[ Please pretend that the two of them have had at a couple of short-lived text conversations already... ] Hello Fern. Have y [ ... ... ...
A few minutes later: ] I apologize, I sent the message earlier than I intended. Have you heard of the sale at the grocer's? They were trying to rid their stock of canned soup.
[ Lucina actually tries with her texting. Fern, meanwhile, hasn't bothered to learn things like proper pronunciation or capitalization. The only capitalization that happens is when the phone does it for her. ]
[ While Arlecchino keeps a room for herself, she spends very little time in it, using it more for work and storage with only the occasional recuperating nap. So when she finally stops by again to drop off some freshly gathered (meat) fruit from a diffusion zone, she's offended to find the room sparsely fuzzed with mold. An unforgivable sin to one as dedicated to cleanliness as she. Perhaps this is a sign that she ought to look to upgrading her facilities... but for now, it's time to purge the room of its mold crimes.
Bleach is procured. The mold, extinguished. It takes time and doing, but soon her room is once again immaculate. She always finds a freshly clean scene satisfying, but this one puts her in an especially pleasant mood. It must be the sense of victory after overcoming a particularly stubborn foe. Riding that wave, she manipulates some of the (meat) fruit into a proper dish, and it too produces a satisfactory result. Wonderful.
But she has quite a bit of fruit left over, and she doesn't know how long it will stay good for -- especially with the mold possibly making a comeback. Best consume the fruit as soon as possible. What better way than by sharing with her neighbors? Such shows of goodwill are conducive to positive relationships. (She's normal and good at making friends like that.)
So she prepares a few more plates of food: roughly diced (meat) fruit tossed with roughly diced onions, pickles, and tasteful pepperings of sauces and seasonings. Topped with raw egg yolk and bedded on a slice of French (whatever that is) bread. A serviceable recreation of steak tartare as she knew it back home, she'd say.
Her immediate neighbors seem puzzled and slightly frightened by her offering. No matter. They'll enjoy it or they won't. Speaking of frightened people, she recalls Adrian, whom her Hitchhiker recently gutted. He's probably healed himself fully by now, but a bit more iron in the system never hurts after an injury. Thus, she makes her way to the room she recalls him staying at, a covered plate in hand like a vaguely threatening waiter.
[ Normally, Adrian would have been home at this hour. However, the clinic where he's been working in hopes of learning more about the goings-on there has taken advantage of his altruistic nature and called him in for an extra shift. It means that Fern has the motel room to herself tonight, as she has the day off from her own rather mundane place of work.
Naturally, both of them have been rather taken in by the television, even if what's on it usually makes little to no sense to her. She at least understands the basics of what it is now, which is ultimately entertainment. If there's anything that could count as "news," it never seems to be related to the Diadem itself, but some other farflung place.
In other words, it doesn't provide much other than background noise or a distraction most of the time, but Fern sometimes puts it on while she winds down for the evening. She tends to keep the volume low (she has no interest in some neighbor banging on the wall because the sound is bleeding through), so the knock at the door immediately grabs her attention with a swivel of her head (and ears) in that direction.
They're not expecting anyone. Adrian would have mentioned it if so, and never have they invited someone over. It's not as if this room is meant for hosting guests. Which means it must be something else — maybe even trouble.
Yet Fern doesn't feel like she has to be too suspicious. She slides off the bed and instead of calling through the door, simply opens it, at which point she's faced with a woman with striking features — especially those eyes.
More notable, though, is the plate she's holding. Fern can smell the raw meat, though it's clearly been dressed and prepared for consumption. She blinks at it a few times, trying to determine why a stranger would bring over food like this.
Eventually, she remembers to offer a greeting, though it's a flat one. ] ... Hello. [ Does she have the wrong room? ]
[ The person who answers the door is not Adrian, but The Knave does recognize this woman as an associate of his. What can she say, she likes to people-watch.
Thus she isn't overly surprised, only paying the unexpected face a second's extra consideration before responding cordially, if seriously. ]
Greetings. I am The Knave. Adrian is currently staying here, yes?
[ She asks, but it isn't a question. ]
If he hasn't managed to get himself killed in the scant time since I've seen him, then allow me to leave this for him. There is more than enough to share, if you'd like to partake as well.
