Attempting a demonstration of good will--and good behavior--Robin clasps his hands at his back and only jostles Ganymede a very little bit in return. "You'd better," he whispers back with a quick flash of a grin. The automatons always make him uneasy, fascinating as they unquestionably are, and he follows Hephaestus in a way that keeps both the god and Ganymede mostly between him and them. Something about them makes him feel as though they're constantly watching him with unblinking focus.
That might actually be the truth. Hephaestus' skills extend far beyond Robin's minuscule bits of understanding in the realm of physics, mechanics and technological possibilities. Nothing about the thought makes them less disquieting, and he picks up his pace to stay at Ganymede's side.
They pass through several more archways before arriving at a solid door, which one statue opens with a whisper of oiled hinges. A heavy chemical scent wafts out from the darkness within, and Robin flinches back for just a moment in instinctive repulsion before mastering himself and following yet again. Some things about the modern world--and technology in general, probably--will never be entirely comfortable for him, or so he suspects. Habituation can only go so far against basic nature.
The interior is unnervingly dark, even to Robin's excellent night vision, until Hephaestus claps his hands and the space fills with a kind of eerie, sourceless illumination. "No full darkroom necessary for my current technique," he says. Robin doubts he's imagining the warm note of pride, or perhaps just satisfaction, underlining Hephaestus's words. A number of tanks line the walls of the room, and the automatons go about readying a few of them.
no subject
That might actually be the truth. Hephaestus' skills extend far beyond Robin's minuscule bits of understanding in the realm of physics, mechanics and technological possibilities. Nothing about the thought makes them less disquieting, and he picks up his pace to stay at Ganymede's side.
They pass through several more archways before arriving at a solid door, which one statue opens with a whisper of oiled hinges. A heavy chemical scent wafts out from the darkness within, and Robin flinches back for just a moment in instinctive repulsion before mastering himself and following yet again. Some things about the modern world--and technology in general, probably--will never be entirely comfortable for him, or so he suspects. Habituation can only go so far against basic nature.
The interior is unnervingly dark, even to Robin's excellent night vision, until Hephaestus claps his hands and the space fills with a kind of eerie, sourceless illumination. "No full darkroom necessary for my current technique," he says. Robin doubts he's imagining the warm note of pride, or perhaps just satisfaction, underlining Hephaestus's words. A number of tanks line the walls of the room, and the automatons go about readying a few of them.