a bookstore, for some reason, is the last thing that roxas remembers. lots of books lining all the walls, narrow passageways— the sound of the owner’s voice close by no matter how far he may tread. his words will carry and answer unasked questions. roxas doesn’t usually speak much, anyhow.
(these days he’s hardly ever in the mood to talk)
(life without a heart hurt a lot more than he could have ever anticipated)
blinking, he peers about the inside of the inn lobby. it’s dark, and he can hear the creaking of the wooden beams. the innkeeper stands, almost motionlessly, behind the counter, ready to serve. roxas sways and glances at the door. he wants to leave. doesn’t like it here, but his better judgement says if he were to try and walk back the way he came, that ground wouldn’t be there for him to walk on.
so it was a moot point to ruminate on and a hopeless idea. for now, only after conversing very uncomfortably with the innkeeper, roxas loiters in the lobby for signs of life.
The window tells him it's nighttime. He never recalled going to sleep.
Out of his repose, uncomfortably still wearing his robes, he climbs out of bed and goes down to the lobby, in hopes of getting some information. He's got bedhead, but that's the least of his concern. It used to be all he had to worry about.
Stifling a yawn, he stays at the foot of the stairs. Voices? ...There's someone here. He watches and listens - just arrived, looks like. Once blondie's little chitchat with the innkeeper is over, he approaches him with a casual stance.
"From the look on your face, I'm guessing you know as little as I do about what's going on. My name's Robin. Where're you staying, uh...?" he trails off his sentence, in indication that he'd like to know what to call him. Introductions come first.
