Posts by [ROBIN.]

[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=8]- - - general information
name robin(cub) alias n/a nicknames robin, rob (sometimes)
birthday unknown age roughly 2½ months star sign unknown
gender trans? male pronouns he/him, they/them sexuality bisexual
alliance blizzardclan rank cub/child

- - - relationships
parents npc x npc (dead) generation 1 siblings n/a
status single, not looking crushes n/a maybe crushes n/a

- - - appearance
species assumed african lion reference click
base colour obsidian other colours onyx, white
faded white (grey-looking) rosettes dappled all over flanks and more delicately on his face; similarly-coloured dusting over muzzle and paws. onyx scruff around his neck, though the change in tone from his base is hard to spot. pale blue eyes. click for technicalities

- - - personality
mbti the advocate [51% introverted / 67% intuitive / 59% feeling / 60% judging] click
positive traits creative, determined, passionate, intelligent, curious, loyal, observant, energetic neutral traits matter-of-fact, desperate for people's approval, quiet at times, perfectionistic negative traits sensitive, private, burns out easily, doesn't know when to stop, can't function without a purpose, self-doubting

- - - combat and interaction
physical skill 12/100 mental skill 35/100
battle behaviour not fully trained, tries his hardest. durable. currently honourable.
notes non-violent actions can be powerplayed general response non-hostile
unlimited contact from most people, generally. he's not particularly standoffish.

[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=8]- - - general information
name robin(cub) alias n/a nicknames robin, rob (sometimes)
birthday unknown age roughly 3 months star sign unknown
gender cis? trans? male pronouns he/him, they/them sexuality unknown
alliance blizzardclan rank cub/child titles n/a

- - - relationships
parents npc x npc (dead) generation 1 siblings n/a
status single, not looking crushes n/a maybe crushes n/a

- - - appearance
species assumed african lion reference click
base colour obsidian other colours onyx, white
with a slim, undeveloped build and boyish features, rob wears his youth well, small and undecided with only enough muscle to fight back the layers of puppy fat that'd other take residence on his bones. still fairly fuzzy and soft around the edges, he doesn't yet look like anything impressive, instead appearing more cute than anything fierce. his deep obsidian base is offset by faded white (grey-looking) rosettes dappled all over flanks, and more delicately on his face; there's a similarly-coloured dusting over muzzle and paws. the scruff around his neck is a slightly different shade of onyx, though the change in tone from his base is hard to spot. pale blue eyes light up the rest, weirdly expressive and unusually bright against the monotony of the rest of his fur. they flit between a gentle sapphire and a deep, stormy aqua-grey depending on his mood and the lighting. typically wears bruises and scrapes like accessories. contemplative. click for technicalities

- - - personality
alignment neutral good temperament sanguine-melancholic voice ref click
mbti the advocate [51% introverted / 67% intuitive / 59% feeling / 60% judging] click
positive traits creative, determined, passionate, intelligent, curious, loyal, observant, energetic neutral traits matter-of-fact, desperate for people's approval, quiet at times, perfectionistic negative traits sensitive, private, burns out easily, doesn't know when to stop, can't function without a purpose, self-doubting
still learning about the world and coming to terms with everything he didn't know before. a lover of knowledge in all senses of the world; grew up on movies, and is still ridiculously passionate about them. likes rattling off random facts, though he isn't particularly developed in terms of his intelligence just yet due to inexperience and youth. naturally warm and open, with an enthusiastic, eager disposition, though developing a cynicism that wasn't once there. generally looks to his peers and respected adults for guidance, though does occasionally try to survive solely on independence. not yet so jaded that he's entirely withdrawn into himself, but suspicion has taken root. optimistic and cheerful, generally, though with a quiet and observant nature. slowly accepting his parents' death. determined.

- - - combat and interaction
physical skill 12/100 mental skill 35/100
battle behaviour not fully trained, tries his hardest. durable. currently honourable.
notes non-violent actions can be powerplayed general response non-hostile
unlimited contact from most people, generally. he's not particularly standoffish.

