[ 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. ]
[ Both of them feel as if their hands are tied, then. If Adrian, an accomplished warlock, believes he has no recourse for finding a path back, then what exactly is Fern supposed to do? On top of that, she hasn't forgotten that some of the people here have been looking for decades and found nothing. It's hard to hold onto hope, especially for her.
So maybe she should just let it go, but when it comes to something important like this, she can be a bit like a dog who's bitten down on something and doesn't want to loosen its jaws. ]
Strahd, of course. [ That much is obvious. ] And I want to know what's happened to the others. [ Their friends. Even if she doesn't say it, Adrian will know that's what she means.
She sighs, also taking a few seconds to move food around on her plate. As someone who doesn't easily lose her appetite, it's notable. She will get around to eating it (never has she been known to waste food), but...
Her gold eyes fix on Adrian across the table. ]
Are you telling me that you don't have people you'd like to see again, back home in Faerûn? Your parents, at least?
[ He's always mentioned his mothers with fondness, though in the last week or so in Barovia, they'd come up less and less. He hasn't mentioned them much at all, here. Fern had suspected that Adrian was wrestling with the idea that he might never leave Barovia, and now there's been all this. Maybe he truly has already abandoned the idea of a homecoming.
It leaves her feeling hollow, her eyes dimming as she looks down. Even if it's been months now, she still feels as if she failed him. ]
[ He can see that Fern is upset just from the set of her jaw, but he can't think of anything to say that would bring her any solace. He'd already been resigned to remaining in Barovia when the others returned home to Faerûn. The only regrets he has about leaving it are the promises he's made that will now have to remain unfulfilled, or burden the friends they left behind.
He worries about their friends, about how his parents will take it all when they realize that he's gone, but this is for the best.
Though he's the one who brought up the topic, Adrian finds himself entirely without appetite. He stares at his dish for a moment, then raises his gaze back to Fern, offering a small, strained smile. ]
I just don't think that it's productive to dwell on... Fern? [ Adrian's brows knit. Gently, he adds: ] It's not myself that I'm concerned for. Perhaps we should also put some thought towards dispelling your curse.
[ The words come out a bit too readily, a bit too sharply, and Fern knows it immediately. For all that she works so hard to keep her emotions tamped down, there are instances where she'll feel that control slip away from her.
Adrian's particularly good at inspiring it.
Fern heaves out a sigh and shakes her head. ]
I doubt there's much we could do about either of our afflictions. There are no hags here, no Amber Temples. [ Perhaps there are similar sources of powers, but this is not Barovia. This is not Faerûn. Maybe Adrian is willing to make Diadem his home, just as he'd been ready to accept he would have to remain in Barovia, but Fern isn't there yet. (Will she ever be?)
Really, she should let it all go, but there's a question that's gnawed at her for far too long, and Adrian's prodded at the wound whether he meant to or not. She stares him down. ]
What made you so certain that we wouldn't be able to figure out a way to get you home? It's like you gave up on that before we could even try.
He hadn't been thinking of the words when he said them, but now he feels like a fool for speaking them aloud. In some ways, much has changed between them. In others, it's remained the same. Adrian has remained the same.
He doesn't argue, doesn't otherwise acknowledge her outburst at all, except for the way that he begins to close up some of the remaining takeout boxes as a means of avoiding her gaze. ]
But there are other kinds of magic here. Surely, if we were to try... [ He could ask G'raha what he thinks. If nothing else, he might have some perspective on the whole situation.
Before Adrian can pursue that thought any further, Fern speaks again. Though he'd meant to get up and put some of the food away, her stare roots him in place.
He could side-step the question, as he usually does, even if he knows it will only annoy her more... but he has been trying to be better. He does, at the very least, owe her some honesty.
There's a long pause where Adrian is clearly thinking of how to say what he has to say, but in the end he drops his gaze back to his hands, shakes his head. ] It isn't that I don't think we can find a way home.
I can't go home like this, Fern. I can't do this to my mothers. Are they to spend the rest of their years trying to fix their failure of a son, who could neither rise to the expectation that he become someone of worth, nor settle for a life that might have been some humble use? At least if I'm lost or dead, they can imagine that there was something noble in it.
[ Adrian closes his hands, looks up at her again. ] That is the truth of it. I understand that you think it's cowardly, but I will not change my mind.
[ When Fern realizes that Adrian's closing up their food containers, it feels to her like he's looking for any way to leave the conversation as quickly as possible, even though he's the one who started this in the first place. He regrets setting her off, doesn't he? He can't put up with her when she lets her emotions come to the forefront.
(So... won't there be a time when he tires of it completely, and finds somewhere else to be?)
All the talk of magical research into removing either one of their curses is set aside, this other question the more important one in Fern's eyes. She continues to fix her gaze on Adrian as he struggles to find an answer, but at least he does seem to be thinking about it.
Yet what he comes up with leaves her no less frustrated. This is more than Adrian usually opens up about any of this, but the fact that he thinks so poorly of himself that he believes it's preferable his parents assume him to be dead rather than take him as he is — it's astounding. ]
Adrian. [ Here, Fern stands from her seat, if only because it doesn't feel right to remain seated at this point. While Adrian has tried to shut down the conversation by saying his mind won't be swayed, she isn't going to simply let it go either.
