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Sinclair couldn't breathe. His chest constricted and released air rapidly as he desperately tried to sink further into the bus seat. Just a single mention of that place sent him into his frenzy and he couldn't relax- No, he tried and failed to relax. The bus felt smaller and smaller by the second and under Sinclair's various layered clothing, he felt chills and sweaty.
No matter. He continued to try and keep to himself. Shrunken against the window and clutching his hands to his chest with his knees blocking his face, he tried to keep from making a scene. Visions of memories and nightmares of trauma left tears pricking the corners of his eyes. He couldn't help but feel the gaze of several Sinners staring him down, imagining their disgraceful gaze upon him having a panic attack at a mere word.
A Sinner in question gently plopped herself into the seat beside the cowering boy, hands hesitating over Sinclair's own before she cleared her throat. "Sinclair," Rodion approached the conversation with steady carefulness, observing his posture and how he responded. "I think you are in need of some company, dear," Rodion decided on holding her hands together and in her lap. She was patient and would wait until Sinclair was ready.
Sinclair shuffled his arm away from his face, staring up at Rodion with an owlish look, "Miss.. Rodya," His voice stumbled for the words, face flushed from crying and his voice trembled as it came from his mouth. Rodya looked at him with the most saddened gaze Sinclair had ever seen her wear. He tried to imagine the times where she equally was sad or remorseful about something but all that came to mind was.. Nothing. He'd never seen her be upset. Was he upsetting her? Sinclair wanted to vanish from her eyes at his new assumption.
Instead, Rodya shifted to face him and opened her arms in an offering of an embrace. Sinclair stared at her for a long minute before he sniffled, wiping his sleeve over his eyes and maneuvering his shaking form to hug her. The hug was warm and comforting. Rodya vaguely smelt of cheap perfume like the type that would be smelt in casinos and it was no mistake that was probably where she got it to begin with. Rodya wrapped her arms around Sinclair, a hand rested on the back of his head and she ran her thumb along his upper shoulder. He didn't pull away from the comforting embrace, whimpering miserably and hiccupping as the waterworks started again.
Once Rodya was certain he was calm, she began to approach with her questions carefully. "Do you want to chit-chat about what's got you so down, kiddo?" Her voice was soft, motherly. Sinclair shook his head with a quiet mh-uhm, providing Rodya with a simple reasonable outcome.
Rodya looked towards the front of the bus where Charon and Vergilius remained. She couldn't stall the trip but the least she could do is make it less miserable for him. Rodya searched for an idea in mind before she leaned back a bit, peering behind the seat at Gregor, "Pssstt.. Greg, sweetheart, do you have those pages I gave you?" She inquired. Gregor looked at her with a puzzled expression, his antennae twitching before it clicked in his mind what she meant. He looked for his throw-over jacket and fished the folded pages in question, handing them to her.
"How is he?" Gregor asked, voice hushed as if trying to not disturb the boy in her arms. Rodya looked down at him and tried her best to ignore the ever-so vacant stare of dissociation in his eyes, "He's torn up. I don't know about what," Rodya looked at him with a sorrowful gaze, as if regretful she couldn't provide more to say. "Mm," Gregor removed the cigarette from his lips, flicking the ashes off the lit end and sending them onto the floorboard. "I sense this place we're going.. He doesn't have much good history with," He concluded with a displeased sigh. The conversation was left open ended for Rodya's interpretation but she figured it was the same situation as Gregor's own.
A trauma place for Gregor was all too familiar as a trauma place for Sinclair. Nonetheless, she chose to simply nod in an agreement with a shared remorse. Once she had sat back up, she gave Sinclair a little shake. "Hey, I have something for you," Rodya smiled at him.
Sinclair's eyes seemed to re-focus as he reeled himself back in. He stared up at her with a slightly confused look, lips pressed together in a line. Rodya used her free hand to offer the small folded papers, "It's a little something I managed to pick up on our journey. I know it's a little silly but maybe it'd help a bit," Rodya explained, watching Sinclair move to grab the papers and unfold them with hesitance. Once unfolded perfectly, beautiful and uncolored illustrations donned the pages, waiting to be filled and colored with several assortments of colors.
Sinclair looked down at them for a long minute before he looked to the side, away from Rodya, voice soft, ".. Do you have any pens?" He asked. Rodya looked happy to see the opportunity and reached into her inner coatpockets, presenting Sinclair with several kinds in various colors. Sinclair quietly took them and sat comfortably beside her, using his lap as a steady surface to color the pictures on.
In minutes, it was almost like Sinclair wasn't upset to begin with.