[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px; overflow: auto][size=9]/ the last two paragraphs are the only ones that really matter

His first exposure to independence is a strange one. If he had to give it a taste, he'd probably describe it as spicy — somewhat pleasant, but a bit overkill if you underestimate it. He keeps telling himself that this is something most kids'd die for — total freedom, the ability to police himself without nagging adults breathing down his neck, no bedtime. It's everyone else's idea of paradise, really, and he should be grateful for the lack of rules (he is, in a way), but there's something missing. He's got a feeling it's something important, too, something that'll come back to bite him later if he doesn't acknowledge it, but for all this, he refuses to look its way, keeps telling himself that it's fine, that he's got this, that this is all just an educational experience and he's hit a bit of a learning curve. Generally, he's always believed that 'mind over matter' is a powerful phenomenon, and that anyone can make themselves believe anything if they put enough work into it, but this time, he's not so convinced. Radicals and morons, his dad had once said, had made 'mind over matter' scary.

Robincub doesn't think he's a radical, and he's certainly no moron. He knows that his parents are [redacted], and he knows what that means. They're not coming back, not now — he spent enough time trying to rouse them before inevitably admitting to himself that it was pointless, and he's not about to change his mind now, backtrack and set off in the direction of his former home again, hoping that they'll be well, not [redacted]. It doesn't help that he can't say it, can't even think it — logically, he understands his situation just fine, but his mind refuses to comprehend it, refuses to come to terms with it. There's a hollow void in place of the truth — or perhaps there's a cover instead, a thin film smothering it with crude stitching. If it comes to other people, he can say it without issue — sometimes, people die. Some people are orphans — their parents are dead. It's the specification, the personalisation, that does him in, and he's left numb and aching without fully understanding why.

(Who's he kidding? He understands why. He just doesn't know how to accept it.)

Misery aside, Robincub has to face the other truth — and that is that he's lost in what looks to be somewhere straight out of a fantasy movie. There are worse places to be lost, he's sure, but man, who thought it'd be a good idea to make people walk this far just to get to potential civilisation? He's only assuming this leads to people because it all seems very structured — though he'd not be surprised if he lost his balance and toppled sideways to his death, not because he's naturally clumsy and only partially because this structure seems weirdly unsafe, but (mainly) because he's sort of tired from climbing, and he keeps unwillingly strafing towards the edges. "And I would walk five-hundred miles," he only half-mumbles, squinting against a particularly mean breeze, "and I would walk five-hundred more—" A bird flies below him, somewhere off to the side, and he stops to stare at it, at the view, because it is kind of amazing— "Just to get to the top of these stupid stairs and maybe take a breather, please." His voice pitches higher and louder, and he hauls himself up the last step, crashing at the top and letting his lungs deflate.

He allows himself a few moments of harsh, heavy breathing, maw gaping and tongue in the dirt, before he figures he might as well look around. First impressions leave this place abandoned, but a sniff of the air blows that possibility clean out of the water, because this place reeks of people. When his dad wanted to find out who was around, he'd always make this weird sound, but Robincub doesn't reckon he can do it too and scout out the place verbally — so his only options are either to stumble even deeper into unknown territory or to stay put and hope that someone comes across him. At first, his mind screams adventure, but then he decides to go for the smarter of the two choices, as though his parents are actually still breathing down his neck and waiting for him to screw up his first big decision, and remains right where he is.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]✧ Notably eager to please, though this is both a strength and a weakness. Grants him bursts of determination that push him to complete whatever it is he's working towards, but also leaves him vulnerable and open to manipulation. Doesn't really know how to back down from a dare at this stage. Hurtful comments stick with him for a long time and can lead to him acting self-destructively, and his stubbornness means he's unlikely to talk about it with anyone. He doesn't know when to give up, either, so will keep on going until someone manages to try and talk him out of it or he can no longer continue. Usually, though, he's resourceful enough to complete a task before that happens. It's just childish frustration and a need to seek an outlet that can encourage him to go too far.

✧ Despite his youth, he's been exposed to many human sources of entertainment, particularly their music and movies. Was a bit of a film junkie before his parents died, and may occasionally make god-awful references to certain forms of media.

✧ Currently unable to come to terms with his parents' deaths. Can't actually acknowledge the fact that they're no longer alive; trying to say it aloud causes his speech to abruptly cut off, and trying to think it results in his thoughts scattering uselessly. Able to comment on the deaths of other people's parents, and understands that people die, but when it comes to his parents, he can't comprehend their fates. His lack of surface trauma comes from this inability to accept that they're gone — he appears to act mostly normal if only because he won't (can't) admit that he's missing them.

