Posts by [ROBIN.]

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  • TEAR THAT MOUNTAIN DOWN ; STORAGE

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    *:･ﾟ✧ WE'VE GONE WAY TOO FAST

    [fancypost=line-height:1.1;color:#000;font-family:arial;margin-top:-5px][b]— — — — — — FOR WAY TOO LONG; AND WE WERE NEVER SUPPOSED
    TO MAKE IT HALF THIS FAR; AND I LIVED SO MUCH LIFE, LIVED SO MUCH
    LIFE, I THINK THAT GOD IS GONNA HAVE TO KILL ME TWICE — — — [color=#ffdc3f]✧✧✧

  • NEW LIFE II open + shedding

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Shedding. It's a strange concept to Robin, particularly considering his distaste of BlizzardClan's too-cold climate, but after some consideration, he comes to the conclusion that it's one of the cleverest tricks Mother Nature could've performed, allowing creatures to adapt to any season with enviable ease. He himself wouldn't like to lose any more fur, considering the short sleekness of his, but he wouldn't be disgusted by the concept of gaining a bit more, if just for the purpose of insulating himself from the brisk breeze. Perhaps, though, if he were to transform into a canine, he would not have the issue of needing extra warmth anyway — they never seem to complain about the sudden nosedive temperature tends to take, so perhaps it's a lion thing. Considering the sheer number of dogs and wolves that live away from the African Savannah, though, he isn't surprised that this issue of his is seemingly restricted to those of his species.


    "I think you look nice," Robin says before he can stop himself, lips twisting into a warm smile. It's a little odd, true, and he can't imagine himself changing colours — the murky hues of his pelt are as much of a comfort to him now as they are a product of genetics, and to imagine himself as ivory is... wrong — but that doesn't mean that she herself looks odd, growing into her summer pelt. With a brief, semi-suspicious glance in Blake's direction, Rob settles himself down. "It's pretty awesome that you can adapt like that."
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  • who we are / private

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Robin really, really doesn't trust Blake.


    It's not because his character is particularly shady. From the boy's observations, the apparent magician appears to be a relatively charismatic, engaging sort of person, the sort that anybody would be able to hold a conversation with, regardless of their own social skills. No— Robin isn't unnerved by the way Blake treats other people, but rather the way he treats that rabbit of his. Or, rather, the way that rabbit behaves. Well aware of the concept of a pet, Rob understands that some people enjoy having a lesser companion to trail after them, but from what he's seen, those companions generally enjoy being around the people that "own" them (though that alone is pretty damn morbid). Chocolate, however, seems utterly terrified of Blake, trembling in place and looking every bit the picture of fear. For a so-called friend of the caracal's, it's awfully nervous, and Robin doesn't trust anybody whose associates are afraid of them.


    He doesn't want to assume, though. Even though he is, and his prejudice has already set him on edge, Robin figures he might as well try and collect more data (what is he, a computer?) before coming to a definite conclusion. The sight of Chocolate sprinting away from Blake is pretty damning, though, and Robin finds his legs moving of their own volition, carrying him over to the spot where the magician has finally caught up to his pet. "Hi, Blake, Chocolate," he says, managing to keep his shifty-eyes to himself and forcing a smile. Keep it together, Rob. You don't want them to walk away. "Are you settling in?"
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  • HOLY F|open|CKING HELL

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]"Hey, it's The Avengers— my dad watched it with me, once." It was a good movie, from what he could recall, and had inspired his brief phase of wanting to be a superhero himself; his parents had told him that he could be whatever he wanted, so for a while, he'd donned a cape and leapt around like a madman, randomly pouncing on anything or anyone he could in the name of justice. Part of him had wanted to adopt the serious demeanour of a hero, and the other part had wanted to have fun — true, being a superhero would realistically take a lot of work, but if it was all in jest, a mere practice before his true career began, then what was the point in frowning all the time? Besides, some of the Avengers had fun— true, he'd never want to suffer the fate of somebody like Bruce Banner, because as awesome as becoming a giant green monster seemed, the repercussions were a bit too much for Rob, but gaining a few new powers wouldn't be entirely disagreeable.


