Got the dreamer's disease
Favorite place is a demanding question. He asks it so simply, like there's an answer just waiting to be plucked up, but Fern is momentarily struck by the idea. It's truly impossible to gauge favorites when things can't be equally compared. The sand is not the same as the sea, and she doesn't want it to be. Sometimes, when the sun is just right, sliding her legs into the sand is the best feeling in the world and she could lay there all day. Other times, the rush of the water over her toes and the way seaweed adorns her while sea shells tumble by in the tide is the most refreshing and delightful experience. Other days, it's the colorful shine on rainbow road's smooth stones, gysers hissing behind her. Then of course there's the way the sunset blazes violet and pink before winking out in green on the sea's horizon, or the way the moon shines high and bright overtop the docks, but the bright blue of cloud-strewn days in town...
"I don't have one," she whispers after what surely is a far too-long pause. She's reluctant again, aware that her answer is wrong. Her gaze tilts away from him, not bearing to see the disappointment there, and she sighs wistfully before folding some ham into her mouth to act as a momentary salve (and excuse for staying quiet).
At talk of Halo, and the strong way in which he says it, she shyly glances back. "I've never been," she admits, one corner of her mouth tugging to the side as she chews. "Mom would turn to stone if she went, and it's a far way to go with just dad." These facts do not bother her, they simply are, and she is not discontented by them. "What's it like, Halo?" She has seen drawings and maps and read a few things, but nothing that's sure to compare to his take.
Relaxing back in small degrees, Fern takes her plate and drink and moves marginally away from him, not wanting to leave his side just yet but done creating her plate, so she naturally moves with the flow of the crowd towards tables and seats, some of which are benches. "I wonder what Mort's halls are like," she hums, imagining it must not be so bad if all your friends are there waiting.
"I don't have one," she whispers after what surely is a far too-long pause. She's reluctant again, aware that her answer is wrong. Her gaze tilts away from him, not bearing to see the disappointment there, and she sighs wistfully before folding some ham into her mouth to act as a momentary salve (and excuse for staying quiet).
At talk of Halo, and the strong way in which he says it, she shyly glances back. "I've never been," she admits, one corner of her mouth tugging to the side as she chews. "Mom would turn to stone if she went, and it's a far way to go with just dad." These facts do not bother her, they simply are, and she is not discontented by them. "What's it like, Halo?" She has seen drawings and maps and read a few things, but nothing that's sure to compare to his take.
Relaxing back in small degrees, Fern takes her plate and drink and moves marginally away from him, not wanting to leave his side just yet but done creating her plate, so she naturally moves with the flow of the crowd towards tables and seats, some of which are benches. "I wonder what Mort's halls are like," she hums, imagining it must not be so bad if all your friends are there waiting.
Fern
This world is gonna pull through, don't give up