✧ Even with the underlying trauma, Rob finds it very easy to bond with people — providing they're around his age. He struggles, unknowingly, with bonding with adults, and while he can look up to and idolise them, when it comes to forming relationships, he has a bit of an issue. His peers, however, are willingly welcomed as friends, and he can become very close to people who let him in.

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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Personally, Robincub believes that more people ought to use the word spicy when describing a situation, for if something is truly spicy, then no other word has the same effect. He's pretty sure that bromidic is synonym for spicy, anyway — it's an impressive word, of course, and Robin would be amazed if he heard it used in Wintercub's daily vernacular, but it isn't the sort of thing he'd use commonly, not at this stage. Even so, he's particularly familiar with boredom, and boredom only seemed to lurk when he had his parents near — so for the other kid to feel the slow burn of nothingness is understandable, even if Rob has the sneaking suspicion that everybody takes their loved ones for granted, only to realise their mistake once everything's been snatched away from them. Is that dramatic? He doesn't think so, but then again, he's living it now, the almost theatrical sense of suffering that doesn't like to let go. It's a step up from envy, two steps from resentment, but that doesn't make it any easier. He's just glad the "where's your parents?" question hasn't been blurted out yet, but Wintercub doesn't seem like the type of person who'd do that. Robincub finds solace in that.

He's never considered looks to be a defining feature of relation, considering he and his mother didn't exactly have too many similarities, and he couldn't exactly say he'd gotten his looks from his dad, either. Truth is, he's got no idea why he looks the way he does, but the dark-and-brooding pelt of his is pretty cool, he's got to admit. Makes nighttime travelling easier, that's for sure, but that's only become something of import recently, and beforehand, all it used to do was make his newborn self difficult to find whenever he wriggled away. Now, though, he does note the vague similarities between him and Wintercub, although the structural differences seem to stand out more to him than what they have in common, as does the way he's being scrutinised as though he could possibly pose a threat. Hell, he can't even breathe right at the moment — and what's he meant to do in a place like this? It's big enough to house probably a hundred people, and those hundred know far more about the terrain than he does. He's practically powerless, and he knows that Wintercub (maybe, probably) gets that.

"Trying to breathe," Robincub answers after a few moments, glad he's been given a question rather than a flat "get out." That would've sucked, and he's not keen on trying to make the precarious journey back down again. He gulps in air again, trying to regulate his everything, before offering Wintercub a sort of smile. A few seconds pass with him searching the space behind the other lion, but eventually, he returns his gaze to the child in front of him, seemingly satisfied with what he has (or hasn't — it's hasn't) seen. "I'm Robincub — who're you? Where am I? I've never seen islands like these before." He reckons two is a good amount of questions to start with, particularly if he prefaces the first one with an introduction of his own — and he's not sure if he's expecting much of a reply to the last one, but a kid can hope, right? He just needs to get his bearings.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]/ do the homework, alloy

"Thanks." What else was he meant to say? His features twisted into something resembling amusement, but it only lasted a second, because look, there was another nigh-black lion cub on this island, and that was— okay, that was a little weird. Not because black lions were meant to be particularly uncommon in a place where far more drastic hues of pelt were possible, but because what were the odds of the first two people arriving to greet a black lion cub being... two black lion cubs? He imagined that they weren't very high, but here they all were, staring at each other with their bluish eyes, going about their daily businesses as if this wasn't totally weird. Not that any of this was normal, mind, considering they were currently stood on a floating island connected to the ground only by an awfully precarious staircase, and— "I must've taken a wrong turn, then." Heaven? Nah, this isn't heaven. Heaven is warmer than this, he's sure, and it has pillows and a massive TV and his parents. And, he's hoping, people with names a little more normal than theirs. He rolls his eyes to the sky, but does manage to lean in for the stage-whisper. Poor Winona. What an unfortunate name — ah, nickname, he's guessing. He wonders what sort of real name encourages that sort of moniker.