    Having been deprived of any form of media since he left home, Robin is drawn to the TV, pouting when he realises that Harrison has turned it off — and for Loveletter, no less. "Don't be so dramatic— it wouldn't have made you deaf, and I don't know how loud noise can stop you from speaking." This is coming from somebody who isn't against flair, though, so perhaps he's being a little bit hypocritical. Whatever. At least he's realistic when it comes to the issue of loud television. "Do you have any other movies?"
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  • YOUNG AND A MENACE / PLOT WITH ROB?

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]cracks knuckles I haven't done one of these in a long time, so this is probably going to be an absolute mess, BUT. I'm trying to keep my muse for Rob, which is gonna be hard because of my upcoming exams, so I figured I might as well make a plotting thread to try and establish some relationships for him, 'cause he's gonna have some friends this time, I swear.


    His tags are at the bottom of this post gestures below so if you wanna get a feel for who he is, I guess that's the best place to look? I'm bad at summarising things any more than what's in there, lmao. He's just sorta. This snarky, hopelessly optimistic kid, I guess? He's becoming more cynical, but he's still just young.


    He's open to pretty much anything atm because I need development, so just. Anything you wanna do, aside from kill him, I guess, is completely open. He likes movies, climbing things and competitions, and he's pretty easy to befriend at this stage, so. Throw things at me? AUs are cool, too. ^^,
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  • GOOD MORNING MIMOSA || open, meet & greet

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Robin likes the look of this creature — he looks like a nice individual. Is this subjective and based on nothing more than the easy smile? Perhaps it is, and perhaps it's an odd shift from the suspicion he's been displaying as of late, but catching him in a good mood is usually the best way to draw him closer, and as he's feeling relatively optimistic about what today'll bring him (i.e. anything that doesn't involve him getting himself stuck in a tangle of vines), he's cheery enough to give nearly anybody the benefit of the doubt. Not Blake, of course, because he doesn't trust that guy and his strange hat, but that's more founded on the constantly-terrified expression on the caracal's so-called "friend's" face. There's something suspicious about the magician's treatment of his rabbit, he knows it. He just doesn't know how to go about investigating it.


    Tearing his gaze from Blake and refocusing on the charismatic-looking canine, the lion cub slides over on his stomach, stretching his forepaws ahead of him and rolling onto his spine so that he can observe Kodite from a new angle. The world looks strange upside-down, but that's alright. It spices things up a bit. "Hey, I'm Robin," he greets, wiggling his toes, "nice to meet you, whoever you are."
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  • tiniest lifeboat ;; joining

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]Dammit. Blake's here. Normally, that wouldn't've been too much of a problem, but he doesn't want it to look like he's stalking the male, particularly considering his semi-obvious opinion of him. As subtle as he'd like to believe he is, some things seep through his façade, and the last thing he'd like is to look like a fool — not something he's entirely unfamiliar with, but he wouldn't want to give anybody any more ammo with which to tease him, particularly not after his frankly pitiful attempt at climbing a tree. The memory alone is enough to make him wince.


    Like Blake, Robin was drawn to this place because of its floating islands. Initially eager to make the large climb up the stairs, Rob is now comfortably horrified by the journey, and equally impressed by anybody else who chooses to make the trek, as opposed to making people wander down for them by waiting at the old territory's border. "What he said," the cub says, falling into place beside the magician and jerking his head in his direction. "I'm Robin, by the way."
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  • OPEN, LEAVING | ALL IS WELL

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]/ none of this makes any sense wtf i am so sorry


    People search for ways to escape the pain, bleed it out of them like it's all they know, the scars, the mess, the aching, like it all amounts to something, like letting go of it'll reward them in the end. Like it'll fly out of the window on crooked wings and return anew, soft and glossy, less hurt and more holy. Clean-cut individuals collapse like this, whole kingdoms toppling in that desperate, crawling search for something more than what heaven wants to give them, and it's more common for them to falter than free themselves, though they never stop trying. Is that madness, or is it determination? Should he hate it or honour it, fear it or revere it? Is there a centre point, a not-quite-nonchalant space in which he can be the storm, rather than trying to observe it from afar or find that constantly-shifting eye? Is he overthinking things, overcomplicating what ought to be simple? These days, Robincub can hardly tell. He's a patchwork of problems, nothing pretty about it, and he's come to learn that good things don't last, great things are illusions created by a melancholy mind and the hollow depths of rage are always there to catch you when you fall.


