Pokémon A K_S spin on "Pokevillains Villaintine's Challenge"

[K_S]

Fix/ a fix/

definition:
General: to repair something or hang something.
Slang: a dose of illegal drugs
Mob slang: to commit murder

Content warnings, ranked R, slurs, racism, discussion of drug use and sexual assault.


Most didn't know, but Giovanni Sakaki was skilled in more than the Famiglia Business. It'd started as a spark of idle curiosity, one of his infamous, dreaded, why questions uttered at dinner.

Why were they having to eat out here on the lawn and not in the dinning room?

His stupidity had been noted by one and all. Cat calls and jeers about how scemo he was, how the Mad'am had dropped him on his head... Wasn't it obvious, the fucking plumbing had gone crazier than a golbat outta hell and...

And fumbling through a language he should of been taught over his craddle and hadn't. Managing to squeak out one more why question before some Aunt had hushed him with a smack upside the head.

"Why don't we fix it, we got tons of fixers?"

He'd been told they weren't that type of fixers, smacked, and ordered to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

Which he did, but still, he wondered.

Xxx

What started as curiousity was fanned into a blaze by sheer irritation. Unfortunatly mob carelessness and repeat frusteration had driven Giovanni to master basic piping and maintinance. Despie all the stereotypes, he learned to spite noth Nona and the Madams networks. If they weren't anle to come in to work it was harder for them to plant things in his house. Be it bombs or bugs.

His passion project had inspired his familgia to gift him all sorts of red hats. He'd burned them. Especially the ones mongrammed with an "m".

His talents, were a blessing at Nona's, and a curse here.

This was the fifth fucking time his room mate had poured grease down the sink. Did the moron think that the magical drain clefairies were going to skip down mount moon and fix things for him?

The last was snarled, out loud, at the guilty grease dumping party, who had no craps to give, and his bored monotone showed it.

"Look man," Fabio, a dullard even by mafioso breaker standards hovered over him. Passing down tools to the biggest tool of a roommate he'd ever had. "It's not like we aren't made of money, make a call, cough up some dough...."

"It'll be handled in house." The only nice thing about Fabio was you didnt have to make lame excuses. Truth could be told. "You know that, I know that. Even if we pay double to get an ousider to do the work, they'll get intercepted..."

"So?"

"Bugs, you dumb... I do not want to spend three hours combing through our things for fucking bugs!"

Because if he did, he was throwing the lanky man's things out the second story window. Again. The fall would shake off the dust if nothing else.

Fabio yawned, a few heavy steps were heard, and the fridge door clicked open. Chewing ensued.

"Ish 'ow th' f'ks show th' 'are."

Care? The man was clearly more brainwashed then a mareep. And brain damaged. It was a thin concolation but first semester would likely see this dumbass to the curb due to bad grades.

Shame it couldnt be sooner.

Giovanni grit his teeth. Counted to ten, twice, then decided to take a break. Wrench clenched in his hands, squirming back and out, the first sight beyond pipes and cobwebs was of the (regretibly) familiar form of a man who sort of knew what a shower was. The man was wearing an oversized "GO Tauros" shirt, and boxers, and about a half weeks worth of grease atop his head.

It was the sight of the pizza in the bastards hand froze Giovanni as if he'd been ice beamed to the spot. Oblivious, chewing like the cow his shirt advertized him to support, Fabio looked down at him, long features stamped with obvious boredom.

"Whash y'r," a loud swollow, "problem Sakaki?"

The problem? The leftovers were from a box clearly labeled as his.

Before he could even begin to express his anger at the theft the pipes rattled. The grimmer, when it reared up out of the sink, was as nausiating as they came. Marked with chickenwing bone spines, egg shell armor that crinkled with every move, and a pen and some papers rising out of its back like a half crumpled fin. It was half 'mon half grease ball, and a complete night mare.

It was also proof that Fabio had no fucking clue how to use the god damned garbage disposal. Fabio managed to both multitask and lower himself in Giovanni's admitibly abysmal regard for the man. Screaming and puking, the lankey man staggered back, agog in panic and nausia.

Of course the grimmer absorbed the half digested meal with a sloppy trill.

Scrambling to up, wrench in hand, Giovanni managed a few good swings with his off hand, while using the other to call campus security. If Fabio got clipped in the ensuing maddness... well it was all heat of the moment.

Xxx

Suffice to say the university president was not pleased to have two predominent mafioso members in his office first week in. Small blessings be, there were no bodies. Greater blessings, the Fabio boy's family had paid a garchomp's ransom to keep things hush hush.

The younger, some kid named Sakaki, had had no patron swan in to pay his dues. So by economic casualty the boy was going to be the patsy. The president had had the younger boy go through all the motions. Locked in the campus holding cell, parents called, then once apathy levels were established, the young man had been hauled in by campus security.

The campus president had already seen the Fabio's out, by the sound of raised voices both mobsters had seen each other, and there'd been some verble rough housing.

Rich mocking poor. Slurs. Evil preying on evil, that sort of thing.

But that wasnt his buisness, and the Fabio's money was squirreled away in its proper accounts.

As far as the President was concerned, all was well.

The Sakaki boy was... rather underwhelming. Sporting a fresh shinner. More knees and angles topped with a mop of short cropped black hair. His clothes were mercifully at the campus laundry, being scrubbed within an inch of thier lives. Sakaki's borrowed attire was swipped from a school gift shop and that fee was going to be added under the "damages and expenses toward college property".

Set out in its proper place, front and center, were expulsion papers. The list of accumilated fines and charges, and a pen for the boy to scrawl his name upon it all. The confessions would be legally binding, and the money due wired in its proper place once things were said and done.

"Do you understand why you're here young man?" After all, might as well go through the motions.

"I understand," The young man's voice was a study of pure rage, and he had that growling tone that made a quiet voice carry. Shame he hadnt shown a lick of interest in theater, he'd of had a knack. Rubbing his wrists where cuffs had been, the young man flicked his dark eyes on the papers. "That my roommate's habbits caused every pipe on wing A to spawn grimer."

Silence, as the President smoothed his festures to not let a lick of amusement show.

"Mon will do as mon will. Thats the nature of beasts. Path of least resistence and all that."

Pointedly the President set his pen on the table. Waited as comprehension dawned. Pale hands snatched the papers, flipped through them, as black eyes flicked over each line like a pair of startled deerling, skatting over each cause, clause, and bill. As if speed would shield him from the consequences.

"You're a mad man," near hysterial, Sakaki looked up at the President, eyes bugged. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"I understand that in buisness circles your mother is feared. You also need to understand, before you begin any postering, she was... disinterested... in intervening."

Disinterested was a mild term to describe the sheer utter scorn she held for her boy's academic future. Exercising a smidge of kindness, the President did not disclose exactly what mother had said about offspring. He also had not recorded this meeting despite her stating the only thing she regretted was not being able to personally see "widdle Giani's world fall apart".

"Any protections you think you harbor are not." Best he state that planely. Least the boy get lethal ideas about help that wasn't coming. "So I advise, most strongly, that you sign without fuss. There is a payment plan for the fees, with a twenty five percent interest, if you can't pay it all upfront. Page nine-"

"He started it. You can't ignore that he was dumping my papers into the garbage disposal. Pouring greese, writing supplies, fucking around with the toilets in the womans dorms...."

Gossip had spread like wild fire yet again. Really details like that were normally only known between the guards and thier growlithe partners. And normally the staff here was discrete. The President made a mental note to talk to the head of security after this...

Because how had this slip of a man heard anything about the Fabio boy's other acts considering he'd been incarcerated during the peak of the plumning disaster... that was a mystery that needed to be sussed out.

Fast.

There were more secrets here than one frat boy's schenanigans. And here, all secrets needed to be kept least they lose thier tenious agreement with the Viridian Mob that guarenterd staff saftey for educating the criminal's offspring.

Clearing his throat, the President folded his hands in front of him. Attempted to loom, without getting up. At his age getting up and down were only to be persued when absolutely nessescary.

"The Fabio's have been handled. All things between them and this facility are squared away, you however..."

"Fuck you." The brat tossed the papers down. "You know what he did, and I'm the patsy because my mother is a deadbeat bitch?!"

"You will calm down and sit down or security will be called and you will be escorted back to a cell. What state you are in when you're picked up by the real police will be concurent with your complience."

Silence, as old man looked down at the younger. Slowly, the scowl of rage crumpled. The young man folded into himself, slumping into his arms, quick enough that the President wasn't sure if he'd imagined the wetness around the young man's eyes, or not.

Masking his face, shoulders shaking, Hate born compsure long gone, Sakaki croaked. "You know... I thought by going here, I was getting out."

"You can't get out," the President sighed. "No one does."

Reaching out, he patted the young man's shoulder.

He'd seen this often enough. Children who'd held on, scrambled and scrapped with a ghost of morals and decency, thinking education would set them free. They shattered, each in thier own way, when they found out the one place that'd take them wasn't the escape they wanted.

There were no anti-racism laws in Kanto, or Johto. No checks. No balances. No documentation. And because of that, so many Italians were destitute. Overlooked for any type of employment because they might have connections to the mob.

Supposedly far flung Galar boasted some social progress. Mandates that prohibited firing for being Italian. But Galar was so far away it might as well be another world, rather than another region. And Johto and Kanto had enough
history with the Italy disporia and thier mob ties that thier refusal to deal with them was considered by the masses to be justified.

Even a form of self defense.

"Let go of me."

The president did so, picking up his pen, tapping it on the desk. A mute warning. He wasn't here to be the young man's counciler. Just here to collect a signiture, funds, and move on with his day.

Finally, with a shaky breath, Sakaki straightened. Scraping tough looking hands over his face with a watery sigh. Smoothing his hair back with a grumble.

The mute, nothing to see here, was pathetic, but understandable.

"I'm going to give you one shot to do the moral thing." Sakaki warned, voice gritty with frusteration and aborted tears. "You make this disappear, move me to a different dorm, and nothing happens."

Pathetic and delusional.

Lips curling into a sneer, the President ordered. "You sign now, or I call the guards. You have five minutes."

Younger stared down at elder. Face still, eyes redlined, hands clenched together. Refusing to move, speak,barely breathing. Finally, tired of it all, the President reached for his phone. Fingers one inch from pressing on the old fasioned keyboard, he froze, nothing dialed, when Sakaki spoke.

"The bottem cabniet, right hand side, has a false bottom. Inside is a special custom cocktail tailored to both your allergies and heart medicines. You're an expensive man to provide for, since you're allergic to most generic fillers. You have two pouches, supplied on the regular. One is an off orange color thats an asphoradic."

"Which isn't a crime. If i had something like that in my posession."

Unmoved by the President's deflection, Sakaki carried on, thin lips quirking into a cruel smirk.

"While it's understandable for a man your age to have performance issues and you not wanting the embaressment of going through open channels for your fun times... It's the other bag that's the kicker. The contents are quite the mix. A bit of this and that... Basically it's a memory inhibitor and asphoradic... It has a slow release, twelve hours for both, that build so its victim might just thinks they're sick, a little loopy, then the lust kicks in atop the confusion... Someone might have an afternoon meeting with you, feel sick after hours, and be on the cusp of a confused chemical born break down by nightfall. Mind degrading, body wanting..."

The president swollowed, eyes flicking anywhere where but the young man, thin hand clenching.

"Then, the twist. A paralictic chaser to keep them from getting away while you take the master dorm keys in hand, follow them to thier room, and help yourself to the first bag."

Silence, the President slowly, carefully cradled the phone. Fingers hovering.

"You're lying. And delusional. I call for help and you never step foot in this place again."

"Thats one option. But I have contacts in the drug buisness. Maybe once academia doesn't work out... I can go back to those roots. I'm a fairly good chemist, aced AP, you can check yourself. With my skills I could easily get into manufacturing custom orders. But I'm sure a man of your moral fortitude would never need to worry about any additives. Your stash is just a hold over from your sowing your wild oats days. A semtimental... curiousity."

The phone was set down.

"I took thier money, you can't go back. Those were the terms."

"I wonder," shuffling the papers, stacking them neatly, Sakaki considered causes and clauses of his expelling with a smirk. "if there's been a few investigations... Mob and otherwise... If you've left any traces of your indulgence on your victims. How would those mafisio families react, knowing you've been raping thier kid's friends and allies?"

Face turning an intriguing shade of grey, eyes wild, the old man looked at the younger. Trembling in his seat.

"Tell me, Mr. President," the fake disinterest fell away, as Sakaki lifted his gaze to meet the old mans eyes. "Have you ever laid hand on anyone in the familgia?"

The man's whole body flinch said worlds.

"Interesting, well since we're done here and this is all harmless chit chat, I'll just sign these and..."

The pen was snatched and tossed aside. The papers were ripped away, ripped up.

"I think Viridian University would be.. honored..." the old man swollowed, clearly choking down on puke. "To keep someone of your... ah pedigree... around, as long as you see fit."

"Are you stating I could get access to unlimited classes, no charge, for however long I want?" Eyebrows hopping in surprise the young Rocket looked genuinely interested.

He'd also looked friendly earlier, whem rattling off the contents and processes of the bags.

The President was uninclined to trust anything form this young man.

Smiling a sickly grin, the older man nodded. "We do have scholarships for a reason Mr Sakaki."

"Well dont let me slow you down, go ahead and toss something together on paper. We can do the signing right now. No time like the present."

And there was something sharp in the man's smile, something acidic to his psuedo bubbliness. But once it was signd and sealed, legally binding, and swept away (Sakaki prefered the night classes, a win for both the President and Fabio both, less chance for encountering him) the President lived in fear for a month, maybe two. But time distanced him from that threat.

Sakaki was a typical mobsters son, indifferent to morals once his needs were met. He lived and let live. And that had been a relief. There'd been this girl, then a boy. Both so sweet, all young and innocent...

Then come winter holiday. There'd been a friend, of a friend, of a Mob family. Brought along on a legitimate scholarship, she'd taken her celibration with the staff, and few lingering students.

Sakaki had been there, but been distant. An apathetic guest and a guard to no one. Content to settle into a nook, scan the room, and indulge in the free food.

Out of sight out of mind, the President was content to let things be. He had a fresh dose from a new shipment and mixed it into the unsuspecting thing's water. And she left, never knowing what she drank, wandering off caterwal silly tunes with some carolers before deciding to go home. He'd followed a few hours later, orange baggie in hand.

He'd dose, then slip in. experience told him he'd have twenty minutes to set things up... Taking a draw, he shuddered, familiar pins and prickles teasing his nose and mouth. But when it started to burn, literally burn, he realized what had happened. His newest dose had been tampered with. He couldn't even scream, his airwars smoldered and he choked on the damaged flesh. Then a paralitic kicked in, pinning him in place, leaving him to his slow smoldering death in the snow.

He was found by pre dawn clean up. His body whisked away to be dropped into the sewer system. After all, what was another death but just another secret to be swept away. A few flicks of the key board and a post holiday sabatacial was declaired, the man stepping down via email due to health concerns, and none were the wiser.

 

[K_S]

Villain-tines challenge,

Prompt: Companion, part 2



Summary:
Acquiring a companion to weather one's life... was quite the process.
Let it not be said Giovanni Sakaki made it easy on himself....

Or, when a young up-and-rising political personality and Made Man, Giovanni Sakaki, meets, and then butts heads with the irascible Nurse Grace Evens, things start rockily, and slowly get worse from there.


Content warnings: Racism, criminal activities, discussion of murder, and adult relationships (alluded, not shown)





When most saw Giovanni he was alone.

And that statement, while true, was an utter contradiction to his physical reality.

When at his legal work he was usually surrounded by the best and brightest of Viridian Corp. The eye of an economic storm on the office floor, he corralled scientists and businessmen and coaxed both to follow his vision with a smooth grace. His charisma and biting humor had derailed a multitude of international incidents, as he charmed his way into other Regions markets.

And when he wasn't working his legit companies, he was working. And in that business, there were guards, aides, and consigliere at his side explaining the local Game in play and each made men's angles. As an Executive there had to be a legion of men at his beck and call.

Because he kept his fingers on the criminal pulse points of Johto, Kanto, Tojho, and the Isles. His title may have meant advisor, but his job was a mix match of traveling fixer, financial streamliner, and spy for the Matriarch and Don's Council back home.

Most of his work was political. But when rebellion or incompetence spawned the lingering touch and observation became a stranglehold. Death for those who displaced the Dons was a quick wrench that ended in a snap.

As a trainer, and then gym leader, he had a tamed beast at his side at all times. He wasn't the stereotypical "mon person" by any means. They followed as he led, no questions asked.

Physically Giovanni Sakaki was never alone.

And as far as the world was concerned, he was always alone. It was a well-known fact that he had no affection for 'mon, man, woman, or child.

Political gossips moaned in sympathy for the arm candy he swept through events. There were no perks, no longevity. Each event had a new woman. And while some kissed and told, the "good time" was solely in the bedroom. The "charm" was being in the company of a man who held up to old-time niceties like pulling out a chair, and flattering a woman from crown to toe, making her feel like a princess.

But one and all warned, there was nothing of depth to it. Any form of attachment on the lady's side, or a call from work, led to being abandoned at best.

So when Viridian's newest curiosity, a woman who'd won the lottery twice hit the scene... there was a very serious and somber decision being made through Viridian's upper-echelon party scene.

"To warn, or not to warn".

The Sakaki oligarch was between pretty things, and she was the newest thing about. But surely she knew. Sakaki's exploits were bandied about in all the tabloids. There were gossip sites. A mock support center for women he'd ditched. Another was for women despondent because they were struggling to find a man as rich and skilled.

After her first outing, she'd been pried away from the arm of a tottering attachment, bemused by the pushy questions and interviewer's gaudy bow tie.

The transcript from the interview made top sales and was printed like a banner across every gossip rag.

"Was she enjoying herself?"

Well, the view was interesting... And it certainly beat the red-eye shift in pediatric ICU.

"How do you feel about being one of the few women who haven't had the Sakaki experience? Intimidated? Excited?"

She blinked, silver eyes wide, and expression a bit lost.

I'm sorry, the what now?

The media-feeding frenzy had the restraint of a rabid mightyenna... mating a starving sharpedo. Sanity and rational weren't even a starting point and the regular reporting baselines like decency were abandoned.

Interviewers adored her at first.

Need a fluff piece, grill Grace Evens and you get a satirical whose who. Initially, she had tried to guess, but after one round when both host and victim realized that besides a few pop singers and artists, she really had no clue who was who, it was dropped. Her reactions turned sarcastic and dryly catty.

Grace's reaction to how she was taking in the scene devolved into a running commentary-

"Well, Mrs. "Too much floof we are channeling a confection today" is settled besides with Mr. "I killed x many rare mon to look like a Christmas card" right over there. Look at their hands.. do you see? Yep, I see rings! Do you think they're married to each other, or someone else?"

The interviewer, who was trying not to die, shook his head, wheezing. "Can't answer that one, on the clock."

"Ohh one of those situations, nice. Well, I need to reattach to Dr. Swinburn, he gets lonesome you know. Have a good night..."

"Wait.. just, a second. So officially, gotta ask. Your real thoughts on, you know, the event hosted by Gio Corp."

"Again, what is with this Sak-whoever putting his mits on everything?" Grace rolled her silver eyes.

"Well, he is the man running this event..."

"Greg, sweetie, I'm sorry but the Viridian Institute of Medicine, Pediatric Trauma Relief is running things. Some fat cat Viridian is renting the building out to us to tick an "I did charity" box on his upcoming taxes for a break. We had a nice venue set up at a park, but you know the upper class and their sensibilities..."

Dr. Swinburn, walking stick clicking a mad staccato beat as he approached, was revealed at the end of the interview to be-

1. A) Her boss, a lower director at Viridian General
2. B) Scrambling to get over to do damage control
3. C) Rather athletic for a seventy-nine-year-old.

Xxx​

Emboldened by their near brush with ligation-worthy broadcasting, the same interviewer approached Giovanni.

Partnerless, and perhaps expecting a familiar gentle ribbing about it, he flicked his black eyebrow at the lanky reporter. BizBroadvasting was notoriously fluff-centric. He'd toss a few lines, they'd leave

Simple as that.

But this one was curiously flushed and a bit wound up. Still, steady regard and the eyebrow rise was a mute "What do you want?", for him. It was a bonafide Sakaki-friendly interaction.

"So Mr. Sakaki, can you please confirm the newest rumor, that your covering the rent for this facility is used to give Gio Corp a free pass to file for the Charitable Tax Break Act 1045-a?"

Silence, and a long moment where Sakaki stared at the man and camera, unblinkingly. Finally, indulging a deep breath, he carefully put down his scotch. His black and red ring clinked as one digit chased a drop about as he gathered his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, where did you hear this?"

The previous interview was replayed, and to the familiar woman's image, Sakaki smiled.

There would be a swarm of media analysts comparing it to a banette's smile. All stiff and dead, with curiously flat eyes.

"While less moral individuals need coercion to help the needy," he waved to encapsulate the rich and elite about him, carrying about thier business. Drinking and partying the night away. "Well, I try to be a better man. The tax break was calculated by my finances team, and Viridian co' has grand plans with the windfall."

Grand plans to pocket it, and those would stand.

"Why last event I donated the anticipated tax break to aspiring Italian youth in need. There are a fine string of charities off the mainland, run by Ionic Industries,"

It was a lie from first to last. Ionic was an old shell industry run by the Sakakis for generations. Nona's sister, donna Mary ran it with an iron fist and there was nothing fine about her. She was a bit of a drama queen though and would likely appreciate the attention, move to twist it to lure saps into sending money her way without having to work for it.

He'd call this little speil an early birthday gift for the old honchkrow next familgia meeting, kill two birds with one stone.

"I called them well in advanced, set things up, and made sure every penny would be used to assist needy families get their children through college..."

All of Maria's children had been unrepentant dropouts. The oldest had been held back five times in his academic career. There was an edge to his smile as he nattered on, one that Greg Preston noted if his sudden pallor meant anything.

Perhaps seeing his life flashing before his eyes, Greg squeaked out the appropriate yes noises.

"Though, personally, Mr. Preston was it?" Greg nodded madly " I would hesitate to take the word of a woman inclined to overindulge in drink at these things."

He couldn't have pulled off tragic now if his life depended on it. So he settled for a smug smile and hoped the fool would interpret it as inviting.

"It's how we met you know. Poor thing. Lost in her cups and woes after being propelled into her social betters. Evens definitely isn't a reliable source for these .... frivolous social justice comments. I'd expect a man with your training to know better."

Flinching at the rebuke, seeing and reading all the malice quite correctly, the reported gulped.


"Right then, well thank you for your time, Mr. Sakaki."

"Anytime." Giovanni drawled. "Glad to clear things up."

XXX​

It took a week for the next, to quote Ms. Evens, "rich person shiding" to pick up. And surely the host was hesitant to send along an invite. Not inviting a Sakaki for anything was in most circles social (if not actual) suicide, and Grace could be charming... in an unsubtle way.

Both would be adults. Grace was notoriously compassionate under all her bark. Surely she would keep her head down, make light conversation, and move on. Let the sleeping dogs lie.

"What do you mean Greg got fired!"

The whole room tipped towards the interview nook where Grace's voice rang out. Forget earwigging, a few of the more athletic up-and-coming were perching on chairs, eager to see the explosion in real-time.

Giovanni took a sip of his drink, unsurprised and unbothered. Waiting for the howled tirade that would be the cue to have Grace Evens hauled out. She was a predictable girl, and this bait was laid out to hit all her triggers.

"Alright," Grace's voice carried, not because she'd fallen prey to her passion, but because all music and talking had stilled. And until she hit her truly spectacular upper ranges, the Rocket was content to leave her be.

He could afford to look like a gentleman, He'd leave her be, let the lady of the hour dig her own social grave, and never have to see her again.

In a mute toast, in celebration to her being gone, he indulged another smoke-flavored sip, and waited. Very much the picture of the Persian who'd gotten the cream.

"What can you tell me, without getting fired?"

That was an odd inquiry. Giovanni flicked an eyebrow up. A Made Man among the servers met his eyes and shrugged. A mute, "damned if I know, Boss".

Well, that was interesting. Giovanni was surprised that the media spokesperson would dare explain anything. Daring to try to keep a secret, it was downright ballsy.

Especially with how overt he'd been in destroying Greg Preston's career..

There were whispers, as the interviewer explained... something... Unfortunately, the explanation didn't carry. He'd have to peruse the media channels after this party and see what had been said.

See how far the reporter had dared to go after slipping his leash.

"Alright, I can work with that." While a bit elevated, Grace's voice wasn't in the range to warrant a scene. He waved a hand, and since this was technically his party, the music thrummed to life. His men among the staff got into position as Giovanni settled into his chair, deciding that if her words carried over the song, it would be time for her to go.

Showing some restraint, Grace Evens didn't cause a scene. And when she wasn't doing so, the woman was very much a case of out of sight out of mind. After a while, Sakaki called off his men, stood, and resigned himself to the tame enjoyment of socializing with his lessers.

It wasn't all that bad. He enjoyed his wine, nettling a few rivals, and the woman about were an artwork.

He alternated his small pleasures with the company of small men. Tolerating the boasting of businessmen bragging about 'mon they could control, their brats, and cars, all with a patented "friendly" smile that was soft enough to avoid comparisons to a banette.

The night came and went, and he'd woken as he always did after these stupid things, mildly drained, and not looking forward to his work obligations.

Technically it wasn't like anyone knew he hadn't overindulged. He could use a hangover as an excuse to be a bit late. It wasn't like management could fire him or something.

Between an unseasonably chill in the air and his late night, he indulged an odd lethargic morning. Sauntering about, making breakfast, taking the time to train his team.

Repast done, nursing his morning pre-work cup, he decided to break with his norms. There was a small mystery to unravel, last night's aborted scene was still teasing his interest. So he skimmed over sections of the paper he'd never bother with, and when he found the transcript of Grace Even's rant...

He nearly choked to death on his coffee.

Per the descriptive text she'd been seething. Lips pressed into a thin line, tone a hiss, teeth clenched. He might have feared for his life had he been in grabbing range of her. Luckily she'd kept away. And there was no way in hell she could get to him now.

"You want my opinion on that.. that- Are you obligated to censor this?

The media outlet had wisely not spelled out what they'd said in response. Leaving Ms Even's dialouge to stand alone and the reader to draw clues from the context.

Yes?

Will I get kicked out for excess profanity?

Yes?

Fine. I can work around it.

That mother- (crap his mother's dead)- oh wait, I got it!

Descriptors had been jotted down. The media analysist had compared her smile to a sharkpedo's, pure teeth and malice.

You can tell that Matron necrophilic, zebrstrike's glutinous gluteus maximas, shipment of expired tauros fertilizer, that if he wants people to stop pointing out inconvenient truths, like the false charity he rattled off last time, he can start by being a decent person first.

And if he needs a pointer he can begin by returning the donated funds he demanded be "re-acquired" from Viridian Gens pediatric fund! It, like all donations, is in the public records, incident report-"

To his horror, he realized that she'd memorized the public record code of the charity adjustment. Right down to the page number.

Suddenly, Giovanni really didn't want to go to work. His legal jobs at the gym, and Viridian Co, would be awash in reporters once this got out. And it was out.. the Verdant Star was Viridian's premier reporting resource.

As for his less than legal familgia affairs...


Hell, if she heard about this, Nona might want to have words. His subordinates, while cowed, had a few lines they'd refuse to cross. Messing with a children's charity might be one of them.

Fuck his life. He was going to have to make calls and release a press statement to publically apologize.

Then to add salt to the wound, his phone rang. Caller I.D. confirmed it was Gio Corp, his P.R. was on the line.

In more than one way.

Knowing he'd need something, anything, to take the edge off Giovanni rooted through his fridge. Found something strong, and dropped a dollop in his cup. As he answered, he prayed the shit storm wouldn't be too bad.

Would this be a slap on the wrist? Or hell incarnate?

A few minutes in, after the toned of brimstone and fury were made loud and clear, Giovanni sighed. The chewing out reminded him of Nona, and thinking on that old shrew recalled to him an old Sakaki saw. A saying about God and Sakaki's.

When He created everything, from beast to man to 'mon, He set aside no mercy for Sakaki's.

Damn his life for proving that old yarn right yet again.

Spoiler: Companion part 2 i.p.

Villian-tines challenge,
Prompt: Companion, part 2

Edit notes: establish buisiness and season. Show growong distaste (is she go8ng to eveeything? Answer she is and shes become Viridians darking ovenight. Mix match of trying to catch her luck, her eye, or hear her outragious statments. ) show uptick in her disrespect of gio, -hes a classist snob- something that he returns since shes "put of her place". Gios only holding back because shes ligjt level annoying and a woman, but hes reconsidering.
explore his motive in harassing, shes as much of a two fsced bastard as everyone else. She only axts nice. And hes gping to prove it out of spite and get her OUT. She picks up on this and starts tsking everythingto eleven, but knows shes on borrowed time so dou les doen on autrism drove.

There were... about three months of back-and-forth barbs. She'd criticize his style as being a "mob knockoff". Any repartee he'd shot back was dampened by the fact that P.R. took her side. He had been forced to liven up his wardrobe as a result. Not willing to give her anything like a victory, he countered with a similar stab at her "charity cast off" garb. When that hadn't made a dent, he adjusted his digs. Attacking the charities she patronized, rooting up false causes, embezzlement, and corrupt persons.
She'd been satisfyingly flatfooted at his attack, and he'd thought he won. Anticipating a few events with peace and quiet. During her next interview, she had saucily thanked him for his "dedicated research in helping her improve Viridian". He'd saved her a fortune digging into those companies.
Her description of a fortune had allowed him to make stabs about her bottom line, which, like everything, else she ignored. As a matter of fact she'd taken a piece off his chess board. Destroying a tactic he had been anticipating employing against her with a throwaway line. She;d been prompted to speculate about his next move. She said that if he started lying, there was a fun thing called slander laws, and that'd be fun if he tried that. She'd love to see him, in court. He could try scraping up another public apology. She'd loved his first one and felt he should do them more often.
It had made a wonderful ringtone.
He had to be talked down by a fellow consigliere from ordering a hit.
The insanity peaked.
When he wasn't running an event, the other hosts of Viridian were of one mind. Exploitation. They were renting seats in the interview nook at premium prices. Giovanni had learned to ignore the newest persons as nuances, something insanely difficult when he realized they were having judges grade their repartee. But it wasn't too bad if he beat her to the event first. Things stayed sane.
Her beating him when Work had made him fashionably late, had led to a long infuriating long wait. She didn't have the sense to ignore the new people. She chattered to every judge, and guest, and occasionally netted the help in her meet and greet fest. She spoke to them about their lives and was feeding the media train with what he knew was a false sweet front.
One torturous long, patently fake, sugar fest, had driven him to storm past everyone and order the strongest liquor at the event. And the fling he'd indulged had been to get this... stupidity out of his system. But still, it burned, her patently false front wore at him, she was a fake, and he'd find a way to prove it.
The sooner she was debased in the public's eyes, the sooner she left his orbit.
All the evidence of her being an utter fake became public when at one event, they both arrived at the same time.
There was no way for either one to leave. The media had them encircled. Penning them in to force the drama to the fore.
Giovanni braced himself, he was an adult, a Made Man, some sassy little thing that didn't make it to his chin wouldn't wear him down if he exerted some willpower.
It took five minutes before their chill greetings, devolved into snipping, scaling up to social threats. He'd almost drawn his 'mon at one searing line, she'd almost whipped out her tazer at the sight of his social front crashing down.
An interviewer had grown a pair and stepped in front of her, reading all the warning signs correctly. He stepped in front of Evens, shielding her, and asking, in an acidic tone, if Giovanni had any clue he was harassing?
Having that familiar line that he'd normally whip out at the press to cow them at their most rabid made him step back. He was about to counter, something acidic and threatening to their livelihoods, when his old famiglia guard Orm grabbed his shoulder and physically pulled him back. He was the only active famiglia member with enough clout to be seen with him in public.
"Gianni," the old mobster hissed, "devi darti una calmata, cazzo,".
Giovanni deflated, stepped back, and through grit teeth, apologized.
Not to a woman who was near fainting with fear, or pressed against her human shield, but one who was considering him with a mix of distaste, and caution.
Lips pressed into a thin line. Grace pushed past her protector, head tipped up, and stepped into his personal space, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. "I suppose you won't be a bastard for once, and skip making any surprise pink slips for these people?"
"Of course," she'd bodily swept between him and the media, but also, was pivoted to step in if he got aggressive towards Orm.
Her courage stilled his rage, he took a deep breath, and let it out. Grumbling the admittedly lame, "As I said, I stepped over the line. It's been a long day."
She couldn't help herself it seemed, not even having the grace to just take his offering at face value and leave it be.
"You don't see me biting everyone's heads off, considering my day was worse than yours."
Misery poker? Really? How disappointing.
His dry kneejerk reaction, a few words to poke at the vitality of her statement, should have been brushed off. She'd ignored similar prods before. It was practically permission for them to carry on in tamer terms, and then part company after a few rounds.
Not this time. The one time he hadn't meant to start something, he'd hit a nerve.
"Unless your day involved informing two parents that their kids weren't making it, that it was painless when you know it wasn't, then you will fucking shut up, take your pity party, and leave me the hell alone."
Orm should have stepped between the two of them. It was his job. But Giovanni didn't blame him for not. This was his screw-up. The consigliere nodded, accepting the hit and censure, and gave her more than enough space to leave. Either to go in, or go home. The floor was hers.
Swiping her eyes, grumbling about "stupid damned dues", she plastered on a watery version of her social front and swept into the event proper.
He gave her until the count of fifteen to get out of hearing range. Letting his black eyes scroll over media, persons, and devices. "Delete that, and if this gets out in any way that is unflattering to Ms. Evens. If even a breath of her near HIPPA violation gets out, there will be consequences."
She'd said pink slips were taboo and seemed blissfully oblivious that he could do more than mere firing, so he followed the word of her dictate and added his own twist. It was something of an apology, something of a peace offering.
In the end, the party had been a disaster. As a courtesy, he'd set his people to smooth over the feathers she'd ruffled. Not that she'd thanked him, simply lingered long enough to fulfill some odd "dues", before leaving.
The cameraman's statement from the beginning of the night bothered him. Giovanni'd spent a few days perusing first his,m then the Mobs, and finally Viridian's public records as a result. He unearthed bits and pieces, but his finds were disjointed, at best.
DId he know who she was?
No, Giovanni did not who Grace Evens was. Besides, to quote her" "the luckiest bitch in Viridian". And, as he dug, he found out that no one else seemed to know anything either.
XXX
The next party, after receiving a long pleading call not to stir the pot, Grace toed the line. Leaving her chatter to pleasant "how do you do"s, and dancing the night away. Her shortie at the door was to muse about how she liked men's ties. It was such a wonderful barometer, you know, to gauge their level of delusion about their masculine attributes. And ties had the added perk of making a wonderful deterrent for anyone getting handsy.
The hand gesture she'd used for her jab had been, unsubtle.
The two mobsters, overtly so for the red R monogrammed front pockets, and their flowing ties, took offense at her entering snark. A precarious prickliness oozed off the duo that could have led to a tragic accident had Giovanni given the word.
He didn't.
It was too public. Too obvious. And after a fortnight of having to scrape and bow to the masses to make amends for his "secretary snafu" as well as several generous publically documented and legitimate donations, he'd had brought some consideration to his interactions with one Ms. Grace Evens. He was content to let the two brothers run their patterns of meet and greet at this event. Rocket was here to remind the rich and powerful that Rocket was watching, and untouchable. They did their rounds without his blessings to "entertain themselves" later.
Perhaps they thought he would clean house himself.
A month ago, certainly, now? Now he was content to let things go.
Going over her files had been, at first, an exercise in scraping up some blackmail... His labor had changed tenor as he dug. Given more money than the government, what does she do? She takes classes to gain entry into one of the world's most unforgiving fields and then pay her classmate's fees.
Between charity work, medical work, and donations, she was shaping up to be a Mother Teressa.
And what type of man was he to interfere with that?
Realizing he was encroaching on heights of cruelty that'd put his own Nona to shame he'd choked down pride and... stepped back.
A truce of sorts seemed to be struck. Having not gotten a rise out of the right man (he'd been her target he, was sure) and now aware of the type of men that could be at these parties, Grace scaled back her ribald commentary. Refusing to be riled up to greater heights unless provoked. And Giovanni was content to distance himself from Grace Evens. THE woman was a disaster, a mildly amusing one, that he lingered near to catch snippets of what she said. Especially if a rival of his looked discomforted.
Crassness aside, her wit was a rare treat. Waffling between mean, insightful, with a generous coating of sarcasm.
In the circles he ran everyone was either icily polite or vulgar and cruel, her ribbing was as gentle as a feather in comparison.

