It's hard to know how right he feels in any given moment--he's doing better than he was, but there's always this nagging in Robby. Is his body how it's supposed to be? Is he really him? Will he slip and crumble to what he (wasn't) was? Like a lethargy after being bedridden for so long, never knowing when you'll crawl out of it.

It sticks with Robby even now, but it's being crowded out by the anticipation that thrums through his being. A smile bright on his lips as his dad (his dad, his dad) tells him to be careful, but trusts him enough to go on ahead, to take this next step with him. Even after everything confessed that should've put him off--

Robby doesn't rush immediately, but stands where he is to soak in this feeling; to not drown by it, and keep himself together in a manner different from corruption.

--Alright.

He heads to his room to pick up the bowl, sitting waiting for him under his bed. It's in easy reach (he's been looking at it, after all), and the items inside clunk some as he gets off his knees and heads down the hall to the indoor dojo--with a smile, Daniel will find, that hasn't left Robby's face when he makes his entrance. Stopping by the doorway for a brief second, and then closing it behind him. He walks with the gear tucked under one arm, dropping himself into a spot opposite to his dad, and the placing the bowl down afterwards.

Inside is a pestle, a plastic bag with the ashes and the dried flower petals. They'll need to add a piece of themselves to it, of course.

But first, Robby takes out the pieces--with shy looks over to his dad, that only makes the dimples on his face deeper.

"Do you know what to do?"