Re: log; misha and adrian
"You don't have flaws?" he asked. "And what's full grown?" He settled back. "I think what makes people human is doing good. I think of humanity as the best in people. But I guess it depends on your definition." He glanced to the door again. "She did," he said, with fondness. "She already had kids, but I guess she promised her she would take me, if anything ever happened to her. She researched disease," he said, since the promise did seem a little strange, now that he said it aloud. "So the job had its risks."
"That doesn't mean you never do," he said, thinking back to what Misha had said about flaws. After a moment of hearing Misha speak more, he realized there had been a misunderstanding, and he came quickly to Eulalia's defense. "That woman, she was my nanny, growing up. Her name was Marie. She's dead now." Said with maybe a little too much relish. "When the letter came telling me I was invited to attend a boarding school for magical children, Eulalia helped me buy the things I needed. She isn't soft. But she's good. She's a believer too, but not like Marie."
He had to account for himself again. He never seemed to provide a gut answer. Every time Misha asked him something looking for an honest response, Adrian dipped inside himself to check. That landscape was so unfamiliar that no answer seemed simple, and he wanted to be confident. Did he want to hurt someone? Had that changed?
"No," he said, and shook his head. "Sometimes, I get a feeling like I do. Usually I just go fight somebody. Or Sue does." He paused, sorting through those confused ideas of self and memory. "And I say mean shit sometimes to people, that I shouldn't say, because I want them to feel the same way I do. Not so pretty. I don't think I'm very nice." He flashed a smile, a sharp one, as if realizing it just then.
"But hurt them? Really hurt them, never." He took a breath, glad he could be confident about that, at least. "Never."
"They all die," he said, bluntly. "I think I'm the oldest one. So I don't know." He looked at his fingers. "I think I might like to try, though."
He smiled back at Misha when that spark broke through the angelic veil. He lit the cigarette and took a drag. It felt and smelled real enough, and it mingled with the scent of cooking in the next room. He cracked the window, letting the smoke flow out through the gap. It framed his face with tendrils of grey. "You two," he said, into the gap, blowing another mouthful of smoke. When he looked back, his expression was fond and sad. "You're two lucky people."