Her debasing of Clay, a fellow euntreperunor with less than legal ties, had been a sight to behold. The older man's reliance on child labor, and wildly unsafe conditions in his mines, painted him as too short-sighted for acquisition for Rocket. That, and his "homely friendly folks" front set Giovanni's teeth on edge. So it was no big loss to anyone when, after being shamed by a mere nurse, Clay had bowed out of the Kanto Region.

Her rebuffing his advances after, where he'd merely offered protection and company for the night, hadn't hurt his feelings.

Not at all.

She'd been surprisngly civil. Though the no was laced with a familiar jab of wit, it barely stung, and been softened further by a wry smile. She hadn't been aiming to draw blood, he'd tolerated those types of jabs from her before, and had met wraith for wraith when his pride demanded it.

But it wasn't a matter of pride. She just wasn't interested, and she left the event not too long after.

As the night wore on he considered things from a woman's perspective. Vulnerable, freshly accosted, then to have another gym leader approach? Clay had been trying to lure her into the coat closet to take her then and there for God's sake, of course she said no to the next gym leader who made chit-chat. It was a miracle she hadn't drawn her taser on him.

Still, comprehension and compassion did not mean his pride wasn't stung. Licking his wounds, nursing his cup, he fore-goed any niceties. His social mask slipped a bit. While he wasn't scowling at everything with a pulse, it was a damn near thing.

The kangaskaun incident had come and gone. She'd tolerated him at her work to oversee the 'mon. And the event after the hospital visit, they hadn't said a word, just nodded at each other. Whike it wasn't his victory, being on the edges had left him amused. Thinking back on that spat of gloriously engineered madness had gotten him through mid-year fiscal reports with something like a smile.

And before he knew it, it was winter again. He'd eased off his social rounds quite a bit. A branch of the mob, Urben Collections, had turned rebellious and needed its annual pre-holiday pruning. It'd been bloody work, but he ended his tour of the famiglia offices satisfied and content that the dead wood had been culled.

It's almost been fun unearthing the illegal (and unsanctioned by Rocket) gambling ring. Turning the greedy saps to the Don and Nona had him in the running for a promotion, his cut of the take after dues had netted him a neat profit, and as a final insult, he'd turned the property over to the police. Earning public support for his "proactive approach to ferreting out crime", and making sure the land deeds were traced to an upstart trying to nose into one of his fields.

It'd been a damn fine four months of work, ending on a sweeping win, and he was positively cheery, not even having to re-open his gym next month and start dealing with the influx of brats could bring him down.

Of course, that's when things hit the fan.

He'd gotten a news update about his social life before he'd become cognizant of the fact himself. An embarrassment considering information was his life's blood. Still, the splash page of opinions declared his personal affairs in a light he hadn't considered...

Six months since Viridian's most eligible bachelor has had a lady on his arm. Is business bad, or has Viridian's new foxy mistress got the keys to the kingdom?

They'd put a photoshop of him and Grace front and center of their little... blurb. He looked nice, she looked nice, but neither of them had gone to any event dressed like that at the same time. Much less together, arm in arm, like the photo suggested.

He was going to send a swarm of rabid zubats to Viridian Times. Perusing the Green Inquirer, he found what basically amounted to the same article. Verdant Star had interviews with some of his previous flings for added spice. And really, the Viridian branch of the Mob did not have enough zubat to spare to harass three businesses, one which was ten stories.

Damn him, he was going to have to do something drastic. Before, to draw attention away from his Mob work, he'd run a spree of exhausting but satiating public flings. Nearly getting caught a few times. Flirting with public censure and defunding from the more sober-minded elders in his field had he actually been caught.

He still had a little black book. It was filled with addresses and names. A call to any of those women for a round two would make waves. But that idea seemed.. dissatisfying for some reason.

His phone buzzing him made reach, not bothering to read the caller ID.

It was P.R., of course, they knew everything, and had opinions on everything. No surprise there. They also had something like a plan.

It... wasn't a bad one, persay. One that he'd normally be passed up a script to and he'd follow along to get it over with. But this scenario needed two to pull it off, and Grace's representation wasn't picking up. Gio Corp and Viridian Co' weren't finding anything, and the research and P.R. teams were getting a bit shrill.

While unusual, they found he had an in via sponsoring her a kangaskaun. While it was leg work that should be below him, P.R. knew that Grace Evens knew him. She might be less likely to tazer him.

With that ringing endorsement, Giovanni made a trip to Viridian Gen, lucky him.

Spoiler: I.p. companion

Part 3 and up i.p.

misc notes go8ng f9rward:
during lawyer meeting explain that gio has the most emploee diversity. Not just italians. Yes, he is everyjting she claims. Cold classest stuborn. But he provides the bulk of lavor to people no one would ever consider.

diversity trainingnis a joke. Fit in or else. Grace remembeeed andre being forced to atend after he slipped out and spoke in fremch... in the breakroom.

gios polixy is get the job done or else. And had a hard "i dont care what you do off the job unless it involves unwilling women, children, or the cops, then meet mr rhydon."

grace: thats not kindness

gio. No but its prudent. I like stability. Encourage it. Riots are bad for buisness. Class wars break down the streets/institutes i use. And starving masses can turn into ravening mobs. Somy budget for workers is generous. Medical, pay for food and board, and a little leash for indulgences. I could if i want to remove.. about 80 percent of my work force. 5x my value. Drag viridian imto the tech field and automate everytjign. Only keeping a few teams of techs. But that leaves the masses without recorse, desperate and w too much time on thier hands... so i pay them like i pay insurance. Grudgingly but acknowledge its nessescary. Theres a sliding scale in my personal life where i balance my distance... and
.. admitdly, my greed.... i'll not turn kanto into kalos. Or worse alola.

With that ringing endorsement, Giovanni made a trip to Viridian Gen, fake papers concerning the care and treatment of a rental Kangaskaun got her supervisors to tell him she was in, his celebrity granted him access through taboo areas to hunt her down.

All he'd need was a moment to talk to Grace alone. She'd sworn at seeing him, hand darting to her hip, then after a quick look to discern no one was coming, grabbed his tie and hauled him into a side room. Leading him into a place with tall shelves along the walls, quietly humming equipment on grey-topped islands, and glass beakers piled so thick on those shelves. She let him go once the door was closed, and he took a half step away from the walls to feel safer.

She was hardly pleased to see him. Understandable. Still, her dig that this article was his idea to force them together...

That hurt, something deeper than pride, something closer to the core of him.

"I know what the word no means." He'd snarked back. "And despite my many failings, I don't force myself onto women. I'm not my father. I also don't go to the media to ruin someone, like my mother used to."

"No, you just make a call to get someone fired."

"I indicated I was offended by what he asked." What had been asked? It'd riled him up, but the word-by-word exchange evaded him. Just a dull irritation remained. "What the newspaper did, as a result, was excessive, but I'm not culpable for their actions."

Her withering look, and more importantly the iron-tight grip on his tie, had him a mite alarmed. Mite became more substantial as he learned that Grace Evens had a nervous tick to wind things up in her hands while she thought.

"Things are dying down." The red tip was curled around her fingers. "The fewer scenes I cause, the fewer parties I get to go to." He lost an inch and a half between one word and a contemplative hum. " It sucks donation neting-wise... but my five minutes is almost up." He had to stoop a bit, and she smirked. Their eyes were perfectly even, she ran the red tip of his tie with a thoughtful thumb. " So why do you care?"

"I don't."

There went another half inch, they were nose to nose then.

"Bullshit."

She waited, steel-hued eyes boring into his. The color was that near molten silver of predawn, right before the sky ceded to the cycles that ended in palest blue.

Fuck, now he found some latent knack for poetry, with this woman? All his other speils had been stolen. The pinnacle of plagiarism. But this obstinate, compassionate, hothead, wreck of a woman...

His tongue wasn't tied. It had vacated the premises, taking his vocal cords, and higher brain functions, without having the decency to leave a ransom note.

When he said nothing, for forever and a day, she let him go with a soft, venomous, "Get out."

"Where is your security detail?"

Her lips thinned, misconstruing.. everything. But he beyond her paranoia, mind whirling. As a very poisonous idea settled into his mind.

"Not to deal with me. But with paparazzi. Crazed fans. The desperate. You won two lotteries back to back. One was the highest it's been in fifty years. You could be ransomed. Abducted, broken, and coerced to be a living piggy bank. Or worse. So, I'll ask one last time; where is your security detail?"

If she'd been offered the service and turned them away, he would lose his goddamned mind. She considered something, some secret in the tiles at her feet, then flicked her gaze up to stare at him.

"How does this have anything to do with-"

He was losing his mind anyway, as realization settled in.

"Your lawyer team. Your P.R. team. Mine has ben trying to get in touch with yours for two days," her blank look made his stomach drop. HE mentally scrambled, trying to adjust his thoughts to reach someone not in the Game, or not even well off. The strain made his head hurt. "I know, normal, mundane people don't have these things, but there's a difference when you are worth as much as a Region..."

"I think," she bit her lip, "that you need to sit down before you fall."

He wasn't hyperventilating. Something was leaking from one of those glass containers. That something was making the air thin. He let her guide him, and sat on a footstool, back propped up on a microscope island thingie as he adjusted to the odd air in here.

Her hand on the center of his back, ready to push him down, to breathe bent over double like he was some shock victim was a bit insulting.

But it felt prudent, nonetheless.

"Alright, feeling better?" He nodded, despite decidedly not, straightening in his seat to sell the deal. Looking down at him, face a study of detached disbelief, she exercised some mercy.

She didn't call him out on his crap.

Absently patting his back she stepped back, hand on hip, familiar death glare settling over her features. "Alright, my lunch break is up in," a watch was consulted. Some generic brand that tried to look elegant but it sported a big-box logo stamped on its side. He was dying. No sane person with means would buy from... ung thinking the name made him sick, he flicked his gaze away, refusing to give that company a thought or even a full read of their name.

The child labor scandals alone would make anyone with morals burn everything with that name. Poaching the staff raised the public's regard of Gio Corp, and was considered a mercy to the abducted staff. And Grace didn't know any of this or she wouldn't wear that watch.

It was the last tell.

None of those scandals had made it to the mainstream print. It was a sick inside joke of the Elite. And Grace hadn't had a clue.

He was dying, possibly wheezing. The proximity of this final proof was killing him.

She swept a hand over his forehead, a quick temperature check, and the light shined in his eyes might of been insulting if he'd had anything like his wits about him.

But he didn't.

"I have fifteen minutes, so you have that long to not sound like a madman. Then, if you don't convince me, or refuse to leave, I'm calling the cops and getting you tested."

He'd needed five.

XXX


There were protections. Ten years of them that should have automatically swanned in. The lotto set aside funds and personnel so uptight the Mob had no leverage over them. She should have had guards, financial advisors, and a set of lawyers at her beck and call, free of charge, with explicit instructions to ease her into the lifestyle she'd lucked into.

There were enough horror stories and ugly events and resultant lawsuits from survivors that the lotto had dubbed it more fiscally prudent to have these things in place.

She'd had nothing.

A woman hell-bent on giving up everything of herself for others had no one and nothing. It was a well-established pattern set long before the money came into her life. Familial problems that she wouldn't elaborate on, and he respected family problems, he didn't pry. She confessed she resented the chasm her money built between her and her pre-winning friends. She'd ascended out of her familiar circles to find loneliness waiting.

Her solace, was being able to buy her way into a career that meant something. Her ambitions were familiar to the made man: to climb higher, to make her own way, not be someone's yes man. Her methodology was... alien. She wanted a better insight into the field, to see the problems of every level so she could fix said problems, so she endured said problems head-on.

She'd called out sick in that little sample testing room. Bit of bad food, she lied over the phone, didn't want to risk getting anyone else sick just in case it wasn't. She'd call back when she was feeling better...

"Never played hooky before?"

Pocketing her phone Grace was settled beside him. Soft-soled shoes squeaked on the tiles as she settled, scrubs crinkling at every motion.

Giovanni shook his head in answer to her question. Bemused at the idea of not having expectations that steep. Nona and the Madam would have killed him had he dared. He suspected that the P.R.s of Gio and Viridian co' had a little torture chamber set up, just for him, if he decided to pull too much shit. Their tones over the phone damn well sounded like it. He'd confessed as much, with a dry little smirk that was almost genuine.

She'd laughed at that.

Her amusement felt like a win. Even if this situation and its insanities were definitely not. She'd flipped through his fraudulent papers. Smart thing she was, she'd found the tells that showed them to be neither binding or relevant. And it took her all of two minutes. She made an interesting picture while she worked, digging deeper into the folder, and pulling out the articles that had started him on this path.

Once upon a time, he'd had plans of whisking her to a discreet eaterie, showing her the papers, and talking there.

The floor of Viridian Gen, backup bio lab B1, where she happily set up shop, hadn't been anywhere in the equation.

Looking up from the Times, finger marking her place, she considered him. "Seriously though, why?"

Again, with his tongue, and the ransom note, this was becoming a thing.

It was more than "a thing" it was becoming a problem.

"Look, look at this from my perspective. You're a creepy stalkerish rich guy who makes it his life mission to troll me via media blurbs and firing of the few friendly people I talk to at parties. And let's be blunt. Some of the shit you did, condoned, and said, was pretty damn cruel. I met fire for fire, because fuck you, I am not some "mid-aged tramp cosplaying as a nurse to get tail"..."

He hadn't said that. Had been present and perhaps smirked, but it'd been Viridian's Don who had... She wordlessly cut his protest off. Aggressive noises and a sharp elbow to his rib did the job.

"Shut up. I'm not done. Then you do a one-eighty. You point out the fact I've not only been left high and dry by a fiscal construct that has been in place for decades but that I have a giant target on my back. Why the fuck do you care all of a sudden?"

There was a God, his tongue got free of its bonds and rallied his brain, so he wouldn't sit there like a stupified fool.

"Honestly, initially," he made a throwing away gesture, some unformed reason stumbled upon then discarded. Had he continued it'd be incoherent babbling. He took a breath, let it out, and continued. "Look, the important thing is I didn't want another relationship feeding frenzy. The paparazzi are bastards, you've had runs-in with them before that went badly, and I wanted to talk plans to derail this before it got to people forcing themselves past our-" Well she didn't have any protection detail, so he corrected himself with a huff. "My guards. Getting asked stupid questions, dragging grown-ass adults out of my trash bins, the cameras, overt stalking, and the shakedown of my relations... I'd like to avoid that."

Nona would kill him if his Persianing around got the police watching the Sakaki's, again. Unless the lucky girl popped out a boy. Then he might be forgiven, but only if it was a sharp and sturdy brat. otherwise, grown man or not, Nona had a Rod with his blood on it, waiting.

"I've lived this before, and if that happens to me, despite my "serviper rage monster vibes"," she nearly choked at her description of his state during his blow up, and he tipped her a small grin, letting her know no hard feelings, "well, imagine what they'll do to you."

"It's that bad?" she sounded both ill and disbelieving.

"It can be."

She stared at him, long and hard, illness folding to horror. "Arceus damn it... you aren't screwing with me..."

"If you crack, give even an accidental hint that could be construed as... anything familiar with me. With this?" He tapped a photoshopped image. "Their hysteria will scale higher. They'll ping between the two of us, looking for cracks, rumors, anything to forward their choice narrative. And flat-out denials are going to look like-"

"Playing hard to get." There'd been other celebrity tales that'd gone exactly like that. The dodging had led to year-long efforts to drag the reluctant together. "Arceus, there should be laws against this sort of thing... But, perhaps... What if I disappear off the scene? Suppose I buy a house in the middle of nowhere, change my name, dye my hair, work at different hospitals..."


"Instead of you changing your whole life, letting them win, we could jerk the vultures chain, and keep them out of both of our lives."

"I'll listen." Was promised grudgingly. "After you explain that initially bit."

God fucking damn it, he glowered at her, face flushing in rising temper.

"I'm trying to hel-"

"Every creepy stalker story where the dark brooding millionaire starts trying to gaslight some virgin teeny bopper starts with that exact line."

He'd read that book. Had too. As self-defense from the insanity people either tried to enanct once they were inspired by it. There'd also been some vile traps and expectations he'd had to doge as people forgot what fiction was and expected money to bypass consequence and physical limitations.

"You aren't a teenager, I'm not stalking, and I don't run porn anything. If I tried to abduct you I'm damn sure you'd kill me, bumble your way into absorbing my assets, and make Kalos spontaneously combust from the size of your bank account."

She grinned at that. "Sounds like a good time. Does say tomorrow, nine pm, work out for you? There's a nice back alley by Flint and Third."

Oh for the love of-

She did not just suggest a time and place to off him!

Well, not seriously, but still....

"Mother Mary's mercy, woman," he was channeling Nona, God help him. " You are a menace that I should leave to the sharkpedos."

"And you are an avoidant prick. But what else is new?"

Forget sharkpedo, she was a damned hounddoom with a bone. Twisting and searing her way to a confession no matter the cost. Or the fact the" bone", was a leg, attached to her screaming victim.

"I'll answer, but can we not do it here?" He was losing feeling, between being scrunched down so long and the artic cold flooring. He didn't know how she could tolerate it. "Please?"

"Wow. Basic human decency!" She not only tolerated but thrived. Shaking off her fear and rallying to find sarcasm and cheer in equal measure. It figured. "I've got to encourage that!"

If she could stop treating his disbasement like it was another wonder of the world, that would be nice. His scowl didn't make a dent. She was acting all damned sunny right now.

"So, confession, I don't know any rich person squeak easy sort of places... So, if you want to talk elsewhere? You'll have to lead."

"How's your Italian?" Because taboo aside about non famiglia being allowed to learn, if Grace Evens was going to be as infuriating as she could be she'd be fully fluent.

She twiddled a lock of red hair between her fingers, idly coiling it as she thought. He cleared his throat, neck tensing against the remembered grip.

"It's what I'd call... work adjacent."

Which was unhelpful, and "unhelpful" was fast becoming a norm for her. As were other words, like spiteful, sarcastic, a pain in his ass...

He'd avoid the prolonged progress, and demand proof. His, "Run something by me, please," made her raise an eyebrow. After a short span of tapping a finger at the bottom of her lip, she stilled, smiled, and it wsa a positivly vicious Persian's grin she canted at him.

"Lo giuro, se mi mordi ancora, Arceus mio testimone, ti trasferirò a Gastro, dove eseguirai una colonscopia obbligatoria senza antidolorifici!"

Her accent.. was something else... But he could parse through it, and Giovanni bit his lip. Eyes locked forward. Counting madly to twenty in three languages.

It was breathing that undid him. He choked on the air, then choking devolved into a croaked noise, that scaled up to a full-on belly laugh.

This was not the giggles, he was just overexuberant with his mirth, that's all.

"You did not!"

She smiled. Not a wide bright thing she flaunted at parties, but a small, sly, uptick that was higher on one side than the other. The sight made his stomach clench and his mind whirl around fancifal phrases. Old snippits of theater, plays, those ballads he'd eschewed for being too sappy.

They didn't seem enough to praise her with, not now.

Oh God, he was going to have to canvas his sources. Find out who she did threaten. See if she had actually carried it out. Because saints and sinners both, the blackmail material alone would be worth a fortune.

"How are you not dead yet?" He croaked, trying for something like self-control.

He was failing, God his insides hurt for laughing so hard.

"I'm pretty," she noted, not vain, just a candid truth. "And no one suspects a pretty little thing to do any damage or know how insides work. It's useful, sometimes."

And wasn't that a hell of a truth, and one hell of a threat, all at once? She got up first, ignoring the rules about niceties, and how he was supposed to help her. She pulled him up with a grip that seemed more stabilizing than intimate. The assistant was absent-minded, she was a world away, counting something and muttering something about cleaning room schedules.

Ignoring how he wobbled slightly.

His legs were more pin and needles than flesh. And he hurt in odd places from laughing too long and too hard.

Then she came back to reality for a bit, from her expression and the slant of her regard she was amused by something, about him.

"So that's what your real smile looks like. Nice to know."

She was, he decided, a mystery. Quite beyond his comprehension.

Gathering and repacking his papers, fedora swept up and put back in place, he fought the old impulse to smooth his expression to no-tell lines. He wasn't sure if he still looked however he had before to get that funny look, but the genuine amusement he was trying to indulge now felt right.

"I won't tell if you don't."

Her smirk tipped higher, showing the edge of her teeth, and made her eyes squint just so.

"Deal."

They shook, then ever the opportunist, she used the grip to hold him hostage. She wasn't done with him. Had more questions that he "wasn't getting away with not answering" she "wouldn't allow it".

He only escaped her wraith by promising to meet her in the parking lot. Describing his car down to the last detail and rattling off his plate number. And, when his parking spot wasn't enough, he gave her leave to do whatever the hell she wished to his Bently at the next social meeting if he dared ghost on her.

Despite his best efforts of making a smooth escape he still almost got penned in by the cleaning staff. Only a quick nip out the window and down the fire escape kept him from getting caught.

Xxx

He'd decided on The Roost when she said she wasn't that hungry, and he really wasn't either. The Roost was a curious place, not quite five stars, but miles above most chain and mom-and-pop eateries in Viridian. It was an open-air rooftop, ringed around by trees found in other regions, with shrub walls that had, supposedly, been harvested off the back of a grotile and transplanted ages ago. The resultant plant life made thick bushy aisles that guests would wander. The paths were interspaced with fish ponds, that ended in picture-esk grottos that guests made their own.

Chimecho nestled in the branches would sing and ring to alert staff, and their presence prevented most cameras and recording tech from working. During the walk, Grace had been bemused. Acting like a woman just finding out that there were little slices of fairy tale wonder squirreled away. But her amusement was tempered by the revelation that little islands of wonder did exist, but only if you had the proper contacts, and a deep enough wallet.

He'd, politely, slowed the motions of their reservation so she could learn them if she cared. Letting her see the custom credit card that had no name, activated by his fingerprint. Introducing himself under an alias, and curtailing her friendliness by passing her off as his "plus one".

"The less information you give, the more likely if you are sighted that no one can concretely identify your location to the papers. Roosts staff are discreet, but better safe than sorry."

"Noted."

A merrily bubbling fountain with a duo of splashing goldeen covered most chatter. The fish had been teased with samples from their plate when Grace had clearly needed a break from him. He'd left her to it, not exactly a fan of water types, and she'd learned that besides being a "soul-sucking beurocrat" he ran a gym. She was that out of touch with Viridian's gossip.

"Please tell me you know what Rocket is?"

He'd meant it as a half-hearted joke, he ended up shoving his foot in his mouth instead.

"You mean the people with red R's who are always so exciting to get as patients? Considering the ER drivers always "take the long" way when they drop them off and they're usually getting extra blood infusions because of it? Never mind the Rockets, I usually see are teens or pre-teen punks with attitude problems who wind up screaming for their parents because half the hospitals in Viridian won't allow pain meds without parent content. Parents who can't get to them to hold their hands much less grant content because the police linger in the halls waiting to arrest the whole family? Who try to take the kid's distressed wailing as evidence and run arrests on usually innocent people?" Grace rolled her eyes, then huffed. "Yes, I know what Rocket is. I don't watch television, or bother with the rags, sue me, medical periodicals are more relevant and don't kill brain cells."

She deflated then, flicked at a pile of napkins between them with a finger, not meeting his eyes.

"I'm going to sound like a hypocrite, but... can we scratch this off as "I'm having a bad day"? I know... politics are dicey, but Rocket means something different in my field than yours. You're not scraping kids off the cement and having to keep your body between them and the cops a few times a week."

"Alright."

She took up a few pages, skimmed over the Star for few moments, then uttered a tired.

"Arceus, I hate Officer Mandez so much."

She didn't elaborate on that non-sequitor, and he didn't ask, even though with her stoop to read better the strap of her dress moved just enough he could make out the dark mark of a bruise.

XXX

She rallied, leaving him to take a long walk to check out the other ponds, and once returned came back with a revelation. Grace's breakdown of P.R.'s plan was, a wry, "I know it sounds familiar", then she proceeded to outline the plot of a soap opera.

He'd bristled in offense, misplaced offense, as Grace's evidence was laid out. he started to agree.

She'd quoted the plot highlights of a banned bit of media. Popular in Galar, Le Famiglia, besides being misgendered, detailed the lives of made men, businessmen, and their dealings. It sloppily mixed and mashed every stereotype its writing could touch so badly that it left no wonder in Giovanni's mind why it had been banned in Kanto.

Then Johto.

Finally getting yanked from Unova after some calls.

Only the saps in Galar could watch it, and some enthusiastic tech in Viridian Gen's E.R might have found a way to splice the trashy show into the breakrooms. Which was how Grace had gotten to encounter it, accidental osmosis. That she knew the plot for each episode was repeat exposure, nothing else.

"I don't see how..." because he was only getting the bones and was getting offended with each plot twist, it was that bad.

"Replace your name with Itali-Tony's, and mine with Domadama's and what do you get?"

"A..." an abomination, he was going to say. Mental images he couldn't even harbor. Just the idea of them around the edges made him want a drink. Or gouge his eyes out. Or both.

His eyes flicked down, he read over P.R.'s proposal with new awareness.

"We are one child born out of wedlock from completing their arch in season three."

"I'm going to have to... have a talk... layoffs..." It wasn't even in a threatening tone, just a horrified warble that trailed off into a whimper.

"You do that," she patted his arm, "let me know how it goes. I guess I'll see you the evening of the sixth, at Elennor's flower thing then?" She was gathering up her things.

He grunted a wordless affirmative, and she almost managed to get away without him giving her his number. But some scratch of sanity reared up and he remembered it right before she got to the elevator heading down.

"Look I know this is bad," that he was, that everything coming out of his mouth sounded downright juvenile. He winced at her look, she was clearly deciding where to dig in first. He held up a hand, pleading, that she just... not.

Curiously she didn't peck at his moment of weakness, let him pull himself together.

"Look, we need to keep in touch. At least until this all dies down. I'll forward you an express delivery of an arcanine so you can start burning your mail and so that you have a guard. At least until you get things sorted at the Lotto office support team, alright?"

Ignoring the flicker of disappointment on her features, she sighed, and took his card "Well, I guess I can put this in a burner."

"Expect it to come express delivery," He was babbling, "the person will be in plain clothes, you'll get a message before with a picture. If it isn't..."

Mercifully she prodded him, and all it took was a nudge to shut him up. "I'm not five, Gio." She softened. "And I get it, you're sorry. Noted. You can stop giving me things now, it's creepy."

She hadn't accepted, and he deserved that.

"Maybe instead of throwing money at things, work on that temper?" She fiddled with a button, clearly wanting to be elsewhere.

He pulled back, so there was no way he could be considered as cutting her off, he was almost out of range of comfortable conversation. He swallowed, throat all but clicking in it's dryness. "I'm... I've been.." the confession came out, croaked. "I was worse when I was younger. The therapy has been helping."

Silver eyes flicked over him, scrolling from top to bottom. "Good for you. But, just to you know, being out, looking in, you have more work to do. Just saying."

The elevator dinged, and while they both needed to go down, he twisted his lips into a bitter smile. Slid his hands in his pockets with a wry shrug. "Thank you, for your honesty. It's... rare... in my work."

"Anytime."

She lingered long enough to check he wasn't joining her. When he shook his head and moved to wander off she boarded, letting the doors click closed with a sigh that the Rocket fought not to take personally.

XXX

He expected to not hear a thing until the fifth, he was not expecting a call at four the next morning from an unlisted number. He hung up twice, and it called back thrice. He picked up, grumbling into his pillows as he rolled over to glare blearily at his tech. Shoving his sheet about his waist just in case the visual clicked on.

"This better be important!"

"Morning to you too." Drawled that damned familiar voice, "I won't waste your time, are arcanine able to eat half of a meatlover's cheese crust pizza, or do I need to hang up and call nine-one-one? Because this yowling he's making is not a good noise."

"What?" He kicked Persian in his mad dash to get up, staggering to his wardrobe, he was fighting with his pants. "He ate, what, how?!"

If she fed that animate flamethrower her dinner he was leaving her to the lava-hot fecal explosion that was soon to be coming.

"So I guess Arcanine can open fridge doors, and he ate tomorrow's lunch, and tomorrow's dinner, and the day after's breakfast..."

A yowl sounded, a wordless wantmoremoremore, that froze Giovanni with his shirt half on. He shook off his shock and shoveled himself through, God damn the wrinkles the rough treatment was going to cause.

"That's not a pain call, it's... there's a sub-breed of Arcanine, calleded a "husky", that are very vocal. Dramatic. It sounds like this one is one of those."

"Oh thank God."

"Don't thank Him yet, Arcanine are lactose intolerant."

"And they express this intolerance by?"

"Intestenally. And their digestive tracks are meant to digest magmar, literally animate magma piles. What comes out is literally going to be flaming hot, even putting him in a tub to ride it out isn't going to be safe. He needs to be on asphalt, no plant matter, away from cars, and you're going to need a fire extinguisher and to keep watch over him for four hours, minimally."

"Oh... my... god..."

Horror thy name is Grace Evens.

"He just wants more, now, so he's not feeling it, but you probably have about thirty minutes before that changes. And shoveling him in a pokeball is only going to make him sicker when he gets out. Double his recovery time."

She was mumbling, counting something by the sound of it. "There's a lot on Granite streetand Sprout, an old park slash 'mon racing track, it's not exactly in the safest part of town..."

He knew the area, and mentally went over the various trade routes of his less than legal profession. There were no transactions meant to happen around there, it'd be safe, except for lingering opportunists.

Grace's voice cut through his waffling.

"What type of extinguisher do I need?"

"Grade a, foam, vaporeon brand..." Crap that was the gym's brand. He didn't know the household equivalent. "What normally works for electric fires should suffice, so long as it's doubled up. Douse the dog and his backside continuously at the start of each movement, he'll feel too sick to pull away and basically be immobile until he's emptied out and safe to be recalled."

"And the police use these things, regularly?" Her hysteria was... understandable. He could hear the click and clank as she dug through something and hit a pipe. "Fuck." something slammed shut. "I'm going have to borrow the extinguisher at the on-site 'mat, this isn't the right type. What can I do to stretch it out?"

Nothing safe, or sane.

"I can hit the gym, get supplies, and meet you there."

He didn't make it an order, as he would have for either poison control calling him for an assist or some kid on the trainer helpline when he was on duty. Her crimination about throwing money at things hung over his head, close enough that he didn't cross the line.

"Please."

Were he a petty man her begging would have felt like a victory, it didn't, and that meant... something.

He'd let mysteries remain such, recalling Persian who was yowling swears at him and chanting at him to come back to the nice, warm, bed.

"I'll be on site in ten."

XXX

When they were done, well, Grace meandered off to go to a hotel. She decided to splurge, calling in professional cleaners to tackle, the Trail. The caps were well earned considering the canine had exceeded expectations and started his expellment early, and from both ends. There was a trail of crap, vomit, soot, and foam running from her apartment, to her parking spot, leaving a charming path along her driving route to the parks parking lot.

In his opinion, the woman's car was a toss. But she was attached. Paid five times extra to have it treated, and once she was sure her goods were in competent hands, called a cab, and was on her way.

The Italian head worker looked to consiliere, to car, and the start of the Trail, and was considered mutiny.

"Just shut up and do your job, no comments, no skimming, and chuck the gym supplies while you're at it. If she tells me that one cent went missing I'll personally lop off your hands."

When he left, it was on the back of a gym loaned Fearow. After landing at home, Giovanni called out sick from all his work, his legal work. It felt a bit like a rush, just to tell them no, and high on that buzz he dared another call.

It seemed that the Don had no need for him.

Victories all around.

He caught up on his sleep, ordered his men, Made and otherwise, to be on the lookout for paparazzi, and went total blackout for twelve hours.

After waking up from a well deserved nap, he did one task from his legal to-do pile. He reached out to the head of his new P.R. and demanded something concrete he could pass Grace's way so they could hammer out an escape plan. Something not based off of any romantic cliches, or heads would roll.

They had til the third. As for him, he released the call, returning to complete blackout with relish. After a bit of waffling he decided it'd been far too long.

He pulled a thick book off of his" read later" shelf, and settled in for a peaceful evening in.

Xxx

The third was.. exciting to say the least.


Grace's newfound lawyer was a scrany, middle aged, man who needed glasses nearly as thick as a finger to read anything. Still, near disability asode, he represented her interests with the frevor a hounddoom took to starting forest fires. Even if his features basically amounted to a pair of glasses that eclipsed his whole face, a nose barely able to hold up his specticles, and a thin line of a mouth to vent his disapproval.

"Absolutely not." Round one of the contract was slid across the table to Giovsnni's man. "Per the anti-romance clause established by my client this cover story is completely unacceptable."

Orm's half brother, Orn, was a man most thought to be a beef head. Borad shoulders, small skill, thick fingered and forced into a pernament stooped due to an overabundance of muscles and old back injury. Any who thought so were fools, and Giovanni wouldnt of picked him to represent Gio Corps interests if Grace hadnt said bringing anythng less then his best was an insult.

So he had, and on her head be it. Chewing on his cigar, Orn took a draw, and expelled smoke instead of profanities.

"Page nine paragraph seven states that if the base material is hyper saturated a to the point that romance is impossible to avoid that a minimal amount can be employed."

"In no world does the idea of "minimal romance" and "preplanned makeout session that will be broke up by the parties staff" coincide ." Grace chimed in.

Both lawyers looked up, Orn flicked a bushy eyebrow while Grace's man blinked up at her.

"Ever hear of the Claringtons, Madam?" Orn drawled.

Grace shook her head.

"The celebrity family that got dragged into court about inbreeding, wasn't it?" Grace's lawyer noted.

"Did some work on them for a side hustle. Without breaking confidentiality, a fake make out session, that you could technically use to whale on my boss for a bit, so long as sounds of the assult is covered under prerecorded dialogue and doesn't break skin, is very tame."

"Technically she can what." Giovanni growled.

Orn took a draw. "I figure the gal could get some stress out. Not like you don't deserve- I mean, page fifty seven, under acceptable threshold clause, that due to extreame stress of close proximity to subject Mr. Giovanni, and paparazzi presence, which both parties finds is mainly Mr Giovsnnis fault per fsiling to maintain social obligations, that a) Ms. Evens is allowed no more then twenty punches, one groin attack, and one public and private episode of hair pulling, without Mr. Giovanni being able to file countersuit..."

"You work, for me." Giovanni rumbled.

"Orms a bit chatty at famigila dinners. And you know in our family pretty well. Our mama would have snapped our fingers for being rude to a nurse. The shit you pulled? Be glad she's dead. You went beyond rude, been a royal little bitch to a doc who doesn't "accidently" mix up meds for mafioso kids and call it a service to humanity."

Smoke swirled as Orn chewed. "Consider me... here for the money."

Giovanni was considering Orn in cement shoes, and he let his expression say it.

Silence, then chewing her lip, Grace wondered. "Not that I want to oer-say, but if I did, can i do it all at once, or do i need to spread it out?"

Orn directed her to the page and she read along, smile widening.

Panic felt like a fair reaction. He was definitly panicing just now.

"You took an oath to do no harm!"

"Only when I'm on the clock." Tapping a line, Grace chirped. "Excuse me is the groin shot applicable when he's doing one of those nasty "the poor are pathtic" speaches? And if I get suspended for "inappropriate conduct" from my job acting on a clause of this contract, can I get reinbursed? Also, if I'm fired, can I get reinstated in a different, Sakaki co' owned medical facility of my choice without fear of retribution?"

"The first, it depends on when and where you kick him. For firing and getting moved... we could probably wing something... Boss, whats her options?"

"You are seri-"

Three pointed looks said, yes, they were.

"Fuck..." he scraped a hand over his head. "I'm avoiding incuring the wrait of Azarcorp for... reasons. So most of my medical branch is mon pharmacuticals and training chancy. I do have first aide instructors for most manager positions. That'd be steady work. There is standby medical triage openings to guarentee the utmost saftey for visiting dignitaries and buisness personel during mass League events... but I would have to talk to thier H.R. to get the hard lines of thier requirements."

"I probably don't have that level of skill yet. And I'd need to get certified to teach." Grace mused. Then shook her head. "Nevermind. If I get fired, it happens. I can always move out of district, that basically wipes my disceplinary record clean, and work at a different hospital if need be."

"For clarities sake, when exactly were you planning to ah... enact that clause." Grace's lawyer drawled.

What was scary was that she didnt have to think about it.

"Next month's internationsl Buisness Summit, particularly the banquete. I don't know why i got an invide, since i vote Indi, but still..."

Still not believing his ears, Giovanni protested. "I am the least noisome bastard on the party list!"

"Yes, but I don't have legal protections to hit them to my hearts content."

"There are three acknowledged dictators gping to be present.". Goovanni sputtered. "Ghestis will be there. He preposed that the poor gathered up, neutered, and put in labor camps."

"I admit, I might be hitting you extra hard since i can't go after him."

There was a note of sincere despwration i his voice as he countered.

"Assaulting me, on camera, during an international event to promote free trade, is going to not only intice the paparazzi to an insane extent, but get you arrested,and blow huge holes in the cover story."

