they wipe off their hands with a napkin, half-listening as they nudge aside their cider in exchange for a sake and the sipping cup to go with it.

something better suited for the occasion.

though, from the way he doesn't move for anything to eat himself, they assume they won't be sharing this either. they need something to get them through the conversation. anything to preoccupy their attention until he gets bored. or, at least, until they're less worried about social convention and finding another reliable party member to leave. liquor is handed over and they watch as opaque rice wine exits neatly into the chipped ceramic. "i don't—" the pouring stalls as adele straightens their back.

is forced to reconcile their memories with their actions, then demurely continues:

"maybe i wouldn't if you would stop ganking me."

they take a sip. this is better, "or if you could actually defend the towers." much better. it's smoother than they expect. the thought briefly occurs to them that that just might be dangerous. they take another sip. pour a little more. tap the counter for another mochi kinchaku to stave the conversation. adele nearly snorts the sake up their nose, hand lifting to hide their face as they stifle a laugh. slate-gray eyes peek over the top of their hand, the corners crinkling with quiet laughter.

"i can't believe that's something you said. outloud."

Aris van der Veld

they'd forgotten what their doorbell sounded like.

it—well, it wasn't used often. it's a rare occasion when they leave for anything. even rarer is the opportunity to receive company. at first, they think that it might've been the little egg timer seated on their counter but that'd gone off well over fifteen minutes ago by the time that the good doctor ever announces his arrival. their chatot answers instead as its keeper occupies themself with other responsibilities. mostly, that looks like fanning out all the smoke through their one kitchen window.

seated on the cheap handle, adone whirls around gleefully. his talons scrape against the metal as the chatot squawks in greeting from behind the door: "who is it? who is it?" what they're trying to save is less than.

well.

it's less than.

maybe muffins had been too ambitious. it would've been less expensive to just have bought the man something and it probably would've tasted better too. somehow, these had ended up burnt beyond recognition. one had, inexplicably, even caved in and they're not quite sure what that was about when they'd followed nearly every step to a t. it'd been meant as an consolatory gift but, at this rate—maybe it'd be more of a punishment.

"you don't suppose that if i made frosting that these would be salvageable?"

their gastly only looks away, and whether it's because she can't answer honestly or because she doesn't care is anyone's guess.

"who is it? who is it?"

"maybe i'll run to the bakery before i go to pick him up—"

"WHO IS IT? WHO IS IT?"

"would you! oh." someone was at the door. adele hurries over after checking that their oven was off one last time. their chatot flutters away, stopping only to rest on their shoulder as they glanced through the peephole, startling aback as they realize only then who they'd kept waiting. doorchain unlocked and their door swiftly opened, they nudge up their ( still ) broken glasses up higher on the bridge of their nose with the back of their wrist. "it's you, doctor ..." catalog, faces. they don't remember the name.

pretend that was what you meant. "i was going to come and get luce. did—" had they given him their address? they could've sworn that ... well, maybe they'd only thought it and not said that they were going to pick him up. a pause. something to think about later. maybe. "um." a few seconds pass. then, a minute. then, another minute. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME INSIDE?" they flinch away from the sound, sticking a pinky in their ear as adone preens just a little too proudly.

"yes. that."

benji sawyer

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

index finger twitches, middle sliding against it in search of the stem of a champagne glass to press in-between, and finds none.

instead, fingertips find purchase in something soft and rough at the same time. not blankets, but not a bar floor either. carpet. their back hurts. still floor. just not dirty, sticky floor. well. not sticky, at least. maybe dirty. they haven't vacuumed in a while.

then, there's—light. and a breeze. and there is—

"luce,"

—ah.

their eyelids unfurl slowly like curtains, vision is spotted with flecks of black and pops of white, then warms with the sight of a familiar pair of webbed feet and a stout, yellow blob with feathers. adele hears themself blinking.

"good morning, luce."

the psyduck leans down, preening as he places his face in the palm of their hands. he places his cold wings on theirs in greeting.

their voice is more of a rasp than they expect it to be. "can you close the curtains?" but, as usual, luce can't parse the question being asked of him, so adele sighs and hauls themself up, vertebrae stacking on top one another until it composes them.

they trudge towards the windowed balcony to take care of it themself when something catches their eye. not something—someone. a face that they can't recognize and that is obscured all the more by long, ivory hair.

the first thought that comes to mind and out of mouth: "you don't think she's dead, do you?"

the second thought: "how heavy do you think she is?"

crouching down, adele snaps their fingers in the body's face then shakes her by the shoulder. "hey, wake up." no sense in losing their security deposit like this.

calla roth

there are times when they feel there is no true justice.

the evidence to prove that was everywhere. all anyone needed to do was take a closer look. not adele veronesi, when it was incontestable enough that permanent shadows hang low beneath their slate-gray eyes.

not them, when the only wrong thing that they've done recently was walk past a volunteer without looking.

adone—was a problem child. they'd thought nothing of his absence at first. the chatot was a regular escapee, ill-tempered and often as bored as their gastly was but with none of the patience to at least stay quiet about it. it was a rare occasion that they let their pokemon meander about on their own and rarer still that they'd even brought their pokeballs with them to work.

a bit of kindness, then. a change in pace.

