they don't think they could've dictated it any more clearly.

it wasn't something that they'd drink. if adele could have their way, they would've just ordered a simple black coffee so that they'd be able to adjust it themself with a touch of creamer and honey. erring on the side of simplicity was the best way to ensure quality at places that you didn't know. but, the counter to that: that that same simplicity meant that it was easier to tell if something was wrong.

and their first coffee had been very wrong. so had the second, the third and the most recent.

it'd be unfair to place the blame squarely on his shoulders. a more gracious adele might've considered that someone burned the beans prior to his shift or might've entertained the possibility that this was simply the quality of this coffee shop and that they ought search elsewhere to find something more palatable.

but, and they insist it is a but, they would have if not for the defiance in his eyes now.

"mm," is all that they have to offer in reply when he insists that they trust in the process.

they'd heard that before.

doubtless, they'd hear it again after today too when they next returned to rustboro with an equally annoying order. ( though, at least they'd thought the flavor combination might've been acceptable. ) they're pleasantly surprised to see an abomination at the end of the counter by the end of it. adele kneels down, fingertips hooking on the edge as they watch caramel cut through an opaque, milky substance and is balanced out with a few odds and ends of what'd been asked.

espresso sits at the top inexplicably and they watch as dark tendrils curl inside.

"it's." well. it exists. this had been what they asked and paid for to some extent. pausing to take an antacid, they lift the cup to their lips and take a cautious sip. consider it. then, gently slide it back down onto the counter with quiet indifference. "it's an interesting palate cleanser. you'd know that, though." adele nudges it forward a little farther, meeting his gaze with theirs. "try it."

"you'll like it."

Blake Wright

at least, it isn’t a question of having a discerning palate. they could both agree on that at least. the order would’ve been objectionable to most people, even if it hadn’t been oddly—tasteless? sweet in all the wrong ways, and milky in a thousand and one others.

they thank their lucky stars that for all of his ill-tempered twists of fate with their drinks that at least he didn’t point blank throw the order at them. it'd been too long and way too convoluted for them to even think of actually enjoying at the inconvenience of others.

though, in which case, maybe they would’ve just been grateful it was iced.

if they hadn’t specified, they’re sure it would’ve come scalding hot. maybe. their eyes follow the barista as he retreats back behind the counter to follow the order to a t. probably. “you don’t actually have to—” make it, but the sentence trails off as they watch him bustle around to make it happen. they suppose that they still—paid for it.

that meant that they should get a drink equivalent to what they’d said, but.

adele frowns as they look at the drink on the counter, still just a short distance away. maybe they could pretend they just didn’t see it. after a beat, they quietly volunteer conversation: "it really—i would just be happy," another pause of uncertainty. "no, nevermind."

he's already made it. or, was making it. they'd just have to regret the purchase later and, then, maybe go to different place to actually get a cup.

( this too was part of this odd relationship. )

Blake Wright