MAN IN BLUE.

SIGHS . . . i should stop beating around the bush. slapping a big ol' HIATUS sign on my poor dear robert because i'm too lazy and have too much of an attention deficit to switch blogs, and also because having 80+ owed replies across here and coop has me a wee bit overwhelmed and is difficult to keep up with as a blorbo that only sits down to write in earnest 1-2 days a week. mb guys.

You can replace objects. You can't replace people. Robin is fiercely protective of Robert. His protectiveness of his twin was present before their father's demise and has only increased tenfold since. As Robert recounts his own day's adventures, Robin reaches over and gives his hair a loving ruffle. "Sounds like you've been busy. I don't have any better ideas so let's go with that plan." It's either that or find a way to borrow a pick up truck and Robin doesn't think just anyone would let them borrow a whole car without asking a million questions.

the affectionate gesture releases tension he hadn't even known was present⸺ the hills of his shoulders dropping like a puppet with it's strings cut, " . . . yeah, OKAY. " apprehension he had been holding upon hearing robin's own news inadvertently melts away, and he hugs his soiled jacket to his chest.

                the  little  creature  leads  the  way  with  what  bucky  could  only  define  as  a  channeling  of  what  appeared  to  be  boundless  energy.  even  the  animals  knew  their  purpose  better  than  he.  withdrawing  left  hand  from  the  burrow  of  his  jacket  pocket,  he  flexed  the  metal  plates  experimentally,  watching  as  tiny  flecks  of  ice  chipped  away.  a  statue  breaking  from  it's  marble.   russia  was  nothing  without  their  winter—  and  the  winter  would  always  find  their  soldier. 

" er, my place? " his gaze flickers⸺ oh, AND SEES. he hadn't been able to beneath all the bluster of his well-frosted coat, and makes some unsettling conclusions of his own when the inorganic digits flex in his peripheral; he's mindful not to STARE and watches beef's mirthful trot, instead, " i mean, if that's alright with you. it's not much, but i've got a working heater, dry clothes? " they break the perimeter of the park, and robert takes a right down the sidewalk. he likes this location because it's only a few blocks from his apartment, but the park itself is ripe with real estate to jog through, on better-weathered days.

Losing their dad, despite the man's many imperfections, was difficult. The man left the two of them with debt and one hell of a heavy legacy to carry. Although he yearns to be a superhero, these days he'd settle for just making sure they don't lose the house. They're lucky that no one has bid on it yet but Robin knows their luck is bound to run out eventually. Where will they live after this? Where will they hide the suit after this? He's got 99 problems and few solutions. These days anxiety tears at him just as fiercely and relentlessly as grief does.

" i went dumpster diving, " he says, coming through the doorway. there's a feeling of dread that pits out in his stomach hearing having to sell one of his OWN belongings to keep them afloat, and he tugs at the zipper of his navy hoodie before shrugging it off. he's left in a white t-shirt with muddy grey stains, a mixture of stagnant water and OIL from his daily rummaging. he folds it over his arm and anxiously kneads at the fraying fabric with his other unoccupied fingertips, " and i found a wagon, " it's a small admittance, in retrospect. his shoulders hunch, " i'm thinking we can move the suit in pieces. find some place unoccupied, try and afford a good padlock, something like that? "

~ Johnny feels his nose wrinkle automatically at the kid remark, wanting to squark about how he was in fact a GROWN MAN...but stopping him self short with the realization that it would almost definitely make him sound like a kid insisting they were tool old for a BEDTIME. Instead he turned to look at the other man, grunting out a subtle dude as he's immediately shoulder checked by someone running past him for the exit of the bar.

" and i'm pretty sure this place doesn't have insurance for spontaneous incendiary explosions. " he says, side-stepping some of the patrons that rush past him. he keeps the space he's using small by walking sideways, letting the crowd part naturally around his stride⸺ a stray foot there, an elbow here⸺ until he successfully makes it behind the bar. there's no one standing back there to stop him as he pushes the swinging doors into the backroom, and past the stainless steel countertops is a set of stairs bracketed against the furthest wall.