"B as in the letter, or as in the stripy thing that likes flowers?" He's guessing the letter, but considering that other guy's got the nickname Winona, he's not exactly going to take any chances. "Are nicknames mandatory around here?" See, Winona? He can use words with more than two syllables (that aren't his name) too. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek and letting his grin grow, shoulders relaxing, Robincub glances between the two a few times, before eventually settling back on Wintercub. "So, Winona, are you going to give me a real name, or am I gonna have to stick with what I've got so far?"

And— wait. "What's a BlizzardClan?" That's... probably pretty important.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]This influx of children is unusual, then? Good to know. Robin doesn't want to get himself into the habit of thinking that [redacted] like him have a habit of turning up at the top of these stairs, because he doesn't find much comfort in familiarity when it comes to things like this, doesn't exactly feel better knowing that other children's parents were, like his, [redacted]. He'll be able to say the words one day, he knows, be able to spit it out, but for now, he has a distinct aversion towards the notion as a whole, particularly when it comes him being one of many. It's... a depressing thought. Enough to make his shoulders slump, but he doesn't have time for shoulder-slumping now, not when he's in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unfamiliar people, trying to eke out a living 'round here.

And there's an adult here, now, too. Robincub can't explain the way his mood shifts, because it's not obvious, and it certainly doesn't register in its entirety on his face. Instead, that easy grin fades, if just because there's no reason for it to remain, and while he continues to chew on the inside of his cheek, his bright blue eyes lose the interested wideness they'd possessed earlier, instead taking on something more contemplative than excited. "How specific of you," he says, countering her bluntness with a strange aridity not there before. He regards her coolly, as though trying to decide whether or not to show her the same eagerness, but his optimistic nature wins out, just, and he seems to relax into the situation once more. "So it's just a group? Is it big? Do you have a leader?" Probably, because anarchical rule never really lasts, does it? Not in the movies, at least, and considering movies are his world experience, he's inclined to believe they apply to reality. Mostly. He's certain that The Minority Report's Precogs wouldn't've gotten the "happy ending" that they did in reality— but he's also certain that Tom Cruise wouldn't've gotten himself into such an awkward situation in reality, and that the Precogs wouldn't've been enslaved in the first place, considering the sheer number of seers around these days.

His mother had liked Tom Cruise. Considering he was just another stupid human with a stupid human face, Robincub hadn't entirely understood it, but some of the movies had been good, he guessed.

Focusing on the here and now, Robincub rises to his feet, rolling his head from side to side. He's free to look around, was he? Huh. He's sure lucked out, but there's a gnawing on the back of his mind (or maybe that's his cheek? Is it bleeding? He sticks his tongue against the side of his mouth and finds that no, it isn't) that he can't really ignore. "What about when I've seen everything? Are you gonna kick me out? Do I have to climb back down that... really, really, really—" And jeez, he's getting tired just thinking about it— "big staircase?" If so, he's not too keen on exploring, considering all that walking'll wreck his feet before he has to think about leaving again. "Who're you, anyway?"
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]/ don't worry about it! ^^,

"Woah." Robincub has seen some pretty weird things in his lifetime, but Mack takes the cake for being the best, he thinks. He's blue and green and yellow and white, and he has wings like a bird's, but he's a wolf— or so he seems to be. The lion decides almost immediately that Mack is an alright person — a little naïve of him, and certainly presumptuous, but he's good at putting his faith in people, even if it doesn't always seem that way, or if it doesn't seem like the smartest thing to do. He's a child — what do you expect of him? Wariness doesn't exactly come easily to those who have never been taught to fear others. "Nice to meet you, Mack. I'm Robincub." Smart enough to be polite, Robincub shakes himself out and smiles, noticeably perking up at the prospect of being given a place to stay.

