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<br/>​</div>True to the general theme of his day, Robin's supply run was a poor effort.  Initially, he planned to buy the wood and tools necessary to build shelves from his broken bed frame, but he soon ran into a rather obvious problem.  The supplies he needed couldn't be carried by just one person.  Not to mention the difficulty of hauling them to the shuttle, and then back to the dorm...  Many hands made light work, but at the moment Robin could only count on his own.  It wasn't like much of his team would be eager to drop their current projects and help him fix up his sleeping area.  For that, Robin needed friends: and those were in short supply here at Beacon.  Sure, if he was at Atlas students would be lining up to assist...an exchange of sorts, their labor for his approval, money, and connections.  Hardly the mark of a true friendship.<br/><br/>For the moment, Robin decided to head for Murphy's Pub - an old, dilapidated building a few blocks away from the transport shuttle's station.  He pushed open the stained glass door, his nostrils filling with the smell of cheap whiskey and stale cigars.  The corner booth caught his eye: with its cheap upholstery and negligible seat padding still the best and most comfortable place to sit in this dump.  Robin exhaled slightly as he slumped into a sitting position, supporting his head with one arm.  The waitress seemed much too busy smoking to bother taking his order, but Robin still had a few hours anyway.<br/><br/>"You're here earlier than I expected." Robin's body reacted on instinct.  His heart began to race, nerves on edge as the stern, commanding voice filled his left ear.  Without thinking, he shifted himself nearly out of the booth in an attempt to create some distance between him and the speaker.<br/><br/>"Mother?  What...what are you doing here?" Robin hissed through clenched teeth.  How the hell had she slipped into the booth without him noticing?  His mother didn't answer, merely glancing over him with her ice-blue eyes as if he was a particularly interesting insect.  Sharp fingernails drummed on the leg of her grey cargo pants while contemplating her answer.<br/><br/>"Work.  Nothing important." She brushed a lock of white hair away from her face before continuing.  "I suppose the more pertinent question is what are<i>you</i>doing here?"<br/><br/>Her answer seemed reasonable to Robin and her outfit was certainly a dead giveaway.  She looked more like a mechanic than any sort of Atlas Specialist.  She'd even taken the time to spot grease on her face and dirty up her hair a bit.  A decent disguise - but she was here on business.  Robin averted his eyes, his answer brief and somewhat vague.  "Team disagreement.  Needed some space." Robin's mother glared at him, a challenge to his feigned ignorance.  "Fine.  I<i>might</i>have been responsible for the issue." Satisfied, the white-haired woman sat back against the booth, waving over the waitress.<br/><br/>"Hm.  I can't exactly blame you given the composition of your team.  Still, I'd hate for you to be a public embarrassment to our lineage with a dismissal from a second-rate academy."  She paused for a moment as the waitress came over, not even bothering to hear Robin's stammered defense.  "Two scotches, blended.  And two burgers, medium, french fries for both, and no pickles on mine." As the waitress left, Robin tapped his mom on the shoulder.<br/><br/>"Wait, I don't - "<br/><br/>"The drinks are both mine, idiot." She flicked his nose sharply, causing Robin to recoil in surprise as she gave him a casual smirk  "Now I don't particularly care how much you have to prostrate yourself to build a rapport with your teammates.  Pretend those animals are real people and lie how you care about their moronic world views.  Try to make them like you.  But don't come here expecting pity - attending Beacon was your decision."<br/><br/>She placed a hand on Robin's shoulder, staring him dead in the eyes.  Her gaze cold.  Lifeless.  Unblinking.  "Just don't forget who you are.  Your loyalty, first and foremost, is to Atlas.  To your father and I.  Eventually, you'll have to choose a side...and I expect you'll choose ours without question." Robin's expression hardened as he nodded.<br/><br/>"Of course."<br/><br/>They sat in idle silence for a little longer until the waitress brought their food out: both digging in with unbridled gusto.  Robin's mother downed the first scotch quickly, grimacing at the taste before passing the second to Robin.  He hefted the glass to his mouth, giving the amber liquid a tentative sniff before he took a single, good mouthful.  A look of revulsion crossed his face as the harsh alcoholic fumes filled his nose and throat and he winced, resisting the urge to spit the mouthful back into the glass.<i>Ugh!  This is foul!</i>His mother watched on with the faintest hint of...amusement...present in her eyes, content as he joined her in mutual misery.<br/><br/>"I'm heading out.  The meal's already paid for, so you should head back to the academy."<i>How did she...</i>Robin grimaced, shaking his head.  He knew better than to question his mother's foresight.  He finished his burger, licking his lips before downing the last of his scotch and heading for the door.  Back to Beacon.  Back to the team.