"Oh well," Grace sighed. "It was a nice thought amyway."

Though her gaze was tipped down no ine missed the mischivious tip to her lips or the glint to her eyes.

"This does draw attention to the fact... that morally speaking... you and Mr. Sakaki do run a very different gauntlet. For an appropriate facade of bonding, you'll need to make a few public appearences in places Ms. Evens frequents after hours."

"If i bring him to the food bank amd kitchens, particularly Arisons, the staff and people getting fed, will riot." Grace elaborated, promted by both Giovanni and Orn's looks of disbelief. "Most of them were displaced by that gentrifying contract in '84, and that project has Viridian Co's hands all over it. If I bring Gio in he won't be getting out."

"Not ideal for the case." Grace's lawyer hummed. "Ideas?"

Charity work meant being strong armed by the Nona to help down on thier luck mafisio members during the lean winter months. He'd mainly been put on repairs and 'mon wrangling until he'd gotten old enough to move out. He shook his head, more to get the idea out than make a statement.

"Most of my improvement work for Viridian is remote, mainly passing funds to wiser heads. Orn?"

"I'm a greedy bastard. My moneys between me and God, let the local Father decide what to do with what I toss to the collection plate. Not my buisness. What other charity things you do, Madam?"

As she listed a few other activities Giovanni was mentally imagining her at Nonas, during a famiglia dinner. It'd be a massacre once she cracked the Shop code. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.

"Wait, back up a moment." He gathered his attention from the fanciful image of Nona and Grace attempting mutual homicide with cooking skewers. "The library book drive... in three weeks, that has possibilities."

"And we are going far ahead. Three weeks? We need to all agree about the fifth, in two days. Every interaction, every scene, it needs to fit together so we can build this scam proper, sell it, and then move on."

"Well, I can't go from trying to gouge his eyes out with my nails to swanning in on his arm. No one is going to buy it, right?"

"In... certain circle, yes, they would." Grace's lawyer warned. "And if push comes to shove we might have to go that route."

"As the media portrays me, with my interviews, and everything... It's established I don't need his money and it's been hate at first sight."

That was the narrative being spun by most of the journals and tabloids, even if the truth was a bit more nuanced. It'd been indifference for both until Grace had stung Giovanni's ego. Then the mutual distaste had moved in.

Giovanni cleared his throat, "She's gotten to me before, enough to make me publically apologize. That's been established as extraordinary. You know the old saws. A Sakaki doesn't apologize., they don't back down or don't forgive or forget..."

Grace grimaced. "That never gets any less weird, hearing rich people talk about themselves, like its almost in third person."

"Personal branding, its pretty common." Orn chimmed in.

Grace's lawyer chimed in. "Mr. Sakaki, with all due respect all callouts to that program, were banned, page-"

"Yes, but the cycle, from enemies to friends, to more... we could mirror friendship at first."

The next he directed to Grace directly, making her tip her head, considering. "I put up a front of extending my resources, yes you're learning, I won't meddle. But with me behind you, an established power leveling outrage at the corruption of the lotto division.... You could use the publicity of having to be saved as a springboard for that suit. Damages you were filing for could be compounded since now, two people were endangered by their incompetence."

Silver eyes thinned, and she hummed. "Could we play the friendship card until the suit ended, then arrange a falling out?"

Orn barked a smokey laugh. "You might be able to play that card for.. two months, three... maybe four at most. Our Gianni's been a bit of a tom Persian, if you catch my drift. I'm honestly surprised he hasn't netted himself an heir or nine."

To Grace's look of burgeoning panic, her lawyer Damion, chimed in. "Theres at least twelve clauses in here against amy type of fornication, with fees that'd make Ghestis estate blanch if theu're breeched. Unless Mr. Sakaki has a slush funt ten times higher than his projected net income he'd be insane to lay a finger on you."

"You have to understand, from where I come from... Having causes against... Having to set this up just to escape. This whoke thing is insane."

And Giovanni expexted the only reason she was tolerating tjis was due to two very ugly incidents mere days before. One near riot where the hospital had called the police. And one insidiois stunt where a "patient" had been a reporter hiding under zoroak's illusion. The illusion had broken down during the examination, and the fall out was going to be the choice conversation among the catty during the party on the fifth.

No one here had gotten to warning her about that, and Giovanni was seriously considering doing so via text so he'd not be anywhere near the fall out of her reaction.

"And again, Ms. Grace, we're going too far afield for today." It was a curious thing. The training that had made Orn suitible for breaking people's bones set him up for seeing the signs of when they were going to break from pressure. Gathering up the papers, Orn swept them aside. "Lets take thirty. Take a walk along the walkways, get a drink, call a loved one, whatever. Then when we all come back theres going to be some ground rules. Only the fifth matters, one day, that's it. This," Orn tapped his page. "Doesnt exist. Capishe?"

His face more glasses then feature, Damion considered his client his blank facade, his small mouth pressed into a thin line. "I don't see any traps here Ms. Evens, and a good walk to stretch out would be nice..."

Grace folded to the needs of others, before her own, as always.

"Alright."

Xxx

She found him during her walk. A legitimate accident. He'd been hunting for a quiet place beyond the hubub of the other offices where other negotiations were happening. He'd gone so far as to go a story up and finding an open air break area to light up. She'd done one lap, gone up a level, then during her sexond circuit smelled smoke and investigated.

He moved to put out his cigar as she approuched, but she waved him off.

"You were here first, and i'm not on the clock, so don't worrt about it." She sniffed. "Sweeter then i'm used to, but it's kinda homey, actuallly," she took a seat on a bench a ways back. "My brother used to smoke."

Noting the past tense he murmurred, "Condolences."

"Arecus no, he's not dead, just in jail. He is rather stupid, joined the mob. Thought he'd make something of himself and raise us out of poverty." She snorted. "His few cuts he got? New tv, paintjob for his car, no one else saw a coin. But.. well you know the stories. If you aren't born in..."

You became a patsy, unless you provided some long runming service. Giovanni had used and abused such assets himself. He wonder which capo or consigoer had screwed that particular man-child over.

Hell, he mused as he took a draw, it coild have been himself.

"He's probably the only family on my sode that could cause anytjing like a scandle. Like in the news, everyone else is in the staiight and narrow... and really narrow minded."

Letting his eyes flick closed he considered a few options. Savorong the last visages pf warmth, he expelled smoke, tkltong away from her, before responding.

"If anyone grills you abkut my family, or asks if i spilled any secrets, your best response is "no comment"."

She winced. "That bad?"

She'd been candid, and because this was looking to be long running deserved more than his patch and ignore answer.

"I only visit three times a year, under direct orders, to keep my Nona... my grandmother, from releasing blackmail on me."

Grace's next question was obvious, but she waited while he took a bracing puff.

" She raised most of us, you see, so she's got shit on everyone. She drags every Sakaki into her orbit, makes us bow and scrape and fight against each other for her entertsinmemt. She makes our sucsesses hers, the vicarious bitch, then takes a cut of my money."

He could see the social justice rising in her eyes. He smirked, waved a hand to still what would be an admitibly amusing outburst.

"Yes, I know it's less then legal. But theres enough mob ties in my family, shes got enough hooks in all of us. Its not safe to cut her off or.tip my hand. I pay her, leave, live my life, and wait my next summons."

"I am sorry you have to put up with all of that."

He hummed a non-commital noise.

"Am I going to have to deal with her? Because, honestly, she sounds like my Mom and i never could be in her company too long without trying to take the Tauros by the horns."

Weighing Graces character, a morass of brashness, cattiness, compassion he compared all that to the reality of living with a watered down imagining of Nona.

"How did you survive?"

"If Mom could of called a hit, fixed me, I probably wouldn't have. So I got to live on, be her sjitty disapointment wjile my big brother's "sacrifice" ensjrined him in her mind. How'd you?"

He didn't correct her mob lingo. Simply amswered.

"Luck, tenacity, and being willing to blend into the croud and take orderd. Being under her thumb left me with some anger issues, or so I'm told."

She snorted. "Well, let me tell you, the occasional temper tantrum is not as exhaustong as trying to save everyone. Want to trade?"

"Our deep seated psychological issues?" He checked, flicking her a genuine smirk. "I don't know... I'd look aweful in scrubs."

"I'll leave the zoot suits and ties to you then."

He snorted. Savoring his last draw least he cross a line about how if she really wanted, he might let her divest him of....

Better not to go there. He snuffed out the ember. Scraping the ashes along the rail and flicking the remnants over the edge. It probably wouldn't make it into the dumpster, five stories down.

"This." He pivoted, a quick flick of his hand, to better show the cut and seam of jisnsuit. "Is not a zoot suit. I am offended. The designer, Canali, wpuld not stoop so low as to... to pass me off in the Mobs equivulent to a shirt and sjorts combo."

Grace managed to hold a straight face for a moment or two, before cracking up.

"Oh god, you're one of those."

"One of what?"

"I bet your wardrobe is bigger then my apartment."

"Considering you live in a shoebox."

"With thirty pairs of shoes. One for each day."

His mouth open amd closed as he mntally counted and realized between gym attire, hiking accessories, Work, and work... she might be underestimating. By a lot.

Flushing, he glared down at her. "Saints have mercy, are you done?"

"A room with wall to wall mirrors." She taunted as he shoveled his hands into his pockets. Slumping in defeat. Necause of course not. "You sprung for cat walk?"

"Absolutly not!"

If he had, Persian would never leave thast part of the house, the old girl was more than a bit vain.

"Sure, I beleive you."

That was a obvious lie, from patronizing tone to the rolling of her fey eyes. And while he could have vollied back. Made a scathing comment about her thread bare accomidations. He checked his spite a d let her have this.

This wss going to be a long running scam, months in the makong, and there was a element of give and take in that field. So this round was hers to savor.

It was only fair.

xxx

There'd been a scene. Arfully aranged, and if not stolen from the pages of a soaps script, perhaps purloined from somelong forgotten romance novel. P.R. the tenacious beast seemed satiated at long last.

There was an uptick in his value. Buyer confidence born from him "acknowledging his humble roots" and "looking to be a force of goodwill for Viridian".

All for saying sorry. Acknowledging that he'd wronged Viridians newest curiousoty, this pretty misplaced medical princessa. It wasn't flowery, and he broke norms when he didn't kiss the pretty lady's hand.

Between her complaint of sanitization, and the fsct that she was a bit infamous with that tazer of hers he got a pass.

As thanks, she used two of her permitted three zingers, during that first contact, and they parted. A peace treaty officially struck.

He spent the rest of the night indulging his regular patterns, people, and since it was gym leader season, carrying on about the mighty responsibility of sheperding the youth to greatness.

She used her last snipe to puncht a hole in that spot of bragging. And while he mimed irritation for the cameras, stepping up to defend the honor of the league as a vaulted institutr, he'd laughed to himself in private.

Xxx

other scen ideas/outlines?

Grace goes to another party, pre what she calls the " dictator bash" and gio scolding her about the term. They are still apart but met on the dance floor. Making a show of grudgingly dancing togethet. He tells her about his stock rise. She about some insanitoes at the job.

Team aqua attacks when they are opposite sides. Gio as well as a few guards, trainers defend themselves.

Aqua uses tentecruel, exec has a blastoise, underlings have wartortle. Lucollio. Boss uses poliwraith.

They come in swinging and screaming about "putt8ng an end to tyranny"
Grace: do they know that theyre crashing the wrong party?"
Gio caught flat footrf. Earth leader plus cramped spaces and civis. Uses Persian and Beedril.

Tactics. Bee uses Webshock augamented by base areas power grid to give it kick and catch grunts and mon. Persian keeps the mon and grunts off of him.

Some rocket guards knocked out during first rush. Others whisk present don out. Gio stays to fight, part image, part free venting.

Grace grabs and orders people around her. Directing them tp run. Herd old out. When the partiers get penned in she fgets staff to flip table, 5uck in corner, crouxlch doen. Tables take brunt of stray water attacks. Does quick first aid on cuts, bruises, ect, gets scruffed by aqua grunt and hauled out.

Hostsge situation kicks up. Grace shakes off captor, and barks parlay. It stills the aqua grunts and she gets wheeled to boss archibald who'll humor " the little spit fire" and "does she know what that means."

Grace admits, nope, and tasers leader.
(Swashbuckler set up, "timer me shivers," has an axtual scimitar. Tsking him down. Remsining virid8ans beat back lesser grunts and handle mess. Police scramble in after fact.

Grace shakes off support. "Not celeb anything, just here to do my jpb." Starts treating more seriously injured and is absorbed into actual team to tend wounded.

assists rocket and aqua with equal status as civis. Police try to pull her 9ff patient, officer m. Gets rough/starts to rough up patient. she orders him to unhand,
Hes making her violating her hyp oath, well shes voilating investigation.

Grace is arrested for her efforts.

she requests call. Is denied. Put in cell w mix match of dumb kids protesting cops, banged up rockets, and a few other criminals. NOT sorted by gender. Let it not be said Vir jail is organized.

She auto piolet tends to injured. Tearing strips of sleeves(usimg heals to do cutting) some rockets get.processed before they permit her her call. She reaches pit to d. Wjo orders her not to talk, will be in asap. Grace.flagging (12 hr sjift,event plus assault) wakes up witj d nearby arguing witj cop about Grave "tamperong w evidence", shes had a rockets coat tossed over her, and hadnt woken when a cop tried to takw it for processing.

Hauled into questooning (24 hour detail policy), d notes that if "this is the game they want to play tjey have 18 hours left, amd hw will be with his client to prevent inhumame treatment.

They grill grace, who exhausted,keeps drowsing, being woken, grilled again. Moved from questioning to cell. D starts getting a cue of cop names, badge numbers. His counter suit of harassment is not toothless.

Theu cut off after eight hoirs. Grace is near insensate, and d takes her to Vir Gen instead of the police medical, not trusting them.

Grace wakes to d cpmong back on. Been 24 hours.clearly she needed to sleep.

Preleminary steps are settled up to sue Viridian police depo. Not his specialty but Sakaki insisted on loaning help, papers seem safe/in order.

Assault charges to be filed against officer m. Multiple witnesses/cameras, rocket, aqua and civ.

"I'm going to be in and out 9f court for ages."

"If you were a cleint without your resources, yes, but as things are now... everythings been expediated. Lotto woke up, its agent will be by later today to clear matterd up and get you thst prptection. They are puttong pressures. Gio co as well. If we focus on getting you, and just you, it'll be handled... three weeks. Guilt isnt in question depth of damage was."

"What do you mean, just me."

"Yoir ina precarious state, ms. Evens, to put a stop to all of it. Fill in the holes that you fell through, fix tjose cracks."

I... how long doni have to make a decision avout how much i can give.

I wouldnt wait longer then 24 hours. Capitalize on the insanity. Tip it your fsvor. Play the croud. You do it jist roght, you can win this against all of them.

The poparazzi, the failed devision, the police. One mess tied to another and another, youre in a curious place to rip the root out... in one move.

How can you link the pap to...

Expose the facade. They forced it. Which in turn forced you into contact with the ciminal. Which you in your kindness aided. Which the pop built up to the point police judgment was compramised. Which lead to the assault.

I need to make a call...

Hes already gave his blessing. You both can discuss how to field the fsll out as needed. And if you need a place away, he has a list of safehouses. lottos making sad noises. Not offering services, jist condolences. I would advise not to accept anything.

How long.

Honestly, years, to be paid back in full. But the door for this tonhurt anyone else, woukd close. Pernamently. Scandle like this can fuel laws, politics. But you have to move quick... and things wont be the same. Not after.

Grace swolloes. Give me 30.

D. Smiles. I'll give you an hour, and if you need a more experience ear. He gave me permission to give you a card.

Xxx

This isnt fair.

Life isnt.

Where does that leave... if everything cjanges.

It leads exsctly right where it started. Your the lucky woman, who flits on the edges of a world that isnt hers. Trying to rise a flawed instituion up by the only means you understand. You can keep doing that of that all.you want. Use that fame to fan the attention ypu need, and when that goodwill is up, youll find another way, because its what you want to do. Isnt it?

Yes.

Its loke a contract. You have your goals. You check with the experts to make sure it does more prophit than harm, then you go for it. You pour all of you into it and reap the rewards.

Silence, then. Where does that leave us?

You off the hook and out of my lecherous grasp, and me out of a contract that gave you a free pass to kick me in the balls?

Grace laughs. Seriously though?

Gio clears throat. What do you want?

Mentaly peering into the abyss, the malstorm of media and maddness, grace sighed.

Honestly, stability would be nice. Sanity. But until things settle i cant prokise thst to you or myself. Hell i d9nt even know who i'll be after this ends.

Gio hummed. Youll probably be interesting, likely obsyinante., i suspect if youbkeep up to trends there will be one act of terrorism a year... perhaps magma will show up, they dog aqua like rabid migjtyenna...

Your such a smooth talker, really is this how you get all those girls?

My accent, dahsing good looks, bedroom prowess,and money, mainly..

Grace hums, ignorong all that lovely bait. Then says... "well since things are going nuts anyway, how abkut a deal?"

"A first contract between gio co and grace industries, i supppse i might be interested. Give me the terms in broad sweeps."

"A restart. To zero. No expectations. No pride. We do our thing, and because we are goong to cross we mingle when it happens naturally... and we work as a team in the cases. but outside of that no pusjing... no pressure. And the only thing media we look up is how badly theyre doing in the courts. A chunk of tjis was that damned p.r.s fault anyway, and being true to it. Not ourselves."

"I suppose i could ceed, except theres one caviot i'd loke to tag on." He cleared jis throat, sounding.. nervious.
"Once a month.. if its not too much trouble... i'd... like to get together...for dinner?"

"I'm a nurse." Grace warned. "It might be breakfasy, brinch, or a late night snack pop in."

"Thats fine. More than."

"Gio, i'm not going to be "the other woman". If youre in a relationship... i probably shoukdnt be around. i'm not your emotional affair, your jury affair, or charity hook up, or anything like that."

"Anyone with me, seriously, woukd have to accept that my friendshio.with you, comes first. "

Graces lips quirked.

"Your seriously friend zoned yourself just now."

His voice changed, accent thickening, a pirr that set her pulse to pick up.

"Dolcezza, if i give you everythign i am, i'd spirit you away to a place beyond pain or want. I'd, treat you as you shoukd be... But thats not what you want. To be seperate from the world and cherrished isnt your paradise, but your hell. So," a click as he swolloed "i wont. I hate myself for it. But if i asked for what i truely want... you arent ready to give methat. Perhaps you never will be. What you need is time, to heal, to learn, and settle into this madhoise. And i'll give you that.

It was so much, too much. This cpukd be his abuse and lonliness magnifyong his perception of her kindness and tying it to his lust in a false love. It cpuld be genuine. But on the other hand, grace wasnt dead or without her own passions. Her heart hammered at the unspoken promise, an echo of his need, a kindling of her lust.

Shw got while so many woman turned thier head at a pretty accent and a few exotic words.


She tried not to let any of thst bleed into hwr tone. Settled on sincerity

"thank you."

It was a gift after all. The insight, candor, and time.

He grunted, made a dismissive noise. Moved to deflect.

"I... thus could take years. Never be." Her nails dug into her palm. "I dont want you to waste your life waiting.. but..."

"Grace, sweetheart." He tried the endearment, she didnt respond. Undecided personally if it was ok. "Were both taking time in tjis. And if it ends with you in my life as a friend and only that. I'll live. My persianing, was more p.r.s idea thrn.my own. I'm not tjat insatiable. In all honesty, after the last few months, i never wamt to go to another damned social event so long as i live."

She goggled, shock. " you mean, mr party animal a woman in every event."

"A fiction. I needed to get out of the medias regard to tend to work. Sleeping around made them predictable, you saw
It ... they attack at the begining of an event, linger, take pictures, and when you act sultey, they back off to avoid indecency charges."

silence. "So the women were tje otber woman between you amd your work."

"When you call it that... it sounds bad..."

"Because it is." She laugjed long and loud. "Seriously, did any of them knkw?"

"i tended to pick for looks rather than brains. Younwoukd not bekieve how stuoid some of them were."

"You did that to.yourself so you dont get to complain.

He snorted. "I did. And i wont."

"So your idea of a romantic evening is a pretty bodypassing you lots of papers, a shredder, and a little red pen to top it off."

"I'm not that boring."

"Alright, but its a decnt night in?"

"I know that tone, so i will enither confirm nor deny."

"I'm convalscatong... my life is in ruins... and you wont talk to me..."

"Not ehen youre in this mood. Goodnight grace."

Xxx

She got her own in good time.


Grace gathers up all the many parent complaints agaonst his gym (kids getting hurt/hospitalized) that were never forwarded to him as most native Viridian are scared sjitless of him. She prints them, then dumps them on him in the middle of a date, in tripleance

He dryly asks if shes OSHA, she says shes doing medical due dilligence and the kids who are on payment plans are on the top. It should about equal that tax break for this event he probably isnt donating... But if he doesnt want to help the needy he needs to at least fix the saftey hazards in his gym

Gio skims over some of the pages and dryly points out that some of these people werent in his gym at all.

"Yeah they got jumped by people claiming to be your trainees, had gio corp badges and everything." Aka theywere ambitious Rocket grunts, soon to be dead Rocket grunts. "Might want to look into that."

He gently shoes off date to persue papers. As grace accidently kicked his work ocd switch. Grace is rather amused that he admits, distractedly, that the paperwork is more entertaining than the woman had been.

"Well i can keep you in a good supply if you like."

"What do you mean?"

"This is just one years w9rth, hiw long has Virdian Gym been open?"

"Ypur kidding." Dull dread.

"Nope."

"What the hell is this.." he taps page.

"Medical code. Good old "14,2,8,5-0, rsdisstir". Mon bite human, non elemental, rabies shot, disinfectent, and stitches required."

"You arent leaving me to all this. Hell," realization, "i shouldnt be dealing with all this. My secritary..."

"Has at least five year of bakclogged undelivered complaints/bills and violations that havent been brought to your attention."

Silence

"And if you leave this undone, to be handled by someone who now the public knows already didnt do it the first time... it might look bad.

Black eyes meet silver. "Do you just spend aypur time whiling away to make my life miserable... or are you looking for some sort of pay out?"

"Ew, no. My net worth is higher than yours anyway, why would i want your money when i can barely figure out what to do with mine?

Cue blue screen of death as well as bad laoding noises

"What?"

"Two lottos won them back to back. Remeber? Sure you havent had a few too many? Nights young but you know those irresponsible ones start early."

"Alright." Flushing. "I'll vouch for your character. I'll make a full retraction. You arent a drunk. Or a trollop. Now a fucking troll, yes, but consumption isnt your dominent sin. Just for the love of God, stop, bothering me."

chipper. "Alright!"

He scans a page and blanches. "Wait... you cant leave me with all this... i cant read this code-"

but grace is gone.

Misc stoage
Al haery ideas
Shadow entities take care of mundane aspects of rearing and maintinamce.

Al is southern gentlemanand raises harry to be the same. Toothy smiles are requisite. As a little he toddles about and under deerskin rugs.
Al spies on the dursleys leaving H. Ouside and decides if they dont vslue the babes life they clearly dont value tjier own. He makes exception to hunting hisnprey (they wouldnt be worth effort)he makes gumbo of human nature.
Pets bones, verns fat, the.. veal of actual dear he did hunt. Initially while cookikng muses "what to do?" While mockingly rocking the surviving kids to keep them fr9m screaming.

When harry hungrily noms on aistar.. novelty charks als socks off. Dudly he retirns to sender/syste. Charms anti muggle keep authorities fr9m investigating. And al is abpe to forge requisite papers. Trips to sloth keep "broad cast ready"
The h/al household superficially lopksmripped from an old tikey family values. Uprigjt dress, droll manners, al puncturing his jokes and harrys schenanigans with a laugh track.

Theres no tv. Only radio and vynal collection. Wall to wall books in music, theroy, economics, hist, radio biographies. Red wals white accents. Dusly second bedroom converted to a music center/borad cast.
Under the surface its an odd-

[/SPOILER]

 

[K_S]

Villains-tine prompt, a book/reading

Summary:

It started as an idle day in. Trying to ignore Mother Natuer's temper tantrum and pass the time. It ended with the discovery of a long abandoned scion of the Sakaki bloodline. Other traumas are also revisited.

(where my situation/character notes for Antonio Sakaki, as well as other Sakaki's from Giovanni's family are converted into narrative form)

Content warnings: Racism, criminal activities, established adult relationships, discussions of a pandemic,




Grace and Giovanni had, during the start of the day, taken a view of the world beyond their Forest side home, and the consensus was mutual. No way in Hell were they going out. The normally blue skies were slate grey, and lighting snapped its electric fingers along the cloud banks. The air was thick, and the wind was hissing among the forest branches at a pitch that forewarned of a probable power outage.

The ground types were sheltering among the rock garden. Digging familiar paths to prevent overflow from flooding their dens, the whole battlefield was a crazed mess of trenches set up to divert the upcoming overflow away from the cringing 'mon. He'd have to have them put to right what they tunneled... But that was tomorrow Giovanni's problem. Today's decided that he was spending the upcoming rainy day in comfort, and only stepping outside if something sounded like it would die.

When the downfall came, it skipped Meowths and Growlithes stage and jumped right into the Persians and Arcanines. The Sakaki's gave up on the world, making a comfortable twining of flesh, pillows, and blankets. The fireplace was set, going full tilt, and commandeering the place of honor previously held by the alarm clock, was a tray of odd and end snacks and two cups.

The finest Cinnibarian blend was their favorite brew, hers was spiked with cinnamon, his with a splash of vanilla and cream. Indulging further weakness, Grace was feeling nostalgic. She'd slipped to the attic, rooted around, and came back with some books from her old things. Though books was a generous term.

They squeaked through existence on the merest of technicalities. There were covers and pages, all were glossy, glaringly so. If there was a word to encapsulate them, "glossy" would have been in the top four spot.

Godawful gaudy and would have covered slots one through three.

Following the trend of irrelevance the collection was more pictures than words.

She'd laughed at him and asked if he'd never seen a school photo album before. Then nestled into his arms, boodle in tow, she decided that his "no" was an invitation to catch him up.

The awards and titles doled out to the smiling children had baffled him. How they'd been decided, their merit, was a mystery. And her explanation, that they didn't mean anything at all, left him bemused. What was the point of it then? Some of the alien wordplay were references to old pop culture, and Grace had declared him "too young to be this clueless," and that at a later date, she was going to "catch him up".

She chattered about familiar faces. Friends, acquaintances, that weird kid in the back row... It rolled over his head, an idle storm, but he perked at the word rival.

"Welcome back," she'd snarked, then went back to reminiscing about her grade school days. They'd been at each other's throats, and "Little Ms. Perfect Wannabe" had wanted to be a trainer. And because "Ms. Perfect" was the meanest girl in the second grade, having a thing for pulling Grace's hair. After one stinging assault, Grace had decided that she was going to be the best trainer Viridian had ever seen.

Spite had carried her through rigorous training. Getting her first 'mon, a Meowth, and permission to battle at a stupid young age. One scratch attack later, and Grace decided that rivalries were stupid, and being a 'mon petting zoo owner was more her speed.

How that ambition had changed so much it was quite the mystery.

He'd poked and prodded, and Nurse Grace Evens let slip none of her secrets. In tones one was told about the bird types and the beedrill, she drawled out her sarcastic tale that was more snark than informative.

There was this fun thing called a "medi-experience share", and when someone equipped with that was passed a "degree stone"...

"For the last time, that's not how stone evolution works." Giovanni snorted. "So should I fear death via cancer per a surfeit of evolution stone radiation?"

"Only if I had gone into radiology." She countered sweetly.

Thunder rumbled above them, the windows rattled, and cradling her close, he considered what of his past he dared share. Because the lightning strikes were getting closer together.

Grace's brave front would not hold forever.

For him, vulnerability and history were a calculated risk. He weighed truths to lies and settled for a sanitized middle ground. Wheeling out the rather (for a Sakaki) pedestrian tale of his childhood.

It was a mild defilement of old memories, all done for the sake of providing Grace a distraction.

He confessed he hadn't gone to school. His childhood was a thing peppered with just enough homeschool to avoid sbario attention, apprenticeships (some of a mildly illegal slant), and odd jobs. One of those shady gigs he expanded on. It had been a spat of plumbing jobs at what he'd suspected (known) to be a mob hideout.

"Between frat boys and mobsters, I'd be hard to say which had the worst habits."

"Well, I'd say you avoided the worst of both worlds, you know the perks of taking a good shower, and you're living on the straight and narrow."

He snorted a laugh, and Grace considered something, one of her fingers tracing a path up his arm. Nail not cutting sharp, but a pleasant prickle along the circular scars that'd been Zio Sal's neglect more than anger. "So where's your coat of arms, Mr. My Family's Been in Existence for Centuries?"

"The tacky old thing with the white blob that's supposed to be a mew stamped on it? I wrapped my mother in it for her funeral shroud and burned it all."

"Gio!"

"In my defense, it was ugly as sin."

"Seriously! You could have given it to a museum or something, not indulge in some... history... deleting... arson kick!"

"Seriously," He chuckled, "it... doesn't exist." He deserved that pillow to his side. "I think Nona might have something like that, somewhere, but I wouldn't know what it looked like. Or could care less. It's an off-mainland treasure if it exists at all. I'm not passing it up to a mainland region, much less one as anti-Italian as Kanto."

"Alright, but you have to have something like a photo album, right?"

The no he uttered sounded lame, even to his own ears. He frowned, in confusion, because he knew lies. And this felt like a lie even though he hadn't meant it as such.

Mind reaching back, through the years, he remembered that first plane ride to Nonas as a little boy. There'd been an endless seeming book, the old Madam drilling him on names and dates for the whole five-hour flight... He hadn't touched it since. But it'd been among her things, and perhaps he hadn't thrown it out...

Discharge met wind burst just right, the resulting racket sounded downright apocalyptic. Lights flickered, making Grace curl into him as the faux night's shadows spawned into impenetrability, stealing sight. Gloom bleeding into a sheet of darkness that the fire pushed back minimally.

Before worry could set to roost that something was down rather than rattled, light returned with a staticy flick.

And the alarm went off because the alarm always did so if a near power outage happened.

"Fuck, Arceus damn it!" She was quicker than him, and closer. Digging the clock out from under the bed by its cord and slapping the mute button.

The temporary mute button. It howled to life as soon as she set it down and pushed it away. The resultant tug to rip on its power cord from the wall and kill it for good was more than understandable. Even if the violence of her doing so had him half up and lunging to save the tray least they have a shit ton of laundry to deal with.

"I hate that thing."

Perversely enough, it was hers. Alarm clock and complaint both. Any attempt to replace had been met with resistance as she swore it was the only thing that got her up after a bleed eye shift.

He'd pointed out that she could not take those shifts anymore. She was her own Made woman, why play these games? She'd rattled off her standard excuses. Obligations to coworkers preferred patients with special needs needing stability... And when he was unmoved, she told him to shut up. From the set of her shoulders and the pointed glare as she shoved the unplugged monstrosity back under the bed he knew not to push his luck. Another round of "why keep it?" would wind up with him on the couch.

"Do you think there's... like a... Zapdos up there whose done the 'mon equivalent of hit the sultry music, got his girlfriend over, and they're doing love loops or something to make baby Zapdos over our heads?"

That was an image for the ages.

But realistically?

"There's not enough discharge going off for one Zapdos much less two," He ruled. "The last Zapdos sighting off of Vermilion left miles of molten rock, blasted every building taller than a blade of grass, and people went deaf from the thunder. I guess if you need a god 'mon to bitch at... palkia?"

"HIS Pearlescent Embessary of Space isn't supposed to be petty enough to be moving choice bits of sky matter to scare us, mere mortals." His chuckle made her rib him. "Alright, fine, I'm spooked Mr. Unflapable. You're fine. And a troll, but that's how I pick them." She huffed. "The TRIO are supposed to be better than that." She flinched as the lights flickered again. "Not that I'm saying HE might get bored occasionally. But..."

"Maybe it's Pikachu season?" He wondered. Taking the opportunity to get her to curl into him. She steadied in his arms, distracted and comforted.

And that finger was back to tracing, swirling around one particularly thick scar by his wrist. Her strokes slowed as she spoke.

"You're the trainer, not me. Are they?"

"No idea. There are almost nine hundred of these pain-in-the-ass, god-mode capable, critters. And you want me to know what gets them in the mood?"

His mind... might be lingering in the gutter a bit today. But with the thrumb of thunder rattling his bones, her warmth, and proximity, it was a recipe to put him in the mood.

A kiss-nip on her shoulder got her to tip her head back with a smile and hum. Her wordless acceptance of his offer of distraction was met with him pressing kisses along her jaw and down her neck. As he worked, her nails continued their patterns along his arms in feigned indifference.

Feigned, because he could feel and hear the uptick in her breathing and pulse. Her muffled, throaty, chuckle was sweeter than any Persian's pur.

And her hand was busy. Her nails scrapped along his skin in a distracting pattern.

Was she writing something, or doodling? He couldn't tell, but the feathering touch and its attendant edge made him want her more.

With a blistering crack, the lights gave up the ghost. He snarled a soft oath at God because it figured. Spite done, for now, he shifted his grip. Loosened but close enough to be present. He was not going to take advantage of the claustrophobic dark. Because he knew Grace's phobias. His once coaxing motions turned to steadying. He twined their hands together, interlocking their fingers to still their tremor. Curling so he could press his head into her back, between her shoulders. He felt her shiver in his hold, as thunder spit and snarled.

He slowed his breathing, humming a familiar tune, his calm cut through her panic.

She followed his lead, no longer on the edge of hysterics, but definitely unhappy.

"Sorry... sorry... it's so fucking stupid... I know it's just thunder..."

Distraction. Her panic flicked a sympathetic twinge of nerves over him and he grabbed the first idea he had and ran with it.

"I'm scared of Garchomp."

She stiffened in shock. Very much aware of the old saw, of a Sakaki never admitting weakness. And perhaps she wondered where this was going.

"One of the strongest mon in the ground type genome. Why do you think I don't have one? During a Rocket assault," he needed to edit this, quick, "It's off the official records..."

It was sloppy as shit, was what it was. But the floodgates were open. She could hear that familiar inflection, a breathy rush that told of his control giving out. He loosened his grip, because while she might pick and scratch in her terror, he had a habit of clenching, crushing, whatever was under his hands. He'd not hurt her. Unfortunately letting her get free meant that she could turn to him in concern. Coward he was, he closed his eyes as he continued.

"You know I get called in to help with rabid mon?" He felt her nod. "It wasn't feral. It was augmented. This splinter cell of Rocket had gotten hold of a berserk gene, a god complex, and decided to start End Times."

He swallowed and recalled his doctor's advice. That sometimes those horrid things you saw tumbled out, and that if he was safe, to let it.

Here and now there was nowhere safer. But that didn't mean he didn't feel regret in indulging.

"Pitch dark room... this biped thing that was all spines and soft sand sloughing off. You couldn't breathe when it was near. All you could hear was hissing. That's it, no footsteps, and you couldn't scream. You choked. Everything was muffled. It was twice the size of a man, almost as broad... and it made this awful raspy chitter. It was... talking to itself while it killed. Raving. Tearing through men and 'mon, croaking, "So hungry"."

So very hungry.

They both shuddered, and Gio swallowed.

"I'm sorry, it... I was going to make light of it but..."

The truth had tumbled out. A dangerous truth that was almost totally uncensored.

"It happens." She poked him and he cracked open his eyes. There was nothing but affection undercut by concern. "Gio, the doc said this is going to happen. You had a messy time, we both did. And you," another poke, "bottle things up. Thats bad. You letting it out, is good. Is it going to make a mess? Yes. Do I care? No."

A look of horror slid across her face and Giovanni braced himself.

"Seriously Gio, in all truth... you have nothing on that last super flu. My third year in Scrubs, I thought I could handle anything. And then this mutation moseys out and it's a real killer. Most of my patients got cramps so bad they were immobilized, a few older folk got broken legs. It was like something from the Dark Ages. There were relentless fevers, and everyone got sick. Young adult, old, child, they just staggered in vomiting... You want to talk about a mess?"

Her tone warbled, a ghost of old suppressed hysteria trying to come to the fore.

"The first round of symptoms were cramps that could snap bones and add on unrestrained vomiting, and diarrhea. It lasted for seventy-two hours in mild cases. People were coming in with bone bruses, immobility, and were utterly desiccated. We needed an all-hands-on-deck until they were able to modify the vaccine. Everything smelled and tasted like vomit. You burned your clothes at the end of the day... And it was damn virulent. You saw the quarantine scrubs, the whole body covering?" He nodded and felt her resultant shiver. "I hated those, not because you got bruises wearing them. You did, everyone did, that wasn't the problem. It was with all those layers you couldn't see anyone. The person next to you could pass out mid i.v. and you wouldn't know why. You'd be left scrambling between a panicking patient and your peer. Not knowing if it was sickness or exhaustion or just some older practitioner's heart just giving out from stress."

