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

[despite_myrage]

Robin Rice is not happy. He has very little reason to be happy at the moment, and he doesn't have the energy or desire to pretend like he is when he isn't. Robin doesn't have the energy to live openly in his current emotional state either, which is why he's wandering the Conrad basement in a state of perpetual annoyance.

He has to go over to Wyatt's later. The thought makes him sick.

He steps into the common room, pausing in the doorway and staring at the... mess of cardboard and the angel with a hat on his head. Well then.

"What are you doing?"

Robin doesn't mean to be an asshole, except where he kind of usually does. Or he used to. It's just been awhile.

[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.