    The taste of apples sours in his mouth, dying at the back of his throat and leaving his tongue rough and bitter. He thrums with nervous energy, that jittery life-force of his hurtling through his veins, sparking in his eyes and pressing against the glass there, straining with the need to escape and leap to... wherever it wishes to. Here, caged, it leaves him shaking, and he bounces in place, paws vibrating against the ground in a futile attempt to expel some of the energy fuelling the rebellion in his heart. His ribs strain, nothing more than an ivory shell of the sturdy cage they used to be, and his heart claws at the bars. He feels as though his chest will cave in any second, cracking under the impact. He shoves his pulse back into position, covers up the baffled anguish with a trained smile. Reminds himself of where his place is in the pecking order, kicks himself back down the ladder and breathes it all out— the screaming, the crying, the pushing-people-away. It dissipates in seconds.


    It's funny how people can introduce you to a world without being new to it themselves, how significance is purely subjective, rather than being anything mutual. Sometimes, bonds are forged. Most of the time, they aren't. Rob's feeling like the latter. He can't seem to pin down the reason why. "Stay safe," he manages after some time, voice only breaking at first, before pulling through and keeping steady. "Try not to forget us, yeah? Don't wanna do that to B— what's he gonna do without someone to tease?" The relationship has progressed, of course, but that doesn't mean it's out of that stage just yet. Rob goes for the safest option and keeps his distance, relying on what he knows. At least he knows he'll relate that way; he's not so sure how to cope, otherwise.
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  • LAND OF GODS AND MONSTERS || BLOODCLAN RAID

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]No kid is meant to be here, but Rob's here because B's here, because even though they're not the closest, the other cub is recognisable enough, the sort of person he'd consider a friend if they actually talked— and as dangerous as a place like this is, if he wants to get used to the still-vicious lifestyle of these apparently "civilised" creatures, then he's going to have to familiarise himself with their ways, as cruel as this may seem. In his head, it's clear cut, for now— the Exiles are bad, and his side are good— but then he's heard of BloodClanners committing less-than-savoury crimes, and even as he tries to ignore it, it's not so easy to shake it off when he's staring at a war between murderers and thieves. Is there a single paragon here? If so, they're to lose their status the moment they start to play dirty, and in a fight like this, he has a feeling that usual, noble methods aren't going to cut it. Some of these Exilers seem deranged enough to try anything, and he's got to be careful if he doesn't want to be swallowed alive himself — though at this stage, he's starting to wonder if getting himself kicked around a bit would really be such a problem. The bruises from his mishap with a tree have yet to fully fade, and the pain had been unpleasant whilst it had been immediately endured; now, however, the dull ache is grounding, and he can't say he was particularly miserable when he was focusing on the flashes of discomfort that initially arose whenever he breathed. If he can seek that again, as awful as it sounds, he'd not be above biting the ankles of Exilers to goad them into something stupid. There's nobody to stop him, anyway. Like most of the others, his parents are gone, and their ragtag group of children has been considerably reduced by the absences of Win and Meg. Fewer eyes on him means more room for errors, and Rob intends to take advantage of it while he can. Starting here.


    Unlike B, who has opted for the aerial approach, Rob keeps himself with all paws firmly on the ground, trailing after semi-familiar figures and trying not to get trampled on. Nothing in particular catches his attention, gaze straying from figure to figure, but like B, it's Win that inevitably draws him in. Exiles. Not BloodClan, not BlizzardClan, not neutral territory— the Exiles, and he doesn't take to that as easily as Boy does. Maybe that's a weakness of his. Maybe his entire front is a weakness. When he arrives at Sweetophelia's side, his expression is number than he would've hoped. "That's 'cause he's buddy-buddy with the enemy, now. Fancies his chances as a bad guy." It wouldn't be polite to confer with those you're meant to be working against, would it? Rob swallows the sickness and forces a smile. I'm joking, relax, I don't think you're evil. "I can see it. You've certainly nailed the dastardly scowl."
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  • LAND OF GODS AND MONSTERS || BLOODCLAN RAID