"That happened. During the worst, the beginning, when they were yanking doctors out of retirement, the stress would peak and.."

Silence, while both stared unseeing into empty space.

"I know it's not a Rocket monster from hell, but it's a sort of proof, you know? I've seen and done things. And if I need to, I can do it again. So... don't hold back. Not for my sake."

Giovanni sighed and repeated the tired mantra for days like this.

"Sometimes it comes out," Then he pecked the top of Grace's head, both a thanks and apology. "And I get the sentiment. Thank you for trying."

Lightning rumbled outside, a crackling slash that made him wonder if he shouldn't go to a second-story window and check for two Zapdos going at it.

"I'd really like to get out of Stephen King's head now." Grace whimpered, stiffening against him.

"I could see if anyone in the extended family could arrange someth-" She really was abusing that poor pillow. And him. He'd of felt ill-used if she'd hit, but somehow she managed to miss. He wrest the softness from her for himself, tucking it behind his back. "A simple no would have sufficed."

"No mob jokes."

"You know. Ah ah," His mild scolding kept her from ripping off the sheets. Well, it was her own fault she was out of pillows. He'd made quite the nest and wasn't budging. "Let me finish... I think I do remember something. Madam Sakaki," Because he'd never lied about what his mother was, Grace was very well aware of what his mother had been. "She had an old picture album,"

Really, if the lightning didn't let up he was going to poke his head out and see if some stock horror villain was nattering about bringing a cadaver to life...

And if there wasn't a better sign, a better atmosphere to fit the mood, he couldn't think of one. The beginning of a horror film, and Madam Sakaki, the ideas fit together like a hand in a glove.

"I can't guarantee "no mob" but I can promise most of them are old enough to be safely mocked without fear of retribution. Most of them being dead..."

"Deal."

Spoiler

Chapter break.

He'd had to go to the basement. Part to ensure the generator for the fridge and emergency line was working properly, part to root through a few boxes in the back. There were, to his, surprise, some old Sakaki keepsakes among the deeds and dated deals. Nothing incriminating, mainly some school papers, medical reports, and a few odd and end things that felt like someone had just dumped half a desk into his packing while his back was turned.

He found the black-bound book halfway in.

A quick flip found it part photo album, part scrapbook. Nothing dangerous lept up at him as he skimmed, so he tucked it under his arm and then rooted out an odd decoration to take its place.

It had been holding down someone else's tax reports. A quick skim found them to be Zio Sal's property taxes. What the man was doing owning a bakery when he couldn't boil water was not Giovanni's business. What was, was that the base of papers was starting to rise. Alarmingly. Like an accordion compressing in reverse.

Making a mental note to have a burn day, before the bakery papers roused to sentience, Giovanni headed out.

Persian, the brat, had been napping down below. Making her regal presence known among the dust bunnies and topmost boxes. Smoothing the hair she'd swatted when he dared to get too close to her lofty perch, Giovanni made his way out.

The unrepentant cat followed at his heels, meowing things besides an apology. And because of that he ignored her nudge, a mute request for a good petting.

She'd been down here since before the storm's start and the soundproofed walls had insulated her from the hellish lightning.

Used to being ignored when she was being a little demon, Persian murred under her breath about head scratches and treats from Grace.

A snarl from the sky kicked up and the cat popped. Going from standing to flying straight up in a perfect vertical jump that ended in her landing with her claws drawn. Each leg thumped heavily at her landing.

Ears pinned back in alarm, Persian glared at him, clearly blaming him for Mother Nature's shenanigans.

Or perhaps for not warning her.

Persian yowled like a Legend was breaking in through the window, barrelling down the halls to the Sakaki's bedroom. Tail all poofed and raised like broken a flag to declare surrender to the world. all she had to do was go back down, but no, off she went to get snuggles from Grace.

Stupid cat.

Grace pulled her attention from the quivering cat at his return. A ghost of her old curiosity lit her eyes as she tipped her head at him, in a mute question.

"I found it."

"Is that the Necronomicon?"

He'd read Lovecraft, and got that reference, thank you very much. As a reward for his labors, he might have taken the softest blanket from the bed-nest and bundled in. Glaring at woman and cat from his nook of warmth, like an angry kakunna.

"If I say sorry, will you share?"

There'd been a spill between him coming and going. Sheets were stripped and pushed out of the way. She'd made do with what hadn't been soaked but from her shiver what she'd made do with wasn't enough.

So much for avoiding laundry.

He considered Grace and Persian, both were employing their infernal puppy eyes. He glared at them and crunched up among the folds.

Grace's hands found the edge of his sanctuary and started tugging and prodding at the seams.

"If you let me in, you'll be warmer," Lies if she left him alone he would stop getting cold air coming in. "and you can share and care your vampire book-"

He rolled his eyes, unfolded the edge, and acquired a Grace limpit as a result. Persian could damm well take her cat pillow at the foot of the bed, and like it.

To be... completely fair... the "vampire book" seemed to have been started back when cameras weren't a thing. It was done backwards. Starting in near pre-history and became more modern as it went. Pages had been added in, though how Giovanni had no clue.

The artist hired for the first few generations of Sakaki had taken the idea of somber and monochrome to whole new levels. And the Sakaki's within seemed to have an unhealthy obsession with dark colors.

"Seriously" Grace drawled, "why does everyone look like a vampire?"

Pointedly not looking too closely at the teeth of a distant uncle, Giovanni hummed. "There must be some Sakaki genetic inclination towards wearing black."

"That level of bad taste better be a recessive trait."

If Grace were raised as a Sakaki... well Giovanni might have feared for his manhood. As it was, her insinuations warmed him better than the best scotch and a blazing fireplace all at once. Toes curling in pleasure, his answering smirk was tender.

Before she could decide if she wanted to take him up at that unspoken offer, Persian, decided to flaunt her nesting instincts. Indulging a slinky sort of kneed, that resulted in one stolen pillow and sheet. The feline twisted, making a snug cat croissant at the foot of the bed with only her tan head poking out.

More than familiar with the cat's "it's raining and I don't care" facade, Giovanni ignored the show. He had Grace in his arms, something to read, and mercifully the thunder was on the decline.

A few pages later and he had to wonder if he hadn't screwed his eventual children with some prophecy. There wasn't a lick of anything other than an accent in white or red. It looked like he was seeing a procession of great aunt and uncle funerals, not the acknowledgment of births or family gatherings that were the descriptors scribbled in around each shot.

"Did you notice, no one's smiling?"

"Sakaki gatherings are somber events." Gio mimed Nona's inflection since such shrillness was beyond him. " Men are meant to be sober, loyal, and strict."

"Ung." Grace stilled her relentless burrowing into his side. "You hear this bull, uterus? You need to damn well reject these genes he's talking about. Girdle those eggs. Or no more fun times. Ever. I swear it."

He laughed and if she took advantage of that to steal a pillow back. Well, it was his fault for indulging and he was more than capable of adjusting her position, despite her protests, and making her serve in place for what she stole.

As the text became more modern, he started to recognize people beyond obscure historically inaccurate oneliners. In the areas where he recognized the handwriting... the purpose of documentation had changed.

Pictures, some candid, some formal, stood beside a folded paper that when teased open proved to be a death certificate. In a few cases, the papers were several pages. Medical examiner's uncensored reports.

After a few pages of this Grace stopped. "Gio we aren't reading your mom's "hit" book are we?"

He... couldn't believe the Madam would be that stupid... this could be something as mild as her notating everyone's deaths so she could savor the ones she hated without drawing attention to her sport...

A sort of feel-good indulgence for the depraved...

But Sal's picture blew a hole in that. A candid hospital shot where he'd been recouping from having two broken arms and a broken leg. He was awake in the shot, his cast-bound leg raised insanely high on its sling. There wasn't a nurse in sight, or doctor, or anyone. Just the old mobster, who wasn't that old in this shot. Sal was possibly younger in that shot, than Giovanni was now. The Made Man's injuries were fresh, his eyes wide and glazed.

"He can't have been seeing visitors. Not with his eyes like that. He's drugged to the gills."

"Probably best we don't know anything else," Giovanni warned.

He turned a page and saw two little girls. Arm in arm, dressed in their Sunday best and trying to look sober. Their sparkling black eyes told tales. The littlest was nine, the other fifteen.

It took him a long moment to recognize Gemma and her little sister Saphrina on the page. The eldest was long gone, the youngest a fresher loss. Dead at twenty-one, at least if the gossip was right.

It felt positively alien to realize that he was older than his big niece Gemma, that he'd outlived her and her spitfire of a younger sister/ He was older than them both now. He flipped through a few pages to see if Saphrina's kids were within but the book was too out of date to tell that tale. The first few pages were blocks of boud papers, a near pouch of documentation in... bianary? The code was too thick for him to understand. So he ignored it, flicking back to familiar pastures.

Grace took the hand not holding the book, twinned their fingers. They leaned against each other looking at the picture of those two girls for a very long time. She knew of Gemma, the young woman was one of the few familgia members that had a picture in Giovanni's home, on his personal work desk no less.

"You know, if you want to know, you could just call."

Grace was a smart thing, having sussed the reason for his flipping ahead though he hadn't said a word. But her solution was more than it seemed. More than an insultingly easy solution.

Saphrina had overt ties to the Mob. Grace's encouragment to reach out was an offer to mutly tolerate the social fallout of that contact. And, in theory, it might even work. But there were more than just Kanto law to consider.

With a sigh, Giovanni shook his head, moved to turn a page. "I went legit. Barring Executives and the Madam the rest of the familgia won't have a thing to do with me... and being around them would be..." He could imagine the shrill screams of P.R. Worse, any smirching of his name was an invitation for the police to all but move in.

Between the scuffles Grace had kicked up during her wild social justice crusade years and Giovanni's... well everything... the police and the Sakaki's in close proximity were not a good combination. To put it very mildly.

He huffed, and she loosed his off hand to pin the one twiddling then page.

"You know, when I was younger, it didn't bother me. But now, sometimes, it does."

She took the book, and turned back to the girls had been told not to smile. He wished they had dared to defy that order. Seeing thier smiles would have been nice.

"Tell me about them?"

"Gemma and Saphrina Sakaki Corosso were sisters in arms. Hell-bent on breaking the mind of every sbario they could."

Until Gemma couldn't, a bullet in the head ending her career stupid young. Saphrina had carried on the proud Sakaki cause of being a royal pain in the authorities ass. Skirting that fine line between brave and stupid until an encounter with police brutality had left her unable to walk. Oh, she'd recovered, but after? she'd been too scared to carry on after that.

"So if I'd seen them during my civil unrest days?"

Grace had attended protest and rallys against everything corrupt she could. Hell, she'd even had a record in corperate circles.

That'd been a fun find, when during him giving her a tour of one of his legit buisnesses, his head of civilian security had barged in like a Tauros with it's tails on fire. Giovsnni had gone from placid tour guild, to grim Made Man in moments. Expecting to hear that they were under attack by some upstart anti-Rocket insurection. The comotion had much tamer roots, thank God.

It was just the man having a fit. Tje head of security had seen Grace on the cameras, and he remembered the firey red head with silver colored eyes. The story had come out around a slew of widly inapproproate angry postering. The guard had claimed that Grace had clonked him with a sign during a protest against Viridian co'.

In her defense, she'd accidently dropped the sign. It'd been heavy.

Surprised at that spot of rather passive agressiveness, Giovanni had given his fiancee a long long look. She hadn't elaborated. Or amended her words to become an actual appology.

Knowing Grace... that was not a good sign

He'd had to do some independent research to sooth his security teams ruffled feathers. It had resolved to be one of those fun social upheavels during his early days. He'd nominally owned the company that Grace and fifty other young adults had waged a slinging war with. It was one of the Madams oldest assets and he recalled the upper elchion were royally greedy bastards.

And that observation was coming from him.

They'd been a economic blight in thier time. Chugging down every resource they could. Likely realizing as je cleaned house that they were near the top of his to-do list and...

And the attendent incident report when things had hit boiling point was one of those grey things. Yes, there'd technically been an assault. One of the kids of the protestors had chucked mud balls. Yes, the security teams shpuld have been rotated out to prevent them from lashing out due to unresolved stress but Giovanni had had no clue things were this dire.

The end result was a mini riot that end with his security head having to take a mandatory leave of abscence due to a concussion. Grace hadn't dropped a sign, she'd used it to break out of the scuffle because someone had armed the unarmed guards with illegal guns.

Recalling that fun aspect of Grace's pre-winning career Giovanni smirkrd.

"If there was a chance to throw something, anything, at a copper, Gemma would of had your back."

"How was her aim?"

He made a so-so motion with a hand.

"She once tossed her pokeball with a sirviper, fumbled, and hit herself in the head with it. The ball released the snake on her back."

The snake had gone full constrict mode the second he was put of his pokevball... It'd taken three adult Sakaki's to pry Gemma out of her beast's loops.

"You know, she got me into training?"

"You meam you weren't born riding a rabid rhyhorn?"

Giovanni laughed. "The madam wasnt that deprived."

Not quite, but it was a very near thing.

Grace twiddled the pages, ghosted to the ones at the front. It was envelopes uppn envelopes stappled to pages. Her finger snagging on one thick page and she swore as one of the metal bits pricked her finger.








"Gio?" These are stuck?"

Gio snaps out of his haze. Inside the accidently bound pages theres a pictuelre and rats nest of papers. Disordered and stapled a few bits of metal had stabbed through what they bound and "glued" the lot shut. Its all printed in code so desne it might as well be medical binary. Grace isnt fluent in italian, but between the two they are able to puzzle itnout. Its a barage of tests and results. For a young male, aged nine.

Grace: Gio, (worried) what was your mother's full name.

Gio bristled, wondering why, but grace repeated. And he fokded. Spiting the name like a curse.

gio: so who is this, some long lost nephew? He's curious and bitter.

Grace (soft), no she either adopted this kid, or... youre a younger brother."

Silence. Where gios darj eyes went wide and his features froze. "Wjat?"

Grace went to repeat but Gio shook her hold off. And sat up.

"She... Madam hated kids. Hated me. Hell she hated men. Shed had my bastard of a father offed.

Grace: i dont know her but maybe once.. she didnt.

Gio" grace, you dont grt it. We were ricjer then sin. The rixhest familgia in kanto. And she cokdnt be assed to give me more then a pallet in some old servents closet. I had to take jobs... mob jobs at ten to get my own clotjes. Shed shovel me int9 a suit like a doll to parade around. Proof of her reproductive prowess. I was a doll. She broke the arms of a kid who played w me. Any kod who wasnt mob...

"Gio." Graces voice was soft, a warning all accidental. He remembered himself. Remembered her and her morals, and swollowed down his bitterness. "This is an mri. Amd tjis, covered in codes. I dont recognize them all but i can find out."

He considered her offer. Finally. "Discreatly."

"Alright."

Xxx
There first decode was mixed. Grace knew enough to ask hum questuons about italian that let her pry more out. The initial resd got them nme age cuae death.

"These arent cardoo codes." Grace told him. Shed taken a stint there in book keeping to cover a leave. Convinent timong rather than planned. But itd g8ven them a hint that the bulk of this... wasnt heart related.

they lojed antonuo in a box. Purlouned codes building around him like rocjs on a cairn.

Grace did a stint helping in each bramch of veridian gen, gett8ng key codes. Breakthroyfmgh when mischeduled psyward papers. It took a month butnusing it she was abke to break the code of Ars papers.

They doscus it in Gios work office. Somber affair, regal, bookshelves, odd awards honors on those shelves, but dim. shrouded in dark. His labtop packed away. Map of kanto on one wall.
. with a whisper of smoke and hint of mystery because while one can see csnt see clesrly.

Grace spred papers and hand written key. Standing alongside his work desk. Guilding him over it. Like a satire of a bankhiest being mapped out.

Ant9nio rossi sakaki died at age eleven, he'd been on tranport between region. Disembarking from Pewter intrrnational Airport, in a state of accute carduac arrest.

He'd died minutes after arriving.

Go8ng back, there was a battery of first physical then psycjological tests. Grace let her lips press into a tjin line. She wouldnt repeat what tjeyd said. Only that the docotrs of Gios homeland were "unrepentemt fossils".

He'd dared her wtaith, asking her to explain.

"His medical diagnosos, is quote, unquote, retarded"

"He was slow?"

Grace gave him a withering look. He gave her a contriet expression. "Its a term my family used. Its wrong. Loke most of thier bullshit. so can you explain."

She did,walking him through a dizzying barage of mental health, ability, and human rights that left Gio mausiated and staring down at each line... test after test after test. Oen month alone antonio had bern seen thirflty nine times for assessmwnt. Thered beem a stint of institutationalization.

There was, hidden in the foot notes, an aside refer8ng to a referal to a fscility that had kept its records via video. A call had unlockjed tjosr, and a week later there were phsical copies, old vhs tapes no less. They coul get them digitalized butnthe data might accidently be rereleased into the system rather than properky destroyed.

Gio demanded the last copies. Nhed over se thendestruction himself. Forewarned grace had hunted throguh thirftnshops and affair sales untik she netted a vhs playet. They were able to see the last documented proof of Antonios existance.

Tjey cpuldnt figurw th system. The numbers on each tape werent dates. Buy some internal code. Grace picked up one at random, putnit in.

There were two figures. A smart dressed boy in a charcol grey suit. Tie rumpled, sakaki patened black eyes wide as he got to playnwith some gaudy wore and wood block toy uninterrupted. Aside, she was there. Familair black dress, dwad eyes. Talking to a doctor dressed all i wjite.

The madam said something. Some indearment. There was statoc in gios ears he cpuld hear aroundnit. She was smiling, at the yojng boy,a grin thst was more grimace. So artiface it looked painted on. Murmured words, see8ng her. Even ages dead....

Gio was on jis feet, shaking. grace kille the image, heldnhim. Turned him away. Shieldednhim from a woman long dead.

"I cant."

"Donyou need to know."

Nausia warred with horror. Sjit liken tjis was genetoc. If there was even a chamce thier child might... what secrets did antonio hold? A heart defect? Mental inbalance? Tje dangers squirled away in a male sakakis grnome needed to be known,for graces sake and for any o thier children.

He should do this.

H cpuldnt

"I.."

Hw cpukdnt even talk

"Gio, do you trust me?"

He nodded eye sburning.

"Then trust me. I have this... just go... get a hotel. Stay at the gym... visit daisy, do skmething that keeps you busy and out. And... i'll call you wjen i'm done. Alrigjt? Now, pack your old tra8ner bag, and i'll swe you when i swe yo7.."

He calls evey nigjt, and learns that he hates a solitary bed. His obligations tonthe fsmilgia, besides "earn tribute" are an ominous "biild up that good will for us" so he does. Taking trainer emergency calls from the area, he findshat theres clan of gligar nestled in a few shallow csves arpund pallet. After the pest control, he visited daisy oak. Shes between tours. Trying for reconciliatin but not really that hard, and seeemed content to indulge in some peace and quiet. Shed broken more hearts then she had finger intwo months and blammed him for it a d his infkuence. He'd been bemused, and tolerated hwr poor cooking and poorer life choixes doles oit as tales.

She had known not to ask after him about why he was in the area. Coralled him into cat sitting, and helping her train some of the animals for shows.

Amews had had kittens, again. And he had to refuse the kittens, again. By this point the elderly matriarc of a cat wasn't even insulted, jist went back to cleaning the mewling pile of fur and nippong one prankster who'd bit her tail a bit too rough.

"I'm going to have to get another mon trained." Daisy noted over thier last dinner, "Amewse is great but... shes slowing down..."

what went unsaid was that Persian was not. The cats togethet made a fascinating study. Amewse's fur was a bit thonner amd perpetually dusty looking as the cream hairs grew in im varried shades. Persian was as thick furred, and fluffy as ever.

Though Giovanni noted that Amewse wasnt quite so wide in the hindquarters.

"What food are you feeding her? Persians definitly due to lose a few poinds."

Persian's ears flicked back in irritation. Amewse.. looked amused.

He concluded his exam with a fond hair ruffle for the old girl. A firm glare at Persian kept the other cat civil.

"As for another cat... Keeping two persians around might be too much of an advemture. Considering youre wrangling five show mon. Two females would cpme to dwath blows first heat, and a male and a female... youd be swarmed under in kittens... so unless you plan a career change..."

She hadnt and decided to follow his advise. Sell all the kittens savw the one that bonded best with her. Have amewse start the training. Then swing by viridian near the end to have him help cpmplete it.

Over coffee... he got the call to come home. Bidong Daisy a fomd fairwell he left.

Returnig jome to a grace who is red eyed and unspeakably tired... but it was done. Thyey weree watched and packed away.
She tpld him.whwre amd them made an offer.

"Donyou want tontslknabout it."

"Not yet."

"Alright. When youre ready."

Dinmer adventure crunxh rol scene.

Grace gives suspect diagnosis. But if its a real concern tjey need to talk abkut it before...anything happens.

Gio agrees.

gio visits nona gets real story of antonios death.

 

[K_S]

Villian-tines

prompt 4, sickday

Summary: He'd been an industrious man his whole life, it took extraordinary events to make him admit he was sick, much less call out sick. Cue Grace Evens, her circumstances, and a string of bad luck that made him reconsider this stance, and decided, just htis once, he was going to play hookey.

CW: Profanity, illness, discussion of criminal activity,

Ranking: Teen.

The downside of being a gym leader was the demand to be on stand-by. Emergency services was a two-pronged beast, where the human and 'mon disasters were carefully segregated. The truly disastrous 'mon calls, that could not be handled by either a Pokemon Nurse or shoveling the critter in a Pokeball, landed on the nearest representative of the League.

Aka the resident gym leader.

It was his night off tonight. Barring a class three disaster, or something involving Legendaries, he wasn't to be contacted. For further security, it was decidedly not trainer season, which was why he was not expecting a call at four in the morning from an unlisted number.

Spite made him hang up twice, even before coherence hit. But when whoever it was called back for round three he was coherent enough to realize it might actually be important.

Grumbling into his pillows as he rolled over to glare blearily at his tech, realizing this wasn't a nightmare (but was ring six) he shoveled his sheets about his waist. Just in case the visual was on on their side and his device synced to their settings...

"This better be important!"

"Morning to you too." Drawled that damned familiar voice, "I won't waste your time, are arcanine able to eat half of a meat-lover's cheese crust pizza? Because this yowling he's making is not a good noise."

"What?" He kicked Persian in his mad dash to get up, staggering to his wardrobe. The dreaded word Arcanine (a guaranteed class 3) helped him along in shaking off any spinarak webs of sleepiness. He was fighting with his pants, phone jammed between shoulder and chin. "He ate, what, how?!"

If she fed that animate flamethrower her dinner he was leaving her to the lava-hot fecal explosion that was soon to be coming.

"So, you know I'm not a trainer so I didn't know this... But I guess Arcanine can open fridge doors, and he... well he helped himself."

A yowl sounded, a wordless wantmoremoremore, that shoveled itself into Giovanni's brain and nearly short-circuited his balance. Apparently, the Forest's gift and modern technology did not mix.

Shaking his head, Giovanni powered through. Shoveled himself into a shirt and fumbled on the first belt he touched that had a 'mon holster on it. God damn, between wrinkles and exhaustion, he was going to look like a disaster.

"That's not a pain call," a dart into the bathroom and he had the water running. Moistening his fingers he wrangled things flat.... ish. At least if he got pulled over the first thought on an officer's mind wouldn't be "drunk".

Hopefully.

"It's... there's a sub-breed of Arcanine, called a "husky"." He had one shoe on, glaring at the laces as he worked like they were that stupid mutt. "They are very vocal. Dramatic. It sounds like the one the security company loaned you was one of those."

"Oh thank God."

"Don't thank Him yet, Arcanine are lactose intolerant."

A beat, as Grace's medical profession, allowed her to put two and two together and tally up the cluster fuck on the horizon.

"And they express this intolerance by?"

"Intestenally." Shoe two was on. He tossed on a suit jacket, checked himself in the mirror, and swore. That monogrammed red "r" on his breast pocket was not going to fly this morning. He rehung his executive uniform and rooted deeper in.

"Their digestive tracks are meant to digest magmar, literally animate magma piles. What comes out is literally going to be flaming hot. Growlithe can be put in a tub to ride it out... Arcanine-"

Why did he own anything this godawful shade of burnt orange? He threw that one to the ground.

"-it isn't going to be safe. He needs to be on asphalt, no plant matter, away from cars, and you're going to need a fire extinguisher and to keep watch over him for four hours, minimally."

"Oh... my... Mew..."

Horror thy name is Grace Evens.

"He just wants more now, so he's not feeling it, but you probably have about thirty minutes before that changes. And shoveling him in a Pokeball is only going to make him sicker when he gets out. Double his recovery time."

She was mumbling, counting something by the sound of it. "There's a lot on Granite Street and Sprout, an old park slash 'mon racing track, it's not exactly in the safest part of town..."

He knew the area, and mentally went over the various trade routes of his less than legal profession. There were no transactions meant to happen around there. It'd be safe, except for lingering opportunists.

Dare he offer his assistance? She was, reasonably, leery of trusting him and his offer of goodwill. The loaner security 'mon he'd offered her in a show of goodwill was now doubling as a ticking time bomb of biohazard proportions.

Grace's voice cut through his waffling.

"What type of extinguisher do I need?"

"Grade a, foam, vaporeon brand..." Crap that was the gym's brand. He didn't know the household equivalent. "What normally works for electric fires should suffice, so long as it's doubled up. Douse the dog and his backside continuously at the start of each movement. He'll feel too sick to pull away and basically be immobile until he's emptied out. Once he stops crapping he's safe to be recalled."

"And the police use these things?"

Her hysteria was... understandable. He could hear a click and rustling followed by a clank as she dug through what was probably under her sink. The sound of a pipe being hit was familiar at least.

"Fuck." something slammed shut. "I'm going have to borrow the extinguisher at the on-site 'mat, this isn't the right type. What can I do to stretch it out?"

Nothing safe, or sane.

"I can hit the gym, get supplies, and meet you there."

He didn't make it an order, as he would have for either poison control calling him for an assist or some kid on the trainer helpline. Her crimination about throwing money at things hung over his head, close enough that he didn't cross the line.

"Please."

Were he a petty man her begging would have felt like a victory, it didn't, and that meant... something.

He'd let mysteries remain such, recalling Persian who was yowling swears at him and chanting at him to come back to the nice, warm, bed.

"I'll be on-site in ten."

Xxx​

When they were done, well, Grace meandered off to go to a hotel. She decided to splurge, calling in professional cleaners to tackle, The Trail. The caps were well earned considering the canine had exceeded expectations and started his expellment early, and from both ends. There was a trail of crap, vomit, soot, and foam running from her apartment, to her parking spot, leaving a charming path along her driving route to the park's parking lot.

In his opinion, the woman's car was a toss. But she was attached. Paid five times extra to have it treated, and once she was sure her goods were in competent hands, called a cab, and was on her way.

The Italian head worker looked to consigliere, to car, and the start of The Trail, and was considered mutiny.

"Just shut up and do your job, no comments, no skimming, and chuck the gym supplies while you're at it. If she tells me that one cent went missing forget yubitsume, I'll personally lop off both your hands."

When he left, it was on the back of a gym loaned Fearow. After landing at home, Giovanni called out sick from all his work, his legal work.

It was a rush, just to tell them no, and high on that buzz he dared another call.

It seemed that the Don had no need for him.

Victories all around.

After a languorous soak to get the smell of soot out, he went to bed. Pulling a thick book off of his" read later" shelf, he settled in for a peaceful evening in.

 

[K_S]

Villian-tines
Prompt 5 city
Ranked: general
Cw: no trigger warning apply.

He'd been everywhere by the time he'd sauntered into his mid-life. Every region, every scrap of wilds, he'd dug through, sifting through the world to catch then train his team. And between the jet setter facade he'd milked through his adolescence to young adulthood to his... submersion in Rocket that would span the last gasps of his long spent childhood to this battered present... He was intimentaly aware of every nook and cranny of his world.

Stepping onto the familiar streets of Viridian City, the Forest a hissing spector at his back, Giovanni felt something bone deep unclench. While the Forest and it's savage Mother might be wooing Yellow. Gifting the girl his inheritence with its verdent slopes and shaded woods it was one he didnt miss.

Let the child have the Forest.

Viridian City, every city, from Kanto to Johto, was his.

And he'd use and abuse all of Rocket to keep it that way.

 

[K_S]

Villian-tines
Prompt 6, the world
A little corner of the world, (A history)

Once upon a time the world had been whole. The peoples had been divided by distant landmasses, sprawling oceans, and the oh-so-important imaginary lines held up by not-so-imaginary walls, and patrolled by people with guns.

Then the disaster happened, and with it the beginning of the end.

What caused it, varied from region to region.

They dug too deep and unspeakable things rose from the earth....

The last reservoirs of polar ice cracked, and within lay a long dormant plague...

The air grew too thin to breathe as the last trees were felled and the masses suffocated....

The seas were poached to depletion, the unedible creatures rose to prominence, breeding then overbreeding without check or balance, and from the soup of their decay the world sickened and died...

A madman rose to power, wrested a secret weapon from the wise, and leveled it at any who dared challenge his ego. His legacy was a blight that nothing could inhabit for over ten thousand years.

Regardless of how it happened. The common consensus was the world ended.

And as always, in these tales, there were survivors. Scraps of humanity that hung on to spite the end. Ragtag remnants that would have fulfilled the old creed "and the meek shall inherit" had they been left to their own devices

But they hadn't been.

Rising from the decay were embassies of pure toxin. Dissolving what little life hung on, acids breaking down the blighted ground to its bedrock, the world was destined to be lost in the burning tide.

And then, it hadn't.

Pick a Region, and get a Legend.

In Hoenn tales, Groudon clasped the earth in his claws and sealed up the burning tide. Kygore washed the stragglers to impotence in his seas, and Rayquizilla rose upon the arch of heaven to safeguard the masses.

Kalos had a tale of a bewitching fey creature that danced upon the grave of the world so gracefully life sprung from his hooves. The remnants of that which corroded, coagulated, and took flight on wings from sheer shame.

Jirachi dreampt deeply and wished a new world far far away from the poison tides. Secreting the surviving creatures into his dreams. Jirachis whims were 'mon, and the shadowy memories of the escaped peoples became the world, and by dreams and wishes the world was born anew.

There were countless variations of a similar tune.

As far as theology was concerned, something unspeakably bad happened, a God-mon had stepped in, and all was well after.

What theology missed, and what was lost to history, was the nitty-gritty of what happened to those peoples. Those fractions, of a fraction, the scraps of upheaved nations who had been survivors of unspeakable terrors who had huddled together under the boughs of a dying world tree brought back to life by seeming whim.

They'd lived, had made a home in an alien world, among creatures they had no word for. Nature and natural had gone out the window, old social structures of nationality and government were equally extinct.

But good old humanity had loved its divisions, which had been the prequel to world's end. Once the world had settled, and the first few generations that recalled the lynchpin that had caused the world's end had passed, their children picked things up again.

Among this new Eden, they build their first walls. Divisions of "us versus them" were cast up. From the ensuing friction came traditionalists who enshrined what was all but forgotten, versus the more reactionary parties that wanted to start anew by shedding everything old.

There weren't enough people to make a war. The masses that had been sprawling nations were gone, making combat unpleasantly intimate. If efforts to actually wage war commenced... it would likely wipe out the viable variations for genetic longevity in the species. More pragmatically, the stockpiled weapons of old were all long forgotten and equally inaccessible.

So banishment occurred. The majority stayed, and the minority left. Some willingly gathered kith and kin and like-minded and marched one way, leaving the fools to be fools to their backs. Some were, less peacefully, coerced to go.

The people who stayed, and the people who went, became the explorers who discovered regions. New lands were settled, grudges were set, and the world moved on.

During the exodus humanity's clannish nature took hold, along both ethnic and ethic lines. The criminals were lumped together, and since society much less its niceties were long gone the definition of criminal was shakey at best. The common exile, if asked in those days, would have said "I wasn't liked" more often than "I committed murder".

Mundane to Made, the differences weren't as iron-clad as they are now.

Initially, the groups who left were spread all along the lands known as Kanto. Fumbling through relearning agriculture and long-forgotten sciences while wrangling with feral 'mon. But an invasion occurred, the majority survivors of yore had struck technological gold. Cobling together wonders of a forgotten age, they adlibbed weapons and decided "screw the meek, we're evicting everyone not like ourselves".

The scattered souls in Kanto didn't have a chance.

While strongholds remained...

The mountainous and verdant lands that would become Viridian were impenetrable. Locked in by landslides and its vicious established familgias stealing weapons and turning them back upon the invaders. Betrayal and brutality was their creed, and in the brutal war, they flourished.

The bogs and saltlands around what would become modern Fushia became graveyards for enemy troops. Civilians and soldiers alike faded into the wilds like ghosts and did atrocities of unspeakable sabotage and murder...

And there were places wisely abandoned...

Though more legend than fact, there was enough documented evidence to prove that the shamanistic cultists in what would become modern Violet Town unleashed something, the scope and scale distorted by centuries, and the common consensus was that outsiders do not, ever, step toe in and around Violet. Least the restless dead haunt them...


Regardless of these victories, the civilians of Kanto were inevitably pushed south. Inch by bloody inch. The coastal area of sea foam, and to the islands beyond Articuno's favorite hunting ground were where the last stand came...and went.

There are Legends about that final battle too...

The 'mon'thests say Articuno Himself was woke from the ruckus of the massacre and inflicted blizzards so strong he froze an ocean and the escapees ran across a sea of ice to get away.

The humanists say the ice bird woke, warped the weather, and caused brother to forgive brother in a mass scramble to ensure someone survived. And those survivors out of sheer desperation dropped weapons and struck a truce.

The last version was told as gospel to those who live off the mianland, and they don't mention the snow herald at all. They speak of unseasonal snowstorms, and that the strongholds of Viridian and Fuscia seeing the genocide that was going to occur put their heads and resources together, secreting boats, and loading women and children on them. They had to leave the bulk of the menfolk to die from the elements, of a last stand, to sell their tale. To avoid attention the beraggled remnants had pitched a futile battle to buy precious moments to get those boats loaded and shipped out in secrecy.

Beyond Kanto, to the warm southern waters beyond Articunos nest, the seas were wine-colored, the beaches rocky, and the lands beyond lush and fertile. A mini Eden that was claimed as the outcaste's own bought in blood, held in spite. There was no pursuit, no visitors, merely a stronghold of interlocked families, grudging trade when the world finally found them, and a deeply intrenched "us vs them" that they never allowed to soften, no matter the sweet talk of the established Kantonese.

Vedentta was a national past time, comerence bred violent black markets all the better to spit in the face to outsiders, and this was the crucible Team Rocket was born.

 

[K_S]

Villiantines prompt 7,
illustrate, part one (Giovanni)
Rank: teen toeing the line of mature
Cw: adult relations between two consenting adults, most of the clothes stay on but the allusions and sensual nature of their interactions are the cause of the rank.

He'd initially refused Grace's little game. He'd learned to draw on graph paper after all. A crude "fill in the squares" sort of thing that'd whittled away his time at meetings or covered half-complete sudoku or crossword puzzles when he was bored.

His "art" seemed too childish for such delicate work. And he held to that until she'd introduced him to pixel work and cross stitch. It was the same tricks, but more refined.

He'd begged a month to practice and she'd granted it and more. They'd found tangents to play in. Brushing against old hobbies of cooking, art, and chemistry, and twining it into a pleasant whole.

The end result was a weeks-long negotiation, two drafts of rules, a middle ground reached, and a day in.

The tools of their sport was a teakettle, an old ceremonial tea serving kit, his old trainer's portable cook stove, a cutting board, some thin bits of metal with an interesting history, a knife set with an equally fascinating tale attached to it, and the bits and bobs that several weeks of culinary trial and error had taught them worked and was pleasing.

It was a simple process that started with a massage. After, he retraced warm flesh with his calloused fingers, spreading a base coat of oil on his last circuit. The first he rubbed into her back, smoothing stress points until she melted into the sheets and softness of their adlibbed blanket and pillow nest. Once she was properly semifluid he revisited his canvas. Warm fingers dipped in a heavier honey-based oil, he traced a simple grid, leaning heavily into the strokes to make her fight the urge to arch into his touch and ruin his work.

Once the lines were dark enough, straddling the line between discernable but not too dark, he stopped. She was, as a perk, riled and swearing at him that "his mythology nothing, temperance wasn't a virtue, it was torture with a twist". He'd nearly broke their little game by lobbing back, but experience taught him that while the resultant back and forth would be fun... He wasn't quite in the mood for their usual repartee.

Settling on bending the rules with a chuckle, he left her on the blanket-covered floor in her next of pillows to stew.

Pinned, not by any force of his, but out of raw anticipation.

