‘Our lives’ sat on the tip of Grigori’s tongue, but he kept it hidden behind his lips. It was quite different to be nice to the admins and beasts when you were not among them, as opposed to be on the same rank. Fake formalities, but on an entirely different level. He didn’t have to work with them every day of his life.

Howard was bound to them like the keystone to his empty socket.

“For a god, I’m afraid I can do little more than whatever you order, Mr. Slayte,” he said. A deity? Well, well beyond his jurisdiction. Of a person, of a grunt, or even a friend. But he’d try. “Those are not an enemy I am familiar with.”

“But I am quite familiar with Rocket, Mr. Fox,” he crossed his arms. Hrm. The statement felt in conflict with itself. What suspicions could Rocket hold for such a move? If anything, he figured it’d be the League at the admin’s doorstep in the middle of the night. With them, enough questions to unearth even the slightest of contradictions.

“It would depend entirely on whom you’ve created such an opportunity for, and what said opportunity is,” he stepped forward and turned his back to the glass. “Because there are some things, and some actions, that there is no saving anyone from.”

Treason, for starters. Seldom few members of Rocket were gifted televisions or beach homes from loyal League members. “Please, Mr. Fox, spare no details. What's the situation?”

---

howard slayte

How many Meltan’s existed in Hoenn?

How many ancient, steam-powered Poke Balls?

Grigori swore he could hear screams from the likes of howard slayte and Shred Zeppelin from the hole. While he had no way to know for sure, he could pick out those voices like needles from haystacks. The agony and emotion within them sent shivers up his spine. His blood ran cold, and all he could do is link hands with priam conrad and THEO BECKETT and watch.

Rocket had taught him the price of defiance. Indirectly, through the targeted assassinations of defectors. Directly, through the harsh words and promises of Cillian Quinn . He was never worried about himself being a rule breaker.

It was those who couldn’t hope to control themselves, or victims of circumstance, that he internally wept for.

And when the other two wards were shown off, and a choice given, he opened his mouth to object. To say that no vote was directly required for them. It was entirely optional.

Then Michael Navidson opened his mouth. ‘Punish our ward instead!’

‘I vote for the Dummy ward. The insolence of its ‘heroism’ should not be spared.’
‘Please, please, please, please! Don’t waste this opportunity for us! Dummy!’
‘I vote… Dummy. Better that fewer people should suffer, even if it’s not a very large difference.’
‘Dummy ward.’

He recognized most of these voices, save the first and the last– the former he had no idea. The latter, he didn’t want to be correct.

Slowly, he closed his mouth. Even if they were all as naked the day they’d been born, he’d hold the same face of realization, of disappointment as he did behind the mask. They had been given a choice, and they all took it for an order. That, or he misunderstood just how much the Megalopolans took this ‘game’ seriously. Regardless, they would not get a vote from him.

With a firmly shut mouth, he waited for them to be taken to the Chamber of Desires. Even in the face of consequenceless suffering, he would not take the opportunity. To play was to lose, and he would not let them win.

---

Tl;dr
 - Ugly Ward
 - Grigori is sad his friends are sad D:
 - Goes to voice his lack of vote to inspire confidence, but clearly everyone else has different ideas
 - He knows where some of these different ideas come from, but others he either doesn't know or doesn't want to know
 - Doesn't yap a word and waits to be transported to the CHAMBER OF SIN (Abstain)

Grigori did not want to relive the pain that was Dewford. Thus, he didn’t offer any commentary or insight. Howard was an expert in history, and Grigori a master of all the wrongs he did. They likely shared a similar experience and thoughts, if only from different perspectives. A conversation for the sake of it.

But loyalty? That could be an entire area of study for Philosophy. One he desired to give input on, but lacked the academic credit to ever hope of it.

Not that it would stop him. “A good question. It would depend on who is asking.”

He set his glass on the counter and turned around to the sand. What beautiful sand. What a beautiful view. It matched the colors of League perfectly, and likely the faction of the ‘sheriff’.

