"Poor in that there is an absence in you, dear," the woman tells him, sounding very self-assured, "Absence of quiet, I think. Absence of peace, at the moment."

Robin hears this and, keying in to the rattling feeling that still threatens to send Phalanx scattering to the far corners of their many separate realities, reaches for the other chair. It makes a soft scraping noise against the ground as he drags it closer so that he can also have a seat next to Phalanx.

He still crosses his arms, but now it's less from defiance and more to try and keep his unwarranted bitterness to himself.