Cleaning his hands, he returned with a steeping cup, work blades, and a few bowls with his supplies..

He made a slow, maddening presentation of the last few steps. He worked on the edge of her sight, chopping, mixing, and stirring. Humming a familiar tune as he worked. The scents for the base and binds and dyes were meticulously picked as her favorites and what blended well. It was an art to tease each sense without laying a finger on her, and a privilege to watch her uncensored reaction.

Today was, he noted, a kneed day. The blankets in front of her were bunched and twisted under her nervous fingers as want and anxiety prickled her control.

The click of Nevermelt Ice meeting steaming water to trigger the aprop chemical reaction was a promise. The wait was all but done. Settling his varied blades alongside the kettle to warm he swirled the peach and red highlighted paste to its proper thick yet smooth texture. Setting his book open to its proper page and propped open so he could refer to it as he worked he picked the bottom most square, just to the left of the small of Grace's back, right on the edge of her hip bone.

At the epic center of the graphic he trickled a generous trail of henna paste, she hissed at the cool rush of chilled oils and plant matter. Smirking at the familiar meep Giovanni flitched the thickest blade from the pile, letting warmed metal smooth and scrape over the henna paste. Banishing the chill with a few practiced strokes, slicing off the excess on top.

Once he was satisfied with the broad shape he returned the blade to its nest of lukewarm kin and set to work. A slow, languid, chisseling and sculpting, that would leave the pre-approved aesthetic patterns in place.

Any teasing pokes and prods he indulged in would be paid back in agonizing full when it was her turn next week.

He was looking forward to it.

Xxx

Previously during negotiations....

Spoiler: Extra m rated scene

"Alright, seriously, Gio, is there a reason why you have these.. these horror movie props?"

She was waving the leather belt attachment, a looped strap where the metal odd and ends were secured. Snug as a ledybug, they didn't even jingle at all the excessive motion.

"It's nothing bad." He assured with a smile. "Just a leftover relic from my wild youth."

"I'm well aware of your wild oats sowing days, thank you. I had to console a few of those ladies....and patch you up after that nasty one retaliated with the-"

"Grace.. can we not? They're a relic from my pre-gym leader days... back at Nona's... well I worked..."

Grace blinked, and checked with him. "You Worked, under duress, for Nona's mob."

"Yes. They're my old lockpick kit. There's nothing like them for precision, and getting into things at an odd angle. They're much more refined than that painter blade kit I dickered around with."

Grace chewed her lip. "So you're planning to... contaminate old evidence... use contraband lockpicks... to..."

"Leave a mark," his eyebrows ticked up and his smile widened like the proverbial Persian in the torchik house. "Jimmy the lock, break in and enter?"

Silence. "Mew's grace Gio, of all the puns you could make, you did a burglary one and equated it to foreplay."

"I could keep going?"

"Please no... just stop."

"But I could use them to breach the safe-"

"Or we could do cops and robbers, and the couch could be considered jail. How long will your sentence be, Mr. Break and Enter?"

"Touche."

 

[K_S]

Villian-tines prompt 8,

Pondering

Ranking: general
Cw: none

Summary: When Grace had made a comment on catching him up to modern media he hadn't taken it seriously. They were both adults. This stuff was kid's stuff.

But she had pulled out all the stops. Playing the "and how are you going to bond with your kid if you don't at least have a passing knowledge of this stuff" card had been blackmail at its finest.

Which fine. One evening. Going over cliff notes would do the job, right?

Wrong.

Grace roped in his ex-trainee, Rocket assault recoveree, Daisy Oak to be her partner in crime. It wasn't going to be one afternoon, not even one weekend.

It was once a week, dawn to dusk movie and TV series binging marathons.

Mother Mary and all the Saints help him he was going to lose his ever-loving mind.


How it began... a Miyazaki introduction

He wouldn't mind this visit quite so much if Daisy Oak hadn't trooped up to his forest-side home decked out in the fuzziest, pinkest, most glitter-encrusted onesie he'd ever seen in his life.

She'd likely shed a path of glitter between here and her hotel room. Just looking at her was slowly short-circuiting his brain.

There were gold and silver mareep faces all over the sleeves and leggings. Little metallic faces peeped out of tall grass. Except the tall grass was a barrage of color, a roygbiv of pastel and feminine hues, that did not exist in nature.

Much less right in front of him.

He reverted to training in shock. Acting like a gentleman to take her things. She passed him a box of cereal and a small jug of milk. Much to his stupefaction.

Staring after her as she bustled past, she paused to baby-talk Persian, and then strolled past the entranceway and into the house proper. The inner sanctums of the Sakaki household were clearly open season for her. Daisy hollered for Grace and got a similar salutation from deeper in.

Closing the door behind him, mindful he did not drop the milk, Giovanni ceded defeat. It was six in the morning, he hadn't had his coffee yet, and the world had already won.

"Kill me now."

Persian, the traitorous bitch, flicked her tail up and proud and bounced her way into the living room. Leaving Giovanni to trail behind her in a daze.

Sandwiched between the two women, to keep him from getting away, he was introduced to the most puerile of the lot first. Regailed how it had been common (and still was among the poorer families) for kids to wake up stupid early and commandeer the television. Especially on weekends, where public programs were geared to show a series of repetitive gags that were redressed with different characters and occasional updates to settings.

"There's supposedly a lot of in-jokes we just don't get," Grace admitted she was dressed in a (comparatively) somber-colored onesie resembling a metapod. Where she'd gotten the thing was a mystery to him. Its only saving virtue was that the material was soft as sin and the color didn't want to make him rip his own eyes out in self-defense.

They were taking a break to figure out what the hell an "abulbcurekey" was and get some coffee on. The consensis, maybe a river in Kalos. Giovanni meant to look it up later. And Yosamitty was renamed Clay after his first short... it felt appropriate.

"I mean this stuff is really old, pre-catastrophy level work."

"And you know it because?"

"We play the less offensive ones on loop in the children's wards. It's so old there isn't a copyright on it, so anyone can show it anytime. It's pure fluff programming... mainly."

"Offensive ones?"

He'd been dared to eat the cereal by Daisy Oak and was regretting the tripwire in his psyche that didn't allow him to turn down a challenge. He was seriously thinking about flushing the coagulation of sugar... that was slowly turning the milk an off brown hue... down the toilet.

Or maybe he could have nidoking bury it outside.

Poison types being immune to poison and all that.

"Besides killing my brain cells how can any of these skits be offensive?"

Daisy's wide smile and fishing out a specific DVD from the stack should not have been a threat.

Her words proved it to be a damned hit in the making.

"Challenge accepted."

Xxx

He was offended. Most of the sight gags weren't even directed towards his race and he was getting more offended by the second.

After a thirty minute span, even Daisy and her sadistic itch was scratched. The short with the suicidal, off-colored yamper, was probably what turned her stomach enough to admit defeat.

Looney Tunes was scratched off the list, thank God.

Xxx

Tom and Jerry, another pre-catastrophe series, joinedthe dreaded Tunes in the "done" category, one episode in, as both Sakaki's were of one mind "not again!"

"No respect for the classics." Daisy dug through her pile of archaic media.

"Daisy, sweetheart," Grace corrected. "These aren't classics, they're prehistory."

Giovanni was shamelessly flipping through his phone. Perusing the trainer crisis hotline for anything in his league. Hoping if he refeshed it the page he'd get an alert about rampaging beedril swarms or something...

There was one case, about a dumb kid who walked his meowth up a tree and the cat wasn't coming down.

Reading over his shoulder, Grace hummed. "Has he tried shaking a treat bag?"

"Twice."

"Suggest a laser light toy," dutifully Giovanni tapped her suggestion into the input box. Wiggling to better look at Daisy, Grace continued. "How about something not so shallow?"

"Miyazaki, alright?"

"The pianist? Played at five, died stupid young, wrote a few symphonies?" Giovanni flicked his gaze up, to see twin dispairing looks settle on him.

"Spirited away?" Grace offered the suggestion with a wince.

"Too fanciful. Mr. "Grim Dark and Sober" is going to need big guns here. Can you tolerate Fireflies?"

Tolerate? Giovanni flicked his eyes up to give Daisy a warming look. Grunts would have quailed recalling business a Region over, and Made Men had near pissed themselves. The young coordinator simply absorbed his disapproval, nipped her lip, as guilt flicked across her expression.

He wouldn't veto anything out the gate. Despite how many men would have been tempted to because of Grace's delicate condition. Delicate nothing he was well aware of the fact that Grace could and would kill in the defense of herself, patients, and friends, if need be.

Between the Don Marchetti incident and the hospital take over by that splinter cell mere months ago... He had no doubts about where Grace's lines were and what she could do when pressed.

Still, that didn't mean he couldn't voice his concerns.

"Something about this one I need to know about?"

"It's not easy viewing." Daisy admitted. "Not Schindler level," she promised, and having been her port of call after that viewing he respected the severity of her analogy. "but there's some overlap. It's one of the stronger shows to prove animation isn't puerile kiddie junk."

This really was getting ridiculous... he was about ready to protest that there were a hundred things he'd rather be doing besides this but...

"Look," Daisy scratched her right arm with her dominant left hand. Squirming a little as she itched. It was an old childish tell of discomfort he recalled seeing for the first time in Viridian Forest. The memory slowed his tongue, and her explanation stopped the protest in full. "The only reason I saw it was because I liked the guy's softer stuff. I bumbled into it and... kids do that. You know that." Didn't he ever. "But the old man wan't able to answer my questions after because he never saw it himself, and couldn't be assed...."

The request... between the lines...made nausia settle in his guts. She shouldn't see him like this, shouldn't need him like this, they'd been over this before... But between the Grace limplit at his side and Daisy's pair of arcanine eyes the Made Man sighed.

"Is this a hot coco after sort of film or..."

"Tissues." Daisy ruled. "Snuggles, but nah, not a chocolate-after type of flick. That's more a tragic romance film mood."

"Well, set it up, and settle in and you can ask me what you need to when it's done."

Grace made a wordless noise of approval and stole a pillow, while Daisy flopped back into her place at his side.

"Has anyone told you you're going to kill at this dad-ing thing?"

"Hopefully not."

Music played, and a trailer for some other show by this Miyazaki was being advertised before the main event. It was vibrant enough that he could easily imagine a younger Daisy being enchanted. And the idea of a "King of Cats" would have gotten his much younger-self invested in a heartbeat.

"It's getting harder to find places to hide the bodies."

Xxx

He'd stared quietly into the space in front of the tv as the credits rolled, stroking soothing patterns into Grace's back while she indulged a good cry.

He wasn't sentimental by any means and hardened in more than one way by his career and military service... Still, his breathing had become a bit tight after certain plot points had come to light.

Being intimately aware of life "not being fair" he'd harbored no illusions of the cast's immortality. The foreshadowing had not been subtle, but that hadn't detracted from the gut punch in the slightest.

Daisy was sitting touching close, ramrod straight, face pale. Looking more back then beyond, as it were, her dark eyes were haunted.

"It was stupid. You know. I was eight. Young enough to believe that if I turned off the TV I would be leaving them to worse. The remote was dead so even if I'd smartened up I couldn't have done a thing, and Dad wasn't there to override it. He let the screen be a babysitter a lot, especially during hatchling season.... and if I got upset he'd just pat my head, tell me it was makebelieve, and lock me in the room with the show to "help me through it". "

Giovanni let out a scornful noise to express his opinion on that. Passing Grace a tissue so she could clean her face

"Anyway..." Daisy cleared her throat. " Back then, I would... actually, what I asked was "why do bad things like that happen to good people"?"

Grace stirred at that. Rousing enough to try to talk.

It wouldn't have been coherent. Grace was a horrible crier and hadn't had a restorative cup of water to brace her before she tried. Giovanni passed Grace a cup and then feathered an arm over Daisy's shoulders. She slid into the one-armed hug with a shuddering sigh.

"It's less that people are good and bad and more that a lot of those "bad things" are just cause and effect... something "bad happens", let's say, a war. We don't live in a vacuum, so war's consequences, work a lot like fallout. Its indescriminent, hitting civilians, soldiers, man and mon, alike. No one is spared."

"And because of that, "good" people, women, and children, can suffer as much, if not more, than the troops. It's happened before, and can happen again."

"Thank you, Mr. Compassion." Daisy croaked into his shoulder.

"There's contingencies and resources you can build to minimize it... but sometimes life is that rough."

"So your advice is sometimes life just sucks," Daisy noted croppily.

Giovanni passed out another tissue.

"You have resources, and allies, that would minimize it. And the foresight to avoid most of the pitfalls..." he left it hanging, realizing he was likely digging his own grave at this rate.

"The compassion of a rabid nay-theist at its finest." Grace rasped, then in a ragged, disbelieving note, "How the Hell are you not crying?

"Training." He admitted, clearing his throat.

"Gio's unique," Grace sighed to Daisy, finishing her cup, she mused a bit before setting it aside to better lean on her long-suffering husband. His calloused fingers had pushed back her 'pod hood and were teasing her hair. "His best would give you a nine-page bulleted plan on how to avoid or minimize any scenario faintly like this one with a three-page aside on how to recognize per news wordage which government was coming in, and what route they were going to take to do so. And... as awful as that all sounds, that's Gio's gift. It's something like ruthlessness, something cold-blooded, but damned in a crisis if it isn't useful."

Seeing the question by the tilt of her expression Grace made a lucky guess.

"Trust me when I say even I don't like Gio at his worst, and I don't ask after those methods. Some things are better left alone."

"I'm not that bad." Giovanni demurred.

"I talked to the autopsy specialist after Marchetti was wheeled in. The Don came into the morgue in five little sandwich bags."

"In my defense, he did try to set my Region aflame on his way out."

"Five sandwich bags Gio, and he smelled cooked."

"As none of my team can use fire attacks or electric, you can blame Surge's Raichu, Vixen, for that."

"Alright. Infinitely glad I wasn't in town for any of that." Daisy creaked out. "And i am never asking about that ever. You two have the weirdest fights." Burrowing under the covers until barely her eyes were visible Daisy muttered to herself.

"How was your day?" Her mimic of Grace's voice wasn't too bad.

" I stopped an insurrection, can you send your work buddy to genetic test the doggie bag Surge left behind just to make sure we killed the right bastard..." Her attempt at a baritone was laughably bad.

"I had a crush on that man!" She whined, fabric-sheathed feet tap-tapping against the plush leather couch as she kicked out like a toddler. "And you're telling me he does stuff like that! I may never date again!"

Glad to see the ladies were moving past their emotional crisis, Giovanni took a nip of his coffee. "What do you know, there is a God."

"He's not nice if he lets you doggie bag someone," Daisy noted.

"He's a bastard," Giovanni drawled. "Ergo nay-thiest, with the occasional foray into actual atheism."

"What about you?"

"Me?" Grace asked.

"As the not nay-theist, not paranoid, nice, half of the Sakaki whole... what's your "why"?"

"My sympathy only goes so far," Giovanni warned. "I can, and will, kick you off this couch-"

"All I said was that your wife is nice." Daisy countered.

"You get one warning." Giovanni snarled, finishing his cup he set it aside. "Watch your tone."

"He's also not a morning person," Grace advised.

Never mind lunch was soon to become an issue. The warning felt like an attack and the Rocket glared at both women on either side. Most men would have been thrilled at such company, trapped between Grace's gravid maturity and Daisy's youthful enthusiasm, it scratched the itches of most men's tastes.

Giovanni, smarter than most, recognized a wrap stall tactic when he saw it

"I lived with him before you did." Daisy's tone and melodramatic pose told tales. All he could do was glare as Grace was snuggled in. Grief on the decline, she clearly decided to play a passive "good cop" to Daisy's racious "bad cop". "I am so aware of how much of a "not morning person" he is..." Feeling Giovanni shift she glared at him.."If you kick me off I swear I will take you with me. Then I will have Charles burn my copy of The Cat Returns. You will live the rest of your life wondering what it was about, and I'll never tell."

"Really? That's your threat?."

"Never. Tell. Ever."

He let his flat expression convey just how little he cared.

"Daisy, sweetheart, you have to make a show of the goods before you dangle them over the fire."

Hearing an old Mob saw coming out of Grace's mouth, leveled at breaking him shut his brain down. The bite of that betrayal hit bone deep. Whipping his head to gap at Grace, he was treated to the sight of her wiggling her toes, she smiled up at him, not a care in the world.

"What?" She asked, looking up at his gobstopped expression, innocent incarnate.

Daisy, the manipulative thing she was, managed to use that moment of domesticity to rip the controller from his hands. She twisted in place to hit play but not lose her spot, and evil done, flopped back into place.

"So we cut off after the sunset scene but before the end of the tea scene, awesome."

Flexing his fingers, which were cooling without the electric warmth of the old-fashioned remote control, Giovanni realized he was starting to hate Daisy almost as much as this stupid "catch-up" plan.

Which, points to the girl, that was a damned impressive place to get in his disregard.

"So, all those tiny Persian look-a-likes, those are based off of old-world cats," Grace noted, and, admittedly that was a mildly interesting bit of trivia to keep his interest. "And those patterns," she pointed to the royal entourage, " aren't dyed, they're different breeds and genomes."

"Miyazaki's a bit famous artistically and historically speaking. They think his work with animated cats, birds, and deer, is some of the closest realistic rendering of pre-mon animals of those types we have on record."

"So..." grudge-forgotten Daisy flopped against him, face thoughtful, "you're telling me that that Yakuzo guard one, isnt a dark/ghost type?"

"Short hair tuxedo. Animals don't have types." Grace rattled off the title with a practiced ease that made Giovanni flick a look down at her.

"And you know this, because?"

Grace made a grouchy noise at his interrupting the scraggly grey frizzled creatures' insane marriage proposal, but with them both treating him like furniture a firm wiggle made his questions unavoidable.

"Well, at the clinic waiting room, they show stuff like this all the time, copyright and all, and the kids sometimes ask questions. I was just being proactive and educational when I looked it up."

She somehow managed to look innocent while peddling out what Giovanni was now one hundred percent sure was pure Tauros shit.

Still, he grunted and ceded defeat. He was basically pinned at this point. All the struggling in the world wasn't going to save him now.

He waffled between admiring the detailed backgrounds, invatorizing the goods on screen and calculating thier value if sold on the various black market, and... grudgingly... warming to the feline cast and little girl on the screen.

"Aaand break time!" Daisy cheered, flicking the remote to kill the scene just as threatened, right as the tea was being poured, one minuscule drop at a time.

The sudden stop had snapped Giovanni back to himself. He might have been leaning forward, to better puzzle out the play of light and motion along the liquid exchange. Trying to remember how he knew that it looked right.

Daisy hopped to her feet, stuffing the remote in her onesie's kaungaskaun-styled pocket.

"Mew knows I could battle the elite four for some nice food. Could we go out and get some? My treat?"

It took a moment, for him to unglue his tongue and find his words. He'd been still a long time, and his mind was far away perusing gentle impossibilities for far too long.

As a result, his snark was a bit softer than the norm.

"Get the seventh Kanto badge, and you might have a prayer against Bruno. Maybe."

Daisy huffed at him. "That's the Marsh-" realization hit and she flicked a crude gesture at him. "You are a royal bastard you know that?"

He was up, stretching and yawning. Once his jaws were in working order he lobbed back. "There's this thing called a dark type. Also, Amewse can just do her job."

Ever mature, Daisy called for backup.

"Grace, your husband's being mean!"

Metapod were never meant to look doleful. Somehow Grace managed the expression while struggling to get up in her 'pod onesie. She took his hand for balance and rolled her neck in well-practiced flexibility exercise to get the kinks out.

"You know my favorite prayer I indulge every night? I ask Arceus to make one of you to grow up. I'm not picky as to which one of you does, just holding onto that dim little hope-"

"Really Grace?" Giovanni sighed. "It's a bit early for hyperbole..."

"Really, Gio. And it isnt hyper - anything. Just pure resignation.."

Up, and furthermore wound up, Daisy was off. Hollering that she was going to "pull a Kiki" she darted to the Sakaki driveway to draw her flyer 'mon. A crack of wings later, and she was gone.

Grace, deciding to take a walk, refused to explain what Daisy had meant.

Only suggest he leave a spread of butter and jams, and would offer nothing more

He also was not allowed to pick the next flick. His ignorance had picked it for him.

Xxx

(He'd had a boy in his gym a month later, near comatose in terror, it was the kid's first badge battle. Armed with a Charmander and more guts than his pasty face and shaking limbs would hint. He'd somehow gotten around the guards that were supposed to dissuade the youngest from his door.

Of course, the boy's firebug was named Calcifer.

His lips quirked at that gentle reminder of a day well spent... and the boy had picked up on it. By accident, the floodgates had been unleashed. The brat had slipped in to avoid pursuit by some off-shoot would-be yakuza who were running a racket shaking down children for their lunch money and stealing their starters.

He'd adjourned their little chat off the battlefield at that discovery. Allowing Persian to apply the charm while he gently grilled the kid for details he could exploit later.)

(Other ideas for later installments as the time limit for the base challenge is running out)
Pinky and the Brain (theme title drop)
Harry potter
Percy jackson
Attack on titan
Full metal alchamest
Mario
Others pending)

 

[K_S]

Villian-tines,

Prompt 9

A Walk

CW: violence, human sacrifice, murder done in self-defense, eldritch/malicious Viridian Forest
AN: cucu settete is an italian child's game, comparable to peek-a-boo
Summary: The Forest was fey, ancient, and under its sickly sweet summer flower, and spring growths, a thing of bitterest winter and delicate autumn rot.
Before he learned corruption at Rocket's feet he'd been given a taste of it from bark sheathed hands.

The nature of his Gift of the Forest was based on a threefold obligation. He had to make a show of faith, a proof of effort, and a sacrifice of blood.



His "faith" had been established when he'd trusted the forest utterly with his life. A toddler left to wander on is own without supervision among her verdant boughs had counted as that. And tit for tat he'd been rewarded, and the screams and chitters of 'mon had been replaced with words.



His "effort" had been equally bumbled into. Though more cognizant of right and wrong, and several years older, it'd been a case of right place, wrong time. 'Mon poachers had been herding a colony of cats, a rare snowshoe Persian clowder, into their vans at the Forest's edge. Between being woken up to screams at half past stupid, and the fact that 'mon sounded like people unless he really concentrated, he'd gone to investigate what he'd thought was human trafficking.



He'd been beyond pissed to be rescuing a clutch of kneading, needy, furballs to say the least. Even if the end result netted him a new partner for his Journey.



On the leanest technicality, he'd earned Mother Forest's approval, and another blessing had manifested. A kind of mental twist that allowed him to break down the walls of potential and drive a chosen 'mon to greater heights of fury and violence.



The last had been a feast all accidental. The sacrifice of one's own flesh and blood had been a gift like no other, not flipantly dared even in the darkest days.



Never mind modern taboos and religious dictates of honor thy mother.



He'd sacrificed a mother, to the Mother, and he'd been treasured beyond measure. The earth had been his command. He could bury his enemies with the right word and mental nudge of the right 'mon. The foundations of modern society could be ripped from its mooring with the snap of his fingers. He could channel the essence of spring itself to nestle in the blood of any 'mon he touched. Pushing back the other seasons of life, reversing injury, and twisting the nature of any beast under his command to hellish heights of power.



After all, Giovanni Sakaki, kin slayer and twice sacrificed in Her viridian arms, was Her favorite.



When he'd gone to other forests, other fields, trecked alien deserts, and courted death across salted waters known as the sea, the Forest did not worry. Simply feathered her best nest and waited for the far-flung Pidgy to swoop back from his long migration as a proper Pidgeot.



And he did return. Quick sorriees to revisit their acquaintanceship, make a kill, and then throw himself at the world beyond her branches. He reeked of steal and mechanisms his last few visits, like Yvetal and his beloved death.



The tender paths that water wove, the sweetest wood under Her bark, began to prickle. As if with a precursor of mold and mildew. For Her, rot was a languid disease that was triggered by too much water and a touch of stagnation, and to imagine that She may rot under the lack of attention of Her favored made Her fruit turn bitter and poisoned her waters.



Swarms of feral and tamed 'mon under her branches sickened and died as a result.



Seasons passed, and when exasperation might have eeked into the territory of reprimand, he returned. And his return was as taunting as his absence. He stayed on the edges of Her grasp. The tips of Her roots felt the echoes of his footfalls, a never-ending, satisfyingless cycle, as he paced the edges of Her territory, watching, waiting, but never breaking into the reach of Her boughs.



Right when She was waffling between straining her very root systems to grab him, whether to embrace or smoother the life from his body even She didn't know, he broke all the rules.



When he came into her domain at long last jubilation warred with seasons upon seasons of frustration. But this encroachment was... doubly unusual for them both. She did not demand he hunt or scour out some pest or fetch some treat from Her depths as a gift, and he was bearing a curious cooing burden.



It was small and sweet. Too soon from its mother's milk from the weakness of its uncoordinated steps. It was an ocular contradiction as well. Topped in a frizz of autumn-hued curls, yet sporting eyes the color of hated axe blades.



This... visitor... was quite the contradiction...



And by the scent of its hide, was kin to Her favorite.



Curious, She waited. For Her favorite to fall in line. For his attention to wander, as all the others had before him. She had the shiniest babbles to dance over dappled paths, or, if the mood struck Her, to tease a wandering cub into a babbling brook.





The duo continued their walk, uninterrupted. Her favorite's hand never letting go for even a second, and while She could have released a beastly brute to tear them apart, She didn't.



He coaxed his cub to tred Her tamer paths, swinging the spawn off his shoulders to put his feet on the earth. He hummed senseless encouragement, praising the tottering steps for a while before sweeping the cub up and carrying on. Slowly, surely, they made their way to the very heart of the Forest, a circle of archaic trees, their branches twined together to make an unbroken crown.



Her unbroken crown.



She shivered, from root to branch tip, wrapped in a tempest of fury, pride, and shock.



How dare he?



How dare he commit the sacrilege of violating Her sanctum, of bringing his lesser cast-offs here? Of reeking of crass things like technology and progress. Her fury was the savage multitude, as every beast within Her viridian tinted shade roused from sleep and woke hungry.



Unconcerned, he set his spawn upon the earth. A few of those odd training steps were indulged before gently easing the boy upon the loom at Her trunk.



An idea, unformed but prickling, like a brush against briars, coiled into being. Starting from the core of Her existence, it crept through the whole of Her awareness, inch by languid inch.



The ground out here was bare of anything save plant life. A thick heady loom, spotted with islands of semi-fluid green as moss consumed the flesh and bones of other interlopers long gone were the only deviants.



The only things permitted to live at the foot of Her throne were those lowly things that stirred the earth in their burrowing, and the small specks that broke down that which had long died and made the nutrients more palatable for Her roots.



While the rains in Viridian were common no matter the season, there was a certain savor to iron-rich water given freely.



Anticipation flared bright and cool, vibrant like flowers in the wrong season. The earth stirred as eager roots settled into place.



All She had wanted was for Her favored to walk away, to let Her whims run their path. But this gift of flesh and blood twice now did more than draw Her attention. It drew Her close, manifesting in the physical. The form wasn't important, just some nullable creature that his kind favored, writhing encouragement and promises upon the bark of Her greatest tree.



It was Her want that mattered the most in this moment, and Her closeness was a guarantee that She'd partake of the freshest, sweetest, nector of his gift.



Some bitterness seeped into the sweet of this offering as he pulled a knife from his belt. All steel, and oil, and reeking of the city. A claw, even a purloined one off the corpse of some predator would have been better. Barring that, some sturdy bone or rock...



He knelt, not to Her splendor, but to better reach down. Cruely tussling the cub's locks in pseudo affection, Her favored murmured: "cucu settete".



The prey, never knowing it was such, babbled an echo. Patting clumsily hands over its eyes.



"Cucu," the older's hands guided the younger's, to cover the eyes properly. "settete!" The hands were pulled back, with gentle fanfare that made the little creature gurgle in laughter.



"Cucu?" The favored's bird call was made a question by inflection alone.



The Forest mirrored the chirp. Making the little creature goggle at Her in wonder. Wonder dovetailed to joy, or at least happy noises. The beast's little hands flailed towards Her, and thus invited She pealed herself off Her tree. Binding Her essence to the thickest bark and lushest moss, settling into a nook of the roots to better see and be.



And to move the prey just so. It had wiggled a bit out of the way of Her thirstiest roots, and that needed to be corrected.



And as it had been for the prey's sire, Her touch granted blessings to the son. Idle things of hearing the 'mon right, Her presence seeded other potential deep in the little one's soul, that, with time, could grow to rival his sire.



Her blessings would add a taste of the familiar to the offering, and help wash out that reeking aftertaste of city and taming the cub was all but saturated in.



Her favored smiled at her, perhaps in thanks, perhaps in wonder, She basked in the attention until it left Her to wander to the cub.



One lazy stroke, smoothing where She'd touched, Her favorite murmured his newest nonsense noise. A sing songed " ?"



At the bird's call the little creature closed its eyes in anticipation, and the Forest, licking Her lips, did so too.



Xxx





Silver eyes went wide, realizing the call was another chance to play the best game ever, the boy chirped an echo. Alternately vibrating with glee and crunching into a Squirtle shell of a withdrawal in his effort to hide his face.



Once sure the eyes were properly covered, Giovanni adjusted the grip on his knife. Angling up and to his right, the Forest spirits left, he pierced bark to flesh underneath.



Breaking through to the creature's heart, ending its life in one quick stroke. He felt the last heartbeat vibrate up the metal and make the hilt hum in his hand. The Nidoking venom that coated the blade's edge crackled and snapped as some alien chemical reaction played out in the carrion. Pushing the body back, it struck a tree, was absorbed by the tree, and was gone without a trace



It'd also taken his knife with it.



"Cocooo?"



That was one problem solved. Confirming there would be no resurrection or regrowth was tomorrow's problem, and likely the solution would be another hike with a barrel of something toxic and acidic to treat the ground with.



"Cooco?"



Barking a tired laugh at his boy's impatience, Giovanni finished Silver's little game. Letting him see the world once more. Relieved that the oppressive pressure of eyes and malice had seeped out of the air at long last.



For now, at least, Viridian Forest was a safe place. The malicious spirit that had grown here was long gone and by salting the earth of her grove he could guarantee that if anything grew to replace it it wouldn't be from this malignant hot spot.



"Cocoo?"



"No Silver, no more cucu... I think this hike's been adventure enough for a while." And cucu was long forgotten when he swept the little boy into his arms and popped him on his shoulders. "Let's go home, hm? Mami is waiting and if we hurry dinner should be nice and warm."



"Mami?" Silver squirmed about looking through the greenery as if...



Checking a chill, Giovanni bounced the boy on his shoulders. At Silver's age, it was distraction at its finest. "Mami is at home Silver, where we're going. Home and dinner and a nice long nap."



"Ick."



Well, the boy'd only been dealing with the Forest tugging at his mind for a few days. The child's mews for "gree mther" had been the thrown pebble that started the avalanche and triggered a wild spree of research for both Sakakis. Mercifully he had all the answers in his personal library. He'd worried long ago, but when the Forest's nature had ran alongside his, he'd swallowed down any bitterness to live and let live, with the fey in his backyard. That changed the morning he'd seen a root twiddle open the front yard gate... Giovanni had found tolerance was no longer an option.



The quixotic tides of malice and summoning being silent was a relief. A long rest alongside his wife with Silver safely between them, and a lifetime to look forward to no longer being distracted by a crooning voice from the greenery, would be a godsend.



"Upup?" The request was babbled at the top of his head.



"I suppose I could giddyup for a little." The mafioso drawled. "But if you kick me the deals off."

 

[K_S]

Villian-tines prompt 10
Devote
Ranking, Teen
Summary: Even a blind man could see that Evens Grace and Giovanni Sakaki were devoted to each other. Long before they took their vows, they backed each other, through hell or high water. However, Giovanni was known as a "lapsed catholic" in the most polite Mob circles, Grace's denomination was alien to the Italian-kantoian, as she was an anima-Arcean worshiper. This occasionally would cause confusion and friction between the two of them. And cause issues in both their social circles.
CW: Religious dispute, assault, criminal/gang warfare, poorly taught/misleading interpretations of common faith practices,

Spoiler: Devoted, part one, complete

Villian-tines prompt 10
part 1


It was common knowledge from Rocket Grunt to newsperson that Evens and Sakaki were utterly smitten with each other. It was a relationship with no known fights and a disgusting amount of tranquility.

Even when separated and put under the social pressure of expert baiters, contrived scenarios, or harassers, neither let any malcontent slip.

Thiers was a rock-solid relationship, that was earned in blood and spite.

The excitement had been all in the beginning.

After the near violent crash of their first few meetings, they had balked first at the iron will of their opponent, then saw the drama that they were kicking up, and had a revelation. They both hated the attention and tabloids being speiled out, the drama was getting ribald, and both were too old to be acting like this. They stepped back, licked wounds, and over the course of a half year of running in the same philanthropic events first learned to live with each other, then seek each other out.

Mainly to bond over sassing and trash-talking whomever they both disliked at the time. Or put their heads together to outplay some faction or other.

During that time of political cat and mouse, where Giovanni and Grace's mutual enemies learned to fear the sight of them casually comparing notes over a table, there were three sordid affairs on Giovanni's part. After a spectacular fallout with his latest arm candy that'd led to the Gym Leader being assaulted (the last fling had been a mobster's daughter, hoping to make a hit) Grace had tiredly hitched up her dress, rolled up her sleeves, and started emergency triage work on the party room floor to keep the Sakaki heir from bleeding out.

It was the closest thing to a fight the Media would get to see.

"I get wanting to have someone pretty on your arm," She tightened a bandage with extreme prejudice, he yelped and curled and she used that opportunity to shove something under his legs to keep his feet elevated, "but why in Arceus' name didn't you vet her better?"

His silence was a bit sullen and he slid his eyes closed. Grace snapped her fingers under his nose, making his eyes flutter open.

"You are not allowed to sleep, and if you don't keep talking I will flip so fast and spill every embarrassing story to the press that you won't have any public dignity left."

The glare canted up at her was a mite murderous. "Contract.. immunity..."

"Yeah, because criminals are going to keep their word and honor the fact that you're untouchable," The date wasn't the only opportunist Rocket on site. There were sounds of a pitched pokebattle going around. Reaching back to the nearest table she ripped off a decorative runner. Bunching it in her hands, with a twist so the tassels were hanging away from his wound, as she pressed down.

He hissed and twisted, but didn't fight back.

"So, whacking you will net them... how many million?."

"Billions."

"That's worse."

"Why aren't you... -damn it, I know you don't need to press that hard!- you using the first aid shit I paid for-"

"Because," Grace kicked something beyond Gio's sight, it rattled metallically. "Some helpful soul dropped it off the second you went down, and it's obviously been tampered with."

"How the hell can you-"

"Disinfectant is not sirviper venom yellow."

"Fucking hell." He yelped as she adjusted her hold, her gaze flicking to some commotion at the front. "Friendly or?"

"You know what I hate most about Team Rocket? That their uniforms are the same fucking color as a swat team."

"If they aren't," Giovanni checked a full-body shudder. "Rhydons closest pocket to the wound."

Grace fell to rooting through the man's pants.

"So, is now the time to tell you I failed elementary-level trainer classes?"

Horror flicked across the grudging patient's face.

"You just have to..." he hissed... "open and close a Pokeball... how?"

"They cut me off after the fifth time I failed and number six I tried to use my teeth."

"Saints grant me patience. Just get the ball out and in my hand and-"

A wordless noise of triumph and Grace pulled out something red and white that was the size of an ambitious grape.

"This little thing?"

You could hear Giovanni's sanity wearing down in the barked, "yes!".

"Viridian P.D. are there any-?"

Both looked up and in near sync snapped.

"Badge number and-"
"Your creds and I.D. Dr.-"

And while the officer fell in line, and was granted a curt nod to approach the doctor tried to push past Grace, mumbling the name of a hospital and a dry Dr. Smith. Between that and a flick of color around the man's sleeve, Grace snapped a hand over Smith's wrist. Stopping the man from drawing something from his pocket.

"Unhand me this instant! I'll have you disbarred!" The hand sawed back and forth, breaking Grace's hold. But not before she managed to wrench the sleeve up, revealing a vibrant tattoo.

"Yakuza!" Grace yelped.

"Hands up Dr." The policeman barked.

It was too little too late.

There were two flashes of light. That familiar sense of "nothing's there" changed to "something's there" that happened between one blink and the other... The emptiness was replaced by a sense of gravity and smell of tilled earth, and a wiping gration of something that hissed. Blinking back the spots before her eyes, willing herself to see, it was more a sense of motion and blistering bright afterimage that she saw. What she heard was a serpentine scream and a squelch. Staggering back, scrapping her hands over her face, Grace was able to make out a hulking bipedal frame made of concrete grey stone. Broad legs, thick tail curled protectively about the body behind it, pointed ears slicked back and horn whirling, Rhydon looked between pseudo medic and nurse. Its left paw was soaked in red up to the elbow.

