[ She compliments him, but there's nothing reassuring about it. Thoughts still on Mob, on himself; on the ideas he always cooked up for Mob, and that acknowledgement he had that he was always out of his depth. He's in a waiting stage for the next part--there has to be something that comes next, a solution--but what does come, his brows furrow just a pinch.
He's still confused, he's not sure, but: ]
What should we do? [ Robby's certain, at least, about helping. Still sitting with his own hands around his tea that sits on top of his knees so he doesn't have to lean to put it back down. ] You know what'll help?
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He's still confused, he's not sure, but: ]
What should we do? [ Robby's certain, at least, about helping. Still sitting with his own hands around his tea that sits on top of his knees so he doesn't have to lean to put it back down. ] You know what'll help?