin.

They really don't.

It's only when the angel stops that he even bothers moving. It's slow. He pushes himself up with effort, wiping his mouth and trying to catch his breath.

"So what then? You'll never talk to anyone? Because I can guarantee you that nobody knows what you're going through. Even someone else that's got their wings cut off, won't know exactly. It doesn't do any good to keep it all locked up. I can tell you that much," Robin says, pressing his hand to his jaw and wincing. "I really hope you feel better now."

[godtooksides]

"Doesn't do me any fucking good to say anything," the angel snaps back. It's an automatic reaction, but a true one -- this encounter is a case in point. This guy won't back down, will keep insisting he's an angel -- he knows what being an angel feels like, and this isn't it. This is just some Hell in between.

He doesn't feel better. He's just tired, which could be a substitute for feeling better if he could ever get any fucking sleep after these things. But no; he's exhausted, but his body's still in fight or flight mode, and he's the frozen rabbit in the corner, hoping that if he doesn't move, the predator will lose interest.

[despite_myrage]

"I meant to talk about what happened to you. I bet you've never gone into much detail about it. Have you?"

Not that it helps all that much.

He's talked about the abuse that he's endured at the hands of his mother. Robin's even talked about it in detail, and the rage is still there.

It's opening himself up to relationships, to love that helped in the end. Despite the risk, opening up is the answer. It's the only one that makes sense.

He's been an ass to this random person, and he doesn't quite want to stay around him any longer.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, tiredly, and then just... walks away. Awkward exits were once common with him, and it seems like it's that way again.

[godtooksides]

The way the angel snaps his head up and stares at Robin when the other asks would be a sufficient answer to his question, if it were that easy to read the angel's frightened stares. One might think it was a "God no, I haven't" reaction; one would be wrong. He's talked about it. He was forced to, time and time again, at the asylum, before they dumped him out on the streets. None of it helped. He could never quite work up enough rage.

And then the other man's gone, without even waiting for his answer. He still doesn't move for awhile, staring at the door in case anyone else comes into the room -- drawn by the yelling or just passing by. But then, suddenly, he sinks to the floor again, curling into a little ball and starting to cry. Fuck. Fuck. This was just not what he needed today.