[ Robby's an easy figure to find in the living room. He sits on a chair, not even stirring, or seeming to notice Mister LaRusso's presence in the threshold between hall and living room. He's hunched with his elbows on his knees, hands covering his mouth as he stares somewhere in the direction of the further wall and floor. Thoughts somewhere else, his skin paler than it was before, but not to any extreme.
But his head perks upon Mister LaRusso's voice, small enough not to startle him. Eyes turning on him, his face lifting away from his hands.
And he hesitates on the question--too simple, even if there's a simple answer in return Robby could give. He considers a joke, but he doesn't have the energy for it, signalled by the tug of his mouth into his cheek that's less than a smile. ]
Okay.
[ He hovers, between saying more and silence, and looks back the way he had been before. ]
...He didn't kill my dad.
[ It's not said with any relief or embarrassment.
It's just sad; a sad, sad fact. Because in the end, his dad still died. ]
no subject
But his head perks upon Mister LaRusso's voice, small enough not to startle him. Eyes turning on him, his face lifting away from his hands.
And he hesitates on the question--too simple, even if there's a simple answer in return Robby could give. He considers a joke, but he doesn't have the energy for it, signalled by the tug of his mouth into his cheek that's less than a smile. ]
Okay.
[ He hovers, between saying more and silence, and looks back the way he had been before. ]
...He didn't kill my dad.
[ It's not said with any relief or embarrassment.
It's just sad; a sad, sad fact. Because in the end, his dad still died. ]