[ She presents: the dish. Her movements are controlled and elegant, as if she were a server of fine dining — which makes it all the more incongruous when she uncovers the plate to reveal what appears to be a minor massacre. Lacking the tools for proper presentation, the unevenly cubed (meat) fruit mix is piled haphazardly, looking more like a savory salad on bread with a yolk hat on top. The flavor is fair enough though, if overly chunky steak tartare is your thing.
There is not one, but three of these things arranged on the plate. Generosity or unspoken criticism that Adrian needs more meat on his bones? That's anyone's guess. ]
[ Fern's face twitches for a moment as she processes that this woman must know about her and that Adrian even shared with her where they're staying. She's aware that Adrian is far more open with information about them and their whereabouts than she would normally be, which is a risk she must take on if they're going to continue to share the fees for these motel rooms they make use of every so often.
Normally, she might have shown further irritation and unease at being perceived in this way, but the food offering (and perhaps the spores in the room) help to smooth things over slightly. ]
... The Knave. [ Is that a title? She looks the stranger up and down again with a studying gaze. ] I assume you already know my name, then. [ She's not thrilled about it, to be honest.
Although the comment about Adrian getting himself killed draws far more of her attention. There's a knowingness to that tone, and more than that, Adrian has never mentioned this woman to her. It's odd, because he tends to tell her about most of the people who he interacts with via idle conversation here and there. So... why the omission? There must be a reason.
Then the food is revealed, and Fern isn't quite ready for what she sees next. She was expecting the raw meat, but the presentation leaves a bit to be desired. Not that she's much of a judge of such things, and so after a pause, she takes the plate. ]
I'll set it aside for him, though he usually isn't much of a meat-eater. [ You know, save for when the meat is the heart of a recently-deceased person. Nonetheless, they do have a little box that keeps things cold in the room, meaning that she can keep it for him until he returns and see if he wants any of it for himself.
Instead of leaving it at that, though, and shutting the door on the woman after thanking her, Fern can't help but ask: ] ... How do you two know one another?
[ Fern's studies will find The Knave immaculately presented, from her crisp formal clothing, to her precisely groomed hair and makeup, to the fresh floral scent about her. Everything about her is sharp — including the red-and-black nails that tip her blackened hands and her wicked stiletto heels. Her posture lacks true hostility, but it is confident, almost intensely so.
Adrian's companion is clearly a warier sort than he is — a fact The Knave finds interesting. "I assume you already know my name, then." Quite interesting indeed. Her lips spread mildly into a smile. ]
It would seem our dear friend Adrian is shyer than I thought. But no matter.
[ She's witnessed Adrian's earnest nature firsthand, and it sounds like his companion expects him to be forthcoming about a majority of things. Yet he's been withholding information about The Knave from her. Why? If Adrian is convinced of The Knave's decency, then there should be no reason for him to avoid mentioning her. How... fun. She crosses her arms and touches her cheek in an exaggeration of thought. ]
As it so happens, I first met him in passing. I chanced upon him in my travels only recently... Ah, but I'm afraid I'm not much of a storyteller. [ False. ] In short, we had a fleeting adventure together. I'm sure he'll do an admirable job regaling you with the details.
[ Have fun with that, Adrian. The Knave has no intention of getting entangled in whatever predicament he's accidentally laid for himself. She will, however, seize this small opportunity to vent. ]
But I must say that he's a bit more reckless than one would hope for. A constant concern, I imagine.
[ Of the two of them, Adrian is perhaps the most overtly sentimental, but it hadn't taken very much coaxing at all for Fern to agree to have a nice dinner with him to ring in the new year. He's learning that the way to her heart is really through her stomach, and he's picked up a veritable feast's worth of takeout in accordance.
Covering much of their tiny table is an assortment of dumplings, noodles, and rice. It's a much welcome break from pizza or frozen dinners, or whatever they can trade for a hunk of car meat. They can store the leftovers now, Adrian reasons. They don't need to be concerned with leaving the room and losing access to the mini fridge.
Once Fern has settled into her own seat and helped herself, Adrian pours them both drinks. Neither of them are particularly fond of alcohol, so he had opted for a blush pink bottled juice instead.