A hissed gasp replaced words for orders.

But it was enough. Flicking back slate grey ears, Rhydon snarled and grabbed Smith in a thundering, ponderous lunge and snatch. Lifting the struggling man, over his head, on chunky paws...

Aligning him with his h-... Oh, Mew's grace, she couldn't watch that! She winced, eyes slamming shut.

Another strangled noise, one word. "Civs".

A chuffed snort and that awful whirling stopped. There was a grunt and an awful clatter and thud, and when Grace flicked open her eyes the Rocket was gone.

If one didn't look too closely to a distant table and its yowling black and red smear that had been scraped along its surface, you wouldn't know what had happened.

There was silverware glinting, dulling under a rush of raw red, stuck in the mess that'd been a whole, healthy human mere-

Shaking her head, Grace ordered herself to focus.

Patting the 'mon, a mute "good boy", she got to the gym leader and officer's side. The man in dark blue was going through the five stages, and trapped in shock, having left Gio to try to pin his own aidlibbed bandage down himself.

"Officer Kain, Officer!" Her finger snap got him back to reality, though the gun instinctively pointed at her was a mite insulting. "Congrats, you're getting emergency first aid training starting right now. Drop the gun," he did, and she guided his hands to the adlibbed bandage. "Apply pressure, don't let up. Flat steady, and do not pinch. You're staying with my first patient and holding that down while I go stabilize that ground-up hamburger on the table."

Which, easier said and done, Grace was not looking forward to that.

Curiously, Gio whined at Grace's words, a quick look affirmed that the wound wasn't getting jarred, small mercies. Rhydon echoed the whine and Grace patted the trainer's hand.

"Be back in a second," she lied, then, to the mon "Stay, good boy," and at last to the officer.

"Anyone saying they're from Azu'corp or Vird'Gen needs to show their arms. They're rabidly anti-tattoo, and the mobs are rabidly pro-tattoo. Yell if he stops responding or gets any paler."

The incident from the first moment to the last dash out of the party and to the waiting emergency trucks had been faithfully recorded by an abandoned camera in the corner.

As one, after, both chimed a dry "no comment" when asked about that incident.

And after his recuperation (which rumors told of her visiting daily) they returned to the Viridian party scene closer than before. They slid into each other's life with a well-oiled ease that was almost disturbing in its synergy,

Only their inherent bitterness kept the whole from devolving into saccharine debatical.

It started as a less-known fact that both Giovanni Sakaki and Grace Evens possessed a number of the same enemies. This became less a secret as they worked together to publicly confront them for their crimes, well, that's what Grace did. Her efforts on that front were shocking and direct, she'd tear into her foes with the single-mindedness of a Persian ripping apart a pidgy. A mere accusation from her could trigger a maelstrom of investigative prying that brought a few corrupt houses in Viridian down. Giovanni's efforts were a few whispered words in the right ear, and if his clandestine efforts fell flat due to his victim having no cares for anyone or anything, he'd move heaven and hell to deprive them of their funds.

The Sakaki repute for corporate espionage and breaking up the stagnant oligarchies in Kanto grew in leaps and bounds.

Grace's altruistic goal to make Viridian better was being pursued by the woman with a rabid, zealous devotion. Giovanni had dryly suggested she slow the hell down and warned her next sorries would be solitary if she didn't take at least three weeks off.

His ultimatum had been blunt, if she didn't take that time off from work, charities, and her after-hours crusades, he'd leave her to crash and burn without any effort to bail her out. Because he was not aiding and abetting someone into their own grave via overwork.

"Not unless it nets you any money. Then your underlings could die in droves."

"Money's never been the point between us." He drawled, careful not to rise to her bait, or trigger her nosiness into his business.

She flashed the Sakaki heir a tight grin, near punch drunk in her exhaustion. The black rings around her eyes were inexpertly hidden because, unlike the upper elchion of Viridian, she tended her own grooming and didn't care for perfection. To an outsider, their closeness, her leaning into him, possibly looked like sweet nothings between two young lovers.

"If you think this is overwork, you'd break in your second semester of med school."

"I'm not joking Grace." He swept her hand into his, frowning minutely at the thready pulse under his fingers. How many stimulants had she indulged in just to pull herself together for tonight? He twiddled her pulse point, and drew her hand to his lips, chastely kissing the back of her fingers. "And I'm giving you exactly one warning before I cut you off. Decide what you want to do wisely."

She blinked, startled at his concern, then decided on a middle ground of taking off a week. Maybe a week and a half. When she went to order another drink and had been told the house had been ordered to just supply her water middle ground went out the window.

Spite spurred her to greater effort. Though she did stick to her more mundane lowbrow efforts at the food kitchen and the like.

Grace didn't sulk and cut him off like a jilted lover, they weren't in high school after all. No meant no and she'd be an utter hypocrite if she didn't respect that. But their project before he cut her off, the tangled knots that were the Kalos Outreach foundation, were something she'd have to work up to if she was going to tackle it alone.

So she took his calls most of the time. There'd been one face-to-face meeting over coffee to resolve lingering legalities. And she was tired for that, but not fall down exhausted like she'd been at the last party. She noticed he was subtly checking her for overindulgence of caffeine or other stimulants.

He wasn't exactly subtle, not to a medic.

She ordered decaf, to throw him off, and something over the top flavorwise because the horror on his face was worth each atrocious tongue-searing sip.

"You really should try it." She chirped.

"I'd like to make it to midlife with my stomach wall intact."

His eyebrows had a peculiar scrunch like two weedle meeting over his nose, their blade points were a pseudo wrinkle forming right at the bridge of his nose. She poked the point, because he hardly expected any type of touch, and the resultant cognitive shutdown made her laugh.

"Your loss."

He paid and they went on with their lives. He avoided her projects because his poking around in any food aid relief in the gentrification areas would be the same as asking to be assaulted. His newest habit, long, languid phone calls while she drowsily tended to after-hours shutdown procedures, looked sweet at first glance.

But they were added to her list of "checking up behaviors"... which were starting to creep into double digits at this point. And left her wondering if she wasn't burning the night oil a bit too briskly.

On her walk to her car, she spotted a familiar Italian gentleman in a zoot suit, leaning against a lamp post. He'd skipped the fedora, and was only nominally somber colored, considering his ensemble was a pretty royal purple. Acting as if chasing a bit of gelato in his cup with dogged intensity was his only purpose in life, that he wasn't blocking the route between her and her car, Grace groaned. She shooed off the elderly couple that'd closed with her, and made a beeline for the retired mafisio turned Sakaki's favorite lawyer.

"Signor Orn to what do I owe the pleasure... besides yelling at your boss?"

"Hmm." He looked up, and never mind his thick grey beard and mop of hair, his eyes were boyishly wide and all a twinkle. "Ah, bella signora! Come sta la mia mamma teresa preferita che vorrebbe essere oggi?"

"One of these days someone's going to explain who this mother is. Considering I'm young enough to be your granddaughter."

"My heart!"

"I'm taking a break from legalese battles, so what gives?"

"Walk with an old man for a bit, I know a fine gelato shop a ways away, just to sweeten the pot... and while we can walk, we can talk?"

It was less suggestion than it should have been, but not quite a threat. Still, Grace held her keys in her hand. Twiddled them openly.

"You know Damien, my lawyer, is a call away, and I also know you call him off the clock to play chess on Sundays. He brags from time to time. So what are you doing here this fine Sunday afternoon."

It was less a Sunday afternoon, and creeping into the late night. But meh, no one said a medic had a sane schedule, and she was reasonably wound up just then.

"How about this for a tall tale? You can humor this old bird by allowing me to go for a walk with a pretty lady?" Her glare stilled his charming front and Orn coughed, sobered. "Consider this less a legal matter... and more a wellness check."

"This, again?! You can tell your boss-"

"Gianni doesn't know I'm here."

And didn't that cause a frisson of ice to shoot down her back? She consented to his "walk and talk" even allowing him to thread her arm against his. They matched pace and chattered amiably about little nothings. She did net a few nuggets of amusing data during.

Gianni was more than sweet-nothing talk. It was actually the equivalent of a derogative spin on "john" like saying "johny-boy". Grace mentally scratched it out of her vocabulary even as Orn swore to keep it going until he was "iced".

"Not saying the boss would, but life's a bitch. Pardon the crassness of my terms, madam."

"I've worked retail and medical, you can't shock me."

"Aren't you the up-and-coming saint?" He'd slid into an overfamiliar dotting front. Near crooning the compliment.

She laughed, more out of the ridiculousness of it all than any actual fondness.

"You know, during the last party that went bad he was babbling about saints..." After the pain meds had really kicked in and he'd been jarred by an unhelpful aide, he'd lapsed entirely into Italian and hadn't calmed down to revert to Kantoese until after the meds had been watered down. "I looked it up, there were a lot of tall tales about street people. Couldn't wrap my mind around it."

"Street people..." Orn hummed to himself, shiny blues canted to the side. "Stre- Madam, these street people, did their titles start with st.?"

"Yeah, oddest thing. I get there's some building a highway to heaven thing but-"

Orn barked a laugh, leading her to the front of a little shop with alien writing in the window.

"The Mob back home is going to have a fuckin' conniption fit. Gianni settin' his eyes on a non-believer. Nonna's gunna have a litter of houdour. Cristo!"

"I'm completely lost."

The bell tied to the door jingled as Orn pulled it open, gesturing for her to go first.

"And I'm a shitty shepherd." The old man tipped her a wink, "But it's Sunday, we'll make it work anyways."

Xxx

Thus started the fine tradition of Orn gently collecting her, hauling her to a gelato shop on Ninth and Root, and breaking her into certain Shop topics.

"But not too Shop" he assured her, with a twinkling eye and sharkpedos grin.

XXX

Orn gave himself a fair shake. He was a horribly bad shepherd. If his goal was converting her, he failed so bad she was becoming repulsed by catholicism. Her distaste was partly because Orn translated everything between a mix-match of Mob jargon, legalese, and swapped between Kantoese and Italian like indecision was his personal style.

"So," she'd had two gelato cups and a fizzy orange soda that she was working her way down. Orn was on his fourth cup, and damn his brain freeze. Both of them were going to need to be vetted for diabetes at this rate. "The world's going to end, there's like twenty-nine prophecies, but the don directly under the capo dei capi of the universe -which, the capi thing sounds like a soft drink brand by the way- said, "nope, not gunna tell you when". Thus nullifying the whole endtimes cult chat you just threw at me as to why you are faithful. Also, you just spent an afternoon listening to a Kygore-flavored twist to it before coming out to accost me? And you're criticizing my Sunday?"

"Arks a good tale...Nice and symbolic. I remind myself of it when my downstairs neighbor blasts his damned rock at two in the morning. It's nice to know if Dio decides to ice the world like that again the fucker goes first."

"Even though he promised not to?"

"It's been a few genesis, maybe He'll have a cognitive lapse."

Swirling ice with her straw Grace waited for the punch line. It... wasn't coming. Brows knitted together, utterly puzzled, Grace grumbled.

"Look if this is a subtle way to tell me that Sakaki and I aren't going to work out because our faiths aren't compatible... we aren't doing anything long-term here!"

"Grace tesoro, I'm gonna be my nastiest, cruelest self right now. No filters. You need to understand this plainly. You know his history. He was practically man-whoreing himself to scrap up any endorphins because he was the loneliest, bitterest son of a bitch I've ever seen Nona churn out. And I've seen Nona fuck up a lot of kids."

"And who is this Nona?"

Orn grinned, Gianni was not fucking with him when he said you could see the righteous fury light Grace's eyes.

"One of those relations, the type that rise out of the primordial slop of yesteryear and demand adoration for it."

"Fuck..." There were a few of those in Grace's family tree. She'd had the blessing of being cut off for several years now for the sin of being born out of wedlock. "Is she the reason that-"

"You have to always answer Familgia questions with "no comment", page one paragraph six for the nda fraternization contract. Which we are only discussing hypothetically, in a discreet location, and I'm only disclosing as a reminder-"

"You call an Italian ice cream shop."

"Bella chiara's is no mere ice cream shop. Bite your tongue." Orn barked, true fury adding a growl to his aged rasp. "These kids that are serving us are mine! I miei nipotini! No fuckin' sbirro or pop' would make them roll."

"Mi dispiace. Pietà per favore." Grace's Italian, and placating motion, soothed the lawyer, who, with a grumble, took a large bite out of his last bowl.

"Apologies." The man huffed. " I crossed a line."

"Honestly, I think this whole thing's been crossing a line."

"Eh, if there was one consigliere in the famiglia who gave a fuck... this would look like me tickling you with a feather instead of feelin' like the third degree."

"So this is... a shovel talk?"

"Nah, think of this as a.... a trip to the mechanic. Looks like you're eyeing the shiny model on the lot so I'm just cracking under the hood and giving you a tour of how the belts roll and the bobs light up."

"So I see you're again ignoring the fact that we're just friends." His responding "damn straight" was in turn ignored. "how's a tour through the grungy end of a long-dead religion, that he quit, mean anything?"

Flicking a red spoon at her, Orn began.

"One, quit or not he's got traces of it rattling around in his brain. Two, those pieces not only cause assimilation issues with mainland Kanto, but with your moral codes. Three, Nona specialized in breaking perfectly healthy kids, Gianni wasn't alright when he was dropped off. His mama was to put it succinctly, a sadistic bitch."

"Alright, I think you've gone way too far in crossing the line. And this, I'm done with this." Keys in hand, Grace stood.

"Me and Orm are the closest thing the kids got to a zio, Ms. Evens. And there's something you need to understand, at the base core of Gianni, before you head out."

"You've got one minute, and nothing personal."

Lips quirking at the inanity of those instructions, Orn flicked an eyebrow and made his last stab at explaining.

"Kindness is a sin, altruism lunacy. Our saints were the best of us and we give praise that it was them, not us. Love thy neighbor is riddled with enough caveats to make any contractor flinch from signing the bottom line... and the divine plan ends in the end of the world. We call it pretty things like revelation and say glory be, but at the end of the game, Endtimes is the end of the Game. And you? You're up to your ears in lunacy and sin. And instead of pulling away to watch, he draws near instead. And you're "just friends"? You gotta lot of shiny titles to your name bella, you don't need fool added to the pile."

"If I'm so... broke... why isnt he telling me this instead of you."

"Hm... oh that? You aren't broke pretty lady, just flawed like our saints. I don't think he's got plans to ride your coattails to canonization, but he's got a vested interest in keeping you from bein' crucified." Stacking his cups, Orn stood with a crackling stretch. "The world's Hell, little lady, we rise off of its cold carcass at Coming, and so long as we live with even the faintest glimmer of faith, submit in our final moment, our lives, our choices, are just a diversion until time's end. It's the core of a lot of people's faith, cobbled together from remnants of a world that supposedly ended twice."

"That's a shitty way to live, and I can see why a lot of ways for this to justify a lot of evil."

"It is what it is. I'm not striving for closeness, Madam, just living my life. He will sort his own, in his own time, so until he sorts me I got immunity for a lot of things. Now, it's getting late. Let's get you home."

Xxx

Giovanni was bemused to receive a call from Grace early in the morning, as she normally reached out to him much later than this. Her confused torrent of rambling about if he owned a dead man nailed to a stick, not a cadaver but a necklace version, brought him out of his amusement and left him concerned.

"Grace, I'm prefacing this by saying this line is secure and I need to know if you're somewhere private before I go further."

"Yes?"

"Did you take any sort of street drugs or o.d. on any stimulants this morning? I can get someone your way who is discreet so this won't hit the press-"

"No.. no drugs... well a little cough syrup. Called out, don't wanna be patient zero, but... I stayed up too late too many nights in a row and got a bug. It happens."

Her voice was a bit raspy the more she spoke.

"Did you need anything?" Yes, she could afford to send someone to fetch her whatever, but in her sickness she could have forgotten.

Per the long pause as she considered it, she likely had.

"I got soup and greens until next week." She croaked. "And I'm waiting for the tea to seep. M'fine."

Interference as she flopped heavily on her couch, more than likely. She never took a call from the bed, an odd quirk she confessed to ages ago, since if left alone too long in quiet still places, would just fall back to sleep after taking a call.

She'd, per her, screwed up a few shifts at the hospital doing that.

Hence, why she was lounging on the couch.

"Talk to me?" Grace whimpered. "Don' wanna screw up my sleep schedule."

He was between meetings and had thirty before some noisome bastard from Aqua (not the TEAM) corp poked its head in. Wanting to access Cruellian's water filter and tank regulation technology to enhance their fresh-water type breeding program. They mainly specialized in sea life, the critters of Kantos rivers and lakes had caught their attention for some reason.

He rattled this off, even tagging on a brief impersonation of Aqua (not the team!) Corp's representative.

"His name is Archibald."

All iterations of Aqua had a Boss named Archibald. It was common layman's knowledge. Reading the files in front of him, Giovanni made an affirmative noise. Grace's reiteration of the obvious, the man's name was all but an accusation that he'd neither confirm nor deny.

"Is he obsessed with water types and talks like a pirate?"

"My secretary says it'll be like meeting the ghost of Blackbeard himself."

"And his company name says he isnt Team Aqua?'

"First line on the contract. I'm really hoping I can get a card from him, supposedly their executives have it embroidered in gold thread in the perimeter. Written so small and with just enough shine that it's supposed to subliminally make you believe it."

She crackled a laugh, devolved into a string of coughs, and rasped. "So I gotta call back after to do a sanity check on you?"

"Only if you're up to it."

Sick or not, a flick of mischief lit her tone. "He thinks you're a.. a mob person. Right? The Boss? He's that stupid?"

"Horridly stupid." Giovanni drawled. He was a consigiere, not a don, much less the capo dei capi of Kanto.

"If it were me, I'd play that up. Go all Sicilian on him or something. Scare him senseless. They gotta be scared of you after their last party crash."

Where they'd crashed a party both he and Grace were attending, he'd had to beat them back all but single-handedly considering how worthless the police were despite the bulk of his team having 4x weaknesses to the encroaching gang's 'mon.

Humor warmed his voice as he underlined a few key points of his scathing refusal for (not) Aqua proposal. "And you're suggesting cruelty because?"

A loud slurp, then her voice sounding a bit better, chimed in.

"He's got nine human rights violations under his belt and under-the-table evidence of him feeding people to a sharkpedo."

"Proof?"

She rattled off a webpage, a quick flick of the keyboard and he was skimming over an independent resource as well as borderline illegal video that was very high quality. It matched the information his HR had drummed up. He toyed with the idea of playing it on loop as the man entered.

"Please tell me this isn't what you've been doing while recouping? Looking stuff up like this?"

"Mnm, old stuff, you just reminded me of it, s'all. I gotta pile of old rom-coms to peck through f'r days like this."

Well, it had been tipping into three weeks since their last coup. So fair enough he was a bit behind.

"So, how about a deal? You tell me how I "Sicilian it up" and you take a nap. Three hours, over lunch, I'll tell you all the details, alright?"

Her hummed agreement was music to his ears.

Xxx

He'd met Archibald in his formal office, all bookshelves and sleek leather. Dark browns and greens were made more intimidating by the pulled-down drapes that encouraged deep shadows in the middle of the day. An old gramophone serenading classical music from the opera "Don Giovanni" for added sarcasm. Persian was at his feet, purring and squint-eyed at the guest.

Giovanni lit his cigar, leaning back into his tall-backed chair and languishing a hit, because while he'd pulled out a sizable number of stops his rival had too.

This Archibald was sporting a peg leg, nevermind modern prosthetics were infinitely less painful. A sheathed and peace-knotted scimitar that he was going to fire his head of security for allowing to get past the front door. And, saints grant him patience, a fucking wingull was perched on his shoulder.

Persian perked up with a little pur at the sight of the snack.

He mentally threw out the few lines of the Godfather he'd been about to lead up with because Persian was going to turn this into a chicken sandwich special. Giovanni flipped the computer screen so it could be seen, and flicked the on switch for the video.

"Good morning Mr. Archibald, it looks like we've quite a bit to talk about."

xxx

Ironically, he was indulging in a chicken sandwich when she made her wellness check call back. Or he had been. The sandwich was long gone and he was just pecking at his side salad when he picked up. From the scrape clatter that carried over the line, Grace was polishing off her own repast. Some sort of noodles and broth.

Insistent that he aid and abet her "keeping on a sane sleep schedule," he regaled a blow-by-blow of the meeting.

"So I wasn't able to lead in with the "offer you can't refuse" but in my defense, Persian." Who heard her name lifted her white head up from her kibble bowl. Not hearing the familiar pspsps summons, she got back to eating. "And it's not like Kanto, being predominantly landlocked, could do anything with those specially trained attack shakpedo. The only ocean we own cuts off Cinnabar, and its ecology never recovered. Not Sevvi levels bad, but it is a near soup of inedible tentacool and 'cruel."

She hummed in agreement.

"So, I've been meaning to ask... what was that about earlier, about dead people on sticks? I have to admit taking that as a decoration for my gym and front yard might keep the salespeople away... My reputation isn't that bad, is it?"

After all while p.r. told him things there were still gaps. Grace had made it her life mission to tweak him by bringing those up during events from time to time. So it seemed a safe topic.

"Well, there's no videos like that..."

His interest twiddled at her hesitation. He raked a leaf through some vinaigrette as he hummed. "Alright, so what type of videos have you seen?"

She was sick. It was the only thing saving her from his temper. These last few days she'd waffled between sleepy, crabby, and clingy. Sometimes hitting all three at once. While her meds had relieved her symptoms, they'd delivered a death blow to her filter.

"Well if you wanna know... There's a lot of speculative porn between actors pretending to be you and Surge. A few with you and Erika, which ew, she's twelve. You getting it on with mobster cosplayers. Some pokephillia bits."

He dropped his fork, food trying to make a reverse up his throat as what she said hit.

"Grace! I am eating!"

"Nothing real." She amended, sounding contrite. "Honestly it was a break from all that cannibalism that happens during Mass that I read up on."

"Wh.. Grace, I'm about ready to head the first non-mon drug sweep, and your house is going to be my target if you don't start making some sense-"

"I'm not making sense? Me? Well, blame your zio, he's completely insane with his sheep cult sheering thing!"

"Blame my what, for what, now?"

Spoiler: Devote part 2 Complete

Devote, part 2





"Now Gianni," remarkably cool-headed while being held by his neck over an old warehouse walkway by Rhydon, Orn tried to save his ass by fast talking. Orm just kept a steady stare-off with Rjydon. Both brothers were old hats at this, as this warehouse with its chronically failed inspections was only held by Sakakis to dispose of pests. Usually, the drop was meant to break bones, the basement by the drop zone was where the more gruesome activities happened. Familiar with this tapdance, though the furry mitts of the ex-madam's Zangooze was significantly softer verses this youngster's rock type. The girth of the creature's arms and battle scars did allow for more handholds though. Both men struggled just enough to get their feet on the rail. Thus avoiding getting choked out by having gravity meet Rhydon fore claws just right.. "You gotta admit, while I was a meddling old coot, I did get results. She started talking to you now. Besides legal and party crap. and per Orm she is taking it easier now."



"She's taking three weeks of medical leave due to getting a nasty lung infection, that's not "taking it easy"."



"You didn't mention that," Orn complained to his brother.



"All I knew." Orm drawled. "Was she stayed in all of a sudden? I didn't dig into her medical files to find out why. Marcus, my team's techie grunts, been laid up too."



"Eh, fair."



A snap of his fingers and Rhydon took a half step, both old mobsters lost their precarious foothold on the railing and croaked. Scrambling to work their hands into good holds to keep themselves from sliding onto the claws' edges.



"I had to spend a week and a half explaining why catholicism isnt some insane sheep death cult. That there isnt a ritual body we pull out from the morgue to cut into or a fountain of blood we make children drink from during mass."



Orm twisted enough to kick Orn, "fucking hell man, that's what you told her?"



"Symbolically speakin' I'm not wrong-'"



""Dammi un motivo per cui non avrei dovuto lasciarti cadere!"



Orm's phone rang in his pocket.



"Cuz that's your madam, right now, wondering why we're late to taking her out for dinner?" Orm wheezed.



Another fingersnap and the men were wheeled onto the walkway. Once their feet were touching ground, Giovanni rooted through Orm's pockets to dig out a flip phone.



Grace's number was showing up as a present call.



Murderous didn't begin to encapsulate his expression as he tossed both a phone and a potion at the wheezing mobster.



"Heal, then when it's done you are going to say exactly what I tell you to. And when we are done, if you ever pull this crap again, I don't care that you are the ex-madam half brothers, I'll leave you alive with your entrails strung up like garland, in your precious dead daughter's gelato shop. Am I clear!"



"As an icebeam, sir." Orm rasped. "But really," the old mobster continued, proving Orn was truly the smarter of the two. " I heard a "we" in there. You come back to the flock, Gianni?"



There was a final snap, the crack of bone as Giovanni's fraying temper sizzled over Rhydons mind and inspired the 'mon to stomp.

Xxx​

They'd agreed to meet on part of a pilgrimage path between Viridian and Pewter. Grace rose an eyebrow at his attire, which was a mix-match of old hiking and training gear with padding made more towards wrangling feral 'mon than a leisurely hike. It was monochrome, a dark grey, more suited for break and enters, or night stealth travel, or would have been had he bothered with a hat and mask. As it was, as a nod towards the season, he'd donned a thick white scarf, something silky looking but heavy as sin, with tassels for him to twiddle with during whatever prayer stops were going to happen. A long overcoat with a slew of pockets completed his ensemble. His supplies were mainly dehydrated rations, most squirreled away into his gear's pockets, and a water bottle holstered to his belt that kept his knife and team company.



Grace had picked a set of jeans and long-sleeved shirt with extra padding in the elbows and knees. Long red hair twisted into a quick braid and a sun hat set atop that. Besides a pack bristling with supplies, and a wide belt with a water bottle holstered to it, she had nothing else on her. Neither 'mon repellent potions, nor a weapon of any type. There was a reflective orange stripe that had been sewn into the pants, that while gaudy, had caught his attention and allowed him to pick her out of a crowd with almost no effort.



"I'm thinking when we both agreed to meet for a moderate-level hike, we both have different ideas of what "moderate" means." Grace mused, flicking a disbelieving look at, what looked like to her, an unholy marriage between military gear and a ninja costume, with a raincoat twist.



"Always prep for the next difficulty up, that way if the worst-case scenario occurs you have the supplies to deal with it."



"The kannushi are going to try to drive you off. And if there's anyone else on the trail, they're going to make warding charms and attack us with them."



"It's not like it's all in black." Giovanni drawled. "and if we were doing a catholic pilgrimage we'd have to beware of people trying to drive a stake through my heart."



"Touche. Not that that makes this better, but... let's get started."



They threaded up well-worn mountain paths, the tail end of a tourist group being led by a garishly robed young woman carrying a red flag to make sure that if any wandered they wouldn't get too lost. The bulk of tourists were Unovin, per the sprinkling of English, you could hear being tossed about. At the fore, was a flock of sentarians. Those who could walk were being herded about by keepers and a few friendly growlithe, their less mobile peers being pushed along by medical aides. It looked like a whole live-in community had been released for a holiday.



At the group's tail Giovanni slowed his pace to match Grace's. Grace was sauntering, taking in the vibrant hues of the trees, enjoying the calls of the varied flying types.



"Know anyone?"



Quitting her sport of ambulatory bird watching, Grace smirked. "Never worked in elderly care."



The smooth stone spans gently ascended, with minimal steps, and hard rails for the elderly. The path was cocooned in the arching branches of trees wearing autumn's finest. The beginning courses were tackled at a leisurely walk, at the first 'mon statue, a Rhydon with his snout chiseled too wide to better flaunt an impossible smile, Grace took a water break and explained the nature of either leaving or taking an offering. Pulling a bit of her rations, she left a small snack behind, and waved to get the guild's attention. She gestured to a point beyond the path and the robed woman nodded. When the crew left, there was no hubbub about being left behind.



Grace clambered up a series of sloped, stacked rocks. Disregarding cemetery rules, since the stones had been noted to be a heroic Rhydon's grave by the tour guild no less.



"It isnt." Grace drawled, when he'd asked if it was truly a grave. "Squemish?"



He was hardly the superstitious boy who'd left Kanto on his Journey, and was climbing even before she could think of another barb. While graceless, Grace climbed fast. Giovanni kept pace alongside her, the soles of his shoes and grit to his gloves biting into the stone, aiding his balance as he went. From the fake carin pile's top, Grace showed him a specific tree. From there she guided his sight to a space between two of its branches, using that as a visual, he was just able to make out a dark shape in the distance.



"That's the wall of the nearest shrine, the real one, not the touristy thing we left behind. We should make it by lunch, and the rest of the routes will be accessible once we get there."



"You're the guild. Lead the way."

Xxx​

Shrine was a misleading. More like a murel with a steepled nook and a small altar. While Grace set up the pre-set incense in its bowl at the tiny shrine's table, Giovanni let his eyes roam the mural, which was predominantly featuring Rhydon fighting a slew of black misty forms.



There was no goofy smile or silliness to see, and as he followed the pictures in order, saw it was the same Rhydon, getting torn to shreds by its many enemies.



The last picture was of wisps of smoke flying away from the earth, the 'don's body a taboo of gore with greenery rising from its shattered earthen shell.



"So what exactly am I looking at here?"



"An old legend of the Earthshaker. The short version? Some Kami ascended into the belly of a massive storm cloud, corrupting the rain and spreading pestilence. Earthshaker roared at the heavens to draw them down and fought them to the death, banishing them and returning to the earth when he was done."



"He took all these enemies, without a trainer?" Giovanni flicked an eyebrow up, clearly disbelieving.



"Well that's how the priest at my old shrine told it. It's the difference between anima and homina arcian sects. Animas accept that 'mon are capable as humans. They have their own legends and ways of life and should be honored not as aides and lackies but equals. We tell legends of their greater feats, like how we tell tales of our great athletes. The really impressive ones get shrines, and for those that sacrificed themselves for us, well, the rules are no catching, no battles, and leave food or burn incense as thanks."

"Hm." Giovanni considered something. "There isn't a Persian shrine on this route, is there?"



"No," Grace sniggered. "If her head gets any bigger she won't fit in her ball."



"I'm more worried about the front door."



Both pointedly ignored the outraged yowl from Giovanni's pokeball holster.



Crossing his arms, Giovanni flicked a look to the art, its altar, hand drifting to his belt. "Does 'Don need to do anything, to maintain any spiritual system or other? '"



"If either of you were believers, yes. But it's actually really disrespectful to come up here with a tamed 'mon. If the 'mon enshrined was tamed, it's fine, but Earthshaker was feral." Tipping her head up, Grace mentally shook out old lessons, from her younger days. "Keeping 'mon in their pokeballs was a more modern middle ground that was struck up about fifty years ago, and some of the kannushi might battle you if you have anything but a service 'mon out."



"Noted." There was a bit of anxiety knowing his preferred method of self-defense was a no-go, he twiddled his scarf in his fingers at that worry. Giovanni decided he'd break it if he must, and leaned against the temple's wall to enjoy the view and near perfect silence of being outside the city for once. The idea of these shrines was sort of like an odd art gallery married to nature hike, and he planned to treat it as such. The vibrant leaves contrasted the slate grey altar and its chiseled tall tale quite well. There wasn't even a whisper of smog, and as for what burned, there was a whiff of amber to the earthy smoke that felt comforting and familiar.



"A really long time ago," Grace mused, lighting another stick, and sweeping it an oddly familiar pattern, "people would use these pilgrimage routes to find their partner 'mon, but that was prehistory old times."



There were smoothed over stones leading to the steeple roofed nook. Giovanni could imagine a small child hopping between the rocks, making a game of that moment. He considered them with an avaricious eye, noting there was a curl that suggested a fossil was being worn down by time and seasons.



"Pewter's science community would lose their minds." He noted, after explaining his theory.



"Well I won't tell if you don't."

XXX​

They picked their way down a loosely marked path. Posts had been set into the earth, with prayer beads wound about them and trailing ribbons that matched the falling leaves. Grace had led them from post to post, twiddling the fabric in her hands, seeming to count some tally off in her head, before breaking off the path. They picked their way up another mound, this one more scree than substance. One tree rose from the loose rocks, jutting out at a near ninety degree angle. Grace took the lead, perched on a branch that was going the wrong way, as if it were a bench. She reached back to help haul him to join her, and once she was settled she pointed out another bit of a building between two trees. Stopping him, when he moved to break the path down and lead them ahead.



"Give it about... five minutes." She urged, and content in her company, sure there was nowhere he needed to go, he lingered.



It was an interesting optical illusion. That distant wall looking rimmed in gold. It only happened in early autumn, Grace told him. It was, she admitted, the main reason why she'd picked this time to do the run, rather than any other season.



"Looking to solve a mystery?" He asked.



"Nope, just enjoying the view. But there is a camp spot at its base. So win-win."



Guaging the distance of the sun to the horizon, comparing that to the distance between here and the shrine, he snorted. It'd be a bit tight, but doable, so long as there weren't any misadventures en route.



Kicking off, she slid more than landed, skip hoping her way to the base to bleed off the momentum. Carefully unfolding himself from his seat, he slipped down, a few quick steps ate the force of his fall and he was able to stroll down without any risks of falling. Grace, not having been so lucky, was brushing off her leggings at the base, spending a few moments to check for tears and damage.



"You look fine." He assured her with a chuckle.



"Less looks, and more fearing I acquired some drafts."



"You're safe on that front. Backside too."



"Well thank you kind sir," She mimed a curtsy. "Where would I be without your ever watchful eyes?"



"Wondering," she rolled her eyes at him, poking about to find the post that'd lead them back, "possibly lost, unarmed," He tabbed each cause on his fingers, "missing half of your supplies..."



"If you're done... we can keep going forward at any time."



He hardly was, but when she led, he followed.

XXX​

"I imagine the homina sect and catholic sect would get along, at least on a mon's relations sort of way." Grace mused, it felt like a peace offering, though there was no crime. Giovanni trusted that between his gift of knowing the earth's weave under his feet, and the constant cacophony of the feral 'mon, he could let his mind drift while they walked. Relying on his supernatural abilities had made him a bit... detached... and he jolted himself back to the here and now with a bit of effort.



"Considering it took the catholic sect about two hundred years to stop excommunicating trainers..."



"A more modern version than."



"You've caught my interest," Giovanni admitted, pushing aside a low hanging branch so he wouldn't take a hit to the head. Grace, lower to the ground, only had to stoop a bit to get ahead. He rolled his eyes and moved quick enough that the oscillation of the branch wouldn't bean him as he passed.



He missed having Rhydon break the path for him.



"The homina version of Earthshaker is that there was a trainer and a mon. And the mon earned his victory only after going berserk at his partner's loss. He killed himself after. In homina variants, there's always a trainer, even when it doesn't make sense."



"Are we going to see an example of that today?"



"There's a nice series of them in the trails by Indigo, but I am definitely not risking my life wrangling sneasel, weavel, and tyranitars, to tell those stories."



A fair point, still... "Would it be sacrilege to tell those tales away from their routes?"



"Hardly. I'm no kannushi or scholar or anything, I can tell whatever stories I want no matter the season, or route. Being a lay worshiper does have its perks."



"Well, Madam Shepard, tell and I'll follow, you can't be worse than Orn."



Grace grimaced at him. "That's incredibly low praise."



"Apologies."



It took her about twenty minutes to forgive him and to explain how when 'mon became catchable homina arcean had changed from taboo to mainstream. It seemed when Man had acquired the ability to bind Legends, kotowing to Legends had lost some of its shine. He conceded she'd had a point, modern Catholicism sang praises for humanity's intelligence, touting that wisdom, as well as it's soul(something the demon ajascent mon were noted to not have), was what guaranteed man's asscention when the savage world would fall to ruin and those peious would ascend.



They quibbled over the fine points or various symbolism, of who's culture had stollen architecture from whom (both of thiers claimed ties in pre-history, which coherence disolved into a fun verble tussel about how back in pre-histroy they could claim), which devolved into a back and forth as to who'd had to tolerate the more irritating rituals growing up.



"Egg sitting."



"Midnight mass."



"You didn't have to sit still for four hours with a bloody weedle egg in your lap, praying that it wouldn't hatch on you, because while I get we need bug-types..." She shuddered. "And you don't get to say anything about finding beedril's cute, I know all about your starter. Imagine it was a... a horsea or something..."



"I know I'm a ground type trainer per my badge, but that doesn't mean I'm adverse to water types on principle. As long as they aren't dousing me..."



They make it to what was called the "golden" shrine early. Actually bypassing it, so caught up in their back and forth, they hit a stream after it, and had to backtrack.

