[ 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}
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[ 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. ]