[right][sub][color=dimgray]Eventually, directly interacting with Mr. Ward [@Themerlinhawk] 
& his siblings, particularly Abi [@The Muse][/color][/sub][/right]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/cfQ432U.gif[/img]

[img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/180929/784c77612b6949f26c17e759d2bc47c8.png[/img]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/bbK1Wcg.png?1[/img][/center]
[indent]Intoxicating. Addicting. Choking. Where most people would smell stench, Robin Reese smelt comfort. Such an unsavory smell smoke had that he absolutely couldn't get enough of. Most people hated it, which made it that more enjoyable. His window was open to air out his room, but by now, all his belongings, as well as himself, were past the point of no return. No Febreze could ever cover up years of cancer. He loved it and no one cared enough to stop him, so fuck it. He'll die happy. That's all they could ask for. To die happy. 

As overwhelming as the smoke was that he's grown accustomed to, it was nothing like the burn that lingered in his throat. That's what he craved. That's what he needed. That's why he smoked. That burn. His sexual pleasure because he didn't get any. Leaning against his backboard, dressed in his work clothes, with red converse on (yes, on his bed), for his afternoon shift at the family restaurant, the black sheep of the family sucked the Lucky Strike deep into his lungs. He let its purpose seep into every fiber of his being. The craving that was never fully satisfied. Something he could relate to on a spiritual level. 

Satisfaction was subjective and only obtained when people were content where they were. He was neither content or in need to gain anything. While the cigarette dangled in his scrawny fingers, Robin acknowledged his state of mind which was pure stagnation. Nothing to be proud about when you don't see a point in doing anything worthwhile, but he was young and the nicotine was good enough for him. If his mother didn't see a point in moving forward, why should he? 

Tsk.

Peaceful and in the zone. His zone. Smoke trailed out his lips gradually and effortlessly. What time was it anyways...? Didn't matter. Even if he missed his shift, his older siblings would make sure they found someone to cover for him. Life was good. All he had to do was say he was having a hard time. They couldn't fault him for that. Their family was tragically miserable. It was truly affecting his day-to-day life. How would he ever function?  

Sighing to himself, enjoying his mental sarcasm, Robin continued down the path of contemplation. Life was good. No parent to tell him what to do. No baby sister to make him feel bad about smoking. No responsibilities. Glancing up at the ceiling, his distant, green gaze emptily gawked at the white canvas that was before him. His hand that held the cigarette gingerly went to the soda can on his nightstand. The ash sprinkled across the top of the can, until he smashed the stick, crushing it, and inevitably releasing it into the abyss that was the can's insides. 

Tragic how fast these moments pass him by. Reminded him much of his childhood. Years and years of forgotten memories. The bad glared out more than the good. Memories. Why couldn't they make their own? The only good that ever came into his mind was a face of a woman that gave up on him. His mother's face, her tender, meek smile, came and went as it pleased. She fooled everyone. The biggest liar award goes to none other than Ophelia Reese. She made the world believe she was strong, but really... she... 

That same welcoming, loving woman, whose smile was like sunlight in his mind shifted where her face turned ugly, as she sobbed profusely, collapsing onto the floor before him. Begging for all the weight in the world to be lifted off her shoulders. [color=87A96B][b]"Ma —"[/b][/color] The image of her so vivid, like it was only yesterday. She was like glass and if he reached for her, she would surely break. 

[color=87A96B][b]"— Ah, fuck."[/b][/color]

His mind was ripped out of his memories when he heard Meg: [color=f989f2][b]“ABIGAIL! YOU LEFT THE DOOR UNLOCKED!”[/b][/color] 

Rolling off his bed, and bringing himself to a standing position, Robin traced his fingers through his hair, [color=87A96B][b]"That's my cue."[/b][/color] Without delay, he went to his desk and grabbed the backpack off the chair. Opening it quickly, he made sure he had everything he needed. Oh, one more thing. He grabbed a frame lying on his desk that he recently filled with a new printed picture. After wrapping it with a small hand towel, he placed it in his bag. 

He was just about ready, so he made his way to his window. Part of him was tempted to bring a hoodie, but he was already wearing a long blouse for work. Dumb. Whatever. He was wasting time. With his already open window, rarely does he ever close it because of the smell, Robin recklessly tossed the backpack and it plopped onto the grass. Hence, the hand towel. They didn't have vines in the front of their house, but they did have a tree where he could.... Robin leaned out of his window, reaching for the closest branch. If he were any smaller, this could end terribly. Climbing out of his window, he threw himself onto the tree, tightly grasping the wooden arm, letting himself swing for a bit. Robin glanced over to the mechanic. [color=87A96B][b]"Sup, dude."[/b][/color] before dropping to the ground. 

He did parkour, bitch. 

At last, it was time to avoid his family entirely, the rebel without a cause grabbed the backpack off the ground and his skateboard that was planted in a bush. Making his way to the street, he dropped the board onto the road, threw his bag over one of his shoulders, and waved at his friendly neighbor. Might as well be friendly back. [color=87A96B][b]"Bye, dude."[/b][/color] To announce that Robin has left the building, he acted like he was going in his sister's car, by first loudly slapping the hood, appreciating its nice paint job, and then trying to open the door, but only for one reason. 

To set the alarm off.   

[color=87A96B][b]"See you fuckers later!"[/b][/color] Putting his foot on the board, he kicked off, [color=87A96B][b]"Nice wheels, Abi-Abi! Better take good care of it!"[/b][/color] Protecting it from people like him who wouldn't have mind dropping out of his window onto her hood. That's just how Robin rolled. Respect, my dude. What was that?

The blonde nineteen year old sped to his next destination, his mother's grave, disappearing in the distance. 

Now that's how you make an exit.[/indent]