[ Robby's used to an unsteady weight. Granted, his mom was never this heavy, never this frame, and even Sam was smaller, easier to handle; but he knows to expect the unexpected, concerns himself about which was the man might go instead of up. How drunk is he? There's variables that can never be predicted, only hoping to be caught as they happen.
But they're standing, Robby pressing his free hand to Mister LaRusso's chest (so his current going up doesn't too easily go down). Waits with a quiet 'Okay?' that he knows he won't get a verbal answer for, but hopefully he gets a nod or shake. Regardless, time is given, and then the arm comes over his own shoulders. Robby sucks in air through his nostrils that bring in the smell of alcohol, of something sour. Or maybe it's a taste already in the back of his throat where those words had been, the worry for the state of the man he's helping to keep standing. ]
This way. [ Every time he speaks feels wrong, awkward, stilted. But every time is a necessity (even knowing who did this to Mister LaRusso--that still is, but it can wait), because as he guides the man to follow his lead, to turn in the right direction and continue to walk the path Robby had been taking, he won't speak. Not the things that might need to be spoken; the conversations and apologies owed, felt, important to their lives before this city, with the Californian sun. He could chew on the topics without processing any part of them, without considering how to start, the middle or end; and Robby thinks he's chewing on plenty as he walks, stopping if he feels Mister LaRusso pull away from him, a 'hey, this way' to bring them back in a drunken sync.
--But he's not going to speak about it out here. Even if the walk takes about ten, fifteen minutes to finally reach the apartments, buildings that look the same. He says, 'We're on the first floor' before they pass through the front doors, and 'This way' for the direction they turn; following the line of repeating front entrances before they come across one.
Robby needs to fumble for the key, trying to paw at the pocket with his opposite hand (that grabbed the hand resting over his shoulder during their walk), but failing.
'Sorry, I just need to-- get the key.' He lowers the arm around Mister LaRusso's back, hopes that with them standing already close to the wall that the man will be fine, and finally gets the thing from his jacket, exhales as he jams it into the lock and gets it open. He feels lightheaded, drunk himself, but he keeps himself together as he finishes the last part. Through the open kitchen-and-living room space, over to another door he doesn't need to fuss with to open. A standard apartment space, nothing out of the ordinary. There's clothes on the end of a bed, a plastic bag on a dresser and a sock on the floor.
Robby doesn't think about the mess until he's gotten Mister LaRusso to the bed. ] Careful, okay? [ He doesn't hurry this part either, though he's more used to being able to drape the weight down easier to lay. But Mister LaRusso has more than his mother, he doesn't want him to dizzy himself, and so even if Mister LaRusso wants to go down, Robby will try to slow him with his hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
And even if he doesn't start toppling, that's where they will be: cautiously, carefully. Watching with concern. ]
no subject
But they're standing, Robby pressing his free hand to Mister LaRusso's chest (so his current going up doesn't too easily go down). Waits with a quiet 'Okay?' that he knows he won't get a verbal answer for, but hopefully he gets a nod or shake. Regardless, time is given, and then the arm comes over his own shoulders. Robby sucks in air through his nostrils that bring in the smell of alcohol, of something sour. Or maybe it's a taste already in the back of his throat where those words had been, the worry for the state of the man he's helping to keep standing. ]
This way. [ Every time he speaks feels wrong, awkward, stilted. But every time is a necessity (even knowing who did this to Mister LaRusso--that still is, but it can wait), because as he guides the man to follow his lead, to turn in the right direction and continue to walk the path Robby had been taking, he won't speak. Not the things that might need to be spoken; the conversations and apologies owed, felt, important to their lives before this city, with the Californian sun. He could chew on the topics without processing any part of them, without considering how to start, the middle or end; and Robby thinks he's chewing on plenty as he walks, stopping if he feels Mister LaRusso pull away from him, a 'hey, this way' to bring them back in a drunken sync.
--But he's not going to speak about it out here. Even if the walk takes about ten, fifteen minutes to finally reach the apartments, buildings that look the same. He says, 'We're on the first floor' before they pass through the front doors, and 'This way' for the direction they turn; following the line of repeating front entrances before they come across one.
Robby needs to fumble for the key, trying to paw at the pocket with his opposite hand (that grabbed the hand resting over his shoulder during their walk), but failing.
'Sorry, I just need to-- get the key.' He lowers the arm around Mister LaRusso's back, hopes that with them standing already close to the wall that the man will be fine, and finally gets the thing from his jacket, exhales as he jams it into the lock and gets it open. He feels lightheaded, drunk himself, but he keeps himself together as he finishes the last part. Through the open kitchen-and-living room space, over to another door he doesn't need to fuss with to open. A standard apartment space, nothing out of the ordinary. There's clothes on the end of a bed, a plastic bag on a dresser and a sock on the floor.
Robby doesn't think about the mess until he's gotten Mister LaRusso to the bed. ] Careful, okay? [ He doesn't hurry this part either, though he's more used to being able to drape the weight down easier to lay. But Mister LaRusso has more than his mother, he doesn't want him to dizzy himself, and so even if Mister LaRusso wants to go down, Robby will try to slow him with his hands coming to rest on his shoulders.
And even if he doesn't start toppling, that's where they will be: cautiously, carefully. Watching with concern. ]