all mornings are the same and each day is infinity.

a chipped nail scratches against graying, white keys. eyes glaze over boxes for a form that needs to be filled. glasses sit low on the bridge of their nose, then fracture at heart's center—held together with little more than scotch tape and a dream of better vision insurance plans. papers shuffle beneath the absent hand and a cursory glance reminds them that this is something else that's fallen through the cracks in between putting out all the other fires that aren't, but are in silly and awful places of human invention like accounts receivable.

this is what they mean: infinity.

an endless, looping story of those in authority inventing new problems and tasking others to resolve them.

adele keeps typing.

they don't even resolve them. they just pretend that they do and then hope the issue goes away long enough for them to pretend that it's newly resurfaced or that they cast it in a worse metal like copper or bronze or—they were going somewhere with this. they don't have time for something like this. adele keeps typing.

a stack of files sits unattended and a wandering mouse means the pile gets knocked over.

the wheels of their chair rattle against the floor cover. things are shuffled back into place, back into file. by the time that they sit up again, there's a new problem on their desk: this one, blonde and tempting. they rifle through the catalog of faces tucked somewhere into the back of their head, mouth soft as it falls open to test a name or two. they've gotten it wrong before. when they are called ada, adele replies in turn: "emma." confident, more certain. don't want to upset her. another potential problem. won't be, if they play along.

adele takes the coffee in-hand.

"visiting again?" glasses find their place nestled somewhere in their hair. they nurse the coffee cup with a quiet hum. "you know, they've invented an interesting thing called a phone. you should try it sometime if you mean to speak to your brother." lips curve against the lid, the tiniest hints of amusement cradling their tone. "you always seem to miss him." a sip. hm, interesting. something adjacent to komala coffee?

no. different. somewhere else.

"though, a phone probably won't be useful if he's avoiding you," or vice versa, they imply.

emma stone

she preens when ada takes the coffee, her gift so willingly accepted. it's a good quality coffee—she needed a pick me up after her expedition, and the cafes in ever grande city were rather trendy to serve their wealthy population. and by the time she'd gotten to headquarters, they coffees had cooled just enough to drink without burning your tongue.

but then she scoffs, scowling at her coffee towards the barest inclination that she missed her brother at all. "psh. i just happen to be here after my missives. he's too busy to pick up anyways." she says before taking a sip. the coffee in her hands is a latte, sweet and fruity. a light bodied coffee with a subtle flavour.

it's from la belle after all.

"and he wouldn't avoid me." she adds. she knows he would not—they are the only family they have left. and now, with the war ahead of them, a missed call could mean death, or perhaps even something worse. but that sentiment is not known to anyone but the stones; their fate not so set.

behind her, a few errand fingers nudge away a few pieces of paper, making space for a palm to lean on.

"would you?"

adele veronesi

"mm, i believe you."

the coffee is better this time. it hadn't been to their taste before. emma doesn't know them. emma would like to know them. adele doesn't make it easy. less sweet, but not black either. they try, poorly, to hide their amusement. it isn't convenient. they glance at the logo on the side of the cup. la belle is not an easy place to order from. not at this time of the day. it'd be more convincing if she'd at least thought to change them out in the breakroom for their cheaper, flimsier cups.

but, that would beg the question of what a stone was doing in the league breakroom.

not even the good breakroom, either.

ada, right? she'd asked. and so, they don't call attention to it. they want to keep getting free coffee. the games that come with it, however—"i couldn't even if i tried." as in to say, have they ever made themself unavailable for her attention? as in, they'd both be bored if adele actually gave an answer. she still came looking for them.

be it when the situation had been different before, then now: her graceful return from wherever elsewhere that she'd flitted off to for a time.

they couldn't help but feel a little bad for her.

as emma leans forward on their desk, adele does not flinch away. they peek up through their lashes instead. cross their legs. take another sip.

"haven't found anyone more interesting to talk to yet? or did those people avoid you?" they set the cup back down on their desk, then retrieve a few of the papers nearby.

emma stone

i believe you are not words that should be so casually said. emma doesn't think those words are true, nor their statement of resigned acceptance at her persistent presence. those phrases holde weight, implying trust. but the two of them are more than happy to dilute its meaning with their game.

if she were a less indulgent person, she might have left ada alone as they had originally intended. in honesty, emma hadn't expected them to stay with the league for so long anyhow, considering how demanding the work could be. they were still here even after her return, after six long years in kalos.

she smiles, meeting their eyes from above where they were seated, and takes a sip of her coffee before setting it onto the table. "you don't think you're interesting?" she says. there's a little glitter in her eye, curious and coy, a cat standing at the edge of a cliff, looking down into the void—one misstep and she'd fall.