“While my answer might change, they will all be the truth. I hold loyalties to many a people, and many a belief. For Mr. Fox, him and his own loyalty to Rocket. For Mr. Slayte, him and his academic ventures. For Mr. Howard…” He stopped. Frowned. Right, his original answer no longer worked. All because of him. Would today be the day they opened that chest, buried underneath the corpse of the name?

“Him and his desire to do the right thing, no matter how hard or impossible it may seem,” he said. “So, sir, may I ask which face you wish to put on today?”

He may not have the book smarts of his boss, but he made up for it in street smarts. People smarts. And that let him, occasionally, read Howard like an open book.

---

howard slayte

Grigori pulled himself back up from the store ground. That’d surely leave a mark on his skin, but there wasn’t any time to dally. He rubbed his face alongside his foe, then put one arm onto the cool metal rack. With the shelf as support, he shambled along the path until the final declaration of intent.

“Easy? You broke one of the biggest unspoken rules in Pokemon battling,” he said. That wasn’t Grigori could look over or conveniently ignore. Even if the Shaymin did it without the word of its trainer, it should not have been so keen on doing it without prompt. “But I can’t disagree.”

One hand gripped the nearest can, baked beans, while he gave Champ another look. They locked eyes and nodded at the same time. They could feel the slow funnel of energy. One would have to be immune to stimuli to be ignorant of it. If that attack went off, then who knew what kind of damage it’d do to them? To the store?

To anyone still inside?

Besides, with the ability for civilians to leave uninterrupted, law enforcement was surely on the way. It was not a question of if, but when. Thus, he stood on his own and raised the can. Together, he and Hitmonchan ran forward for one final attack.

Champ arrived first. He dodged to the left, but quickly dodged back to the other side. But then, with one final quickstep, he tried to shoot past Noel on his right. With a raised fist, he tried to shoot forward to deliver a quick, effective Bullet Punch onto the rodent.

And where did Grigori come into play? Well, no matter what Noel did, from trying to stop Hitmonchan, or keep his eyes on Grigori, there’d be a flying can of baked beans with his name on it. It soared through the air at quite the speed, aimed at center mass. The man behind the throw kept on going forward, straight for the trainer.

Once more, he threw the punch to end all punches. His entire weight followed his arm, his fist aimed directly as Noel’s upper chest. Would they have been fast enough? Or would they be turned to dust by the Shaymin’s attack?

---

Noel Parker

Maybe, in a different life, Grigori could’ve been a mover. The work was hard but rewarding, and it offered some cathartic peace to the rhythmic movement. Slowly but surely, a home was constructed from a mismatch of appliances, books, and personal belongings.

And several dozen ancient funeral urns.

“It is no problem, Mr. Slayte,” the grunt, well, grunted as he lugged the television to the stand. It sure beat the massive boxes he had in his early twenties, but they still packed a surprising amount of weight. Thus, it hit the wood a little harder than desired. But the legs didn’t snap in half, so he pressed his lips and wiped his brow.

“If the water is connected, then some of that would do well,” he walked over to the kitchen. “Good for the body, when doing physical activities.”

It wasn’t hard to procure one shiny clean glass and fill it to the brim with water himself. For the sake of it, he grabbed a second one and filled it as well. He returned to Howard and offered him the second one while he sipped from his own.

“So, you desired a change of pace as well?” Grigori motioned to the luscious yellow sand, “Or, perhaps, you wanted to feel like you live on the job.”

---

howard slayte

Once more was Grigori dragged out to some city, to help with the search of a mythical, powerful avian. Littleroot was the destination this time around. Except this time, they had their own in the back pocket. Yes, this mission was to be done with one Admin Bee.

Wonderful. Actually, scratch that, he couldn’t tell himself that mentally. That was a lie, and he didn’t do those.

Woeful.

It was also a darkly comedic choice. It bothered him, as he stood in the designated meeting spot. On the edge of the town, but close enough to see the people mill around. It was closer to the end of the day, and stars peeked out from the twilight of the evening sky. How long had it been, since this was once disturbed by the throes of war?

