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So, she'd brought cash. Finally, Girard accepted that Summer Atreides was as legitimate as she claimed to be. Cash was preferrable: harder to trace, easier to hide, better for business.[break][break]
A satisfied smile graced his lips, his mind made up.[break][break]
"I am looking to sell all of them," he replied, waving a hand at the crates. "And all of them can go to a single person, should they make me the best offer."[break][break]
Gardevoir were beautiful creatures. Their deadliness had much to do with how captivating they were. The aesthetically pleasing was often more useful for violent work than something that looked like a monster outright. This was something Rocket had long exploited; in Kanto, it was said they trained sex workers to kill.[break][break]
Which begged the question: how dangerous was the woman before him? She seemed harmless enough, but that was to her advantage. Girard knew plenty of delicate buds that bloomed into thorny vines rather than elegant flowers, given the right circumstances.[break][break]
"The Gardevoir can be yours, Ms. Corleone - depending on what you carry. Shall we count it out and see if it is agreeable?" His eyes twinkled as he nodded at the desk before him.

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Girard thought back to his recent expedition into the strange realm that was the Ultra Crater. The burn on his leg was gone, replaced by shiny pink skin, newly healed over - yet the memory of the incident was still fresh in the pawnbroker's mind.[break][break]
"They are dangerous," he answered simply, tone matter-of-fact. "But they are also lucrative. There are treasures - and rare Pokémon - within them worth the risks. Have you considered visiting one?"[break][break]
Girard could take him, of course. He had enough connections now within Hoenn Rocket to have gained access. He'd already begun formulating plans with nikkari hect to return to the Ultra Crater, to start.[break][break]
"I must caution that they are also rather unpredictable," Girard murmured, playful. His amber eyes watched the coin in River's hand dance from finger to finger in seamless transition. One could be hypnotized by such sleight-of-hand if they weren't careful. "You may find them...distasteful."[break][break]
Was it a challenge, Girard's own desire to see River rise to the occasion? Or merely an observation, to assuage an old friend? Constantly, he flitted between the two like a Combee between blooming flowers.

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Girard ran curious fingers over the divots in the bamboo stalks, feeling where the message had been carved into the malleable bark, as if reading braille. His expression turned thoughtful, if slightly troubled. He shifted his weight, the pain of his injured leg now a faded memory thanks to caden maher's offered medication, but the memory was still fresh in his mind.[break][break]
"This list reads like a riddle," he murmured. "Perhaps they are metaphors for specific Pokémon, or common household objects." He tapped his chin as he considered. "Five items, five craters? How do we know the right pairings?"[break][break]
There were clearly more questions than answers. He considered the possessions and Pokémon he had on hand. He did not think he had anything that fit the requested items, not even poetically.[break][break]
"We ought to go back to Hoenn and make an effort of collecting the right things to offer. I have access to many jewels, for example." What pawnbroker didn't? "Unless either of you have any better ideas?" He raised an eyebrow, turning to his companions.[break][break]
This first expedition hadn't necessarily been a waste for Girard. He'd gathered valuable data about the Ultra Crater: there were things of value here, it seemed. Most dangerous places were like that, but it was good to have the confirmation. Perhaps next time, they'd find more than mere nuggets.[break][break]

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Girard needed no further prompting; he swallowed the offered pill immediately upon receiving it, then rubbed the salve gingerly across the raw skin of his burned leg. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to a standing position. The ice, salve, and pain killers would be enough to keep him going, and he was grateful for their aid.[break][break]
"Thank you," he nodded at caden maher, tone sincere. "We're lucky to have a medic with us."[break][break]
He eyed nikkari hect, but the other man did not seem injured. He was right though: they did need to move.[break][break]
"Let's get out of here," the pawnbroker agreed.[break][break]
Girard returned Mortimer to his Pokeball, but indicated for Darcy to lead the way further into the jungle. They moved as swiftly as the injured Girard could, creating distance between themselves and what remained of the fire. Girard limped along, doing his best not to be a hinderance to his companions. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he wondered vaguely what new dangers they might very well be walking into. Out of the frying pan into the fire...[break][break]
A buzzing sound caused Girard to snap his gaze up. Roger was zooming towards him, having returned from its scouting mission. The Rotom seemed excited about something.[break][break]
"I think Roger found something," Girard rasped. "I'm going to go find out what." He began to move in a new direction, towards some sort of...crater? in the distance.

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"Old, yes. Relatively speaking, anyway."[break][break]
Girard watched, amused, as River's interest in the antique telephones receded like a sudden low tide. The other man's reserved demeanor hid the fact that he was somewhat impulsive, Girard had observed. Like his namesake, River never seemed to linger too long in any one place - physical or mental.[break][break]
"I'm well," Girard answered. "As well as any of us can be, given the ongoing turmoil in the region." Rifts opening, faction conflicts, strange dating simulations that knew way too much about Hoenn's citizenry. "And yourself?"

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"A hefty sum?" He echoed, amber eyes twinkling behind his glasses.[break][break]
He had not yet received any specific offers from his other potential buyers, but it would not be wise to reveal that to Summer just yet. Instead, he crossed his arms and regarded her, expression unreadable. Eventually, he nodded at the crates in the corner.[break][break]
"Top crate. Examine one if you wish. I would not ask a customer to buy a product they have not assessed themselves."[break][break]
Girard was a professional, and he was not in the business of scamming. He had suffered the long journey of attaining a master's degree in Finance, and though he used it to aid the world's largest criminal organization, that did not automatically make him a con man.[break][break]
If anything, he took his work - and his reputation - very seriously.[break][break]
Let his prowess in acquiring the best Hoenn had to offer speak for itself.