Sure, he's never been taught to fear others, but he's not entirely unfamiliar with stranger danger (he supposed one could say that he's... no... stranger to it). That does tug at him a bit, the furrowed brow of his mother and the slightly-disappointed-stare of his father that'd undoubtedly be turned on him at this moment, but they're not stood with him right now, and he gets to make his own decisions. "Yeah, I'd like that. To stay." Not because he feels as though he can find his true self here, or something cliché like that, but because he really, really doesn't want to tackle those stairs again, and this is as safe as anywhere to bunk, right? These people seem nice, besides. He almost completely trusts them.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Okay, so maybe he'd gotten ahead of himself and asked Luna six questions before pausing to give her chance to reply to even one, but three of them amounted to the same thing, and Mack had them covered, so Robin liked to think that he'd left her with a reasonable amount of inquiries to answer after all that. He'd never encountered people who hated children before — at least, not in the typical way, though he'd met those that assumed that children ought to be seen and not heard, and that they were, in general, a waste of time until they became adults who started to hate their former selves with a viciousness that surely left them feeling ashamed. Luna didn't seem as though she possessed that outlook, but she was dismissive enough that his ears shifted back and down against the sides of his head, the hopefulness in his gaze swallowed up by that former coolness. "Sweet-o-phe-li-a?" Man, that's a long name. Five syllables — not that he lacks the ambition to try it, nor that he's not smart enough to cope with it, but it seems a bit overkill to him.

Luna. Well, she's certainly got the enthusiasm of the cold, dead moon. (That's mean, Robin, you can't think that. Well, he is, and there's nobody to tut at him for it.) "Thanks. I'm glad to be here." He lingers on her for a moment longer, eventually tearing his gaze to Mack once he spoke — and that's a relief, because the Deputy, as he'd referred to himself as, is far friendlier. "Are you the one giving the tour?" Okay, now that sounded a little rude, but he'll be happy if the answer is yes. "Uh— yeah, I'd like that. Please." There we go. Crisis averted.
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/ batfam: baby edition

It wasn't that Robin's parents had ever been overbearing, but they had been... overbearing. If they'd not been around to watch him — and that had been somewhat frequent, come to think of it — then he'd had a babysitter hanging around, and he's certain that each babysitter had been told specifically not to let him go outside without them quite literally on top of him, and if they couldn't manage that, then he was to remain in one spot with nothing but human media to keep him entertained. And what about normal kid stuff, like climbing trees or making friends? Yeah, that rarely happened. Sometimes, if his parents were busy, he got to go out, but even then, he was largely isolated from his peers, and he loved his mum and dad, but having them as his only company beside a constantly-rotating cast of childminders had been understandably frustrating.

Not that he'd wanted freedom enough to celebrate them being [redacted]. He'd take the hours of boredom if it could undo the mess, just for a little while.

"Hi, Pierce," he responds brightly, glad to see another face that wasn't entirely apathetic. It's true that if unfamiliar ranks were thrown his way, he'd question their meanings, but that's curiosity, that's a desire to learn, and why is that so awful? "I'm Robincub. Nice to meet you." With that out of the way, he could dwell on that interesting choice of name — Pierce. He wondered why it had been chosen, and who by — the guy's parents, or himself? Either way, it didn't seem to fit the face, but maybe that was the point. Robincub wasn't an expert on names; he just knew that his was all he had left of his parents, now.

Robincub and silence don't always go together, particularly not when it comes to his gait. It isn't that he's a naturally loud creature — and regardless of what this encounter may suggest, he's not usually so talkative — but with no real development in his figure, no indication of whether he'll end up bulky or lithe, he's left to tromp around like any child, not particularly focused on graceful slinking unless he's somewhere in the middle of an attempted ambush during some sort of game. (Not that he's familiar with games — his parents were never the easiest targets.) Imperia may not believe herself to be special, but having never seen wolves and the sort before in person, only ever really surrounded by other lions and big cats during his childhood, she may just be one of the most fascinating things he's ever seen, even if she is, by her standards, plain, and certainly average next to somebody like Mack. (He reckons most people are, though.)

"Little ducks?" He's not multilingual, but he knows a few words in other languages, and as he is an animal, it's only natural that most of his knowledge also centres around animals. He's only ever seen a duck once in his life, but it was enough for him to copy the creature, its name (and, apparently, its name in French, presumably thanks to his mother) to memory. Weirdly enough, he doesn't mind the pet name. It doesn't make him wrinkle his nose in resentment, or... anything. It's just nice. "Uh, hello, Imperia." Not hi, because she seems too formal for that. He sits up a little straighter and attempts to smooth down any wayward fur, as though that'll make a difference. "My name's Robincub."
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]An alliance litter? Robincub can't wrap his head around the idea of having children for the sake of politics and then letting them grow up away from home — what's the point, really? He can't imagine he'd ever feel comfortable knowing that he'd been conceived solely for the point of an entente, because that means he'd be nothing more than a convenience. If he ever left to do his own thing and explore the world, he'd be violating the terms of the treaty, combating the very purpose of his own birth. The concept is abhorrent, and it's fortunate that Robincub's wholly unaware of it, for his opinion of using children as bargaining chips is particularly strong. Perhaps it comes from his affinity towards his peers, his sense of belonging. Children are people, not... tools.