How long until the next war rolled along?

These thoughts and worries ate him alive until he couldn’t bear it any longer. He wandered away mindlessly, still in vision but to a nearby pond. Swanna roosted in the center, and various other birds hovered around the edge. Some harassed a Tympole, while others went for the invasive Magikarp that flopped their way into its waters.

Next time, he’d show up on time instead of twenty minutes early.

---

BARNABY FINCH

This was certainly not in the cards. Like a freight train, Grigori flew back from the sheer force of the Close Combat. His back slammed into the ground and he slid past the cans of vegetables. His body ached, but he pulled himself up to his feet with the help of a shelf.

And they called Rocket terrible people. He hadn’t planned on breaking the unspoken rule between trainers. Pokemon battled Pokemon, and people each other. But this vigilante seemed to have different ideas. Grigori grimaced.

As they prepared their charge, the grunt lifted and recalled his Ursaluna. Of course, this would mean people were free to start leaving the store as soon as they felt confident enough. If this man was going to be flippant, then why shouldn’t he?

“Please stop speaking like a Saturday-Morning cartoon character,” he said as a flash of white exploded in the corridor. While they charged, a Hitmonchan joined Grigori by his side. “But you get one. More. Chance.”

Together, they raised their fists. Champ pulled back a gloved fist and launched straight into the skull of the Shaymin. Flames engulfed his Firey Punch as it flew forward, but Grigori’s remained perfectly normal. Together, both men threw their fists–

Their impacts could’ve rocked the store, if they were Pokémon. He felt flesh bend against his knuckles, but his own skull recoiled from the impact of a fist. The lights flickered inside his eyes, and he once more fell to the ground. 

If the stranger insisted on Pokemon-Human combat, then they would not win. But he’d be merciful and NOT command his own Pokémon to put a hole inside Noel’s chest.

---

Noel Parker

“Nothing major, for the actual lease,” he said as he riffled through the pages. “Just wanted to confirm dates, payments, and the rules between the landlord and the tenants of this apartment.”

From the bundle of paper, he finally settled on the section he was in search of. He pressed hard against the crease and set it over on the other side of the table, towards Annalise. It’d be the boring legal jargon that stated the official payment amount for the whole apartment, the dates associated, and with a few written-in number crunches for what it’d be divided by four.

What he’d pay if signed on.

“What I’m more interested in are the rules not in the lease: between roommates,” he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small notepad and pen. It clicked once and flipped open to a sticky-noted page. “Less formal, but the most important part of a shared living space.”

If one hated the people they lived with, then the signed lease would be more of a prison sentence than a communally shared living quarter. That was most unideal for everyone involved.

“My first question, naturally, is the roommate situation. If I’m not mistaken, I’d be boarding with… whom, Marilee?” He tapped a note into the paper. “And in regard to that, is there an agreed upon Lights-Out with everyone, or just the singular roommate?”

---

annalise henderson marilee beaufort Rory Faust

Note to self: Do NOT mention anything about body parts or bones.

“Well, as far as I’m aware,” Grigori leaned back into the chair, “Mr. Slayte is fairing… as well as he can. I haven’t checked in on Ms. Lulu, I’m afraid.”

The former felt restless, disturbed. The grunt could only imagine what it must’ve been like, to see someone so close to you in such a sorry state. Especially in person. In front of your eyes. Lulu, well, they had no reason to meet. He wasn’t a scientist, and she wasn’t tasked with grunt work.

But if it was meant to be, she would’ve stopped by sometime soon.

“And they are not trying to replace you,” he said. “If memory serves me right, demotion is usually of the violent variety for Beasts.”

Scientists stepped down at some point or another, and Admins could be changed out if ill-suited for the job. Beasts? Better to put a bullet in the back of the rabid mutt's head and let the next one try to bark its little heart out. But he also tended to stay out of the political side of things, so he could be sorely mistaken. Hopefully mistaken. 

