[Fern still doesn't move, doesn't give any indication he's more than a person-shaped shrub. He stays that way for a full hour, just sitting there, wallowing in his misery. It's a harsh pulse against his nonexistent eardrums, over the course of the hour getting louder and louder.
He's never been good at being Fern, whoever that is. He knows that. For a split second with Varian he thought things had changed, but he was mistaken. He isn't any good at this. He isn't any good at - existing. Being a person. Being swords had been fine.
Being swords had been more than fine. Both of those swords had a purpose, were (mostly) appreciated by their owner. Both were good at what they did, and he wants to go back to that. He wants to go back to feeling like he belonged in the same existence as everyone else, instead of some abomination that's somehow managed to jam itself into reality. Like a two-dimensional cut-out trying to live in a three-dimensional world.
He wants to be swords again.
That thought settles down in his mind, coats it like a sticky webbing, letting him come to a realization after a time. He might not be able to do that but something else might be an option. At the very least, it'll make him feel better.
It's his roots that move first, twitching and retracting back into his legs as he abruptly stands. He doesn't pay Varian any mind as he moves over to the edge of the porch and hops off. He lands hard on the ground, then sets off towards the nearest bus stop.]
no subject
He's never been good at being Fern, whoever that is. He knows that. For a split second with Varian he thought things had changed, but he was mistaken. He isn't any good at this. He isn't any good at - existing. Being a person. Being swords had been fine.
Being swords had been more than fine. Both of those swords had a purpose, were (mostly) appreciated by their owner. Both were good at what they did, and he wants to go back to that. He wants to go back to feeling like he belonged in the same existence as everyone else, instead of some abomination that's somehow managed to jam itself into reality. Like a two-dimensional cut-out trying to live in a three-dimensional world.
He wants to be swords again.
That thought settles down in his mind, coats it like a sticky webbing, letting him come to a realization after a time. He might not be able to do that but something else might be an option. At the very least, it'll make him feel better.
It's his roots that move first, twitching and retracting back into his legs as he abruptly stands. He doesn't pay Varian any mind as he moves over to the edge of the porch and hops off. He lands hard on the ground, then sets off towards the nearest bus stop.]