AN: In true Sloth-like style, this is the shortest chapter. Not intentional, but hey. Also, I hate this chapter, which is why I put it almost last. It's just like something's off like in Cat's. No, it doesn't fit with Robbie at all, and it feels forced and it's just all around terrible...But chapter Seven is AWESOME, so stick around, yeah?
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own "Victorious"
Chapter Six
Sloth
Robbie could do more. He could be a better actor. He could be known for that instead of the ventriloquilism that comes so effortlessly to him. But he'd have to try. Apply himself. It would be an act of self-improvent as opposed to the act of desperate loneliness that had birthed Rex. And Robbie doesn't care enough to try.
He's only talented at something that hardly counts has a talent. He can talk without moving his lips. Big deal. His talent is that he can do something without having to do something. It's a oxymoron, to say the least. And since, technically, his talent is not to do anything at all, Robbie thinks it's okay that he doesn't want to do anything else. Ever.
He's perfectly content to lie in bed and throw his voice around the room. Even if there's no one to hear. Even if there's no one to care. He doesn't care either, remember?
He goes to Hollywood Arts because the classes are easier. They let him in because he could do nothing, spectacularly. The performance classes are graded on participation, so he doesn't have to do anything. The academic classes don't matter. At all. Hardly anyone fails. It is a arts school after all.
So he sit alone in slothenly comfort and pretends Rex is real and begging to go out and "score some babes." Rex isn't like Robbie. Rex is cool and proactive. Rex is everything Robbie used to wish he was.
But Rex is just a puppet in the end, no matter how many times he shouts that he isn't. And Robbie is just Robbie, no matter he used to wish for change.
He doesn't care anymore.
About anything.