It's difficult. Mister LaRusso touches his skin, and Robby knows he's there, but his thoughts can't tear away from what he's been told. From his own reaction, the hate that it's ignited in his heart. He wants to hurt that man, his eyes hovering over to where the mark of the bond was, and he wants to do something about that too. His mind rolls back to the detail of how it happened when he was away, and shame finds a place in him again.
He wants to tear Silver apart, and he can't do anything about it. The emotion doesn't calm, even with Mister LaRusso's reassurance, the request to move forward. He can hardly focus on why they're in the dojo in the first place, what they were doing, but Robby mutters a forced "Okay" and sets the bowl between them, scrunching his hands into fists.
At least until he reconsiders that, and takes one of Mister LaRusso's hands into his instead, his hold ever so firm. Quiet, until:
"...we'll get rid of it. What he did. I promise."
Robby doesn't know what it takes or if it's possible (even in his worst days with Mob, he never truly wanted to get rid of theirs--he wanted to do anything else than lose it), but the reality doesn't matter. He promises it now because he has to, if just to pull himself out of his own anger, to continue with what they were doing. Even if it feels like there's a ghost ever present with them now, looming right above them. Right behind them.
(And if only there was, so Robby could be-- could be a monster he doesn't want to be. He didn't want to be this again, did he?)
His hands fidget, and he lets go of Mister LaRusso's, trying to focus on the bowl and not the upset he can feel wanting to reach his eyes. The contents inside the bowl have become a murky grey, a burning smell to the nose between the bloods, ashes and petals. Robby fiddles with the cuff of his right sleeve, pulling it back as he asks in a lowered voice, "Are you ready?"
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He wants to tear Silver apart, and he can't do anything about it. The emotion doesn't calm, even with Mister LaRusso's reassurance, the request to move forward. He can hardly focus on why they're in the dojo in the first place, what they were doing, but Robby mutters a forced "Okay" and sets the bowl between them, scrunching his hands into fists.
At least until he reconsiders that, and takes one of Mister LaRusso's hands into his instead, his hold ever so firm. Quiet, until:
"...we'll get rid of it. What he did. I promise."
Robby doesn't know what it takes or if it's possible (even in his worst days with Mob, he never truly wanted to get rid of theirs--he wanted to do anything else than lose it), but the reality doesn't matter. He promises it now because he has to, if just to pull himself out of his own anger, to continue with what they were doing. Even if it feels like there's a ghost ever present with them now, looming right above them. Right behind them.
(And if only there was, so Robby could be-- could be a monster he doesn't want to be. He didn't want to be this again, did he?)
His hands fidget, and he lets go of Mister LaRusso's, trying to focus on the bowl and not the upset he can feel wanting to reach his eyes. The contents inside the bowl have become a murky grey, a burning smell to the nose between the bloods, ashes and petals. Robby fiddles with the cuff of his right sleeve, pulling it back as he asks in a lowered voice, "Are you ready?"