It was less of a fall and more of a stumble, anyway; not enough weight to cause grievous harm, or anything more than a bump. Not landing anywhere outside the bubble of space he's been occupying all this time - but, he wants to change that. His body already feeling sluggish and disjointed, but his legs more so kept tucked under him.
So he's glad when she agrees, willing to listen - waiting to watch. Even that squid brain of his understands - out of everything it's willing to recognise - that she won't be able to get him to stand by her strength alone. A basic understanding, of bodies and people; the kind where names aren't important. The kind--
'It's about balance, you know?'
--that wouldn't be affected by a simple statement.
The blur of a face, a voice that isn't hers; a pain in his heart, a memory of struggling to stand through a staggering pain. (A tournament, the tournament -- a pulsing in his shoulder blade, ghosting now in that same place.) Outwardly, his gaze on Chizuru flickers; going somewhere else, not focused, but is that particularly strange? He still lets her take his hands, follows her lead: unable to watch entirely the way her legs move under her own style of robe, but taking guesses, working on-- something more.
Memory. Standing, over and over again - a fight to prove himself, the fight to improve; the fight to be better, to survive, to be a survivor.
It doesn't make it easier to stand. His legs are stiff, less used now than any other part of him; indignant to be used and moving, and he worries as his body shakes from imbalance.
('There it is.'
'What now?'
'You get back up and try again.')
There's a struggle deeper in him than just his legs. A constriction in his lungs, an inability to stay focused. There is another fall, one that luckily doesn't bring Chizuru down. The threat of a pull, but Robby manages to land on a knee, forward, than at an angle. Giving a 'I'm alright,' if Chizuru voices concern, and clearer-minded somehow on this next attempt. Fall, get up, never stay down.
This is what his life was. The struggle, teaching limbs and mind to be better. He rises again, nothing graceful about it, but - he gains height as he brings himself up at the waist, works on straightening his back.
Bless be Chizuru's patience, waiting on the time until Robby can finally face her. A chin tilted down for height, his eyes wide, everything about his expression still in the midsts of the struggle to get here. But there's something, with his hands holding her, a little tight from the fall, the work.
He can't count many people on just one hand who've been there to help him after a fall.
Despite the thought, he smiles, something small yet tight, pleased.
no subject
So he's glad when she agrees, willing to listen - waiting to watch. Even that squid brain of his understands - out of everything it's willing to recognise - that she won't be able to get him to stand by her strength alone. A basic understanding, of bodies and people; the kind where names aren't important. The kind--
'It's about balance, you know?'
--that wouldn't be affected by a simple statement.
The blur of a face, a voice that isn't hers; a pain in his heart, a memory of struggling to stand through a staggering pain. (A tournament, the tournament -- a pulsing in his shoulder blade, ghosting now in that same place.) Outwardly, his gaze on Chizuru flickers; going somewhere else, not focused, but is that particularly strange? He still lets her take his hands, follows her lead: unable to watch entirely the way her legs move under her own style of robe, but taking guesses, working on-- something more.
Memory. Standing, over and over again - a fight to prove himself, the fight to improve; the fight to be better, to survive, to be a survivor.
It doesn't make it easier to stand. His legs are stiff, less used now than any other part of him; indignant to be used and moving, and he worries as his body shakes from imbalance.
('There it is.'
'What now?'
'You get back up and try again.')
There's a struggle deeper in him than just his legs. A constriction in his lungs, an inability to stay focused. There is another fall, one that luckily doesn't bring Chizuru down. The threat of a pull, but Robby manages to land on a knee, forward, than at an angle. Giving a 'I'm alright,' if Chizuru voices concern, and clearer-minded somehow on this next attempt. Fall, get up, never stay down.
This is what his life was. The struggle, teaching limbs and mind to be better. He rises again, nothing graceful about it, but - he gains height as he brings himself up at the waist, works on straightening his back.
Bless be Chizuru's patience, waiting on the time until Robby can finally face her. A chin tilted down for height, his eyes wide, everything about his expression still in the midsts of the struggle to get here. But there's something, with his hands holding her, a little tight from the fall, the work.
He can't count many people on just one hand who've been there to help him after a fall.
Despite the thought, he smiles, something small yet tight, pleased.
"I'm getting any better at being human?"
It's a joke, as delighted as his face.