She looked down at his hand. Went back to the dirt, poking holes and dropping seeds. Perhaps that way, he couldn’t see the cogs turning in her head.

“Decisions.” Her tone was curious. “Like what?” What could possibly cause a man of his breed to relinquish any amount of power? 

There was no ‘if you don’t mind me asking.’ No tip-toeing. All in the past. 

She rolled her eyes, smiling some with a bit of well-hidden falseness. Ever-shorter hair danced around her sharp jawline as she shook her head. “So secretive.” 

Then, she joked back. “Maybe we ought to just skip town.” Her chin nodded out towards the ocean, somewhere in the distance; towards the border. “Then maybe you could finally stop being so stubborn all the time.”

Lulu smoothed a hand over the dirt and then began to pick some of it out from under her nails. So, this is what it felt like to be a farmer. She wasn’t a fan, really. “Well. That’s done.”

“Not really a vacation if you don’t come back.” She flashed a crooked grin, blissfully unaware of how vaguely threatening it could have sounded.

She then got closer, as though taking the bait. Closer, closer, until she was hovering at his mouth and watching the shape of it, eyes sensual. “I love it when people underestimate me.” Teeth snapped up at him playfully with the lightest click before she drew away, doing theatrics with a grandiose tone.

“Do you even know who I am, Mr. Silph? I am practically the queen of Galar, and I take whomever I so choose.” The terrorist shook her hair and raised her chin pretentiously, mimicking the dialect of noble Hammerlocke with great ease.

Still with a grin, she looked over at the rest of the garden, and then back to Fernando, plucking a pokeball from her belt. All jokes aside, “Guess I best be on my way, then. Thanks for joining me.” She looked and sounded more sincere. There was research to be done. Things had been busy; piled up in an impromptu absence. They'd spent plenty of time together, lately, right?

Fernando was unaffected by her this time, save for the flightiness of his gaze. No fun. She wanted him to nip back a bit, but he stood straight, all stone on the outside, with some unseen doubt in her beneath the surface of it.

Despite this normally having been something that would cause her lose interest, his mental hold on her kept her there. Would keep her coming back for more, to tease, to give, to take where she could. This was the only type of affection that someone like Lulu had to offer, at this point. If it was obsession Fernando had intended to instill in her, it would not be in the way that he’d meant.

Fernando Silph could implant memories; he could rewire what was already there; clip back some things, maybe, and cause some chaos, but in the end: Lulu truly pined for no one but Rinc. This was the greatest truth, at the very bottom of her core.

What was love, anyways? Only darkness remained.

This was flirtation. This was fun. Although this man had come to rule her nightmares, warming up the seat for a new king, she also dreamed of his bed—or, rather, whatever bed they’d ended up in. He hung in her head perpetually, for better or for worse. However, this head was far from empty otherwise.

“Oh, you know I don’t much like going out, love…” Did he? She hung there for a moment, considering his offer. Weeks prior, it would have been a hard ‘no.’ Lulu didn't do fancy public outings for very obvious reasons. “What’s the event?”

Devon Corp. That tickled.

It’d caught her off-guard, and there was a flash of bright interest in her eyes which she was quick to check coolly. There was a long moment where she considered it, eyes not leaving his. How likely would it be that she’d be identified, by his side? Was it public? What was the risk/reward here?

“Will there be… media? I don’t think I’d do well with reporters and cameras and all that, to be honest with you.” That wasn’t it, but he didn’t know enough about her to suspect that, surely.

“I’m flattered by the way.” There was truth to it. She drew near to him again to lightly lay her wrists over the nape of his neck. Lips trailed beneath where his jaw met an ear, if he allowed, finally letting go of the last bit of space she’d attempted to tease him with before. “I’m sure I’m hardly your only option.”

Shy? Yes.

She shrugged vaguely.

As much as she did want to roll the dice, and find out just how solid the disguise of ‘Lulu Flint’ actually was, it didn’t matter. A photo or two with her arm around one of Hoenn’s top political figures? Interpol would pick her off in no time, and no new hair-do would be able to save her.

Not to mention, there were a couple of random individuals here and there sprinkled around Hoenn who were perfectly aware she was up to no good—just (hopefully) not with whom. A stroke of bad luck, and she’d find herself drinking across from them.

As tempting as the offer was, the risk was much too great.

His eyes made her feel something she couldn’t pinpoint—something momentarily chilling, but it was overcome by the warmth of his whisper. Rejection didn't dare interrupt his peck. Her lips gave to him what he sought, and then some. His reward deepened, the weight of her arms sighing more into the slope of his neck. She already regretted having to tell him ‘no.’ It hung on her tongue, threatening.

And then, something hit her. The plan. This was it. This was worth it.

It was finally time to kill Saoirse Quinn.

In an instant, things changed so drastically that the shift was visible in her gaze.

“You know... Sure. I'll go.” she nodded and smiled up at him, and then her tone teased a disclaimer. “But only because it sounds interesting—not just to be some woman on your arm.” Her fake eyes were bright, loving, acting. Her gaze was a well-meaning joke. The kiss that followed would be up to interpretation, but there was something heavy behind it, that could be mistaken for passion.

It welcomed death with a bittersweet embrace.