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goodfellaRobin stands just inside the entrance they'd taken to the sewers that Ishiah had been staking out, and he lifts an LED headlamp to slip it onto his forehead and flip it on. His night vision is better than human, but in the wide world of supernaturals, nothing much to tout. Tipping his head from one side and to the other, he sighs, low in his chest.
He's worn one of the few pairs of denim jeans that he owns, but he is still not wading into this mess with his shoes. He doesn't have any sports shoes. The leather loafers are carefully peeled off, followed by Robin's button-down shirt. Once he's half-bare, he decides it's worth risking it. He can lose the pants, and the underwear. He doesn't give a shit.
"Oh, Hades," he declares. It is a stinking pit. He'd almost forgotten how much he hated sewers, and how much they stank. Robin had done most of his wading into them in company of Caliban. "Our first date. Our very first date as an officially engaged couple, and you take me to a sewer. You couldn't have heard rumors about a monster that hunts in a chocolate factory, or a hothouse garden. No. Why should I have such luck? A sewer. Abysmal."
He hefts his sword, a finely-made Roman cinquedea with delicate copper decoration, over one shoulder with a lengthy and nasal sigh. He regrets it. The more he sighs and the more he bitches, the more stagnant air he breathes in.
"I may vomit."
He's worn one of the few pairs of denim jeans that he owns, but he is still not wading into this mess with his shoes. He doesn't have any sports shoes. The leather loafers are carefully peeled off, followed by Robin's button-down shirt. Once he's half-bare, he decides it's worth risking it. He can lose the pants, and the underwear. He doesn't give a shit.
"Oh, Hades," he declares. It is a stinking pit. He'd almost forgotten how much he hated sewers, and how much they stank. Robin had done most of his wading into them in company of Caliban. "Our first date. Our very first date as an officially engaged couple, and you take me to a sewer. You couldn't have heard rumors about a monster that hunts in a chocolate factory, or a hothouse garden. No. Why should I have such luck? A sewer. Abysmal."
He hefts his sword, a finely-made Roman cinquedea with delicate copper decoration, over one shoulder with a lengthy and nasal sigh. He regrets it. The more he sighs and the more he bitches, the more stagnant air he breathes in.
"I may vomit."
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Date: 2013-09-28 02:20 am (UTC)"And good," he adds, folding and tucking the still-pliant hide under his arm to take with him. He wasn't kidding about the shoes and wallet. He has a ruck-sack prepared for it, left just outside of where they'd entered the sewer.
"I want my things to be figuratively stunning, not literally. There is a talent that would come to be a pain more often than assistance. Work's done, though. Let's quit this awful hole and find ourselves a hot shower together somewhere."