As quick as he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable, Gavin's emotions shutter.

"Ah."

He looks away, flicks drool from his hand before returning it to Lycanroc's chin.

[attr="class","beck"]the shift is recognized but not addressed. he looks away as well, then pushes himself off the rail.

"come on."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Even now, even as underboss, Gavin relents.

But though he stands, he does not move to follow should the admin start walking. His hand tucks into his blazer.

"Home?"

[attr="class","beck"]he takes a few steps but stops not long after. he turns, eyes merlino, and responds:

"where else?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

It's as good a confirmation as any.

Two capsules roll against his palm: one, when enlarged, swallows the Lycanroc that had stopped to sniff at discarded cigarettes. The other opens to reveal a Claydol that spins in a slow circle, blinking each of its many eyes out of sync.

He places a hand on the Pokemon, and gestures for Theo to do the same.

He'll recognize the sign: Home.

A jarring change of scenery: suddenly, they're not outside but in the spacious, sunlit living room of his Sootopolis home. A gentle squeak heralds the excitement of an Alcremie that wanders from the direction of the kitchen.

Gavin returns the Claydol, fingers massaging his temple.

"Want a drink?"

[attr="class","beck"]the sight of the claydol brings a hint of amusement. to think that merlino could have done this from the start instead of walking — did he have a point to prove? yes. did he prove it?

"sure."

he takes a moment to take in his surroundings, then turns to approach the kitchen.

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

The space is bright, welcoming, wholly unassuming. Though kept meticulous, there are hints to the personality of its occupant: a book set on the coffee table next to an empty mug, a pack of cigarettes on the side table. The ashtray contains only a few butts, and appears to have recently been cleaned — or, perhaps, recently purchased.

His kitchen is similarly pristine; he navigates to a cabinet near the fridge and pulls out a bottle. Scotch, Galarian, though a different brand than whatever they'd drank on the submarine. A small amount is missing.

Glasses are set on the island, filled with ice and then liquor.

"Cheers."

It burns going down, reminding.

[attr="class","beck"]"cheers."

the burn is familiar; its relished. he can't help but spare another glance around the space. it's bigger and nicer than what he's used to.

"where did you live before this?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

There's a pause before he answers. Grief settles in the cracks.

"Fallarbor."

Gavin's Alcremie chirps as she hops up onto the island, approaching with an open curiousity. One of her mints is offered to Gavin, who takes it, and then Theo in turn.

"She likes to fuss over guests. We — I don't get many."

[attr="class","beck"]he eyes the alcremie with indifference but extends a hand out anyways, accepting the mint.

"what's its name?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Gavin sets the mint aside; it'll change the taste of the alcohol, and he's not yet finished his drink. Alcremie doesn't seem to mind, delighted by Theo's acceptance in spite of the expression he wears.

She'd been close with Emma. Misses her, he's sure.

"Never gave her one," he shrugs. "Never do. You name yours?"

[attr="class","beck"]to appease the alcremie, he pops the mint into his mouth, not particularly minding how it clashes with the taste of his drink.

"i did before rocket."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Before.

Gavin hadn't named them even then, for it had been a different authority breathing down his neck. Pokemon are tools, not pets, had translated quite easily to Pokemon exist for the glory of Team Rocket.

Lucario, he thinks, had deserved a name.

"How old were you?"