Dinner is nothing unusual otherwise. Adrian asks after her day, then recounts some anecdotes about his own. There's a companionable lull in conversation before he says: ] It's difficult to believe that it's been nearly half the year already... The time has gone by so quickly.
[ He props his chin up on his hand, idly twisting a few remaining noodles around his chopsticks. ] Everyone I've spoken to is quite convinced that the best course of action is to assume that we won't be returning home.
[ There is something about the end of one year and the start of another to inspire a state of reflection and looking toward the future. That, at least, is nothing new. It isn't something they ever had to experience in Barovia (and for that, Fern is thankful), but now they're here. Further from home than they've ever been, it seems.
When Adrian broaches the subject, Fern can't say she's surprised. It's also been on her mind. She takes a moment to finish the dumpling she'd been chewing and take a sip of her drink, which also happens to give her a chance to think it all over.
Time really has gone by so quickly. Whereas in Barovia a single day could feel like a month, here the days seemed to fly by. People were living here, in a way they hadn't ever been in Barovia, instead trapped under the weight of Strahd's influence and control. Maybe that's why.
And as much as Fern would like to claim that she'd be ready to uproot herself and go home the moment that potentiality presented itself, that's not exactly true. She's met people here, people she would want to say farewells to. She has a strange bond with a man who she hadn't even known before coming to this place, one that baffles both of them. And she's paid off her loan, which both tightens and loosens her tether to Diadem. No more debt, but the motorcycle is hers.
She realizes she's gone quiet for too long, and clears her throat, her gaze settling on Adrian for a moment before she glances away to the television, which is at a low enough volume to not interrupt their conversation. ]
And they might be right. I've heard no word of any record of someone returning to where they came from. Those who vanish might go home... but they could just as well have ended up somewhere else.
[ Adrian doesn't push while Fern thinks through her answer. He's grown accustomed to her over all these months, and even if he hadn't... he feels much the same. It's a lot to think about.
As the months have stretched on, he's wondered what became of their companions, despite knowing very well that it won't do him any good. Had Ireena escaped Strahd's clutches? Had Shump, Alden, and Taulok managed to kill the vampire and return home?
Are any of them still alive?
He takes a slow breath. ]
I know that Mr. Viktor and Mr. Jayce are researching the subject... [ The words are quiet, more contemplative than any sort of assertion. Adrian turns to the television as well, watching a trail of ants carry the carcass of a moth. ]
If we keep this pace, the van will be paid off in a few more months. Perhaps we should begin to consider the longer term. A place of our own, work that pays a bit better... That is, if you aren't opposed to remaining together until you find a partner or companion that you might prefer.
[ Fern has only met Viktor twice, and never Jayce, but there is some comfort in knowing that there are more knowledgeable people looking into it. It does make her reflect more on whether she should be trying to find a way back, whether to Barovia or Faerûn, but everything they've heard has pointed to it not being possible.
But should they take that at face value? Or is that the same as giving up?
With those lingering thoughts in her mind, Fern's taken aback by Adrian's subsequent words. He's thinking about the longterm, about the idea that they will be here for potentially the rest of their lives. It's a possibility that's distantly occurred to her, but being faced with the reality of it makes her stomach wrap into knots. ]
... You're right that we might want to think about those things, but is that it, then? Are we assuming that there's no path back to Barovia or home?
[ The point about remaining together registers, but she needs this question addressed first before she can even go there. (She's always assumed that he would be the one to want to break away from her, once he found a better situation. So why is he asking like that?) ]
[ Though Fern is the one to say it in so many words, Adrian feels much the same. He's too well-mannered to poke at the remainder of his dinner for too long, but he worry at his lower lip with his teeth for a long moment before he responds. ]
None that I can make a meaningful contribution to. We may very well find a way to return it's just... I don't have a good answer as to when or how. I suppose I'm just thinking of the future that I can see.
[ It's been fine to wander through life these past few years, uncertain of everything, when he's always had a home to return to. He might have struggled to settle back into his old life, but it had been there if and when he wanted to try again.
A lot has changed in these past few months, at least for him. Perhaps Fern doesn't need him to take care of her — she is, in fact, far more suited to this life than he is — but he would like to help grant her some kind of stability, after seeing a glimpse of the world she's lived in her whole life. It's far too bleak to live in desperation indefinitely, worrying about one bill or the next until some miracle outside of their control changes their circumstances.
