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Accord // Canon
May. 15th, 2013 09:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
birdsbirdsbirdsDespite appearances, Robin is in a horrible mood.
Normally when he has bad days like this, he goes out and does something stupid to shake out the bad parts and knock a few resolutions back into place. He used to go out and get wasted for attention; Vincent would never just ignore him when he was fucked up on something, and that was nice. It was never the plan, but that's how it always wound up happening.
Tonight he picked out this little dive-bar right off the Industrial District tram station, where the drinks are cheap and the bartenders won't tell you to leave until you're throwing up in their bathroom. It's no-smoking, but the smell wisps in from outside. It's got neon signs and greasy food. It's the perfect place to get irresponsibly smashed.
Somewhere between drink three and drink four, though, it occurs to Robin that Vincent is not actually here, and that no one knows where he is, and that no one would go out trying to find him because he hasn't come home yet, and that makes him feel crushingly horrible.
So, in a drunken stupor, he borrows a pen from some guy next to him and opens up his grimoire, scrawling out an only-passively-legible message to the first person he can think to want to see. Tek gets told that he should come find Robin. There are directions. He says it's really important.
But by the time Tek makes it to the bar, Robin will have completely forgotten about all that in favor of playing a game involving cups and a little round ball. He's with a group of vicious-looking sailors, several of which are trying not to split their sides laughing at the table-tennis antics ensuing in front of them.
Normally when he has bad days like this, he goes out and does something stupid to shake out the bad parts and knock a few resolutions back into place. He used to go out and get wasted for attention; Vincent would never just ignore him when he was fucked up on something, and that was nice. It was never the plan, but that's how it always wound up happening.
Tonight he picked out this little dive-bar right off the Industrial District tram station, where the drinks are cheap and the bartenders won't tell you to leave until you're throwing up in their bathroom. It's no-smoking, but the smell wisps in from outside. It's got neon signs and greasy food. It's the perfect place to get irresponsibly smashed.
Somewhere between drink three and drink four, though, it occurs to Robin that Vincent is not actually here, and that no one knows where he is, and that no one would go out trying to find him because he hasn't come home yet, and that makes him feel crushingly horrible.
So, in a drunken stupor, he borrows a pen from some guy next to him and opens up his grimoire, scrawling out an only-passively-legible message to the first person he can think to want to see. Tek gets told that he should come find Robin. There are directions. He says it's really important.
But by the time Tek makes it to the bar, Robin will have completely forgotten about all that in favor of playing a game involving cups and a little round ball. He's with a group of vicious-looking sailors, several of which are trying not to split their sides laughing at the table-tennis antics ensuing in front of them.