“Besides, you are… well suited for the position,” he frowned. Very well-suited. Perhaps a little too much. “Men like you are a rarity. Passionate. Ambitious. Brave.”

Violent. Desirous. Reckless. “You fit in perfectly, Mr. Shred. Everyone eagerly awaits your return-- I think.”

---

Shred Zeppelin

Grigori joined the stranger at the bars, but did nothing but cross his arms and take stock of the environment. Those Megalopolans would surely wish to brain him, like he’d done to one of their comrades. Hell, he still had the hammer used to do the job. They saw that in his hands, he’d likely be put on a stake and brought to a golden brown.

“I would not tempt fate with your pleas,” he said. “These guards might see you as a liability.”

But there were plenty of people. Prisoners, None were immediately identifiable, but he heard plenty of screams from them all. And a massive, elegant bird. Ugly Ward?

Must’ve been a metaphorical ‘ugly’ they saw in him. He saw in himself. Unfortunately, despite his lack of desire to do certain acts, many desired to with him. It was annoying to turn them all down. But he couldn’t turn down the prospect of ‘lunch’, given in the form of mochi. He eyeballed the strange, purple rice sweet with a raised eyebrow.

Before he could react, some stranger voiced Grigori’s own personal doubts. Unfortunately, he had a good enough view to see the bird approach the cell and… do something. He didn’t know, but someone wouldn’t mangle themselves beyond recognition to worm past the bars to get closer to their demise, in the form of a single strike from its wing.

He ate a singular mochi and left the rest rot.

Outside, he quickly fell to his knees and picked up the first shard once the designated Megalopolan gave them orders. He was good at that, following orders. All he had to do was polish the shards? Sure.

But, quite obviously, there was a catch. Do the best, and he could see two other people in the ward. There was extreme danger there, but also extreme reward. If they were here for longer than a single day, then they could ‘meet up’. Make connections. Plot. All the better if there was at least one familiar Rocket face.

So he kept his eyes mostly down and focused on the shards. But they did wander, to the few groups on either side of him and priam conrad . On the left were three main culprits, but they were all only vaguely familiar. Like he’d seen their eyes before, their body types, but had no way to know for sure. Impossible to truly predict who they were.

But the right… he knew those eyes anywhere. Sure, he could still be wrong, but it meant his own eyes occasionally flickered to the right, to the one man he loathed, but also was genuinely glad to know suffered the same fate. Was at the exact same rank as he. If that was Zev Harcourt there, then he could rest easy knowing this wasn’t hell.

That man would be suffering far, far worse than the grunt, if that were the case.

---

Tl;dr
 - Ugly ward? Internal ugliness counted
 - Oh hey maybe don't grab the bars you might end up like that
 - Oh god oh fuck that guys fucking dead that's so fucked up
 - A good grunt gets to work without complains, and he's had 31 years of experience (Wants to get into that three person meeting to help strategize, in case it matters)
 - Doesn't recognize anyone on the left, but he could never forget the eyes of Zev Harcourt (but there is always a chance he is wrong, so he doesn't call out(Get FUCKED Zev I'll out BUSY WORK YOU ANY DAY OF THE WEEK THIS IS MY PRIME))
O8FHwz|s

Grigori felt his muscles tense underneath the weight of the uppercut. It stung like hell, but at least he only had to contend with the connection of one blow. He caught the wide hook, if only barely, and stopped it from getting too close to his face. That’d be bad. His identity might’ve been revealed.

Then he’d have to kill the stranger. That’d be quite tragic.

“Less talking,” he grunted. With Noel’s arm held the best he could, he leaned backward a touch, then launched himself forward. Together, they’d hopefully both collide into the store’s shelf with the ‘hero’ as a cushion.