( an insistence on their boss's part, in the case of an emergency, though adele finds themself hard-pressed to tell them that they can hardly think of a situation where any of theirs would be welcome help. )

just one problem. they'd forgotten just how much they talked to themself at home, forgotten just how attentive yet gabby that bird was. if there was any such thing as karma, they are convinced that that vague, arbitrary hand ought place a visit with the powers that be and were instead of punishing them for having an opinion.

many, many opinions.

hand shielding their face as they avoided the sharp, critical glares of a few other colleagues who’d likely been on the receiving end of their supposedly unpleasant behavior, adele makes their way down. he often came to sit here, didn't he?

they cycle through the folder somewhere tucked into the back of their head of names, faces, identities. lands on, "mr. logan!" lam, their brain supplies belatedly.

it's fine.

formality is better.

"you haven't seen my chatot around, have you?"

lam logan

in no certain terms are they proud of the fact that they'd spent the better part of this trip thinking about this.

a reasonable person would've walked away. there's plenty of coffee shops in rustboro. there's even more reasons to not have a cup. too expensive, not very good, always up-charged. it wasn't as though it were the morning proper, either, when they might've needed one. they weren't even going to be here for that long. they had to catch a flight in a few hours back to ever grande. he probably didn't get paid that much. on any other occasion, they might've been reasonable.

on any other occasion, they might not have risked the shame of re-acquainting themself with that barista.

they should be embarrassed.

they aren't.

the doors slide shut seamlessly behind them and adele takes a cursory glance behind the counter. a couple of unfamiliar faces, but that one isn't. they join the line. it passes smoothly. arms cross over their chest and they eye him quietly. there's a couple of seconds of debate on whether they should or shouldn't. it was petty. at their age, shouldn't they turn the other cheek? teeth rest on the tip of their tongue. but, he was grown enough too to know better. so, the order comes out:

"a medium, hot flat white with a double shot of espresso. half oat milk and half almond. extra foam, but only on the bottom half of the cup. add an extra shot of espresso on the side for me to pour in myself. one pump of vanilla syrup, one pump of hazelnut, then half a drop of caramel with a bit of cinnamon on top. not enough to sink, but enough to decorate. then, in a separate cup, two pumps of roseli syrup and one pump of lavender with nonfat milk, foamed, then in a third cup, ice but only ice with a bit of frost on it."

a pause.

"got that?"

Blake Wright

fire and water? great, so it would be their luck that they have neither of those weapons on hand.

did they even have the phials for their—well, it'd have to do. it was their mistake for having brought something specialized for flying-specialized moves when they could've just as easily have wielded something a bit hardier. maybe even having a few barrel bombs would've been useful for blast damage. fireworks, if they'd kept any from the last event, to distract it—the earth rumbles beneath them as the duraludon lurches forward, the shine of the game's virtual sun gleaming off of the glossy windowpanes that composed its body.

silver comes in a gasp, the sound of the steel beast thrumming with energy as the blast skirts the field and sends bakingfeuille aback again, arrow nocked but not flying even as their avatar holds their position.

the warning to hide is lost in the motion, adele locked into their attack animation as glaive strikes the ground and volleys them through the air. the duraludon howls as its gaze tries to follow where it cannot. clouds of colored smoke appear and damage numbers flash: small, negligible. 30. 40. 41. 23. the beast swings in search of its would-be assailant, its head swinging to graze them just as their attack lands.

their avatar hits the ground, a little worse for the wear but pathetically less than their newfound opponent.

they glance only then at the messages.

"too late" they hastily type back, watching to see if the ground lights up with any precursor to a larger, more dangerous move. "barely made a dent can you hold it off while i switch weapons"

bwOtyAYL

Fenelle Miller

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

the moment splinters, and adele sees all the horrible ways that this interaction could go.

all of it ends the same way: adele exits stage left and leaves. there's no good reason to find a person in an alley. even less with a pokemon that cries as pitifully as this. they don't really stop to think on the why, but the how it is that they've unwittingly placed themself in this situation and the what it was that they were supposed to say to depart without drawing unwanted attention.

hoenn is full of infinite troubles and they decided a while ago that they need not invite more of it.

"um."

but. but.

their attention flicks briefly to the creature hidden behind the stranger. they can't really pick it out. but, it's small. probably a young one, or at least something that wasn't evolved. not someone's kid, they have to assume, and so their conscience absolves itself of responsibility to intervene. they've never had much luck with pokemon. they had three of their own, but those were kind of things that they just ended up with.

calming them down was—well, they had a psyduck.

they got flung across the room often.

their acupuncturist could confirm it.

the pause becomes a protracted silence. their lips seal together and they steady themself before pointing behind the stranger with a weak gesture. "you draw more attention by letting it out here," adele sounds certain, at least, even as they hastily construct their sentences one word after another. "might want to do it somewhere crowded." another brief quiet. they inhale.

"if you're going to abandon it, i mean. pokemon control, or—someone will pick him up. don't have to leave it here. it'll just cry louder." they mumble.

"someone might get the wrong idea."

cassidy