RP: Ready or Not

[tt_adrian.insanejournal.com]

Date: October 22, 2001
Characters: Adrian Pucey
Setting: Adrian's flat in London
Content: G
Status: Private, Completed

Adrian Pucey grumbled to himself as he dried off from his shower and put on extra layers of warmth - sweaters and a hat for good measure, as well as the warm winter coat that his mother had sent him. Where she had gotten such a winter jacket on the island of Saint Thomas, he hadn't even bothered to ask. His mother was one of those witches who got what she wanted, even if it meant searching half the world over for it. He admired her for it, and shrugging on the coat he missed her just a bit. The last time he'd spoken to his parents had been a few days before, when they'd told him their decision not join him in his lottery winning, not to travel into the unknown. Sera and Will had decided to stay as well - all saying that their lives were where they were. He'd tried to convince them otherwise, nearly begging, especially Sera - she was due with her first daughter in December! - but they stood their ground. Adrian'd likened their staying to suicide, but in the end he had to accept their decision.

He'd sent a letter via owl to them just this morning; with his goodbyes, he supposed.

He wasn't sure if the extra layers were necessary, or what would happen when he checked in at the Portal, but he figured October in England was the beginning of wind and cold and rain and slush, so he might as well err on the side of caution as far as what clothing he brought on his back. He had a rucksack of clothes and his and his father's hand-written potions journals packed and slung over his shoulder; under garments, socks, an extra pair of hiking boots, nothing he'd even feel worried about losing, but enough to get him through a week or two at a time without a fresh wash. Despite his family's wealth and his mother's habit of spoiling he and his older sister, Sera, completely rotten, he'd never been one for material possessions. He wore his family crest ring in rough-hewn, ancient-feeling, metal and green stone, tucked his wand into the inner pocket of his sweater, and, looking around his flat. Would he ever see it again? His small collection of favorite books (muggle and magic alike), his movie poster sporting muggles in 80's make-up and silly costumes. You wouldn't know he'd grown up in a stately manor in the north of the country, with stables and marble staircases. Here he had a small work table with his latest projects - potions half finished, herbs crushed and brushed about the place, and a comfortable bed with a feather mattress, and black out window shades in dark green. Otherwise, there wasn't much to the place, and yet he found himself pacing back into it one more time, despite his resolve to leave and having already said his goodbyes to his stubborn, lovely, lonely family. Finally sweeping one more time around the studio-style apartment, he pocketed his favorite muggle novel (Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut) in a moment of selfishness, and then turned and leave without another thought or another look over his shoulder.

Whatever the Portal had in store for him, no matter how much he may have missed his mother in that moment, he was ready.