This dark, dim, and semi questionable setting wasn’t out of the ordinary for the now, rebuffed squaller. Sill, he didn’t like to call to much attention to himself and answering this...invitation was definitely going to get some eyes on him. But at this point, was everything just bound to get worst? The outcome seemed likely.
It had been some time since he considered working with others; there were very few occasions since he left the second army but with the proper convincing anything was possible, he supposed.
There were others, it seemed, who also answered the summons and he was keen to hold back a bit to observe. He never considered himself clever or cunning but cautious? Oh was he cautious when it came to matters involving the Crow Club.
The establishment, it’s owners, and patrons were known for their slight of hand in every way you can imagine. You could either bluff your way through the game or play the hand you’re dealt. Robin was a terrible bluff so he chose not to hide his advantage in the world. It kept him alive this long even after his time away from the second army.
Following the group that came before him, sullen optics moved quickly through them all before settling on the crow’s head on Kaz’s cane. With an affinity for birds himself, the Squaller removed the falcon feather lined cloak from his shoulders. Instead of shaking the rain out of his hair he brought a palm to linger just barely above it manipulate the air around him to gently blow it off.
But even the non-chalent use of his summoning wasn’t his edge in this world but the the fracture of his spirit that should have been obvious to most, was only picked up by few. Some of which, he would come to learn, were in this very room of vagabonds and ruffians.
Unlike the rest of his company, Robin chose not to say word and took a seat in one of the open chairs.