But maybe she has other reasons for thinking of home, too. ]
Do you have unfinished business that you're worried about?
[ Aside from the unfinished business they share. ]
Well, there was a flyer the other day mentioning an open performance night at the bar where I play. I wasn't thinking that, but more that you might be interested in stopping by sometime before the place opens for the night.
[ For practice time, but without the crowds that filter in later. ]
I assure you that, despite the mention of the flyer, this will be anything but formal. It is far more that it's a practice time then for anyone who might like to stop by.
[ That's it. That's the text. Jasnah has finally got herself a phone — and some spare joolies! — and intends to make good on her debt with Fern. It only took her the better part of the morning to figure out how to actually text.
She gives no indication who she is beyond the existence of a debt, though. ]
[ It's always a bit ominous, receiving a text message from an unknown number. Often it is what Fern has learned is called "spam," a feeble attempt to wheedle money out of the gullible.
Obviously, she is not that. But the fact that this is someone offering to repay her rather than some thinly-veiled attempt to net some joolies gives her a moment of pause. ]
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text — mid-July, 125.
A few minutes later: ] I apologize, I sent the message earlier than I intended. Have you heard of the sale at the grocer's? They were trying to rid their stock of canned soup.
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I did not
Is there something wrong with the soup
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Oh. I'm not certain. All I've heard it that they received too much of one type. Lentils. [ ... ] I have yet to heard of anyone getting sick from it...
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I see
I will have to check if they still have any
Thank you
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Have you been well?
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action; social mold...
Bleach is procured. The mold, extinguished. It takes time and doing, but soon her room is once again immaculate. She always finds a freshly clean scene satisfying, but this one puts her in an especially pleasant mood. It must be the sense of victory after overcoming a particularly stubborn foe. Riding that wave, she manipulates some of the (meat) fruit into a proper dish, and it too produces a satisfactory result. Wonderful.
But she has quite a bit of fruit left over, and she doesn't know how long it will stay good for -- especially with the mold possibly making a comeback. Best consume the fruit as soon as possible. What better way than by sharing with her neighbors? Such shows of goodwill are conducive to positive relationships. (She's normal and good at making friends like that.)
So she prepares a few more plates of food: roughly diced (meat) fruit tossed with roughly diced onions, pickles, and tasteful pepperings of sauces and seasonings. Topped with raw egg yolk and bedded on a slice of French (whatever that is) bread. A serviceable recreation of steak tartare as she knew it back home, she'd say.
Her immediate neighbors seem puzzled and slightly frightened by her offering. No matter. They'll enjoy it or they won't. Speaking of frightened people, she recalls Adrian, whom her Hitchhiker recently gutted. He's probably healed himself fully by now, but a bit more iron in the system never hurts after an injury. Thus, she makes her way to the room she recalls him staying at, a covered plate in hand like a vaguely threatening waiter.
She knocks on the door to the room, politely. ]
here we gooooo
Naturally, both of them have been rather taken in by the television, even if what's on it usually makes little to no sense to her. She at least understands the basics of what it is now, which is ultimately entertainment. If there's anything that could count as "news," it never seems to be related to the Diadem itself, but some other farflung place.
In other words, it doesn't provide much other than background noise or a distraction most of the time, but Fern sometimes puts it on while she winds down for the evening. She tends to keep the volume low (she has no interest in some neighbor banging on the wall because the sound is bleeding through), so the knock at the door immediately grabs her attention with a swivel of her head (and ears) in that direction.
They're not expecting anyone. Adrian would have mentioned it if so, and never have they invited someone over. It's not as if this room is meant for hosting guests. Which means it must be something else — maybe even trouble.
Yet Fern doesn't feel like she has to be too suspicious. She slides off the bed and instead of calling through the door, simply opens it, at which point she's faced with a woman with striking features — especially those eyes.
More notable, though, is the plate she's holding. Fern can smell the raw meat, though it's clearly been dressed and prepared for consumption. She blinks at it a few times, trying to determine why a stranger would bring over food like this.
