Federico is so engrossed in showing the pictures he does not notice this all play out across Robin's face. Even as the emotions swirl and crash against his own halo...he's focused on a task. He will carry it out. There are emotions toward each drawing, something he'd not expected...but it's not. A bad thing. He thinks. They're not the focus of the matter here.
'Happy'...?
"Yes. Sunday spoke of her smiles, and how brightly she shone for her audiences. How she worked to teach "harmony" amongst those who needed it most. I usually sketch portraits for work, but learning to capture the emotion of it..." He supposes it transfers?
-is there a leak somewhere? A drop of moisture drips onto the page. Thankfully, the paper is treated for watercolors. Federico tugs the sketchbook out of the way.
He hums at her comments on Sunday, thinking. "As difficult a connection my empathy link is to his, he has been more at ease lately. Sunday is someone easy to track normally due to the constant anxiety he seems to be feeling." Not unlike Ezell in that respect... "But that has calmed somewhat over his time here. It's...good." Even if it makes him harder to track.
There's a long pause after his last question. He understands needing time to think. But the drops of water are increasing in frequency.....wait. He blinks, looks up- oh.
Oh no.
"Signora? I...apologize if my words upset you, I did not mean-" His words catch in his throat when arms reach out, shaking and desperate, and a tearful face buries itself in his neck. He stiffens, truly shocked at this reaction. Why such sorrow? Such grief?? Her hands are clinging to him like a lifeline...those same hands which were working to point a gun at him earlier. What?? What??? What did he say???
"Signora..." he manages, his words softening. Her only answer is sobbing, tears, and quivering feathers tucked against him. She sounds more like an injured fowlbeast than a woman who'd perform as a shining star before a crowd. How did it come to this...?
....Arturia would cling to him in a similar manner, when they were small. When other children were cruel to her, when the emotions of others became too much for her...when her mother, his amita, died. The proper course of action...he'd done this recently, too. For Sunday, hadn't he?
It probably takes an absurdly long time, but eventually, finally, his arms come up to wrap around Robin's shaking shoulders. The reciprocation is stiff and faltering; someone who is very not practiced in physical comfort. Still, he holds her securely against him, as if bracing her against a storm, strong and steady. Federico lowers his head, as if in prayer, having no idea what a rarity he's witnessing. Just that she needs comfort...he'll offer the best he can.
"Based on your current reaction, I will assume your answer is 'no'," he murmurs.
oof watering that seed with many tears I see
'Happy'...?
"Yes. Sunday spoke of her smiles, and how brightly she shone for her audiences. How she worked to teach "harmony" amongst those who needed it most. I usually sketch portraits for work, but learning to capture the emotion of it..." He supposes it transfers?
-is there a leak somewhere? A drop of moisture drips onto the page. Thankfully, the paper is treated for watercolors. Federico tugs the sketchbook out of the way.
He hums at her comments on Sunday, thinking. "As difficult a connection my empathy link is to his, he has been more at ease lately. Sunday is someone easy to track normally due to the constant anxiety he seems to be feeling." Not unlike Ezell in that respect... "But that has calmed somewhat over his time here. It's...good." Even if it makes him harder to track.
There's a long pause after his last question. He understands needing time to think. But the drops of water are increasing in frequency.....wait. He blinks, looks up- oh.
Oh no.
"Signora? I...apologize if my words upset you, I did not mean-" His words catch in his throat when arms reach out, shaking and desperate, and a tearful face buries itself in his neck. He stiffens, truly shocked at this reaction. Why such sorrow? Such grief?? Her hands are clinging to him like a lifeline...those same hands which were working to point a gun at him earlier. What?? What??? What did he say???
"Signora..." he manages, his words softening. Her only answer is sobbing, tears, and quivering feathers tucked against him. She sounds more like an injured fowlbeast than a woman who'd perform as a shining star before a crowd. How did it come to this...?
....Arturia would cling to him in a similar manner, when they were small. When other children were cruel to her, when the emotions of others became too much for her...when her mother, his amita, died. The proper course of action...he'd done this recently, too. For Sunday, hadn't he?
It probably takes an absurdly long time, but eventually, finally, his arms come up to wrap around Robin's shaking shoulders. The reciprocation is stiff and faltering; someone who is very not practiced in physical comfort. Still, he holds her securely against him, as if bracing her against a storm, strong and steady. Federico lowers his head, as if in prayer, having no idea what a rarity he's witnessing. Just that she needs comfort...he'll offer the best he can.
"Based on your current reaction, I will assume your answer is 'no'," he murmurs.
M. Maybe he shouldn't talk actually.