Like the shrine before, it was on a rise, more solid than the scree monstrosity, it was a grove of thin, springy trees. There was a hint of a path, a spiral, Grace warned, the walls were the bound trunks of trees and thick webs, and as a bug phobic, Grace didn't want to go in. Content to poke around the perimeter with flashlights, like the shrine was a haunted house, they were going to comb over on its perimeter to avoid picking up a ghost type. Giovanni told her that he was going in, he wasn't scared of any 'mon, type notwithstanding, what she did was her business, but to let him know before sundown.

Grace kept busy making their camp in the most city-slicker way possible. She unpacked two of her tents, and her tents were a bit like reverse pokeballs. Starting as the size of a napkin, once exposed to a span of flattened earth, they unflurled, premade and it made a pretty showing of swirling into existence in a rush of red light. The green fabric, once it dropped down into place, pressed a surreal boundary of real and not. Solid enough to touch, but shimmered and fracturing under pressure, only to reform once released. Contact left a static hum around the fingers, but twiddling the flap showed the material stayed solid enough to visual block, and kept his hands from passing through it.

"I know you don't like Galar tech, but you gotta admit, it saves time."

Working over a fire pit by the dimming light of sunset, Giovanni hummed. He had the fire set to smolder, to be fed to a proper blaze on their return, and a reasonable pile of windfall to keep it going through the night. The surreal there-not-there state of their tents was hellishly fire resistant, and the ground around them packed flat and near sterile from the regular, year-long, traffic.

"I'm getting waves of scorn from way over here."

"If the bedding gives me static cling I'm sleeping outside."

"Fair. So you heading out?"

Digging out a pair of compact flashlights from a deep inner pocket, he tossed one of them Grace's way. She caught it, flicked it on, and with a grimace toggled it out of "irritant mode".

It wasn't quite mid-day brightness, but enough that she had to blink to adjust her eyes.

"So you have two options. Stay and feed the fire," something they actually would take minimal effort. The look Grace canted at the small blaze told him she didn't know it, "or tag along, and we go up together."

"What happens if the fire goes out?"

"While you're here, supervising? You get to relight it. I'm sure you were paying attention, and should have no issues, right?"

Having been fixated on the tent and setting her supplies in it, she had definitely not been paying attention. He knew that. and she knew that he knew it.

He might have deserved the finger poke in his chest, as she tried for irritated intimidation.

"You expect me to know every bit and bob about living in the wild.."

It's a feat most ten-year-olds know, and survival classes are required to graduate."

She either had to admit to her amusing distractability, or confess she couldn't find a work around for his rather pedestrian plot to go exploring with company, and her pride wasn't allowing her any wiggle room out. He waited, smirking, while she floundered. Finally, "I hate you, so very very much right now."

Flashing his teeth in a Persian's grin, he chuckled. "You and every brat I wrangle with come league season."

"Hate." She growled.

She did follow him though. And didn't protest Persian being left behind to guard their things, despite it breaking tradition.

Xxx

What started as a thin bracketing skein of silk, marked with abstract patterns, evolved into a flat out tunnel. It was a gradual process as they ascended. Options and breaks became rarer, the trees tightened, the off white webs between the sprigy trunks thickened. The bars of shade born of overarching branches thickened, became fey courtesy of broken webs or ropes of string shot carelessly tossed about. It made the path an artificial night cutting off the two travelers from the sun's last harrah.

And curiously, while there were plenty of proof of bugs, there were no insects themselves. Grace had them stop at a misplaced landing. A literal wooden platform with a bench, though the bench was a mess of webs, rectangular webbing that no one sane would sit on. She asked him why. He had a beedril, and this looked like their webbing, so he knew them, right?

"To an extent, but it's hibernation season for wild weedle lines. The squirms that didn't evolve should be dead and dumped in the communal heart of the hive, the bulk should all be locked up as kakunas, and only the hive queen should be about. Feeding laying eggs, and sealing her chambers with honey for the coming winter. This..." He poked a fresh 'shot, "shouldn't be wet."

They pressed on, though Grace didn't wander, and Giovanni kept his fingers on his pokeballs,.

White arched above them, catching fallen red leaves, dew, and in some cases small branches, before it truly thickened into a white morass. In the beginning, walking deeper in was like being caught in a frozen moment of an autumn storm. Thin forms squirmed over the white lines of string shot, plucking off and eating juicy leaves, nibbling at bitter barks, or cutting free the bigger branches that'd been stripped free of bark with head spines. Eventually the arch thickened to the point of being a ceiling. The sky above was lost to a cocoon, the path a mess of fallen foliage and webs, and everything was alive with little squirming forms squinching above like the prayer path was a sticky bug highway.

"I've never wanted to live in a hive before, " Grace babbled as they walked. "I'm not feeling spiritually enlightened anything, as a matter of fact I think my soul wants to leave it's body."

"We can turn back," he was moments from ordering them to do so anyway, even though he was phrasing it as a suggestion. There'd been bushes here and there untouched by webbing, they were becoming more common. Worse, they rustled as the duo walked past. He saw glimpses of eyes, and there was a whisper of hunger that were becoming louder.

They made another turn, and discussing progress became a moot point because they'd come to the end. The hill opened up to a clearing, near the spire. A circle of trees so ensnared, it was impossible to tell tree from ground, much less figure out the type of plant being smothered under the wrap. Curiously, every berry bush, thorned and not, were all a tangle, and that tangle was moving.

The plant life was not a 'mon, but roiling under the force of the little feet of bugs and rattatas as a small army of animals skittered around the soft loom and roots.

There was a glint of something metallic above. Grace flicked her flashlight up, and both froze in shock. Rising above the clearing. Near piled high to its arch of off white webbing, the commandeered shrine's hive was bound to something too thickly wrapped in webbing to make out what served as its base. Near perfect gold in hue, heart shaped. It twitched erratically in their light, with a pseudo pulse. It pulsed erratically, kakuma along its edges squirmed, but did not cross the dangerous terrain of hatching. Thick branches cut through and along it's side, ratattas trailed the wood like a highway. The wood mimed arteries, and veins, and were kept clean by opportunistic nibbles and tongues. As they watched, furry travelers nipped the budding honey off. As for what gave the "heart" its "metallic gleam", it wasn't gold, but honey. Sweet ooze caught the light and few holes in the webbing, and glinted as it both sloughed down and oh so slowly solidified.

"What in Mew's name..."

He was in complete agreement.

The twining confusion of rat and weedle nests shouldn't exist at all. Rats preyed on bugs, and that prey, when it evolved, fed on previous predators with malicious glree. This natural order had curiously ceased to exist in this marriage of honeycombs and tunnels. What miracle that had inspired a building to be put here, that had been commandeered by this oddly symbiotic relationship, was a mystery. One that likely wouldn't be revealed until the kakuna hatched and their nest off webs was sheared through at their rebirth come spring.

For now, rats were making nests in the shrubs and barricading the honeycomb walls for their seasonal shedding, as if preparing the bee's home to prepare for hibernation. Piles of lopsided honey were sheared off, dragged down the branches, down down, to their dens and by the shrill squeals inside, being fed to offspring and mates.

And at least twenty beady eyes glared redly at them under the glow of flashlights, the hive of honey and writhing kakunna had rodent lookouts.

The high-pitched chorus of "unwelcome, go go, intruder, bad, light birn," that rattled from above and below made Giovanni pull Grace close, He could feel the earth churn under their feet, and he tipped his light down, guiding Grace's arm to do the same. The rat eyes above them were less red warnings and more artificial stars. The soft complaints about burn dimmed.

"If we back up slowly, we can leave without triggering their chase instinct." He breathed into her ear. A slow pace, and him straining his gifts to redirect their malice among themselves, would get them to safely. Inflaming a species war would keep them distracted until they could get to camp, retrieve their necessities, and run out of the hives/dens territories.

"Gio, look." She flicked her light and while the beasts raised their voices in a collective hiss, Giovann let out one too. Three stones, a damnably familiar swirl in their center, and the same layout leading... well to the oozing horror prop hanging over their head.

"So they moved in to a shrine. Now is not the time to get zealous about holy ground..."

She flicked her light again. At the foot of a brambly bush was something distinctly man made. He recognized the low lipped bowl from the touristy section, where food was meant to be set.

"You're kidding."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Several, most involving enticing the residents to violence and running, but he couldn't begin to do them if they were this close to the fallout.

"Just shut up and open the bottom zipper right side." Voice falsely sunny, because it wouldn't be Grace without a dig with some type she added. "You were paying attention earlier when I got the food out?"

"For fuck's- yes." He hissed, then grunted as she kicked him with a surprisingly placid sounding warning of "tone". He tipped a glare at her, but noting the ears flicked back, kept his voice level, fighting with the metal of Grace's backpack. "I'm not doing the offering chant."

"Considering you can't hold a note-" she cut off her sing-song at the snap of him breaking a piece of ration off. Grace blindly groped behind herself, he pressed the food into her palm. "And you being in the back..."

"Just do your stupid ritual," he ordered. Tone suiting to reading over a stock's price report, of someone he didn't care about, he strained his ears listening to the soft hiss of irritation and sleepiness. "If they turn hostile I'll haul you up, throw 'king down, and we run."

Grace was too busy to reply. Singing a few notes in the back of her throat, not quite words, almost a buzz, she dipped low to the swarm of red eyes following her every move as she dropped some dried rations into the bowl.

Everything went quiet, the hums, the churrs, and words of the circling mon went quiet as if they'd all been gagged. Then out of the silences came a squeak. The bush closest to the bowl rustled. What pushed out of the leaves was more scar than face, its snout just an exaggerated span of raised half-healed flesh with the hint of a nose at its tip. The raticate poked out of its well-hidden burrow in bits and pieces. Nose first, forepaws scrambling as it hauled the rest of its head and jiggling shoulders up and out. By the flashlight they could see its eyes were a milky white band, what fur remained was a bleached, glistening yellow, and near indiscernible from its honey-soaked hide.

"Squeak."

Giovanni gaped down at the fattest, half honey, half animal, abomination he'd ever seen in his life. It waddled to the bowl, gave a prime little sniff and reared on its hind paws. It's puffed out stomach and double chins jiggling as it rose up, and squinted blind eyes a good foot to both humans' left.

"Squeeak." There was a distinct complaint to the sound.

"I'm... I don't... speak... honey rat?" Grace winced at each word

Giovanni, who did, was seeing red. Not only was the rat fink bastard being rude as all hell, to add further insult to the whole encounter, It had Zio Orms voice.

Fear, odds, claustrophobia, holiness, be hung. Something in Giovanni's brain snapped, and he snarled down at the saturated rat, pure malice lit in his eyes..

"Ora ascoltami, figlio di puttana di un ratto fink, non ti dobbiamo vent'anni di tributi falliti. Non è colpa nostra se hai costruito qualcosa che la maggior parte degli umani percepirebbe come un orrore incarnato."

"You speak, honey rat?" Grace goggled back at him. Then what he said hit... "You speak honey rat and told the evil honey rat Don off!? What the hell Sakaki?"

Spoiler: part 3 IP

Devote part 3


"If we get put of this," Grace managed to hit pissed off to end-week beautifully, despite her placid tones... The trick was in her eyes. How the silver went flat, and cutting, due to the lack of movement on her face. She wasn't smiling, that was a teeth flashing death display with an upwards twist. "We are having a long talk. Right now, this is what we are going to do. I'm going to cuff you, you're going to exaggerate how much it hurts, and then drop the rest of my rage bar into the bowl after a show of groveling."

She dropped her smile, and he braced despite himself. The strike was more of a tap than anything. Still, he remembered Nona's strikes, varied Zia's, Hell, his own mother's. His wince was not an act and though Grace roundly scolded him, voice rich in its varied layers of scorn, her eyes told tales. She scruffed him, not by grabbing the flesh of his neck and wrenching him about with familiar, bruising force, but by the cloth under her scarf. Her tugs made his legs awkwardly pivot, and he was facing the altar. He approached, the bulk of Grace's dry goods in hand, with a growled "march, mister!", snarled to keep him moving.

"And apologize."

It took every scrap of willpower not to give in to temptation or instinct. To bark back, freeze up, draw King and let the consequences be what they may.

Scarred, honey seeping knob of a face twitching, tje Don-Rat listened waited for the sound of broken rations to stop, before ears that started totally slicoed back started to flick forward to a more relaxed position.

Twisted paws reaching forward, and with some fumbling, they took the bar up, and that scared face twisted grotesquely as it ate. Half the pile later and Grace shifted, Giovanni's knees were starting to go all pin and needles, and the silence was thick enough to smother something with.

Straining to keep her voice flat, she nudged him with her foot for good measure, Grace played deraigned Madam to the hilt. Still, he could pick up the anxiety in her words.

"Is it good, bad, plotting our death?"

"All I'm getting is nom nom nom."

"Arceus' tits...."

Once it had ate enough to make three ratata's burst, the vertren of the hive chirupped at the sky and turned on i'ts tattered bit of a tail to waddle from the sweet depths it'd



Talks toingering beedrill queen overseeing.. nonsensual hunting killing logs. Bees see rats as odd workers that feed off honey during cold snaps and to their old and share their berries, building skills in trade..



He bemusedly repeats his find, helps Queen Bee into nook and leaves with grace who is alove with questions.





. Gio cooks over old trsining stove. Mri military meals.



"I suppose its my turn, to explain?"



Evening one.

Gio launches into genisis, the creation myth, and humanities fall, satans existence and the problem with evil, giving credince to both sides.



Day 2

Grace explains sneasel shrines. How anima story explains how bamd of them lived 9n to be terrors. Eating looting and driving all but themselves and other dark types from mt. Silvers peaks. Explainsnhow moral 8s tipped towards how being a shelfish bastard isolates. Via consequences.

Explained human centric. That there was a cabel of crimnals tjat harnessed the snesal. That dark type bwgets dark actions. Also explains how this isnused to justofy racismtowards tjose dark skinned via the loke to like argumwnt.



How during human centric tales have human and sneasel working together to devour peaceful persons, literally, and drive off farmers or8g8nal owners of mt silver.



"Kinda like a rebuttle of the meek shall inherot." Gio noted.



Grace. "Not familiar with that one."





Evening two



Explains how mafisoo familoes use the deathnof crist as a bypass... thief and murder pardoned in last moments, as lon as they superficially loyal... admits its a sliding scale of ddvoti9n among the familgias. Madam was loyal as far as it suited her, for a facade of goodwill and cjaroty that most wpuldnt assail and cherry picking scripture to justify her rabid us vs them means. That a lot of people do this. Theres so mamy xontradixtions you have to do it just to make it make sense.



grace: amd where does that leave you.



Gio: classically educated, but debased of amything like piety. I've never found amything to resolve the problem of evil, and my educati9n pumched further holes.

Shrugs. I make motions for public good will back off mainland but the longer i am away the less i bother to ape whats expected. Also persnal experience w the supernatural, nods towards beedrill nest, and Viridians Forest spirit punches further holes. Either i'm demonac. Marked by something demonc from the woods. And considering how tjey treat different... aligning to a faith that sugests someone being deminic... no thanks.



Xxx



They rejoin the gentler path and loop back to pewter late afternoon. Gio irritated the second he gets to town to have messages come in.



"Nice thing about not owning half of Viridian, only my friends call me... I'm going to have to take this because if incint i'm coming home to an intervention..."



Wranging his own call, Giovanni waved her ff, drifting to the side of the path for the illusionn of privacy.



"Capo, a cosa devo il piacere?"



Wondering what company he didn't own, Grace turned on her selective hearing. Focusing on her call rather than his.



"Yes Andre, he hasn't put a stake in my heart. Arceus, you worry too much. And no, he hasn't talked me into putting a stake in yours, you can rest your feral fruity wubat soul, you'll live to scandalize the conservatives another day."



"Sweaty, I get offed like that I got crap in my will to scandalize every bible bunnery in a fifty mile radious of my funeral."



"One of these days you're gunna have to actually break down those plans to me. I have resources I can make them so much bigger..."



"Well aren't you a doll, but let's not talk about me, how'd it gooo?"



"Don't you gay sassy best friend me, Mr. I know where the medical dyes are kept and I am he procurer of almost all your holiday themed snacks."



"Touche. But, Gracie, honey, I know your taste in trashy romances. So I demand details!"



"You know, since random old Italian ex-mafiosi stopped abducting me for ice cream recently, how about we make a date of it? Say, Sunday evening?."



"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Midnight pancakes at Hoppip?"



"Sounds like a good time."



Voice raised in aggravation, black eyes scrolling up and down in an epic roll, Giovanni's voice carried.



"Ha provato ad accenderlo e spegnerlo di nuovo, signore?"



"I'm gunna have to go Andre, give Melon a head pat for me."



"You love that firebug more than me."



"He doesn't try to hook me up with every male staff member in the district."



"As procurer to your trashy trashy Kalosian romances I demand you heed your king and stop this atrocious slander to my pristine character!"



"Bye Andre, I'll call from the cab so we can hammer out things for next Sunday."



For sanity's sake Grace released the call. A ways back, Giovanni was scraping a hand over his head, teeth grit.



"No signore. Certo che lo sai meglio. Allora, che aspetto ha lo schermo ora? È nero? Per favore, premi il pulsante di plastica nell'angolo in alto a destra della torre e dimmi cosa succede... No signore, quello è il pulsante di espulsione del disco non il..."



The poor man looked one second away from trying to headbutt a bugtype out of a tree. Shaking off his personal cloud of frustration Gio flicked an eyebrow at her, expression conveying a mute "what?".



"I'll nip ahead to the luncheon spot at the end of the route, order something, any requests?"



He covered the bottom of his phone. "Anything warm is fine, coffee?"



"You're an addict."



"Luckily not one of the original seven." The flick of his amused grin felled at something said over the line. "No do not-! È un'intelligenza artificiale attivata dalla voce, non l'anticrista. Non versare acqua santa nel tuo computer!"



She left him to it.



Xxxxxx



The gossip at work had been vicious. She'd tajen a rolled up test result and batted Andre's nose to get the man to damned well sit and stay with his matchmakong madness. Between him, and Orn, and surprisingly the near-silent Orm, taking a chill pill, Grace felt like she could breathe.



It was a gift just to be able to breathe.



Xxx



Taco night Tuesday was a common event in Viridian Gen, since the really stupid people took their traditional days of rest to test their mortality, a doctor, and his staff's days of rest were non-traditional. Late shift from wings c and d pediatrics and testing took Tuesday and Wednesday off as a pack, streaming out of the hospitals in clean clothes packed on their persons, to do the time-honored tradition of either bar hop, or restaurant hop. The eateries that catered to their crowd ran from 24-hour breakfast joints like Hopip, fast food joints, Locollio Bell, and the ice cream shops like Miltanks Creamery, the industries thrived off of bad life choices, break-ups, and the oddball shifts to make ends meet.



Grace tried to pretend she and her friends were the oddball shifts crowd, but they made it hard.





"You went hiking?" Pat summarized, expression twisted into utter disbelief.



"Sorry to disappoint, we don't jet everywhere and eat caviar with every meal."



"But the romance, the drama," Andre mourned, flicking his utensils like a maestro in a concert. "Did he at least walk you home?"



"I cabbed."



They all groaned at that.



"I vote," Claudia swirled her water spritzer twist with a practiced arm roll. "That this makes Viridians Hottest Bachelor doomed to stay single. I diagnose the man with a complete and total lack of romance."



"Here here." Andre cheered. "Man could use some pointers!"



"Andre," Patricia warned. "No."



"Andre, yes!"



"If you keep this up," Grace chimed in " I'll put you last in my meet and greet roster."



Plastic silverware clinked as Andre stabbed his food a bit too hard. "But Pat would never talk to the guy, he's got mad ex-mobster vibes!"



"Exactly." Grace's grin was all sharp and snark while Pat shuddered in distaste.



"Sooo aftrr he flunked romance 101 what else happened?"



" Well, Orm, Giovanni's bodyguard slash chauffeur, did offer me a lift, but the man's leg was such a mess... Gym accident." Grace savored another bite of her cheesy chicken monster. "He shouldn't be driving, but tell him or Gio that, and you get long looks that scream "Perché fai domande stupide bambina", and these sad little head shakes. If I had good relations with my grandfather I'd say Orm had that look licked..."



She dug into her seven-layer wrap with enthusiasm, it had been a long time since last break.



"You think it's a mob honor thing?" Pat hummed.



Looking up from stealing Andre's side, nachos, or rather from her criminal act of slowly smothering them in extra spicy sauce, making them inedible to anybody else, Claudia snickered. "Mobs aren't samurai, they don't do an honor thing."



"For Arceus' sake Patty, not every Italian is a mobster."



"But..." Pat whined.



"Alright," Andre jingled the Bell's decorative set-peice at their table, calling for order. "We're breaking ground rules here! No Mob, work, or news. As residential and residing upper authority vested by me by being the local pastafaritin-"



Claudia blinked up from her seasoning schenanigans. "Weren't you Protestant last week?"



"As resigning pastafaritin, I hold spiritual superiority over all of you. My word is law!"



"But aren't you committing sacrilege by not eating pasta right now?" Pat noted.



"And did you just say you just quit, like five seconds ago?" Grace wondered



"You know what-"



"Don't they have some sort of scripture, a noodle in every meal-" Claudia chimed in around chewing.



"I," Andre preened. "Am.. by popular consensus and accidental wrong word a lapsed pastafaritin, today we do Mex, tomorrow I court redemption by covering our outing at some Italian joint!"



Claudia cheered and Grace rolled her eyes. While Grace was neutral about Italian, the exotic seafood laden cuisine was Claudia's favorite, and it was her birthday next week, so Grace wasn't going to make a fuss for an early birthday treat that she'd likely be paying for anyway. Saved her last second gift panic if she just offered to pay in full. Andre could likely squeak by by saying it was "his idea" and Pat...



Pat's expression said she'd likely pounce Claud' pre-party, drop off her gift and call it a night.



Considering everything, none of the others could fault her if she did.



"Grace be a sweatie, ask your boo for sugestions, would you?"



Knowing the futility of protesting, that they weren't dating, Grace sighed. "He tends to make his own."



"Had dinner at his place, have we?" Andre crooned. "Wine, music, all the stops pulled out?"



"Actually, not yet. Unless you count eating together in our hike. He managed to burn one of those military dehydrated meals pretty bad. Was nice enough to choke down the charred bits."



Even Pat looked scandalized at that.



"He can't cook?" Claudia gasped.



"He can, the other meal was fine, he just got distracted. A gang of raticate were making a stab at our goods and he was directing pest control."



Aka keeping Persian from coating the clearing in rat bits and bobs.



"Well camp microwave cooking isn't cooking." Claudia ruled.



" We taught you better than this." Andre pouted. "Now we gotta trick tall dark and snarkey into cooking... but how..."



"Rich person cook off for charity." Patricia hummed.



"Nah they'd just get their butlers to do it." Clausdia mercifully pushed the nacho tray towards Andre's groping hand.



"Never fear, I, the great and undeterred Andre Sinclair will get this fuckin' romance to go right. Unless he's Mr. Wrong. Then he better pray he don't get sick. Cuz Grace is a menace with those less than legal transfers to Gastro'."



Rolling her eyes, Grace stood and took a bow, if only to get Claudia to calm down.



"I only did that once."



"Like a legend." Claudia cheered.



"It was pretty funny." Patricia hummed.



"You all remember graduation, our oaths, the " do no harm" bit?"



"Meh, graduation was stupid early, I was half asleep." Andre drawled.



Snatching his chips, Andre took a large bite...then the taste hit and their table devolved into a mad rush to make the burning stop.



Xxx



He met her at the entrance. Smartly dressed, in dark colors, with a line of vibrancy around his throat. His tie was almost a satirical nod towards the autumn festivities. Red leaves criss-crossing on brown branches, from a distance it seemed a bit macabre. His only other nod towards the season was he'd ditched his light overcoat and swapped it out for a fur coat. Mightyenna mane spiked with a frill of Houndoom fur about the cuffs and neckline.



"No strap on horn headband, or a belt shaped like a spade tipped tail?" Grace teased.



"Don't want to overstate the theme, your choice is... interesting."



She could tell he was dying to say more. But there was only so much you could say in a chaste hug and cheek peck that they indulged.



The color clash must be driving him mad.



She'd picked her garb for sustainability. It was wooly and locally sourced from mareep, in colors of palest yellow on the tips of her sleeves that graduated to a fetching cream as it scrolled up. The dye job was nice, and there was a whisper of saffron to it. There were multiple layers embroidered delicately enough to be eye catching, a benign geometric nonsense that accented her hips and legs. Her purse was designed to inspire thoughts of a cloudy dream.



Arm in arm they went in together, part to keep the more rabid stories from springing up about break ups and affairs. Part to not have to make an excuse to hunt each other down to start their evening dethronement plans. From the crinkle of her bag she was armed to the metaphorical teeth, and he bared his own in grim anticipation of the takedown to come.



"Before we get to our fun." He hummed, taking off her outer coat and sliding off his own as well. A staff member whisking the outerwear to parts unknown. "Whatever made you think paired beedril was a good idea?"



"I was thinking more... grouchy stormcloud, vibrant lightning strike."



He startled himself by laughing at that.



"That's more than fair."



He left her to prep the informational spread, while he got them drinks and light finger food. Familiar with both their tastes by now. He returned to find a plain-clothes paparazzi attempting to wine and dine Grace.



Smart thing she was, she hadn't pulled out anything incriminating, simply looked at the pushy man with a bored expression.



"So what's next, Ms. Evens? Solving world hunger, taking on the Mob?"



A frisson of ice threaded his spine. A flippant answer here could lead to problems. But Grace was in a thoughtful mood. Lips pressed into a thin line, she considered something, her eyes roaming around the room, met his gaze, mutely entreating he not.



So, stomach flipping in a bout of nerves, he stepped back, his gaze roaming for Orm's temporary replacement. Why was the man not doing his job?



"My presence should not be a catalyst to make the world's leaders want to actually do their jobs. So no, hunger's not on the to-do list, yet." Her cutting tone warned that there would be hell to pay if it ever did make the top of her to-do list. Kanto's powers that be probably broke out into a cold sweet, not even knowing why. "As for the mob? I imagine thered be less viterole, less cause for thier youth to flock to such illegal institutions, if relations between the italian disporia and kanto weren't so fucked up."



"Would you like to repeat that?" The mic was barred, tipped towards Grace in an overt threat.



Grace reached out, set the device between her fingers, and met her harasser's gaze, her silver eyes all but sparking with scorn.



"You want me to explain why when Kanto screwed over a whole people via a genocide campain, exiled the surviviors, ran rampent descrimination campains and laws against any who didnt leavr, and never made reperations in its thousand year history, that these poeple, and thier children, going generations forward might, possibly, be pissed enough to fkock to a criminal organizatoon whose tagline is "revenge for your fallen family"."



The media man made a startled noise, looked ready to rally a protest or rip his mike back, but Grace had the wires in an iron grip even as she stood up, it forced the man to move with her.



"You want to run a fact check on my statement? I'll spare you. I can. I did. And I can provide supporting quotes, laws, and documentation taught by Kantos university curriculum... If. You. Like."



She was nose to nose with the man, each word had eaten a fraction of an inch until the man looked like he couldn't breathe.



"That... that won't... be... ness-"



"Golden." She let go, took her seat, and overtly brushed her fingers on a napkin as if they were sullied.



The man stood for a moment, visibly shaken, before scurrying off. Catching Orm's replacement's eye, he tipped his head, a mute "tend to that", and joined Grace's side.



"You alright?"



"Mm." Noise of discontent muffled by her clonking her face into a nest of crossed arms, she sighed. "No, but I'll live."



Giovanni had heard of people swooning in adoration, of hearts fluttering at grand gestures... There were so many other purile expressions for affection. Love songs, poetry, ballads, he'd winnowed through them all to construct the perfect sweet talk to draw so many to his side. Now was not the time to freeze because he was experiencing those sensations first hand. Giving himself a mental kick, he forced himself to move. Setting their food and drinks down, he would have pulled his chair to Grace's, given her as much of a visual block as he dared... but the chairs were bolted.



Settling beside her, reaching out, he ran his calloused hand over her hair. Smoothing and tucking that vibrant red mane with one hand, while grounding her with a touch to the shoulder with the other.



"We can do this anywhere else." He breathed.



Tipping her head up, she flashed him a watery smile. "I've already pledged two hours here, and some corporation will pay a fortune for the Pediatric remodel at Saints, I can't up and go unless it's a life or death thing."



Well, that explained where she hadn't run dry fiscally speaking. She'd been selling her presence to the highest bidder as a donation front. There were other... ugly... analogies he could have made, but he kept them locked behind his teeth.



"You are being damnably vague. "Some" corperation?."



"Your reputation paints you as hellishly vindictive."



He tweaked her purse, let them both hear the rustle of papers. She let out a watery laugh.



"Alright I'm no saint either. But there's a contract, written in plain speech, that boils down to this. I have to do x dances, stay y amount of time, and tolerate z interviews. The numbers vary, but I've got two more rounds due by winter, then it's back to the negotiation table." Softly, with a hint of regret. "After that last speech, I don't think I'll be doing this again after my term is up." Swiping her eyes, Grace firmed up her grin. Almost looked ok, if you ignored the red around her eyes. "Gunna have to find another way to help others, but that's tomorrow's problem."



"Grace, sweetheart, if nothing else comes in because of what you just said, then you had a good run, and Kanto doesn't deserve-."



She pecked his cheek, pulled his hand back and stood. Feigning interest in the room around her, she murmured from the side of her mouth.



"So, terms of those dances, they can't all be with you. There's a timer. And times getting low. If you're quick, you can point me to a decent partner."



Giovanni flicked his black eyes along the closest partnerless dancers. Most were old, inept, or dangerous. One pretty gem in a fetching sapphire outfit caught his eye.



"Mind breaking gender norms?"



"Oooh piss off the conservaties even more." She cooed. "I'd love to."



"That rather svelte girl with the frosted highlights and blue flapper by Senator Satoshi? Publicly outted lesbian, azulian party, survivor of two attempts of conversion therapy, and would probably shank her dear old dad in revenge if he wasn't two regions away in hiding. She wrote a scandalous expose on the upper class that's been censored in two regions."



Lips quirking into a familiar grin, Grace found her composure and malice all at once.



"Whatever will we find to talk about?" She hummed to herself, making a pointed beeline towards the lady in blue.



Xxx



They'd been at it for five dances, and candidly Giovanni was getting a bit alarmed. When both ladies tropped back after a lively finale, he was glad he'd not laid out the traditional spread of papers. There were enough whispers and chatter between the two, he rather suspected that Grace would be tied up for several weeks, breaking in some new intrigues.



Sliding forward two glasses of virgin drinks, more water than flavoring, he moved to leave them to it.



Grace's hand on his wrist stilled him.



"I know you name dropped her Gio," at Grace's casual nickname for him, their guest froze, bug eyed, "but I figure you should meet Bee' personally. Beatrice Takeuchi, met Giovanni Sakaki."



"Grand-Neice to the holder of Galactic Engineering?" He hummed, impressed, despite himself. He'd suspected she wasn't a Kantoian. Her introduction to his circles had been Beatrix Tsuda, and he hadn't pried further than that after learning her preferences and occasional news piece.



"Grand-uncle wanted us to be spread a bit thin, family drama, and he split the company too. Not wanting to cause economic collapse if a few of us do something stupid. I'm a majority shareholder of transport and international deals, not heiress, I'm afraid."



"Did you know," he couldn't stop his grin if he wanted to. "I actually majored in international business?"



"Huh, and here I thought this was just going to be social justice hour, who am I to turn down a little profit on the side... though anything binding-"



"Will need both of our lawyers and a representative of our leagues." Giovanni rolled his dark eyes, finishing Bee's speech in sync. "Luckily for you I have my lawyer on speed dial, and Lance owes me money."



"I'll get the ball rolling on my side and drop you a line when I get an appointment set up," Bee promised. "So what's this about needing dirt on Kalos Outreach? Because a little pidove told me that they've been supplying surveillance 'mon to a conversion camp on Mt Moon... if anyone's interested."



"That will do nicely." A hint of satisfaction added a purr of an accent to his words. "May I persuade you ladies to join me in a quick walk around the gardens?" He could, with a thought, coax the few domesticated 'mon hanging around to hassle anyone following them.



"Take notes for me." Grace mumured, standing. Her tense tone made Gio drop his languid front to scan the crowd about them. He recognized a rather noisome pest from Verdent in a heartbeat.



Who was waiting rather impatiently, looking at Grace with an expectant air...



How long had this been going on and how stupid was he not to notice this sooner?



"Whatever they promised I can match it."



"I know," she dipped in for a quick peck, sliding her hand out of his with a sad smile. "But I made a promise and I'm keeping it."



"Something I need to know about?" Bee murmured as she allowed him to help her out, and wind a propriety arm around her waist.



"Paparrazzi bullshit," Giovanni growled. "And for your safety, don't get involved."



"Noted." Bee nudged them a bit, encouraging his legs out of their stubborn lock. "Come on. She won't feel better with you staring at her, and if we get things going far enough it might cheer her up to come back to some good news."



He went along with the pseudo-heiress' suggestion for one reason only. The second he got outside he was able to summon Persian, who ducked back inside to better spy, so fast it looked like a UTurn attack rather than a benign pivot and dart.



"Cats." He demurred, "Now then, Ms. Takeuchi, you made an interesting claim. How can Viridian Corp help you verify it?"



"Thought you'd never ask."



Xxx



He had Orm's replacement stand guard over Grace's car. Gently disuading her from entering. He was already on his way before the man called him, Persian bursting out of the tall shrubs with a warming "mer" and mental nudge that caused him to cut off mid word with the Galactic shareholder.



Shaking off the deluge of sick-sweet-drink-bad, a swirl of colors, and distorted music, Giovanni grit his teeth.



"My apologies, an emergency. My card, call me anytime tomorrow, we'll finish then."



Then he was cutting across the garden, not quite at a run, but brisk enough to be left the hell alone. He didn't even bother with the entrance, Persian besides him, they scaled the fence as a unit. The cream cat took perch on the thin bar at the fence. Keeping her post by way of her innate supernatural balance her red eyes scanned for cameras and people. A soft merp telling him all clear and he was up and over in moments. Swinging over the spiked decorative top with a few well-practiced moves.



He hit the gravel on the other side, Persian keeping parallel to his flight path from her perch, more than eager to pounce. The second he'd made it to the parking lot his earpiece beeped.



"What can you tell me?"



"I'd say drunk, sir, but there's no smell and her eyes aren't right. She's a bit... clingy... used that to check her pulse, and it's going a bit too quick for my liking."



Neither he nor the other Rocket were anything medical adjacent, and while he had some first aid and mon aide training... he wasn't going to take any chances.



"Call an ambulance, then tear this place's security down to the bedrock. I want every second of footage gone over, send overt operatives to everyone on duty."



"Overt sir?"



The man's tone, and questions, was a warning. He wasn't the Don, there'd be people to answer for for this demand of power in what was obviously a non-Rocket event. Until she wore his ring, took his name, she was an outsider, not worthy of protection. It kept the more lovesick prone familgia members from accidentally bringing Rocket down.



And usually there were no exceptions.



"She identified as a diaspora sympathizer," a hiss of shock carried over the line. "to Verdent, and she gets poisoned less than an hour later. You do the math."



There was no questioning now.



"Calling, now, sir. I'll ping Orm, and he'll have the report in your hand by sunrise."



Red and blue lights strobed in the distance, a siren shrilled, and checking a lifetime of training to run the other way he ran towards it instead.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Spoiler: Devote, part 3 SUPER i.p/incomplete!

Xxx

"Mm wjy 'm i 'ere when 'm off..." Grace whined, the steady bweep of machinery tellingnher where sje was before she wokrle up fully. Cracking her eyes open, she stared at the familoar pea green ceiling. That color, she was at Saints, the brown ring stain running from her right to the door identified it as post ICU heavy supervision floor. Tjey hadnt replaced all the ceiling tiles after the sprinkler line leaknyears ago, and some of her patients had called it a pidgy wing pattern.

They were being way too nice.

It looked like someoned crapped blood uo there.

The physics ofnhownthat worked were well beyond her.

"Don' wanna work, s'not faair.."

Her foot pillow pirred an agreement.

Let it not be said that blizted out of her mind, Grace was anything lie mature. Cold stone sober there were a few moments where she channeled percieved adulthood, but only sometimes. Risong from its loaf, Graces body pillow arched and clicked its pearly teeth, and between that and those shiny red eyes Grace realized her pillow was a Persian.

"Hi pretty pillsian," that didnt sound right. "softy?"

A lottle better.

"Merow."

Pillsian agreed. Fun. It even meandered into petting range and tolerated a few awkward pats, the iv line was makong hings weird.. but sometjing deep in her told Grace NOT to TPUCH.tjat cord. No matter how much it tugged and felt wrong.

"Softy."

pirrong the cat keaned into her pets, tsil tapping, waitong, as each stroke slowed amd she drifted off loosly hugging the Persian.

