lookforheaven (aucontraire_) wrote in remains_rpg, @ 2015-10-07 21:57:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | # 2018 [10] october, adelaide hawkins, ian terrell |
if I could say anything, anything what would it be?
WHO: Sarge and Adelaide and KITTEN
WHERE: Dog Park
WHAT: Just a pair of new neighbors being neighborly
WHEN: Backdated to 10/2, early afternoon
It's been a long, long time since Adelaide sat on the front step of a trailer like this one, knowing that she is home. In hindsight it feels like every day, every single day for the past six years has been lived in limbo, in a waiting room with a clock on the wall whose hands never seemed to move at all. There have been times she's been content, times she's been happy, even, with a secure place, belongings, every comfort she could wish for around her - but it was like living in a hotel in a foreign land, with her suitcase packed up near the door. All this time she's been waiting to come home. Rodeo's trailer isn't new. It isn't stylish or plush or even always especially clean. It smells of Lucky Strikes, and of the stale bottles that he's only recently disposed of for Charlie's sake. It's probably too small for three people and a big dog, and the hot water is nowhere near endless. It's also the best place that Adelaide has ever, ever lived, already more home than anywhere else. Charlie is napping inside, watched over by Sweet Melissa, while Rodeo runs some mysterious errands he's told her are all for the party that he's throwing in her honor, and so Adelaide is enjoying the quiet, enjoying the warmth of the Austin sun though she can nearly feel the freckles crowding in on her nose. In her cell in the Department of Justice it felt like her cold feet might never thaw out, but not a single part of her feels cold now. She's reading a copy of Emma Rodeo scavenged up for her, and though she doesn't smoke she's got one of his cigarettes burning in her hand like incense. She doesn't know if she can ever take this all in deeply enough. Texts from Sarge have sounded on her phone, back and forth throughout the morning, and that's one more piece of home. She hasn't seen him since the night before when they broke her out, when he showed such uncharacteristic abandon and hugged her - on purpose. Her eyes lift up from her book now and then, scanning in the direction of his place. Ever eager to see him, ever curious about the surprise he's alluded to, while the smoke of Rodeo's cigarette spirals toward her nose and brings her, inch by inch, closer to believing this is real. |