Eventually, she remembers to offer a greeting, though it's a flat one. ] ... Hello. [ Does she have the wrong room? ]
PARTYYY
Thus she isn't overly surprised, only paying the unexpected face a second's extra consideration before responding cordially, if seriously. ]
Greetings. I am The Knave. Adrian is currently staying here, yes?
[ She asks, but it isn't a question. ]
If he hasn't managed to get himself killed in the scant time since I've seen him, then allow me to leave this for him. There is more than enough to share, if you'd like to partake as well.
[ She presents: the dish. Her movements are controlled and elegant, as if she were a server of fine dining — which makes it all the more incongruous when she uncovers the plate to reveal what appears to be a minor massacre. Lacking the tools for proper presentation, the unevenly cubed (meat) fruit mix is piled haphazardly, looking more like a savory salad on bread with a yolk hat on top. The flavor is fair enough though, if overly chunky steak tartare is your thing.
There is not one, but three of these things arranged on the plate. Generosity or unspoken criticism that Adrian needs more meat on his bones? That's anyone's guess. ]
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Normally, she might have shown further irritation and unease at being perceived in this way, but the food offering (and perhaps the spores in the room) help to smooth things over slightly. ]
... The Knave. [ Is that a title? She looks the stranger up and down again with a studying gaze. ] I assume you already know my name, then. [ She's not thrilled about it, to be honest.
Although the comment about Adrian getting himself killed draws far more of her attention. There's a knowingness to that tone, and more than that, Adrian has never mentioned this woman to her. It's odd, because he tends to tell her about most of the people who he interacts with via idle conversation here and there. So... why the omission? There must be a reason.
Then the food is revealed, and Fern isn't quite ready for what she sees next. She was expecting the raw meat, but the presentation leaves a bit to be desired. Not that she's much of a judge of such things, and so after a pause, she takes the plate. ]
I'll set it aside for him, though he usually isn't much of a meat-eater. [ You know, save for when the meat is the heart of a recently-deceased person. Nonetheless, they do have a little box that keeps things cold in the room, meaning that she can keep it for him until he returns and see if he wants any of it for himself.
Instead of leaving it at that, though, and shutting the door on the woman after thanking her, Fern can't help but ask: ] ... How do you two know one another?
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Adrian's companion is clearly a warier sort than he is — a fact The Knave finds interesting. "I assume you already know my name, then." Quite interesting indeed. Her lips spread mildly into a smile. ]
It would seem our dear friend Adrian is shyer than I thought. But no matter.
[ She's witnessed Adrian's earnest nature firsthand, and it sounds like his companion expects him to be forthcoming about a majority of things. Yet he's been withholding information about The Knave from her. Why? If Adrian is convinced of The Knave's decency, then there should be no reason for him to avoid mentioning her. How... fun. She crosses her arms and touches her cheek in an exaggeration of thought. ]
As it so happens, I first met him in passing. I chanced upon him in my travels only recently... Ah, but I'm afraid I'm not much of a storyteller. [ False. ] In short, we had a fleeting adventure together. I'm sure he'll do an admirable job regaling you with the details.
[ Have fun with that, Adrian. The Knave has no intention of getting entangled in whatever predicament he's accidentally laid for himself. She will, however, seize this small opportunity to vent. ]
But I must say that he's a bit more reckless than one would hope for. A constant concern, I imagine.
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feel free to drop this if it's too old!
early jan - new years dinner
Covering much of their tiny table is an assortment of dumplings, noodles, and rice. It's a much welcome break from pizza or frozen dinners, or whatever they can trade for a hunk of car meat. They can store the leftovers now, Adrian reasons. They don't need to be concerned with leaving the room and losing access to the mini fridge.
Once Fern has settled into her own seat and helped herself, Adrian pours them both drinks. Neither of them are particularly fond of alcohol, so he had opted for a blush pink bottled juice instead.
Dinner is nothing unusual otherwise. Adrian asks after her day, then recounts some anecdotes about his own. There's a companionable lull in conversation before he says: ] It's difficult to believe that it's been nearly half the year already... The time has gone by so quickly.
[ He props his chin up on his hand, idly twisting a few remaining noodles around his chopsticks. ] Everyone I've spoken to is quite convinced that the best course of action is to assume that we won't be returning home.
