You can't get rid of trained mindsets so easily: where the simple tell to 'Come along then' leads to the tiniest wants to rebuff it. It's a small, extinguishable reaction despite that, gone and ignored as Robby complies to walk down the corridor left. As long as Mister LaRusso didn't miss anything, and Robby didn't either down the ones they came from, this was the only way to go.
Still, some part of him worries that there's nothing to miss - that whatever's dragged them here will have to be faced head on.
It's why he's stays conflicted about Mister LaRusso's appearance. Stuck with a view of his back, and even that's difficult to observe. Robby trades to focusing his senses on his hearing, nevermind the slow response speed he'll be giving himself if his old sensei did try anything. A fake of his old teacher. What should he believe? It was as maddening as the sense of some other, the impatience that frayed at his ability to focus well. What is it, what is that this place wants?
He is following, regardless. His head tilted to a side, clear that he's listening out with the way his eyes aren't actually on LaRusso when the man looks back at him, but paying enough attention to catch his gaze. Holding it, looking away, then coming back again after that hesitation. It doesn't help, not knowing if to trust his front with a nagging that's been playing at his back that the lights at the very end of the way they came - they've been going out, and the darkness is creeping in with the sound of -
Footsteps.
There's no need for Mister LaRusso's warning. He swallows against the tightness in his throat, ears alert of the sound, the creaks of disagreeable lights above their heads; the way his heart jumps when one flickers - as they have been doing this entire time - make his fingers flex, his shoulders tense.
"We've gotta hide," he returns one advice for another, sharper and more pressing; urgent. "Hide, or run- we need to move fast."
He doesn't know which is viable, which is best. Are there any rooms up ahead? They've always been nothing but box-sized, but that might be better, give them a barricade of a door or time to pounce whatever's going to rear its ugly face at them.
no subject
Still, some part of him worries that there's nothing to miss - that whatever's dragged them here will have to be faced head on.
It's why he's stays conflicted about Mister LaRusso's appearance. Stuck with a view of his back, and even that's difficult to observe. Robby trades to focusing his senses on his hearing, nevermind the slow response speed he'll be giving himself if his old sensei did try anything. A fake of his old teacher. What should he believe? It was as maddening as the sense of some other, the impatience that frayed at his ability to focus well. What is it, what is that this place wants?
He is following, regardless. His head tilted to a side, clear that he's listening out with the way his eyes aren't actually on LaRusso when the man looks back at him, but paying enough attention to catch his gaze. Holding it, looking away, then coming back again after that hesitation. It doesn't help, not knowing if to trust his front with a nagging that's been playing at his back that the lights at the very end of the way they came - they've been going out, and the darkness is creeping in with the sound of -
Footsteps.
There's no need for Mister LaRusso's warning. He swallows against the tightness in his throat, ears alert of the sound, the creaks of disagreeable lights above their heads; the way his heart jumps when one flickers - as they have been doing this entire time - make his fingers flex, his shoulders tense.
"We've gotta hide," he returns one advice for another, sharper and more pressing; urgent. "Hide, or run- we need to move fast."
He doesn't know which is viable, which is best. Are there any rooms up ahead? They've always been nothing but box-sized, but that might be better, give them a barricade of a door or time to pounce whatever's going to rear its ugly face at them.
Whatever they do, it's got to be quick.