It's not that Robin enjoys being the centre of attention, but he's certainly not entirely averse to it. Sure, he isn't desperate for it, although approval is something he seeks out, but at the moment, he's not so afraid of it that he can't cope when the limelight is his. "Hi, Miss Sylmae," he replies, and he's not sure where the respect came from, but his mother had taught him manners, and sometimes, of their own volition, they make themselves known. "I like your wings." He's always liked the concept of flying, but being wing-less himself, he's never actually had the opportunity. He wonders if Sylmae's would be of any use to her should she choose to take to the skies.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]These people are weird, but Robincub's going to attribute that to altitude sickness. Being up high for a long amount of time has to addle the brain, and that's his only explanation for the behaviour. It's not that they're entirely foreign, but from his former interactions, he's come to understand that people are all relatively steady — these creatures are anything but, and that either means they're anomalies or he's been sheltered, and he'd hate to think the latter, because it'd only further hammer home the feeling of alienation that's been nagging at him the moment he hauled himself to the top of the islands' stairs. The adults seem concerned, but they don't seem as overbearing as what he remembers, and the children — not that he has any experience with other children — bait each other in a way that might be comfortable, but might not be, either. It's like he's learning everything for the first time again, and it's not that he's old enough to be a veteran in what he thought he knew, but there's still something strange about the cold water shock of opening your eyes to the raw newness of it all.

He could linger near one of the adults — not that he trusts them in the same way he wants to trust children — or he could try and intervene with some form of idiot remark, but— "Pretty sure the B stands for Boy, and Boy's short for Boycub." Well, that made the decision for him. Congrats, Robin. Now you sound like a moron. Still, at least he bothered to try, and he settles himself down close enough to maybe be a part of the small gathering of people, some familiar and some not, expression and posture somewhere between controlled and relaxed, as though he doesn't know what sort of vibe he wanted to give off. (Spoiler alert: he doesn't. Not at all.) "But that's not as fun."
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]When his parents weren't [redacted], they'd sometimes made this noise, particularly when they wanted his attention and a loud "Robin" hadn't done the trick. He had never been sure of its true meaning, but they'd both used it enough times for him to remember it, a low, loud sound that had always given him goosebumps, and come to think of it, it was one of the few snippets of them that he had, that he could replicate at any one point. He couldn't match the grace or scent or tone of his mother, he thought, or the steady largeness of his father, but that? He felt like he could try that. It's one of those cheesy situations in which he's desperate to salvage any sort of memory, doing something stupid to try and feel closer to people that aren't around anymore, and he probably should be embarrassed (probably is embarrassed) but he's almost on the verge of missing them, almost on the verge of something shifting, and he's subconsciously seeking an escape from that, a relief. Something. Anything.

First things first: Robin can't, in fact, oof. Is that the technical term? That's what it always used to sound like, anyway, when his parents did it. Oof. Oof. Oooooof. It had been nothing short of majestic, if a little bit odd, but he just sounds plain pathetic. Is this how they felt when they first tried it, or were they perfect from the get go? His face is flaming, even if he finds it kinda funny, and he rubs his nose against his foreleg, releasing a quiet sort of half-oof, half-whine squeal of contemplation as he does so. And then he tries his hand at this oofing business again, and... he still sounds squeaky and all-round unimpressive, nothing like his parents. Still, nothing changes without practise, so he plants his forepaws firmly on the ground as though the leverage'll make him sound better, and tries again, and again, and again, until his chest feels all rumbly and he's not even sure if he even remotely resembles the noise he's aiming for.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Play Q&A? Something about the nature of a question and answer session leads Robincub to assume that it's less of a game and more of a simple activity, but if Magnus wants to make something fun out of it, then he's hardly going to object. Perhaps it'll resemble something like truth or dare, only without the dare part— in his opinion, the "dare part" is by far the best part, but that isn't to say that this won't be useful, considering he knows nothing about anybody here, and considering only a few people know his name. If he's to stay here for any length of time, then changing that will have to be a priority.