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]The lightning is of no concern to Rob. He moves with an almost deliberate sluggishness, just enough to avoid being fried, completely unbothered by the threat of death and only dodging because anything else would make him a liability, and he's not here for that. He's not here for this, either, but at least he'd prepared himself for any potential attacks of the physical sort. "Does it matter who did it? The entire clan just let it happen. Bystanders are just as guilty." Is that a bit much? Perhaps, but Robin's angry. This entire thing is a farce, and if this attempt at revenge is the only form of justice they can grasp at when their own get tortured for the fun of it, then maybe his views on what these clans are have been warped all this time. He seems to be the only one of the trio affected by Sweetophelia's words, anyhow, as though he's the only one of them that still cares— or the only one still weak enough to express it, and judging by the size of the cavity in his chest, he's not particularly surprised that he's the first one to falter. "Doesn't matter why I'm here," he muttered as an afterthought, narrowing his eyes at B's words and glancing towards him. The smile he'd attempted to muster beforehand slips away, and his eyes harden for a brief moment. "Right, 'cause everything I say has to be an attempt at humour. It's hardly the time for joking." And perhaps he'd tried to soften the barbs attached to his words, but if B isn't going to let him have it, have this one thing to save himself from his own inability to keep his mouth shut, then he's going to stop pretending. To hell with the relationships it ruins. Seems like everything's already in shambles as it is.


    He doesn't want Win to touch him here. He doesn't want anybody to, unless they're an Exiler looking for a fight, and that isn't ideal, but it's more ideal than someone he'd like to consider a friend trying to make contact in the name of protecting him. B goes back with the shove, and Rob looks after him in dismay, but he sidesteps quick enough to make himself stumble. "Don't try and play hero when you're in as much danger as we are." He only speaks once B has, eyes narrowing. "Maybe I'm here for that. Maybe I want to fight." Win doesn't have the right to stop him, and he's not even certain Sweetophelia can, should she decide to rein him in— though Ghoulian's attack ought to keep her preoccupied, he notes, eyes flung wide again by the unexpected onslaught of knives. Why can't people just hit each other like they do in the movies? It'd be so much easier to keep track of everything; by this point, Rob's head's spinning, and B's already in a tree. Seems like everyone's got faster reflexes than him. His lip curls, white-hot irritation flashing through him.


    Robin's still for a moment, considering his options. He could remain where he is, could try and find an opponent to hit, could turn tail and flee. The latter two are already ruled out — he's not leaving, and damn it if he dies — and yeah, Ghoulian's attracted a lot of attention as it is already, but something about him has the cub suspicious, and he has a feeling he can be of use in this one area. Slipping away from Sweetophelia and losing himself in the mass of people, the boy heads for Ghoulian's side, aiming to leap up onto his back from his flank and grab at the top hat with his jaws. His aim, ultimately, is to steal it, but if Ghoulian hangs on, then he'll at least be a further distraction from B's flaming branch and whatever retaliation Sweetophelia chooses to throw the cyborg's way.
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  • the highway to hell | open, meet and greet

    [center][fancypost=width: 500px; line-height:1.4; text-align: justify; padding: 2px][size=9]"Humans? What sort of humans?" His knowledge of them comes solely from movies, but he's come to understand that some of them are a little more technologically-advanced than others— and those that look for bears could either be semi-tribal or entirely-modernised, depending on their intentions. It strikes Robin as odd, adopting a name given by creatures you didn't consider your parents (unless Spirit had considered the humans his parents, though he doesn't seem to talk of them as if they're family, from what the small lion can gather), but he's never thought of giving himself a name other than the one he wears now, even though he doesn't really understand why somebody would refer to something like him as Robin. There's nothing robin about him; charcoal fur, sapphire eyes and a distinct lack of wings doesn't exactly make for a bird-like figure, though if he did have to become a bird, he'd expect a crow, or a raven, or a jackdaw. Something dark, not because of his disposition, but simply because of his appearance. Even in temperament, he doesn't consider himself much of a robin, either.


    It's not as though he can ask his parents, though. They're dead. It makes self-exploration a little difficult, admittedly, but he's managing to survive as a complete stranger to himself.


    Shaking himself out and settling next to Pierce (and perhaps he's a little too close, but he likes the serval, and proximity is something he enjoys), Robincub focuses on Spirit, offering him a smile. "My name's Robincub— but you can call me Robin, I guess. Nice to meet you, Spirit. I've never seen a bear in real life before." He's super cool, and though Rob won't say it, the unrestrained awe in his eyes is pretty obvious. He's practically starstruck.
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