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When Adrian broaches the subject, Fern can't say she's surprised. It's also been on her mind. She takes a moment to finish the dumpling she'd been chewing and take a sip of her drink, which also happens to give her a chance to think it all over.
Time really has gone by so quickly. Whereas in Barovia a single day could feel like a month, here the days seemed to fly by. People were living here, in a way they hadn't ever been in Barovia, instead trapped under the weight of Strahd's influence and control. Maybe that's why.
And as much as Fern would like to claim that she'd be ready to uproot herself and go home the moment that potentiality presented itself, that's not exactly true. She's met people here, people she would want to say farewells to. She has a strange bond with a man who she hadn't even known before coming to this place, one that baffles both of them. And she's paid off her loan, which both tightens and loosens her tether to Diadem. No more debt, but the motorcycle is hers.
She realizes she's gone quiet for too long, and clears her throat, her gaze settling on Adrian for a moment before she glances away to the television, which is at a low enough volume to not interrupt their conversation. ]
And they might be right. I've heard no word of any record of someone returning to where they came from. Those who vanish might go home... but they could just as well have ended up somewhere else.
[ Or been turned to dust. ]
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As the months have stretched on, he's wondered what became of their companions, despite knowing very well that it won't do him any good. Had Ireena escaped Strahd's clutches? Had Shump, Alden, and Taulok managed to kill the vampire and return home?
Are any of them still alive?
He takes a slow breath. ]
I know that Mr. Viktor and Mr. Jayce are researching the subject... [ The words are quiet, more contemplative than any sort of assertion. Adrian turns to the television as well, watching a trail of ants carry the carcass of a moth. ]
If we keep this pace, the van will be paid off in a few more months. Perhaps we should begin to consider the longer term. A place of our own, work that pays a bit better... That is, if you aren't opposed to remaining together until you find a partner or companion that you might prefer.
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But should they take that at face value? Or is that the same as giving up?
With those lingering thoughts in her mind, Fern's taken aback by Adrian's subsequent words. He's thinking about the longterm, about the idea that they will be here for potentially the rest of their lives. It's a possibility that's distantly occurred to her, but being faced with the reality of it makes her stomach wrap into knots. ]
... You're right that we might want to think about those things, but is that it, then? Are we assuming that there's no path back to Barovia or home?
[ The point about remaining together registers, but she needs this question addressed first before she can even go there. (She's always assumed that he would be the one to want to break away from her, once he found a better situation. So why is he asking like that?) ]
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None that I can make a meaningful contribution to. We may very well find a way to return it's just... I don't have a good answer as to when or how. I suppose I'm just thinking of the future that I can see.
[ It's been fine to wander through life these past few years, uncertain of everything, when he's always had a home to return to. He might have struggled to settle back into his old life, but it had been there if and when he wanted to try again.
A lot has changed in these past few months, at least for him. Perhaps Fern doesn't need him to take care of her — she is, in fact, far more suited to this life than he is — but he would like to help grant her some kind of stability, after seeing a glimpse of the world she's lived in her whole life. It's far too bleak to live in desperation indefinitely, worrying about one bill or the next until some miracle outside of their control changes their circumstances.
But maybe she has other reasons for thinking of home, too. ]
Do you have unfinished business that you're worried about?
[ Aside from the unfinished business they share. ]
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🎀
— sometime in february
Hello, Miss Fern. I was curious if you'd given any more thought to playing the pan flute as of late, or might have any interest in doing so?
[ There is An Invitation incoming either way! ]
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I can't say I had. Why do you ask?
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[ For practice time, but without the crowds that filter in later. ]
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Nonetheless, she isn't sure what to think. ]
It's been a long while since I played. When I did, it was also not anything nearly so formal.
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text — a week or so after they meet
[ That's it. That's the text. Jasnah has finally got herself a phone — and some spare joolies! — and intends to make good on her debt with Fern. It only took her the better part of the morning to figure out how to actually text.
She gives no indication who she is beyond the existence of a debt, though. ]
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Obviously, she is not that. But the fact that this is someone offering to repay her rather than some thinly-veiled attempt to net some joolies gives her a moment of pause. ]
Repay me? For what?
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The umbrella.
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You were able to get your hands on a phone.
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