the cabin is homey, in more ways than one. in the typical fashion, it is cozy and lived in. a snug one bedroom one bathroom, combined living room and kitchen. it's furnished lightly and tastefully -- decorated here and there with mementos of emerson's adventuring (pictures of the mareep sanctuary in johto and the thriving basculin in unova hang by the windows. on the kitchen island there's a glass display containing the shed horns of the first gogoat who'd evolved in the park they helped establish) and a few other, less meaningful things.

blankets they'd liked the designs of. pictures they'd felt obligated to hang.

the place was hand built by emerson's grandfather, after all. like them, their grandfather had been struck with wanderlust and spent a bit of time in hoenn. towards much less savory ends than emerson but they prefer not to think about it too hard.

either way that's the other homey bit of the place. it's not just home now it's been home before. for many summers at many different points growing up. and now it's home again. a home expecting a visitor at that.

emerson finishes setting the small dining room table, not fit for sitting more than four at the most. they lay out teacups and move the pot of still steaming tea itself to the table's center. sugar and a non-dairy creamer are put out. honey is not.

"he said noon," they murmur to themselves, turning their wrist up to check the time on their watch. 11:50. enough time to preen a little bit more. they slip into the bathroom to make sure their nice jeans are still free of wooloo fur after a brush this morning during feeding and that their jacket and t-shirt aren't too casual for an impromptu but still at least semi-professional meeting.

deino lets out a bark from where he'd been lounging on the couch.

viorel whitmore

☉