She leans forward, bracing both hands on their rickety excuse for a dining table. ] I haven't met your parents, so perhaps I am speaking out of turn, but do you really think it best that they assume you're dead, rather than simply facing them again? What makes you so certain they'll assume you're a "failure," as you put it?
[ The curse, she knows, but he wanted that curse. He took it even as they begged him to withdraw. He did this to himself, and now he's using it as the reasoning for why he can't return home. Almost as if he never wanted to in the first place, though Fern cannot fathom why. ]
[ Adrian doesn't flinch when she says his name this time. Instead, he continues to gather the takeout containers with a tense, unhappy air about him. The matter is settled. The conversation is done. He doesn't know why he expected it to go any other way.
When she speaks about his parents, he does finally pause, jaw set tight, gaze downcast.
Because that's what I was even before all of this, and nothing has changed. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but his throat feels too tight to say them. Adrian swallows. Though he's just eaten, his stomach feels like a hollow pit.
After a moment, he collects two of the containers and starts to move toward their small fridge. ] Why are you so eager to return to Faerûn? What difference does it make if I don't join you?
[ There he goes. Fern watches Adrian's retreating back as she wonders why she can even still be thrown off-balance by him. She should know better, she shouldn't be surprised anymore, and yet— ]
What difference does it make? [ She echoes the words, incredulous in spite of herself. ] Is it not normal, to want to return home? [ She can't understand it, especially when surely Faerûn had been a more comfortable place — a place more worthy of the term "home" — for Adrian, than it had ever been for her?
But that's also not the entirety of what he's asking. ]
Isn't it obvious? Because you're—
[ My friend, she could say. Pack, she could say, even though she isn't certain he'd even understand, as much as she might hope he would.
But saying those words when it feels more and more like the sentiment isn't returned, not in a way where Adrian would care to even try and find a way back with Fern and the others (for their sake, if not his own), makes the words die in her throat.
He's already packed up all the food in his rush to get away from her. She barely ate anything. ]
Nevermind. I'm going out. [ She grabs her jacket from the chair and pulls it on one arm at a time. It's cowardly, she knows, to run from this — but he's doing the same, and she doesn't see them finding any sort of common ground right now. ]
[ As is usual for him, Adrian doesn't realize how foolish he's been until it's far too late. Not until she says isn't it obvious, even if she doesn't finish. It lingers there between them, more devastating than if she'd spoken it aloud.
Adrian would never hesitate to describe Fern as family; as like a sister, as his dearest friend... but there is ever a part of him that doesn't quite expect the sentiment to be returned, not because Fern is unkind, but because — she knows him. She's put up with too much from him. If she does find an opportunity to part with him, to return to their traveling companions or even the life she's accustomed to, why would she have any need of him then?
But he knows, deep down, that he's lying to himself. It's the same reason he would never abandon her. It's always been that, and it terrifies him. It's so much easier to imagine that she'll leave than it is to imagine what will happen if she stays, no matter what, to be dragged down with him.
He knows that he should try to stop her, but he doesn't.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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. ]
no subject
So maybe she should just let it go, but when it comes to something important like this, she can be a bit like a dog who's bitten down on something and doesn't want to loosen its jaws. ]
Strahd, of course. [ That much is obvious. ] And I want to know what's happened to the others. [ Their friends. Even if she doesn't say it, Adrian will know that's what she means.
She sighs, also taking a few seconds to move food around on her plate. As someone who doesn't easily lose her appetite, it's notable. She will get around to eating it (never has she been known to waste food), but...
Her gold eyes fix on Adrian across the table. ]
Are you telling me that you don't have people you'd like to see again, back home in Faerûn? Your parents, at least?
[ He's always mentioned his mothers with fondness, though in the last week or so in Barovia, they'd come up less and less. He hasn't mentioned them much at all, here. Fern had suspected that Adrian was wrestling with the idea that he might never leave Barovia, and now there's been all this. Maybe he truly has already abandoned the idea of a homecoming.
It leaves her feeling hollow, her eyes dimming as she looks down. Even if it's been months now, she still feels as if she failed him. ]
no subject
He worries about their friends, about how his parents will take it all when they realize that he's gone, but this is for the best.
Though he's the one who brought up the topic, Adrian finds himself entirely without appetite. He stares at his dish for a moment, then raises his gaze back to Fern, offering a small, strained smile. ]
I just don't think that it's productive to dwell on... Fern? [ Adrian's brows knit. Gently, he adds: ] It's not myself that I'm concerned for. Perhaps we should also put some thought towards dispelling your curse.
no subject
[ The words come out a bit too readily, a bit too sharply, and Fern knows it immediately. For all that she works so hard to keep her emotions tamped down, there are instances where she'll feel that control slip away from her.
Adrian's particularly good at inspiring it.