A quick glance tells him that he knows nobody here, and that's alright, even if he would've liked to have seen at least one semi-familiar face. But they were strangers, too, a day ago. Everything here is going to be new to him, so he can't start hoping for the novel bombardment to cease, considering nothing here is recognisable. It should appeal to him, this opportunity to learn, so he relaxes into it with a wide-eyed smile, settling somewhere near October. He doesn't need to say that he was playing, does he? Everybody else has, and he's with them, so surely Magnus'll be able to tell that he wants to join in.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]He's not yet old enough to have fully mastered the art of reading. Any tutelage he'd received had been either from his parents in brief snippets, or attempts made by any of the minders he'd often tried to stay as far away from as possible, considering their general unfamiliarity and obsessive closeness, so it was safe to say that he wasn't too skilled. Sure, he recognises a few words, can piece together some others by trying to mix sounds, but it isn't as though English followed a pattern, and most of the time, it's just guesswork, unfounded and probably nonsensical, considering he can quite easily get through a page without understanding half of the content. Is that bad? Probably, and he does enjoy reading, so maybe he ought to find someone who can teach him. Or maybe he ought to continue plodding along without any guidance — either way, this miniature library looks like a good place to start, and he's drawn to the people as much as he's drawn to the books. "Got any sci-fi?" Not that he can read it, but he likes knowing that somewhere, amongst the mess of squiggles, there's a cool story just waiting to be picked apart by... a more literate person.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Hide and seek is familiar to Robincub, not because he used to play it with the many children his parents let him interact with, but because he'd played a sort of version with any babysitters of his, desperate to avoid them if just for a moment. He'd gotten good at squirrelling himself away, able to pick hiding spots that were a tad more advanced than just shoving his face under his forepaws in the middle of a room, convinced that because he can't see, he's automatically invisible. True, it can be seen as childish, but it teaches people how to conceal themselves, undetected by others, and that's a pretty useful skill for those who aren't exactly equipped to charge headfirst into every situation. Being one of those people, Robin considers hiding to be something he ought to master, and if it can be turned into something fun, then he's all for learning.

"You don't seem like a hide and seeker," he says as he approaches, but his eyes are bright. He's had nothing to do, really, since joining BlizzardClan, and this is the first taste of something interesting aside from that Q&A session, so he's pretty desperate to get involved. Besides, Win seems like a nice person, if a little formal, and Robin's currently not picky about where he tries and finds his friends. Still, his first comment stands; this being a weekly task makes sense, because he can't imagine, from what he's gathered, that Wintercub'd just decide to play this on his own. Something about the guy doesn't strike him as being particularly playful, after all. Maybe that's just an aloof exterior — who knows? "I'm playing. This place has got to have some good hiding spots, right?"
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.3; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Kids are patchwork quilts. What is it that he takes from the people around him, then? With limited early-life interaction, one would anticipate that his behaviour closely emulates that of his parents', if not tempered by immaturity and that independent, purely-him streak that sets him apart from being little more than a carbon copy of the both of them. He'd like to think that he takes his parents' intelligence from them, and his mother's inclination to want to avoid unnecessary conflict, but his skull is thick enough for butting heads with others, and while he may possess a natural affinity for learning, he hasn't had that tested enough for him to decisively say that he is smart enough to compare himself to them. He doesn't have any form of steadiness, or a tendency to tip over into hot-headed frowns when things get too much; he doesn't have the bearish warmth of his father, nor the easy strength of his mother, though perhaps that can be attributed to his initial lack of interaction with them. Not that he avoided them, but rather they were often busy, so while they weren't complete strangers, and while he loved them a great deal, he can't exactly say that he spent hours and hours with them. If kids are patchwork quilts, then he must be very, very small. He's taken little, and he has little to offer. He's as complex as a blank slate.