Xxx

She woke, much more coherent, to a small tjunder storm roiling in her ear. Tjere was the smell of something both fishy and rancid coiling under her nose. A whote furry arm was draped over her, whiskers tickled her face, and one hind paw was kneeding throigh her hospital blanket and nippong into her tjigh.

Freezing, because while tjey cpuld be domesticated, Persians could and would play nice to get close to humans and maul thrm for funsies. And Grace didnt know this one at all. Holding back panic she flicked her gaze about. Pea green roof with unfortunate colored splotxh over her head. Check. Beeping of a heart rate machine, check. She strained her ears and couldn't hear the rattle of a pill cart or food cart, so the chamce of staff or docotos coming in to save her butt, was minimal.

Gio's saints and Arceus both, what the hell had happened to get her hospitalized?

A tap at the door woke Persian up, tje cat yawned into Grace's face giving a beautifuk showong of those long, pointy, teeth before turning towards th door with a huff.

"Merow?"

The door opened and Giovsnni stepped in, budled under a coat as ifnhe was deathly cold. It wasnt that dark type fur medly he'd worn last night. Rather a black trench coat with a splash of red at his breast that she cpuld barely make out when his scarf shifted. He'd tucked it around hisnthroat amd downnjist right so she cpukdnt tell.

"What happened."

"Late night emergency meeting." He appologized. "And unfortunatly, if your cogmizant, your goong to get dragged into it. Gentlemen, she's up."

Pushing the door open, Orn and a man she didnt recognize stepped in. Twiddling the tassels as he worked, Gio pulled out a chair for both older men, then brought one close to her for himself.

She'd never seen him wear tjis get up before, and could of sworn money that as he walked about his steps clinked. Like he was wearing steel toed boots.

"The short version. There was a mass murder attempt, and the Senetor who hosted had his grounds off of Viridian's legal boinds. Mr. Xavior claimed refusal of entry, and since he was technically not on Viridian every copper said "not my division" and no ones investigating anything. Celedon and Pewter are neimg reached out to, but tjeres a grey area between the three towns that part of the trainers route." Seeing her confusion he rlexplained. "Trsiner areas are a mix of no-mans land and wild west, and... The situation isnt helped that the fact that the "victims" are cjikdren of established mafisios, one out of Regioner, and a disloria sympatjzer."

"Bee..."

"Got a drink after i left when Raphael, Orms stand in, called me to tell you you were getting sick. She dropped like a rock, as well as the other kids. They caught the groundskeepers trying to lure her and a Capos kid towards a pool. Thwy were going to make it look loke a drunk drowning."

"Mews mercy." Grace huddered. "Are they?"

"Fine." He corrected himself. "Recovering. It was a common 'mon paralactic. Butterfree scales hidden in the sparkling wine and virgin drinks. Tje only reason we got any warming was ypur allergic to butterfree powder."

"And nothing's going to be done." Grace whispered. "Even though there cluld have been..."

"Eight dead, counting yourself." Orn said softly. "Thats the long and short of it. Legally speaking, nome pf those kids.. yeaj i know they were "legal adukts" dont give me that look missy, twenty one looks stupid young when your nearing fifty, alright? Anyway, none of those kids, or thier folks, have any legal recourse.

Silence, as Grace considered Orn's word emphasis, and was considered by the three men very carefully in turn.

"Orn, why is the man sittong next to you in Team Rocket regula?"

"Beause he is, Team Rocket, tjat is."

"Grace." Gios hand smoothed her hair, tried and failed to soothnher feafs. "Hes not here to hurt you, or ruin anyone besodes tje bastards who.did the poisoning. The law wont touxh them. Only Rocket can."

"I..."

"Here." Getting up heavily, jugglojg crutches and an envelope in hand, Orn jobblrd to her bedside. Gio took the papers and opened them. "Statememt of non-invovment, signed and sealed by Virdians poloce cheif. All "pptentoal criminal activities purpoted to have occured on date of event, time of event, involvong the parties... well thats blacked out except your name. Its neotjer your business of the others buisness wjose who is in this case. But the commas mark name start and stop..."

Grace counted twenty commas.

"Ypu said eigjt..."

"Near deaths. Other crap wemt doen. As ypu arent the victim i am not morally able to disclose anything."

A whimper. "This came from Damians office."

"He faxed it to me this morning when i told him i'd be swinging by. I'm not your lawyer little lady, so i can only pass on what he sends, amd he got this filed to his office this morning jist in case you wokr up and felt litogatoon happy."

Leaning on his crutch, listing a bit, tje older man scratched his beard, bidong a smile.

"I imagine vpd doesnt want you making a fuss either, since Xaviors folks are insisting you sogn a silencing order. From what Dam' said someone scribbled a "screw ypu" on the invites nda and they didnt catch it until this morning. Since "screw you" isnt a legally binding nominitive you aren't technically silenced. Yet. But you dont comply, there gunna be fines in the millions."

Gio squeezed Graces hand. "Per a resource, VPD is lurking around Viridian Gen. Seems like someone told them you were in the wrong hospital and they got a copy of tjat form and a pen witj your name on it. Orm swung by to pay you a visit, and it seems some ass hole named Andre is readong the police the riot act for trying to get access and interigate a poison recoveree. Demyong access per medical red tape. He's sent Orn videos from a phone in his pocket. The vilations being recorded and once your "found" again, Damian can use that to file suit against VPD. But right now, youre missing."

"How does tjat work? I'm in Saints, i work here for Mews sake."

"Technically you arent." A tjickly accented vpoce spoke up, the man in a red and blsck uniform stood up. "I tjink youve explained tjings well enoigh that the good Dr. can follpw along now. Singore Orn Singore Sakaki, stand aside."

Persian roused, hissed.

"Control your pet Gianni."

A flash of red logbt and Persian was gone.

"Intensove ICU also doubles as prison treatment, wjich is usually an emergency. God knows sbrrio would sooner die tjan set up preventative anytjing. Especially for csught, long term, mafioso tennents.

Ergo, tje only person in tjis bed, in this room, is a mafisio aligned jane doe."

licking her lips, Grace's eyes canted aboit, seeking some.out. some backdoor out of tje budding mess. She met Orns eyes, begging.

"You cant give me council."

"Legally, no."

"Hypotjitically, someone in my sotuation, if they wanted legal council."

"To double check vericity, and find a way to get out of this mess?" Orn hummed. "Anyone would, morally,.be obligated to trun you in. The VPD is trying to issue you papers. Damian or any moral legal council would have to turn you in. Youd either have to go with a known Rocket resource, or trust the police to give yoi acess to reprensentation after you were incarcerated. Hypothetically," orn stressed tje word. "The only moitn woukd be to ceed no contwst. you, from.thier perspectives, malicoously bypassed thier bullshit paperwork. Yes, they didnt catch it. But you deloveratly didnt sign it proeprly. Intent matters. Basically its a break and emter. And in tjeroy you cpmpromised state and comercial secrets of eveeyone present. All tje guests could sue Xavior, and you, and likely will, once word gets out."

"Even if i cpuld prove no one had amytjing on them?"

"Ypud be in court for the rest of your lofe arguing that. A case for each guest. With thier sole.goal.to rip you apart..." orn left it hanging.

Grace whimpered.

"Now now gentlemen tjeres no reason to scare the pretty sangoria. Orn, i believe Ms. Evens will benifot from a lijt repast. I'll call you back when we're done..."

"Capo," Orn nodded, got to up and going.

"Sakaki?"

Giovanni met the mobsters eyes, teeth grit, back ramrod straigjt. The mobster wore a lower face mask and gigantic fedorea tjat hid most ofnhis features. His eyes were a brown so dark tjey looked black. The flowong coat masked most of his build, and the boots clicked, loke heels.

Grace wish she knew morse. Some way to tap into Gios hand to jist go. If anything was goong to japoen to her at least Orn was out.

brown eyes br9ke the deadlovk, flicked.to the inwined hands.

"Nudge over then, boy, and keep your motj shut."

Giovanni took a seat on her nedside takong persians place at her feet.

"Now ms Evens, your bit of juvinille rebellion is in a great place to help me. And i am willing to trade, information for a service."

Licking her lios, grace met the mafisios eyes.

"Your goijg to have to explain this bettwe then that."

"You arent bound. Tjose papers are soaked with hex energy from the Xaviors ghost type stable. Its more then just a wives tale that you get bad luck if you tattle.." gloved fingers tiped her head, makong her meet the mobsters eyes head on. "You saw tjings, picked up cues concious and otherwise, that will allow me to cast my net and catch the bastard who went after mob children."

"all i need.. is one little peak in that brain of yours for one very small window of time. I wont look for anything more, but i wont accept anything less."

"And i get?"

"Hmm well i did ex0end resources to hide you."

"For your benifit. Doesnt count."

"Such a sharp brain in that pretty skull." The capo crooned. His familarity made her think of Orn, patronizing with a hint of something dark underneith. Pinching her cheek, ignoring Gios soft warning noise that that action summoned, the mafisio was the picture of a jovile uncle with a treat for his favored neice, and was just itching to whip it oit. "What woukd you like, my dear? A rare mon, money, black mail?"

"Surity and immunity."

"Tall orders , but do elaborate and i can decide how to let you doen."

She barely refrsined from biting him, by the skin of her teeth and explaoned. She couldnt see much of his features, the face covering, which was covering a voice distorter she was sure, did 8ts j9b well. But there was still a minute t7g and tilt about the skin of his eyes to express shock, thst morphed into amusement.

"You havw my word that harm wpnt come to you. Ypur present entanglement with the league" a pointed look to thier twined hands, "and public eye make that... a distasteful propsitoon. How i punish is up to me." He hissed. "Your oaths dont effect me. I'll harm who i please how i please." At hwr protest he tutted. "If it were your child would you tolerate being tethered? And if you do sign the hex papers to spite me, can you live knowing tjat those who tried once will do so again. It wont be a long time, mind. The familgia woukd seek revenge on you since the xaviors are untouchable..."

Eventually grace agreed. Is for ed into slumber by rockets hypno, as she sleeps memories are wheeled out, color/soumd shrouded amorphas banners. A few flit about until Gio draws outnhand, which a few settle against his palm. Echoes of warm swnsations, a whisper of scent a tantalizong snatxh of sound, then it flits off to join the swirling morass above gracd. Both watch dispati9natly, gio slides off scarf, pushes back coat. Executive uniform visible, overt. "Capo" slides off mask, to reviel gym leader of saffron, patriarc of the Marsh clan. Pulls out voice distorter with a grimace.

"Fleh,tastes aweful. Ah, there we go..." with a t8red grin the olderman makes a clicking noise and a memory unscrolls betwen his hands loke a relic from olden days. "That shpuld do it." Clearing his throat. "This sjould do nively."

Gio": Its.enpugh to get the visiting familgias out of thier contracts?

Saf gym leader(research va find masculine versions?) : proof they meant harm,enacted to do harm. Sje saw the kids getting dragged off towards the pool. Not helped. Thats leverage for the capone family alone. Ans if they kill xaviors patrirch, that'll break the contract down on enough familgias that we can cull the rst of the xaviors asets." Aka thier children. Giovanni put a mental not to have his more ruthless mon on stand by. "Get the noose off pur necks from our great grantfather/mother stupidity.

Grins at gio.

"We might even be able to get a toe hold in in violet now."

Memories start shimmering, thinning, foldong into themselves and sinkong down towards grace like a personalized sunset. Smoothing her hair, giovanni ran a thread ofnher rich scarlet over his knuckles. Apathetic towards special agent mRshs speculation.

Viridisn, not violet, was his concern. Let the reigning capo die capi of Kanto scamper over bones and try to unearth long forgotten treasures, Gio had no intent to stretxh his efforts beyond his home.

Xxx

grace is dropped off w medical trio by market. Dumoed at Claudias house. As a result womans home is taken over. Claud is a retired grass trainer, worked with erica. Is all plant and zen centric as a result. Grace has lingering paranoia.

2 days after grace at claudia hpuse daisy sw8ngs by.

"So i'm tail end of the guilt trip, nice to meet you!"

Andre and ckaudia answr. Andre lpming/draping over claudia. Both bemused.

"Why is there a bitesized trainer at our door?"

"Acw trainer/ cordinator daisy oak!" She introducwd herself. "At your service."

"And your here trock or treating because?" Claudia drawled, crossing arm, vlockong entramce imto house.

"A capital g guilt trip? Graces new security detsil?"

"Unhuh... you gotta admit those duel color laces and hat is so cute. Wjeres the candy, i'll bie." Andre hummed.

Claudia, hackles up at the mini trainers casual mention of grace moved to shoe andre off. "fridge bacj shekf."

"On it."

"Soo i take it you got some issues."

"W a ten year old pretending to be a security racket. Several." Clausdia drawled. "Just tkae the candy and call it a day kid."

"Well i'll bite. Beem ages since i got poki,almost as l9ng as i beem outta region." Tesrong into the candy Daisty hummed 8n appreciation after her first bite. "Sjow like i said,i'm security, and i'm 15 not 10."

"You just took candy from a stranger." Andre drawled.

"And i've been breifed that.you, her, and some mouay woman Patty,were.cool." more nomming.

"Aaand i'm gunna make a call." Claudia decided.

"Wont go through!" She sing songed. To a befudled andre she smiled. "So youre the guy with the lotr fixation and a charmeleon?"

"I'm the guy wondering what the fuck."

"Thats fair. Look, i'm legit. I wrangled with t.r., lost, got better, and then went for round two and won. Moneybags onpy trusts me with really sensative jobs... and i had to nag like nonestop to get all of you under my protetion w a 4x pay increase, so you not make this worse by arguing. I'm all argued out."

"youre an ace trainer."

Seven badges from kanto. Wamma see?"

andre snorted. "Nah lets settle this traditoonally. You got mon?"

"Water wet?" Daisy bounced in place. "Can we use rhe old battle patch in the parj off of eigth, its like half a block and its bwen ages. Pleeease..."

Andre considered. Decided. "Fine, one battle, then after you go with the guys in white suits. No questions adked. Cla, walkong the kid to the battle patk up the road,chamhe thw pick up address will ya?"

"Awesome!" Daisy cjirped. "Also calls not gumna get through"

"Says the delusional little girl." Andre snarked. Taki g th kids hand and doi g a les theb subtle pulse check.

Ticker sunded fine , and the kids wyes werent pin pricks or red stripes. Not a whiff of boozw either.

Qhat the hell was going on?

"Come on, lets go!" Daisy drags andre to park, all adolescenct irritation a d impatiens.

Daisy wins

andre tried mot to lose his mind.

Tactiv notes
Andre, i mon, melon ,(freind elfish lvl 25.).sxratch , ember, growl firefan.
Nat7re brave
Attack and sp atack buolf

Daiay, i mon,
Alister has a sofr sand. When using camafloge changes him to earth typr.

Moves camaflorge
Dig
Petal blizzard
body slam
NTuee jolly (speed +)

Daisy "anyone epse i need to stomp?"

Pet,: WHY DID he send someonw 10nyears old?
D: ung... not 10! Can we take this in?

They do andre treating koed flare.

Daisy explains fuller. If an asset has rocket trama but must be kwpt under guard Daisy gets sent. She has fr8endshop w moneynads so ocassipnalm dows stuff lome this.

"Want all the gritty details gotta earn at least 20 f.s. ppints..." phone beeps. Reads. "Sppilsport. Money bags bugged me to play guard unyil all tje eviler moneybags get jailed or abducted by mob. Mot tskong it back!" She yelps at him."

"I seriously d8d wrangle w rocket begore. Got bra8n damage, healed, and topk tjem on again. I earned my out of the regoon. So hiii."

Anothet beep.

"My



autum type



(Giovanni's denials for the varied police appreciation events both League and politicians tried to pressure him into going had evolved, from stoney silence that might be misconstrewed, to sassy burns that had made them stop reaching out)

 

[K_S]

Spoiler: Uncomfortable i.p.

Andre was shamelessly ratcheting his flamboyancy to a level that would get him kicked out of any bar, restaurant, or home of a sane and stoic Yakuza. Draping over Grace, like it was a personal hobby, flirting with Giovanni, never mind thier meeting had been precluded with a wry,

"Just so you know, I'm straight."

"Fuck girlfriend," the insult was crooned and overly familiar towards Grace. "I knew you said the guy's mom was a bitch, and a convo no-go, but with a name like that we're gunna need a whole new classification."

Eyebrows hopping, Giovanni repressed a number of reactions. From wrenching Grace away from the exuberant medic-

(Who'd gone beyond leaving dignity at the door, it'd been dragged into an alleyway and shot)

-to rising to the blatantly laid out bait and letting Andre fend for himself in the bewitched Forest wilds.

Murder was starting to look attractive, and his irritation was a siren song to the Entity outside. Mother Forest was all but lounging in his backyard, anticipating new mulching materials. And Giovanni was 6/7ths of a mind to let Her have Andre

Because those bedroom eyes had no business being tipped his way.

Andre, unbothered, cheerily scaled up his acting. This whole thing was an act, Giovanni had heard the man over the phone often enough when Grace used her speaker. Sing song was not the Unovian's modus operandi. Falsehood grated against the present, and the Rocket went down the list of reasons he was not able to throw this man out.

He was Grace's best friend.

Suffice to say it was a short list.

Settling between the two, Andre had spent a reasonably pleasurable movie playing footsie with Grace, who took advantage to prod nerve clusters to make him stop. The man let out his first genuine noise, a low whine, as he worked out pins and needles. Once he'd shaken some feeling back in, those toes had tipped towards Giovanni's leg, then stopped, as Andre considered Giovanni's expression.

"Straight, gotcha."

Giovanni was forgotten as the duo played an odd game, Grace and Andre piled snark and commentary on the cast and their actions as if their opinions had influence and merit. Toning it out, Giovanni let his eyes comb over the sets, picking up some plot points before the two, and he chimed in exactly once.

"She's dumping him this act."

"Gio," Grace whined. "No spiolers!"

"How do you figure that handsome?"

Flicking an irritated look at the move in leach, Giovanni held his silence. Even though Andre rose to hellishly aggravating heights. Enough so that Grace pelted him with a pillow.

Giovanni was man enough to admit he was gloating at the sight of Andre nursing bedhead and looking utterly betrayed at his bestie.

Xxx

"Sir, we got an oddity."

Marcus, Orn's comandeered "techie", let his warning drop, a mere whisper in Giovanni's earpiece. Keeping his smile locked into the media norm of "approachable but not friendly," Giovanni concluded his handshakes with the gathered businessmen, wished them better luck next negotiations, and other inanities. The second they were out, he closed the door, and locked it.

"All's clear."

"Lines green. Someone's in the civi system, making a crack at your old juvie records that you paid to stay sealed. They're using some weird workarounds too. This isnt flat out hacking, and doesn't reek like an Interpol anything, but there is a program tweaking the government file all the same..."

"Editing or extracting?"

"That's the weird thing, sir, it's doing neither. It keeps pinging the preview page from one of those "pay x to unlock this" scam pages. But the program from their device is editing the incoming data to change what's on the scam pages preview."

"Is it ours and can we shut it down?"

"No sir, and no, sorry. There are interpol tracers on the site. They use it to ping a flag on whoever uses it to clean out their own data. We could get their attention by bringing it down."

The address was offered and Giovanni plugged it in. He flipped open his own page and blinked, he could see the page rebooting, and jumping around his records. Whomever was in was reading at a snail's pace, and their tech kept throwing them into the wrong section, making them change commands to get to the right page.

They were, probably page sevente- another jump landed him to page three and it was a forest of blackout bars. So they had limited control over what loaded and were reading slower than a slowpoke.

"Can they see under the blackout?"

"Unknown sir."


Wonderful. Flicking a pen across his fingers, Sakaki considered his options. The real incriminating stuff was page thirty and up, but at this slow slow rate of reading speed he didn't have much to worry about until maybe next year.

Still he hadn't gotten this old by being cocky.

"Can we shut them down?"

"may-" there was a laugh. "Oh fuckssake.. yeah. Dumbass is using a mobile phone with no firewall.

"Trace it, then gut their tech." Giovanni ruled. "Then give me a file on our creative friend. I'll figure out what to do wih them personally..."

Xxx

"And then Patricia's phone caught on fire. Looks like the cooling system just stopped working and... right in the middle of hee coffee break it spontanously combuated."

He could only imagine the expansive gesture Grace indulged as she told him ofnher day over the phone. As for himself, he was going over his notes in his Celedon office, wrapping up some Work obligations. Benign paperpushing, really. It'd almost been lively, finding out that Patricia Collens had been quite a busy little thing in her youth. Had the Madam been anything like compient the mousey blood draw specialist would have been snapped up before she'd cleaned up her act and moved on.

"Did she mention what she was doing with her phone before it caught that viris."

"Gio, you know search history is sancrosant."

"... you're not even asking how I know."

"You just tipped your hand by confirming you're spying on people i asked you to leave alone."

Checking the urge to dig his grave deeper. Giovanni let in a deep breathe, let it out, and decided to grab the tauros by its horns.

"My tech team traced a cyber attack from her personal hardware to my old juvie records."

Grace knew he had a record, he wasn't shy about his adolescent criminality. Just cladestine about his... adult activities outside the gym.

"I have enough evidence to prosecute."

The case would be a bit shakey, but he could of hauled the medic into fiscal ruin if he really tried. He'd been temptrd to send someone to her home and do an impromptue "cleaning". Hell, in his first flash of temper he'd nearly done the hit himself.

He'd snapped up a slew of papers and burried his anger in busywork until he'd decided to ferrit out motive before having 'Queen "take a walk" along Ms. Colen's property.

"Paaaat..." Grace groaned her coworkers name, her voice muffled as if her hands were slapped over her face. "well i'm glad you didnt?"

"Candidly, the defense mechanisms around my files might have been the roundabout reason for Pat's phone turning fire hazard at your job."

"Morally speaking..." because she'd amusing taken the role of his concius quite literally. "You probably owe her a new phone. The fact it broke because she was doing a cyber crime makes that a bit... eh?"

Yeah, that wasn't happening. Giovanni scratched a few signitures on a pile, wrapping them up. That done, he pulled up another stack of papers. The only sounds were the scrape of his pen on paper, and... the muffled rumbler of traffic from Grace's commute.

"I think I know what this is." Grace admitted, speaking slowly as if reaching for the idea. "But I'd need to talk to her first."

"I'll let things sit, for now, but if she pulls any cute stunts with my files again... Orn will be by with papers."

With Orm, in full Work regula. With orders to scare the mousy woman into the next region.

"Gio, I know this pissed you off-" his testy snarl on the line warned her she was underselling that, hard. Having to review those files had triggered old memories and old pain and now... Now a nasty part of him wanted blood.

And he was in no mood to slap it down.

"But you can't send Orn, or Orm, or anyone Italian right now."

That oddly specific cavet added fuel to his fury.

"If you think I'm willing to cater to a fucking Kanto-Nationalist-"

"Oh for... get your head out of your ass Sakaki." She hissed, her genuine fury making him wince. "Do you think so little of me that I'd tolerate that crap? Do you?"

"Appologies," his tone was miles from appologetic, the pen was biting into his fingers. "I wasn't think-"

"Damn straight you weren't."

Great, they were both pissed off with few outside pressures not to indulge thier wraith. Well when that happened... he swollowed his pride, carefully set his pen aside.

"I'm calling a break."

"You're just trying to avoid-"

"Grace!" He barked. "Enough. Not now."

His raw, unbridled, fury stilled her mid word. Takong a breath, letting her here it stutter at release, Giovanni slumped back into his chair. A headache nestling into his skull.

There were ground rules to thier fights. Once a break was declaired the other could not engage. Only a time to pick it up again,and what actions they were going to be taken to keep the situation from spiraling out of control were alowed.

No excuses, no digs, no counter arguments.

If either broke it, the other was to hang up and call back in fifteen minutes to try again.

If they both broke it, they had to wait half a day.

As he'd made the call, Giovanni had to set the terms.

"Orn and Orm will not visit. If theres another attempt, my tech support team will annialate the incoming probe no matter who does it. I will not remotly, directly, or through any proxy,approuch Ms. Collens. I reserve the right to revoke all of this if she gets any data and releases it either publically, comercially, or to any government body. Even if she does this by accident. Timeframe, fourty eight hours."

"Gio that's not enough-"

He cleared his throat, and Grace grumbled wordlessly in irritation.

"F- Alright. I will figure out why and attempt to persuade Pat to stop. If she won't I will give you fair warning and preemtivly release you from your promise non-interfernce. I request 36 hours, she's on a twelve hour shift that she just started before I left. You dont want to be amywhere near a scraed blood draw specialist, needles, contamination, and all that."

That was... a fair complaint.

"Granted."

Both lingered in the imperfect silence of thier places. Now no longer holding the arm of his chair in a strangle hold, it creeked a soft protest before the fluff settled into pre-crushed patterns. On her side, the traffic was whailing like a beached whalelord.

"Is that a pile up?" He rasped.

"No, construction."

Both listened to backgrond noises and the other's breathing for a bit. Thier silence could have been filled with appologies, blaming, anger, but both held true to thier agreement, not saying a word. Outside a siren sounded, Giovanni got up and watched the emergency vehicle blaze by with weary eyes.

Finally, "Call back to touch base, 24 hours?"

"Yeah," Grace sighed. "I'll text you when I get home too."

"Thanks, that.. takes a load off my mind."

Her wordless huff sounded part exasperated, part fond, then she let the call go to focus on driving.

Xxx

"Heey Bitch," it'd been 72 hours and inatead of basking in silence to shake off the drag of work, Work, and Gym insanities he'd been browbeat into socializong.

Aka they were doing anotjer Movie Nigjt, with Andre. Giovanni was waffling at 9/10ths of a mind that he arrange a way to off the bastard and it'd been less than five minutes.

 

[K_S]

Prompt, Relic I.p.

Summary: Technology can be a wonderful thing, until it stops working. Then, a special type of insanity strikes, where the people who relied on their machines flock to their broken albatross, insistent it will fly again.

(Part 1) 1320 words
Paldea had a curious case of blackouts. Small interruptions to service that rolled from one edge of their country to the other. It started on the fringes. An outpost here, a few houses there. The technology company of Exceed scrambled to assure the masses that all poke-tech was safe, the academic giants of Naranja and Uva assured one and all, that their little faux pas had been the result of a series of updates.

The continued complaints about lags in service was just one of those pesky little things foisted on the masses through sweeping network updates. It was all mandatory, little security tweaks, that led to a few cosmetic glitches. Nothing to worry about, the press assured. You just accept the downloaded, log out, then log back in, and all was well.

And for a time, for those who followed those instructions, it wasn't a lie. Things went back to normal. Those who didn't were encouraged by those who did, or by the simple necessity of having to access their bank data, maps, and pictures hidden behind update walls. Over the course of three months, the patch was pushed through to the masses. And if the lights flickered here and there, if there was an uptick in lag as if information was being accessed, and data was being overused, well, it was in all the expected places and times.

It was the company smoothing things out, and any day now, it all would be as it had been before.

Then, in that final sane day, the lights in Lab Zero flicked and flared like some mad ghost type was scampering along its wires. Invisible to one and all per the sheer depths Zero lay in, the ghost in the machine roared in its special realm of zeros and ones. It's voice was over heat warnings, fan shut downs, firewall crashes, and a wild flailing of automatic machinery going through its motions so forcefully the lighter tech bashed itself into non-functionality.

As Lab Zero lathered itself to a state of self-destruction, the Heroes of Paldea were shaken out of the soporific cycles of their retirement. Except it wasn't the usual type of retirement. It wasn't the rest of the aged who'd seen too much or whose bodies had been worn down by labor.

The Heros, were children, and bound to children's obligations.

The League Reps, who had taken a page from government spy media for style, had combed through the elementary and middle school branch of Uva like they owned the place. The takeover was tame, and its victims weren't missed.

A touch on the shoulder to coax the studious from their studies was all it took to summon Star's ex-Team leader. A calling out of a name mid-class was sufficient to pull Avren away from his small cluster of friends. Thus, the accessories of Padea's madness were lured from their school day routines, and joined by the twin troublemakers who'd ridden pseudo-Legends like bikes, and ripped through a region.

The place where they were all gathered was an empty classroom with a dubious reputation. It might have been a science lab, with wide tall windows, to help ventilation. It could have been a nursery, considering the scattering of plants along its sills. The smashed teacher's desk at the room's fore, and the soot stains on the roof, alluded to different answers, but the gathered weren't of mind to explore that mundane mystery.

The reports describing the madness of Lab Zero were spread out before the kids. Government secrets made a bizarre table covering on a slew of short desks.

Why use desks?

Well, it was a school after all.

There'd been a pile of them shunted into a back corner, and the opportunity had been snatched up. The head Executive had ordered his black clad underlings to unfold them. After they were sure they'd hold, Avern had had to yank a rambunctious hero off of them. Warning the kid that desks were not bouncy castles, no matter how fuzzy-looking the dust made them look.

To that, the white clad Executive of Research declared that nothing was happening until some spring cleaning was wrapped up.

It was more of a hasty wipe down so no one would choke, and after failing the glove test, it had been dubbed "passable." Or, rather, "no one should die".

Penny squiggling a crude Team symbol in the dust of a "clean" section had been waspishly told to "shut up", even though she'd said nothing, only looked archly at the

The wood was pressed together, their edges overlapping as size variance was a thing. But in the end, everything was mushed together to make an amorphous whole. The end result, an imperfect work island, whose leftmost edge listed.

Still, it'd been declared perfect.

By the shortest people in the room.

The adults and older students gathered around the edges, getting cricks in their necks as they leaned over small shoulders, and coaxed small hands to "pass that up, wouldja?"

In the golden light, dust danced, seeming precious as it was guilded in its flight. Among the pseudo riches the Executive of Research and League Relations explained the adult business. Walking smaller minds through the coding of their department, he rolled out his spiel in terms that would encourage children to take on this job.

Dropping little things like "possible time stream compromise", and other sci-fi wackery that got the smaller ones all aflame about, maybe, someone coming back.

But whatever selfish angle that had been accidentally unearthed, all ambitions about a reunion were scraped, in response to one line.

"We need help."

And these children, champions, prodigies, and Team leaders of the academy, near fell over themselves to oblige.

They'd taken to their Legends and flying types, and whisked themself away to the hole that was the heart of their region.

During their flight, before their descent, Avern leaned against Penny, an easy thing considering they were riding double on a taxi 'mon.

"Something's wrong," Avern murmured.

Penny flicked an eyebrow up, a mute, "well duh".

"Look, D- The Professor got grants from Exceeds. The company colors are silver and white. The league's colors are red and purple... so why was the logo on those papers red and black?"

It was something Penny would mull upon as they swept down into depths and mists, landing in the gloom of Lab Zero. A shockingly placid, Lab Zero, considering the reports made it sound like technological Armageddon was in full swing. The Heroes of Padea, Trouble One and Trouble Two or so Penny called them in her head, had their pokeballs in their hands. Legends ready to go, eyes flicking in the dark with budding suspicion that felt too little, too late. Their rides, all rented and reared to bail at the drop of a hat, were up and away before Penny could even order them to stick around.

Besides her Avren swore, his Rotom phone in hand was dim, and its bars were non-existent.

And to add to the cheery horror movie flair, Greavard's candle was the only light, the world about them was as dark as could be.

Luckily for Penny's pride, Avern wasn't a guy to say "I told you so".

It was the only perk they had.

Because after indulging an assurance that "she had this" and the flick of her wrist to summon Flareon and light up the area being met with a dull clank....

Well, if nothing else, the bite-sized Heroes were getting an education, in swears, but at least it was something productive, right?

And wasn't it ominous that her newly updated Exceed tech had decided to give out, right along Avern's state of the art phone.


Relic part 2 i.p.

"For the sake of sounding sacreligious, let there be light."

The voice told them there were others beyond Greavard's light, that and the finger snap. Then, as promised, there was light. It wasn't the soundless hum of modern technology, rather the clank preceded hum as spotlights kicked in via generator. Each did so in sequence, from closest to the drop off point to further in until everything was lit up like an old mon battle field.

And at first glance, The Lab was the same as it ever was. Steel floors, earthen walls, a sprawling field of excavation that led to the tube-like opening of...

Well the boxes were new, packed against the far wall. Tucked some distance away was a masive whiteboard, a desk that looked like a dumping ground for papers. The table had been recently vacated, there was a steaming cup of coffee left on it. Leaning on the new rails for the stairs going up to the Lab's heart, was an old man. Well, oldish man, with broad shoulders and an immaculate suit. His hair was thinning atop his head, mainly black, peppered with grey, and the lines of his mouth told tales of long times spent frowning. He wore black, sporting a suit and tie like Larry.

Unlike the perpetually exhaused League member, this man's formal rigamarole was fitted to a T. The cut and angles looked ripped from a morbid Gatzby spin-off.

Or perhaps he was the too-perfect, inhuman antagonist of a vampire flick.

Penny couldn't quite put her finger on where the man crossed over from "well put together" to "creepy as hell", and she wasn't the only one to be having that trouble. Greav's throaty snarls sounded a bit baffled, and neither of the Hero twins were whipping out their" welcome to Paldea" spiel.

Even his dress shoes were shinned, she noticed, internal voice a bit hysterical. Panic was rattling around in her head, there was something familiar about the man; the feeling alternated between knowing the answer, it was on the tip of her tongue, her brain was just making the circuit...

To some internal claxon screaming red alert at full volume.

He'd put himself together as if the grit of Lab Zero couldn't touch him, and from what the kids could see, it hadn't.

He was like the boxes, like the papers, a transplant. Something "other" that had crept in to the heart of the region, and none were the wiser.. He bore a monogram red "r" over his breast pocket, it was styled after the things around and about them, but instead of marking him as part of everything, he seemed above it.

"Admiring our little acquisition project?"

"You don't belong here." Avern huffed, Greav' growling at his heels. "This place doesn't belong to you. Get out."

Technically, by laws of inheritance, it was Averns. No one was going to point that out, though. The suited man cracked a cruel grin, a mute "I know something, you don't know".

And Penny knew that smile. There'd been comparisons between Kanto and Galar, both harboring power-hungry businessmen who'd clawed their way to the top of their respective fields only to turn mad in their later years. Rose had found the switch to a region-wide Armageddon and flipped it, throwing his home into chaos. Giovanni Sakaki, thirty years ago, had had some ugly accusations laid at his feet before disappearing into the ether.

The once well-known and respected man had turned into a cryptid overnight; he'd been declared dead, but there were always spotty sightings in each region. Just before, or after, some cataclysmic event.

Some legend-born cataclysmic event.

But it'd been decades. Sakaki would be.... Penny counted frantically in her head; it was more guess than anything... but the man would be in his late eighties at best. And decrepit and dead at worst, (or was it better the other way around, better dead and gone than... this?)

Not this thirty-something, maybe forty-something man before them. With just a kiss of silver to his temples, and an air of calm, cruelty that made Penny want to turn tail and run.

Just making eye contact was like looking at something taboo, and made her flesh creep.

"I'm afraid, ownership in this situation is less iron-clad than you'd like to think, young Avern Turo. The late professor owned his notes, but the ground he stood upon, the technology he commissioned to run his studies, that was all Exceed's. And Exceed is a branch of the Paldea Rocket division." The Boss of Team Rocket purred. "But I'm not here to quibble over fine print and contracts, I'm here to prove that old adage about children and ambition."

"That truth and justice always win!" Trouble kid one, chirped, wiggling out of Averns, hold to better sass at"the bad guy".

Barking a hearty laugh the Rocket smirked. "No. The saying is, that the young fool will try ambition and force, but an old man's cruelty and conniving will defeat them every time."

Part 3 i.p

"We will stop you."

And.. it was a fair boast from the youngest hero.

They were all competent battlers, the kids had Padela's legends lining their pockets, Penny's team was a nightmare that covered all type matchups. This contradiction of a man was facing utter annihilation, dare he draw a 'mon. The number game alone would have had him licked.

Looking around, this felt more and more like a joke. The tech he used to light the room was old enough to be archaic, and the balls on his belt were Generation One Great Balls. He was a delusional relic from a bygone time. He was a Team Leader when Teams were gangs. Now Teams were just remnants of clickes with too much time on their hands.

The world had moved on, where "us vs them" was cast in tamer terms of sprt rivalries and small scuffles.

Not the stuff that required a two hour criminal expose and more legalease than Penny had been able to wrap her head around.

"Stop me?" his steel toed shoes clicked as he went down each step. Crossing the decent from Lab Zeros heart to face them on even grpund. "Why, you don't even know my plans."

They waited, pokeballs at the ready, fpr the monologue to start.

It hadn't, he quirked a lip, seemed to be counting something, and with a chuckle, murmurred.

"It's always children, isnt it? Three times now, and the oldest they throw at me is twelve..."

Both Penny and Avern barked a sharp "hey!" at that.

With a flick, Penny meant to summon Flareon, the fire type should make most balk at getting too close. Avern, the show off, tossed his pokeball

"____, chew, dont dwollow them whole.