[ There really is nothing Mister LaRusso can do, or say. Is it the kindness of his reassurance masked as simple sharing that does it? That stirs the emotions in him further, make his eyes feel heavy until they turn damp. Robby inhales and presses the heels of his hands against them, refuses to cry; and he just sits there as the ache comes, until he's willing to lean back and drag them down from his eyelids and over his mouth. Stars pinprick his vision, relief with them.

He wants to help Peter, but engaging with Paimon--there was always a certain level of caution involved. Now, it involved engaging with something that helped kill his dad. And maybe that's what the problem is: being involved with one of his dad's murderers all over again.

The previous action didn't help him stop the tears at all, it does out, as he feels them fall down his face. He wipes them with the back of his sleeve, sniffs before his nose can run, too. ]

You think this is what life's like for everyone in Trench? [ His voice has risen slightly, but doesn't continue to, Robby between in-between to keep the emotion down. ] You just...know someone's who's died. Important to you. And you have to live with the people who did it.

[ It's maddening, and no wonder that corruption exists in a senseless place as this.

But it's not a question he's looking for an answer to, and he wipes at his face, breathes to bring his upset under control. It's been a long day already. Has it even been an hour since Peter came over? It feels like more. ]