Still, Robin similarly likes the concept of people taking part of him with them. It's just a matter of making himself big enough to survive after the act of cutting bits away for other people, hoping that he'll get something in return. Interaction can be exhausting, sometimes, particularly when it's all one-sided, but he likes to think that everybody's putting something into the pot, that everybody's getting something back. Win may not be much of a sap, but at this stage, it's safe to say that Robin's optimism and good heart mean that he still is, that he still believes in trust and love and affection without any real fear. There's a part of him that thinks he's wrong to put his faith in something as futile as that, but he can't seem to shake the openness out of him just yet, so for the most part, he wears his heart on his sleeve, lets people in, lets people out. Maintains a high opinion of free will. Hopes that free will'll lead people back to him.

His train of thought — and pathetic practice — cuts off at once when he hears a voice, and he turns his whole body in Wintercub's direction, radiating interest and shame in equal parts, eyes wide and mouth open in an 'o' shape, because he hadn't intended on being caught, and yet here he is, listening to someone not much older than him give advice. But hey, he reasons, if it's that obvious, then he must be at least semi-okay, right? Win wouldn't've been able to tell what he was trying to achieve if his previous attempts had been total flops. From the stomach up? He doesn't respond at first, instead choosing to try it like that, and it takes a while to move from his chest down to the pit of his gut, but it does sound a bit better. Is this weird? He's just making noise right in front of the guy, and he'd only just decided that he hadn't wanted to be seen doing anything like this, but— whatever. There's that childish lack of inhibition cutting through, and Winter seems like a good person. Good enough to help him, anyway.

"Was I being loud?" He clears his throat, which feels strained from all the effort, and tries for a grin. He hopes that Win only heard because of proximity, and not because half the damn clan was able to pick up on his failed wailing. "You're right, though. About the stomach thing." And now he's got to assume, which is stupid-dangerous, considering his own position, but he does it anyway. "Do—" not did, not used to— "your parents make that noise, too? Mine did all the time. Could hear it from miles away, it seemed like."
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]/ kind of rushed :0

Now, Robincub's no fool — he's seen a few of these 'promposals' over the last day or so, and whilst he's never been to a prom of any sort, nor asked anybody out at any point, he understands the gist of both. Recently, people have been inviting others to be their dates to (he assumes) an upcoming event, and whenever somebody calls out somebody else's name, it usually leads to something like this. He doesn't know much about Sylmae (other than that she's pregnant and nice), and he knows nothing about Harrison at all (except that he's a horse, and that he looks awesome), but seeing as the former has just called for the latter, and seeing as he's witnessed this before, he has a feeling he knows where it's going.

He feels a bit like a creep, to be honest. He's just... watching.

But he's here now, albeit on the sidelines, trying to hide out of sight so as not to embarrass them. He can't exactly be sure, and he's got no idea what their relationship's like, but for Sylmae's sake, he hopes that if this is a 'promposal' (what a stupid name for something. It's almost genius), Harrison accepts.
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[center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Home. Where the hell is home, anyway? Does Meg's home have a name, a recognisable location, people like the ones here? Are her parents there, or is she alone— does she perhaps have an adopted guardian in place of missing parents, if her biological relatives are, in fact, not around, or is she a die-hard sort of kid, toughing it out alone? If all it takes to be a "die-hard sort of kid" is a lack of any permanent guardians, does that make him one? His parents aren't around, probably because they're [redacted], and to his knowledge, there's no way to undo that — so by his own knowledge, he's as rough and tough as any child making their own way in the world, invincible only because of youth. Not that Meg looks to be in any sort of state fit enough to ride solo, but that's probably because, in her own words, she fell into the river.

It's not the smartest move anyone's made, but Robin can't exactly say he's lived an embarrassment-free life, so he doesn't think he has the right to snicker. Besides, she seems pretty shaken up by the whole ordeal, confused and kinda upset, so he manages to keep his composure, appearing pretty concerned as he makes his way over. And— what would you have it? It's another lion— or, well, a lion hybrid. It's got to be something in the water, or in the air, because this is actually getting sort of spooky, now. The cub wrinkles his nose in what's probably a deepened sense of worry, and he settles somewhere near Magnus, tilting his head and blinking at Meg. "What's your home?" Sure, they can return her, but to do that, they need some sort of name, or vague sense of direction. Anything to get them started. "I'm Robincub, by the way."
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