Close enough. Whatever this thing is, he needs to get it out of sight of normal people. Who knows how many humans it has interacted with already, or how long they have until someone says a little too loudly that they think they saw a budding Mage wandering around the market.
They're standing again. People see them holding hands, but don't look any further. Robin brings them back into the drifting crowd and guides them along the current, down the river, and eventually, back into the sea.
And then back into some dimmer, emptier places. Smaller tunnels. Stairs going down down down, sometimes with two walls and sometimes with high ceilings and sometimes just a narrow path with the guts of a chamber exposed the whole way down.
And then they're just sort of there, through a doorway and into a dark room where Robin finally lets go of their hand.
"Vincent?" He calls. No one answers, as no one is home, but that doesn't stop Robin from heading further into the room. It's not a very big place; most of the space is taken up by a musty couch pulled up in front of a large, old radio. There are a couple of shelves and small tables, but they are mostly covered in old newspapers, printings, and beer cans.
Lots of beer cans. What little of the kitchen visible from the doorway looks like a nightmare of old bottles and takeout containers stacked up against other garbage-things. Robin steps gracefully around a group of six or seven cans by the foot of the couch on his way towards the bedroom.
He sticks his head in, just to look, while Phalanx is left unattended.
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They're standing again. People see them holding hands, but don't look any further. Robin brings them back into the drifting crowd and guides them along the current, down the river, and eventually, back into the sea.
And then back into some dimmer, emptier places. Smaller tunnels. Stairs going down down down, sometimes with two walls and sometimes with high ceilings and sometimes just a narrow path with the guts of a chamber exposed the whole way down.
And then they're just sort of there, through a doorway and into a dark room where Robin finally lets go of their hand.
"Vincent?" He calls. No one answers, as no one is home, but that doesn't stop Robin from heading further into the room. It's not a very big place; most of the space is taken up by a musty couch pulled up in front of a large, old radio. There are a couple of shelves and small tables, but they are mostly covered in old newspapers, printings, and beer cans.
Lots of beer cans. What little of the kitchen visible from the doorway looks like a nightmare of old bottles and takeout containers stacked up against other garbage-things. Robin steps gracefully around a group of six or seven cans by the foot of the couch on his way towards the bedroom.
He sticks his head in, just to look, while Phalanx is left unattended.