Fern heaves out a sigh and shakes her head. ]
I doubt there's much we could do about either of our afflictions. There are no hags here, no Amber Temples. [ Perhaps there are similar sources of powers, but this is not Barovia. This is not Faerûn. Maybe Adrian is willing to make Diadem his home, just as he'd been ready to accept he would have to remain in Barovia, but Fern isn't there yet. (Will she ever be?)
Really, she should let it all go, but there's a question that's gnawed at her for far too long, and Adrian's prodded at the wound whether he meant to or not. She stares him down. ]
What made you so certain that we wouldn't be able to figure out a way to get you home? It's like you gave up on that before we could even try.
[ Now this isn't about Diadem at all. ]
no subject
He hadn't been thinking of the words when he said them, but now he feels like a fool for speaking them aloud. In some ways, much has changed between them. In others, it's remained the same. Adrian has remained the same.
He doesn't argue, doesn't otherwise acknowledge her outburst at all, except for the way that he begins to close up some of the remaining takeout boxes as a means of avoiding her gaze. ]
But there are other kinds of magic here. Surely, if we were to try... [ He could ask G'raha what he thinks. If nothing else, he might have some perspective on the whole situation.
Before Adrian can pursue that thought any further, Fern speaks again. Though he'd meant to get up and put some of the food away, her stare roots him in place.
He could side-step the question, as he usually does, even if he knows it will only annoy her more... but he has been trying to be better. He does, at the very least, owe her some honesty.
There's a long pause where Adrian is clearly thinking of how to say what he has to say, but in the end he drops his gaze back to his hands, shakes his head. ] It isn't that I don't think we can find a way home.
I can't go home like this, Fern. I can't do this to my mothers. Are they to spend the rest of their years trying to fix their failure of a son, who could neither rise to the expectation that he become someone of worth, nor settle for a life that might have been some humble use? At least if I'm lost or dead, they can imagine that there was something noble in it.
[ Adrian closes his hands, looks up at her again. ] That is the truth of it. I understand that you think it's cowardly, but I will not change my mind.
no subject
(So... won't there be a time when he tires of it completely, and finds somewhere else to be?)
All the talk of magical research into removing either one of their curses is set aside, this other question the more important one in Fern's eyes. She continues to fix her gaze on Adrian as he struggles to find an answer, but at least he does seem to be thinking about it.
Yet what he comes up with leaves her no less frustrated. This is more than Adrian usually opens up about any of this, but the fact that he thinks so poorly of himself that he believes it's preferable his parents assume him to be dead rather than take him as he is — it's astounding. ]
Adrian. [ Here, Fern stands from her seat, if only because it doesn't feel right to remain seated at this point. While Adrian has tried to shut down the conversation by saying his mind won't be swayed, she isn't going to simply let it go either.
She leans forward, bracing both hands on their rickety excuse for a dining table. ] I haven't met your parents, so perhaps I am speaking out of turn, but do you really think it best that they assume you're dead, rather than simply facing them again? What makes you so certain they'll assume you're a "failure," as you put it?
[ The curse, she knows, but he wanted that curse. He took it even as they begged him to withdraw. He did this to himself, and now he's using it as the reasoning for why he can't return home. Almost as if he never wanted to in the first place, though Fern cannot fathom why. ]
no subject
When she speaks about his parents, he does finally pause, jaw set tight, gaze downcast.
Because that's what I was even before all of this, and nothing has changed. The words are on the tip of his tongue, but his throat feels too tight to say them. Adrian swallows. Though he's just eaten, his stomach feels like a hollow pit.
After a moment, he collects two of the containers and starts to move toward their small fridge. ] Why are you so eager to return to Faerûn? What difference does it make if I don't join you?
no subject
What difference does it make? [ She echoes the words, incredulous in spite of herself. ] Is it not normal, to want to return home? [ She can't understand it, especially when surely Faerûn had been a more comfortable place — a place more worthy of the term "home" — for Adrian, than it had ever been for her?
But that's also not the entirety of what he's asking. ]
Isn't it obvious? Because you're—
[ My friend, she could say. Pack, she could say, even though she isn't certain he'd even understand, as much as she might hope he would.
But saying those words when it feels more and more like the sentiment isn't returned, not in a way where Adrian would care to even try and find a way back with Fern and the others (for their sake, if not his own), makes the words die in her throat.
He's already packed up all the food in his rush to get away from her. She barely ate anything. ]
Nevermind. I'm going out. [ She grabs her jacket from the chair and pulls it on one arm at a time. It's cowardly, she knows, to run from this — but he's doing the same, and she doesn't see them finding any sort of common ground right now. ]
I'll be back later.
🎀
Adrian would never hesitate to describe Fern as family; as like a sister, as his dearest friend... but there is ever a part of him that doesn't quite expect the sentiment to be returned, not because Fern is unkind, but because — she knows him. She's put up with too much from him. If she does find an opportunity to part with him, to return to their traveling companions or even the life she's accustomed to, why would she have any need of him then?
But he knows, deep down, that he's lying to himself. It's the same reason he would never abandon her. It's always been that, and it terrifies him. It's so much easier to imagine that she'll leave than it is to imagine what will happen if she stays, no matter what, to be dragged down with him.
He knows that he should try to stop her, but he doesn't.
He watches her go without a word. ]