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Engrossed in the hunt for treasure, Girard did not react to the arrival of the Celesteela in time to avoid the noxious fumes; he would have been taken by the dangerous gas if not for caden maher's quick thinking. The PSYCHIC barrier proved effective in blocking the gas, but unfortunately for the trio, the dry underbrush began to burn.[break][break]
The fire grew, and Girard attempted to flee - only to trip on a root and fall backwards onto the ground. Flames licked at his pant legs and he let out an agonized breath as the heat grew in intensity. Darcy leapt through the burning grass, then grabbed onto the back of Girard's shirt with his teeth. The Houndoom heaved, pulling his master backwards and out of harm's way - momentarily, at least. The canine stood guard in front of the pawnbroker, ready to trample whatever remnants of the fire followed after them.[break][break]
Girard hissed in pain, clutching his right leg. The bottom of his pants had completely deteriorated, and the skin of his right shin had been badly burned. With a grimace, he took out a Pokeball and released Mortimer, his Galarain Mr. Mime.[break][break]
"Need a little cold," he managed, feeling suddenly clammy and lightheaded. Mortimer kneeled down, then pressed his hands to Girard's BURN. A FREEZE DRY sucked out the heat. It did not heal the wound - merely dried it and covered it with ice - but it would provide a temporary relief.[break][break]
Hopefully, Girard's companions would fare better against the sudden wild fire: maybe even put it out.

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"Ah," Girard murmured, continuing to smile. Inwardly, he tensed. Normally someone who wanted to speak to him about his other business would do so far more subtly. And by appointment.[break][break]
Business was business, however.[break][break]
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Summer Corleone," he replied, dipping his head to her in a polite fashion. He set down the bills he had been counting, then flashed Mortimer the hand signal for "close up shop." The Galarian Mr. Mime hurried off to do just that.[break][break]
"If you would follow me," he beckoned, motioning for Summer to step around the reception desk and accompany him to the back room. He led her into a small windowless office with a desk covered in various stacks of official-looking paperwork, two chairs, a filing cabinet, several crates stacked up against a wall, and, of course, a small cart with an electric kettle and various jars of tea.[break][break]
Girard pointed at the chair opposite the desk. "Have a seat," he commanded. Though his tone was still innocuously friendly, his amber eyes had grown cold. Business-like.[break][break]
After locking the door, he took a seat behind the desk, facing her with steepled fingers and a far more professional demeanor than he had previously displayed.[break][break]
"I have 20 available Gardevoir," he answered without pretense. "And three potential buyers, yourself included."

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Girard did know fern delaney. Quite well, in fact. Better than most.[break][break]
And because he knew Fern, he knew that the newly promoted Admin really was in a bind. The more visibly and verbally dramatic the other man became, the more Girard knew he was masking real stress. Fern had a unique brand of self-deprecating humor, one that had always managed to amuse Girard. It seemed that despite their years apart, that much about Fern had not changed.[break][break]
When he smiled, however, Girard was also reminded of just how irresistible that mouth had been once. Easily listened to, easily fed, easily kissed. The pawnbroker shifted slightly in his chair; though his demeanor remained causally unaffected, a pang of longing chewed at the inside of his chest.[break][break]
There had never really been much of a reconciliation between them. Well, perhaps that would change today.[break][break]
"Give me control of the Black Market," he answered simply. Confidently.[break][break]"Allow me to run the operations, manage the inventory, negotiate the deals." His own smile widened. "You know as well as I, that I regularly did that sort of work for Rocket back in Galar. Have I not proven over the years that I am a highly skilled business man? Loyal, too."[break][break]
He winked.

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"It is nearly noon," Girard answered pleasantly, without missing a beat. "I brewed tea but then it got cold, so now there is iced tea."[break][break]
A smile played at the older man's lips. He promptly closed the newspaper he'd been reading, then looked up, his cheek rubbing against the side of Fern's head as the other man nuzzled into him from behind. "And scones, of course."[break][break]
Girard breathed in, enjoying the comfortable feel of Fern's weight against his neck and upper back. Then he noticed what Fern was wearing, and grinned with a pleased satisfaction.[break][break]
Girard was a very independent man, perfectly content to live alone without roommates - platonic or otherwise. However, these days, Fern's small, messy, whimsical flat had started to feel like a second home. Rather than leave in the early morning, he often stayed for breakfast. The later Fern slept, the later Girard stayed. There was something about leaving without saying goodbye that didn't sit right with him like it once had.[break][break]
Vaguely, he recognized that he was growing attached.[break][break]
"What kept you up so late this time?" He teased.

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Unfortunately, Girard did not get much quiet time to continue analyzing his ledger. Another Pokémon appeared from the underbrush, this time rushing straight for Girard and Darcy.[break][break]
"Looking for a scrap, are you?" Girard muttered to the angry Axew.[break][break]
Darcy stepped in front of his master, and sent a plume of FLAMETHROWER at the small dragon. It yelped in pain, diverting its path towards the river. It hurried into the water to put the flames out.[break][break]
Girard had to laugh: it was rather comical after all.

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The Pokémon that emerged from the bush was a small Rookidee. It hopped about, pecking the ground as if searching for seeds. Girard looked up from his ledger. The sound of its chirping was a bit of a distraction.[break][break]
"Shoo," he waved his hand at it. Undeterred, it continued to forage until Darcy growled low and menacing in the back of his throat. Startled, the little bird stopped, staring directly at Girard. The pawnbroker threw a Safari Ball.[break][break]
"Quickest way to quiet it," Girard chuckled. "Thank you," he added, patting the Houndoom's head appreciatively. He turned his attention back to the numbers he'd been analyzing.[break][break]
"This is either an inventory calculation mistake or someone is stealing from us..."

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