But Doug could not hope to gain any momentum from the absorption of such an attack. His opponent so small, it was all to easy for little flower to dodge out of the way of it’s awful Blood Moon. Where there was a crater, there wasn’t a Shaymin

“Gruurauahahahaa!” Leaves pelted the massive bear with no recourse. They dug into muddy mats and flesh alike, and left a thousand paper cuts of red in their wake. He was too big, and fell to one knee. Would the mighty tree topple?

No, not yet. His one good eye glared up. past the thick fingers he used to protect his eye. His eye narrowed, and a snort escaped his nostrils. He pulled back, much like the trainer, and shot his massive barrel-ed arm forward.

The bear did not move, but a gust of energy flew forward. It trampled any leaves that were in its wake and sent them to the wayside. That Vacuum Punch cut through the chaff and slammed straight into the Shaymin.

---

Noel Parker

GRIGORI SOKOLOV'S INFAMY FILE

PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE X PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE

INTRODUCTORY BLURB

The Enforcer

Runaway Grigori Sokolov joined Rocket at the ripe young age of sixteen. From then, it's been nothing but ignorant violence and bloodshed. Up until they finally gained victory over Kanto, and he migrated with the organization back to his home region of Hoenn. But he soon learned it was a lot easier to beat up random nobodies than old friends, acquaintances and otherwise familiar faces. That, and a growing sense of being lost made him rethink his entire life.

He sought to be better, as much as his work would let him be. And he thought himself on the path to being a vaguely better person. And then... then...

PUBLIC KNOWLEDGE

WHAT CAN BE LOOKED UP

- Lives in Mauville city with annalise henderson , Rory Faust , and marilee beaufort inside a four-person apartment.
- Has a (fake) profile on the most popular job seeking website. Very bare bones, with only the required information necessary.
- Works for an 'insurance company', but position is hard to find.
- Very little presence online, but active in small clubs around Slateport City and now Mauville City.
- Known pseudo-guardian of june sleigh .
- Self-described 'Champion' of destroying male stereotypes and stigmas.
- Refers to everyone with a professional prefix of 'Mr, Ms, or Mx.'. First name if on good grounds, second if more professional-slash-NOT on good terms. 

LEAGUE KNOWLEDGE

POINTS OF INTEREST FOR THE LEAGUE FACTION

- Like most grunts, there are only vague descriptions of his appearance. Described as 'Fisher', he wears a stereotypical fisherman's hat with numerous hooks and bobbers around the brim.
- Reported in numerous hit-and-runs, robberies, and assaults.
- In the past, has been reported around the area after the discovery of dead rocket defectors. This hasn't been the case for the last two years.

ROCKET KNOWLEDGE

POINTS OF INTEREST FOR TEAM ROCKET FACTION

- Has been with the organization for the last thirty-one years.
- In contention for 'the most frequent visitor of the Anger Management Program' award. Not proud, but not distressed.
- Has a long, extensive job completion history.
- Either due to age or waning interest, his completion history has reached a 'dry spell'. Now does what appears to be the bare minimum for tasks. Started sometime at the start of 2022.
- Has been described as a 'safe face' to lodge complaints about upper management to. This information is kept from the Admins, Beasts, and Underbosses as best as people can.

 - Present during the failed search-and-rescue mission, where the Megalopolans were found. His recollection of events was given to Howard Slayte for a report. Owns several missing person's reports and a strange metallic hammer from the events.
 - Currently employed under howard slayte . Does whatever is requested of the man.

PRIVATE KNOWLEDGE

PERSONAL SECRETS

- Went on the run because he killed his alcoholic father after that man killed Grigori's mother.
- Used to be best friends with Gabriel Sleigh, father of june sleigh . Both joined Rocket shortly after the above happened.
- Has tally marks tatooed on his left arm for each promise he's made to a dead person. On his right is one long, solitary black strip. So far, the only promise he's shared is to 'Never tell a lie'.
- Has doubts about the current Rocket leadership and believes they do not stand a chance if things continue on as they have.
- Also has doubts about Rocket as a whole.

SPOILER: Click to show

- Killed June's father in a fit of rage and jealousy. Made a promise to the man, but he's yet to tell anyone.