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Adrian finds himself adjacent to Cillian Quinn, manifesting in what might've been any set of ruins dotting Hoenn's landscape. Or perhaps not. Though he is wholly unfamiliar with historical sites, these walls are decorated with engravings of strange symbols—though easily recognized as Unown. Any trainer with a curiosity about the Unown would've seen these images online, documented by previous spelunkers of the Ruins of Alph in Johto. At the very least, he and Mars had considered the benefits of visiting this place, although only the former had ever been given the chance. If only he could see this...[break][break]

Adrian decides to hold for a moment. Yet as he looks on into that vast, unknown expanse, he cannot help but feel a sense of foreboding and the allure of exploring it... But the discordant melody erupting from his pocket as his phone detects errant radio waves is unsettling. Like a song from a horror track.[break][break]

It draws on that sense of suspense, as they teeter on the edge of that corridor, making their careful considerations. "Is this your first dive here?"[break][break]

Adrian seemingly wanted to test the limits of the system's variability, wanting to know more of all possible outcomes—for curiosity's sake.

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His is an almost haughty, incredulous smile. "And what trouble haven't I already put myself in?" [break][break]

As always as ever, Rowan speaks to the truth of matters. Yet Adrian is remarkably moved by notions of family, and believes Gavin too will be dissuaded from taking direct action... Though he may have to maintain appearances. Ultimately, he chooses to believe in the modicum of good even someone like that must possess. So few people are capable of such unmitigated malice, though there are many who wish to be viewed and feared as much, he knows.[break][break]

A tender hand clasps against the back of theirs, and he quietly allows them the moment before lowering it, keeping their fingers intertwined all the while. "I can't imagine they'll have time to spare for us." With all the developing hussle-and-bussle, what value was there in seeking retribution against two misfit defectors? Adrian couldn't speak to Rowan's contributions, but his own were few and far between...
They mightn't even notice the difference.[break][break]

Still, he knew he made too light of the situation.

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"Was I supposed to bring anything?" After brushing off his shoes, Adrian rummages through the bag and tosses a popular Hoenn commodity in the form of a favored snack bag towards her, allowing himself to step inside her home. It smelled to have been cleaned routinely, and treated with air freshener. He should be taking notes down on this sort of thing, really.[break][break]

The contrast between them aside, it was good to feel welcome. He looks for somewhere to set aside his sneakers before he manages to track anything in. After taking a moment to appreciate the furnishings, Adrian gestures away from the foyer, hoping to get off his feet—and to hash some things out.[break][break]

He's not entirely sure what he and Serena will be discussing, but Rowan has been direct enough with him about certain reservations, and Adrian believes Serena may share some of her own. But only time—and an open dialogue—will give him hard answers.

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It wasn't real.[break][break]

There was a time he would've felt to belong on this mountain, at this place. Now he may deign to call himself welcome, if only that. Winds drag at his features as if to pull his attention elsewhere, but it is a passing sensation—and the wind dies down just as suddenly.[break][break]

All was still before him. A single erected headstone, somehow doubly imposing.[break][break]

Adrian grasps at the only keepsake—a darling jewel tethering him to Rowan Wrynn—that he has been allowed to keep. It fills the vacuum of heartbreak twice endured, yet still he is once again brought to his foundations. To that image of himself he wishes were true to life, to the question of whether he can ever ascertain it in his own lifetime.[break][break]

The ring slides off his finger, rolled over deft fingers as he considers the weight of it all. A streak of stoicism is left in shambles as he makes every consideration on the subject—the calescent path of a single drop streaking down his cheekbone...[break][break]

It would be better for others, perhaps, if he just... stopped. Stopped interfering in worldly affairs, and intervening with his own brand of righteous indignation. If he would just... stop. Maybe none of this would have happened the way it had.[break][break]

But he is reminded of the many nameless, faceless victims of the world's greatest antagonizing forces. These incidents cry out to him and attest, perhaps, that even indifference and resignation are never enough. Yet still the garrote wire snakes its way ever more snug against his neck, leaden with the accountability that should rightly fall upon him...[break][break]

...The ring glides back over his finger once more.