the knife we turn

i used to dream in the dark of palisades park

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played by

aphelion

ada

they/them

thirty-seven

october 11

lavender town

greysexual

secretary

civilian

5'7" (170.18 cm) height

if grief is an amputation, then hope is an incurable hemophilia

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40 posts

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adele veronesi

the knife we turn

POSTED ON Jul 27, 2024 15:53:37 GMT

the sound of the sirens is familiar.

it is more a memory than anything else. what they left behind, what they would leave behind? inconsequential. all things are replaceable. it is what they tell people as they join in the chorus of those with the league to redirect civilians to evacuate. some scream. some cry.

some ask them why it is that this is happening and the fervent answer is always the same: that this was the work of rocket, as though they had nothing to do with it. adele tactlessly counters: that they didn't know, that they didn't want to be in this situation again either.

those from hoenn look at them with contempt.

those from kanto look at them and understand.

adele watches from the shore as another fishing ship departs from the port. boats are few, but the people are plenty on this small island. some are residents. some are people who make the regular ferry ride to commute between the mainland and the space center. others are like them, passersby who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. as they watch some climb aboard the backs of sea-faring pokemon, they sigh with a quiet fondness—

fondness?

they don't know what to do with that.

maybe they don't need to do anything. a twitch of a smile. maybe they should think of leaving hoenn if the sight of an emergency is comforting. seeing these hapless residents look abound, wide-eyed and as terrified as they'd been. it's the scene from one of their bad tv dramas. adele watches a retreating back and sees themself in that stranger.

when they turn to look back, so too does adele.

and this is where the scene would be completed. where they'd find a stranger that isn't one. they shouldn't have looked again. they turn away. and now they haven't. he would be gone by the time they turned back.

that, too, is familiar.

kit bishop

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played by

lou

bishop

he/they

thirty-seven

january 27th

fuchsia city, kanto

demi-grey

toxicologist / informant

grunt

yours is the darkness

of my soul's return

6'1 height

you only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

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kit bishop

the knife we turn

POSTED ON Aug 5, 2024 1:55:34 GMT

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He’d begun to think that the tide of war had a taste.[break][break]
Like petrichor, it rose in the air. Permeating the senses until it sat heavy on his tongue. Bittersweet, the reminiscent sensation of all that he had lost with the sweetness of what he still missed. That saccharine, tender swell in the jaw of a forming toothache.[break][break]
It was easy to imbibe on too much grief, and the looming threat of a conflict should not have been cause to entertain more.[break][break]
And yet, as he wanders toward the congregating masses of those attempting to evacuate the island, Kit finds himself doing exactly that. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be quite finished with accepting the repercussions of old choices. The unwinding of thoughts that run along the lines of if I hadn’t done this, then that would have never happened.[break][break]
He wouldn’t have been here. He wouldn’t have been alone. He wouldn’t still be tangled in the complications of being affiliated with Rocket.[break][break]
But he is, and he’s here, and there is no one to board the ferry with. No one, save the stunky who patters along beside him—keeping slower pace with the hitch in his step, his own obvious lag.[break][break]
“Come along, Bijou,” he still grumbles, though she is the one humoring him.[break][break]
And then he thinks he must be a glutton for punishment, because why is he here, amid the chaos of panicking citizens, when he could have just gone home? It is no more than an indulgence for the past he remembers so keenly—that battery acid fear on his tongue when he fails to find the one face he’d know in any crowd.[break][break]
Yes. He will just hole up in his apartment, he decides. And then his thoughts are stolen away, when a trick of the mind delivers unto him another chance to rectify a deep regret. That face. Those eyes.[break][break]
Nothing more than something spectral and cruel, though a stone drops in his stomach. He will turn back, and there will be someone unrecognizable in their place. This is the way it always goes.[break][break]
But when he looks again, he is not met with something so Orphean.[break][break]
Rewarded in his lack of faith, they are not pulled into the shade. They do not dissolve from view. An arm’s length away, this revenant determined to stay. “A fine place to haunt. Really nostalgic of you.”[break][break]
Said as though he still doesn’t believe them to be here. Because he doesn’t. He is clearly much too tired for this. For war. For anything at all.

[break][break]

[attr="class","nametag"] adele veronesi

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M: BEFORE THE FIRST WAVE

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close tab

played by

aphelion

ada

they/them

thirty-seven

october 11

lavender town

greysexual

secretary

civilian

5'7" (170.18 cm) height

if grief is an amputation, then hope is an incurable hemophilia

awards

40 posts

DOLLARS

part of

TAG WITH @adele

adele veronesi

the knife we turn

POSTED ON Oct 13, 2024 4:24:26 GMT

think of other things, adele.

you've gotten quite good at that. distracting yourself, thinking of things that must be done and things that cannot wait. it is easier. they won't turn around again. they won't be besides themself with what they think might be grief, or anger. there still lies a job, a responsibility. one that you've never cared for, a soft voice whispers in the back of their hand.

it's because you have nothing else, another says, and adele chews on their bottom lip. their nails rake along the soft part of their palm. a ghost grasps at the space that connects their skull to their neck.

things that matter. things that need to happen, things that will: they need to get people off this island and onto the ships. adele starts to walk in the direction of the beaches again. they need to evacuate. they need to call into headquarters and let people know. they dig crescent moons into their hand. they need to find those that don't already know. they can't afford to get distracted, they can't—you didn't care a pretty minute ago what went on, adele. their short walk ends.

something blooms in their chest and unfurls.

just the tiniest bit.

it aches: more parasite than flower.

you didn't—slowly, adele is face-to-face with someone that they loved. he's never spoken to them before. thumb swipes the space where their ring used to be. where their skin is just a little paler than the rest, they trace the phantom of a platinum band unconsciously. he looks older now. rail thin, sickly even. something in them laughs, that this would be the image that their mind spits out instead of a warmer face and a healthier disposition like the one they strove to see.

there is no future in which they would have thought then, or that they would have thought now, where christopher bishop would know how to take care of themself when adele was not looking. their arms cross over their chest, uncertain: "you look tired, kit."

kit bishop