"please, everyone wants to talk to me." she says confidently. whether or not that was true was up to ada to decide. "feel blessed."

adele veronesi

comparison is the killer of joy, and adele replies:

"not by a long shot."

there is adele veronesi, then ada. neither led compelling lives. it was work, then home, then work again until the weekends came. then, it was lounging about their apartment browsing online catalogs for anything that might've given them something to look forward to. that was how they ended up with manual arm massagers to use while watching whatever broadcasters saw fit for daytime television. "plenty of more interesting people on this floor." nevermind the rest of the building.

nevermind, their desk. their reply comes without missing a beat. no self-loathing, nor are their words saturated in that piteous need for reassurance that they've heard now and again. adele does not require placating. emma—in all their vague memory—does not.

they rifle through their papers with feigned interest, then take another passing glance at their screen.

still more things to fill out. another eternity. they gesture toward one of the chairs left at a vacated desk in quiet invitation, but leaves it at that if she saw fit to claim their desk. they should be grateful that they never put up anything personal to mark it or they might've found any personal photos and knick-knacks swept into the train. feel blessed, she says, and adele barks out a laugh.

that didn't even deign an answer.

instead, they pluck a pen from their desk and scratches a little black line into the cheap facade—just in the space against her thigh. a would-be barrier between this would-be heiress and everything else, including them. "whatever you have to tell yourself." they answer, anyway, because it's hard to help themself.

emma stone

she knows that ada lives a simple life, one that is much different than hers. to work and go home, to idle until sleep. emma on the other hand, liked to keep busy—partying, socializing, and occasionally, when she get away with it: racing.

she hums, not seeking to reject or confirm ada's assessment of themselves. selfish as it was, it did not matter what they thought, but what emma thought. and she thought they were in the least, amusing. and rather good-looking too. she likes seeing her reflection in their slate-grey eyes, more a iridescent mirror than steel. but as shallow as her motives were, it was a mutually beneficial agreement: time, she thinks, spent in exchange to play a little game. the bark of laughter from ada was a point in her imaginary scoreboard, a won battle in the way she smiles victoriously.

she doesn't heed their invitation for the chair, keeping herself perched on the desk instead. it was much funnier, she thinks, to interfere with their work than to needle them from afar. in truth, it was also a setup for her next performance:

she runs a hand through her hair, gathering it before nudging ada's pen (and hand) aside. "i tell myself a lot of things. for example—"

and in that moment, she decides that the desk would be better as a makeshift bed, laying herself across ada's work. her head barely misses the mouse and the keyboard, but her blond hair splays over them anyways, obstructing ada from their work. now, she looks up at them from below, mischievous glint in her emerald eyes.

"i think you're more than interesting."

adele veronesi

emma stone's never been told no a day in her life.

not in the ways that matter. and why would she? adele doesn't have to know her personally to understand what it seems the rest of hoenn does: that she has a sharp tongue and an even sharper wit, that she has a taste for wines that cost more than their entire net worth and that she knows what she wants. lying there, her head resting soft against their desk with her hair like a crowning halo.

her viridian eyes, equal parts entertained and inviting: who would pass up the opportunity to be wanted by someone like her? who would deny her?

"that can't possibly be comfortable."

adele retrieves their hand from her side, allowing their knuckles to fall against their lips in mock defeat. a break, and don't they deserve that? they sit back in their chair and the wheels spin just slightly beneath their weight as the thought of continuing their work falls off to the wayside in favor of thinking of what people might say were they to cross the paths to their desk now. they reach out anyway and gently tuck a few strands of gold behind her ear. away from her face.

( she doesn't think of this, and they wonder privately if she has ever let anything that she wants go without first reminding them that they've always been hers. )

emma stone

in a way, she thinks, she had been rejected. or at least, her offer had not been accepted, and for emma, that means that her offer was denied. there was no in-between with emma stone; no maybe or perhaps. she was a demanding girl, hungry for answers and certainty.

so when ada veronosi gives her a non-answer, it's up to emma to say yes or no. right?

"yes, it's soo comfortable." she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. ada fades from her view, and she lets them, humming quietly in her semi-defeat. that is, until she suddenly feels the soft skin of their hands, brushing away a string of her hair away from her face. it was a strangely intimate gesture coming from someone who was not usually receptive to them.

is this turning into a yes?

the smile that appears on her face is giddier than she likes; giddy didn't really look cool. not in the way she wanted to be. but she had never lost her boyish charms despite all of life's attempts to do so. and with her slender hands, tinged with the shrewdness of a boy, emma slowly reaches for theirs, running her nails down ada's wrist until she could hold them just in place.

"but i can bear the discomfort for you."

adele veronesi