“Neither does the boss of Silph seem like one, but his subordinates definitely do,” she replied, trying to be a bit more quick-witted this time around. This man so far had seemed appreciative of her being candid, so she figured he might now, too. But she also wanted to be sure on that particular point. If this was going to be her trading in her freedom in pursuing her own agenda, she wouldn’t do so for something that would be more akin to just becoming some worker bee.

She leans back again. For she had not forgotten the other question. “As for survival, no clue. Last time I was in any danger, I had my Pokemon blast my way out. But it wasn’t like I needed to kill anyone to get by. I mean, I could tell you whatever you want to hear now, but truth is: I can’t know that kind of stuff. In my opinion, no one can without ever getting into that kind of situation. Why, though? Does being a Rocket regularly put you in situations where that is necessary to survive?”

Something shifts in Gavin's expression at the mention of Silph. It's hard, cold.

"Orders are to be followed, but what you do outside of them concerns us only if it endangers the organization. If you become a mindless drone in Rocket, that's no one's fault but your own."

He'd been all but mindless, once. It aches to remember.

All that he'd done, he had done to survive. Violet's confidence in her own survival instinct seems far less resolute than his own.

"Regularly? No. But it's a possibility."

His shoulders lift in a shrug. His cigarette has burned down to its filter, and he lights another as he speaks.

Oh, Silph is a sore spot for him? Good to know. It hadn’t even been a shot in the dark or so, but she would take that titbit of information. Could be useful in the future. If only to not bring it up needlessly for it might cause her trouble. He already got quite a bit bitter just from the mention, after all. Probably not a good thing to make a habit of. But for the time being, best to accept his implicit offers of changing the topic back to being productive.

“Hmm, as long as the orders themselves aren’t mindless droning, I certainly don’t mind,” she replied. It wasn’t that much of an issue if there really was a lot of freedom in pursuing matters, then she didn’t have much of an issue about it all. “And I guess there is always a possibility no matter what I do. Heck, I visited a museum not too long ago and I ended up having to set fire to the thing. I am not exactly sure if anyone got hurt because of me. Never really cared, really.” She shrugged. Had figured it best to not even look into the aftermath, just in case anyone got mad at her for it all.

She seems amenable to the idea of orders and surprisingly indifferent at the thought of murder and violence; the impression Gavin gets is that she's out for herself, in the end. He can respect such motivation even if it clashes against his ideal vision of Rocket's unity.

He'd been selfish, too, at the start. Such things could be changed.

"Well, then I believe I've given you enough to think on."

He peers at her, scrutinizing and expectant.

“Yes, quite a bit. At least I know a little more.” A little. Not a lot. After all, he had been vague and everything. Sure, he had quite the good reasons to be. But that didn’t change the fact that there wasn’t a whole lot of information to be gleamed from this. At the end of the day, this was an important decision to make, but she didn’t really know what all it entailed.

But that was just life. “Well, my gut says yes, though it’s probably best to at least sleep over it. Unless I am already so deep in that I fall under ‘knows too much’.” She laughs, but she does probe in that direction. After all, she had at least some actionable things. But they probably weren’t important enough to warrant anything bad to happen to her. “Though I reckon it is more a case of wanting to make sure, really. I mean, I want to be on the side of the winners anyway~.”

"No, no, the choice is yours."

He lifts a hand in a dismissive gesture as if to shrug off the dark implication of knowing too much. He remembers how that had felt all too well, with THEO BECKETT looming over his shoulder. Kill him or I kill you.

"We'll be watching, of course. I don't think I need to spell out what will happen if you go to the League." His smile curls at the edges like the paper of his cigarette beneath a line of brilliant flame. "We will be the winners, Violet."

He exhales swirling smoke, punctuating the name.

“Of course,” she replied, all encompassing. It was rather evident that he was right, after all. Well, in most cases. Naturally, no one could know who would win in the end. But she didn’t mind. Vio liked confidence in men, as long as it wasn’t completely baseless. Coming from someone as notorious as this, it was rather compelling at least.

Speaking of, though: “Oh right, I almost forgot. Are there any requisites regarding uniforms and the like? I saw some on TV, though I can’t help but notice a lack of it on you.” Oh, how she hoped to not have to wear that horrible black dress uniform she’d seen. It would look absolutely horrendous on her. The thought alone saw her lightly grimace. “Though rest assured, I have absolutely no love for the league. And I certainly would prefer you to be the winners. Though it would probably be an ‘us’ more than a ‘you’. As I said, I am strongly interested. “

"Uniforms?" He laughs, crisp. "No. Kanto is ours; there, it's not so different from being in the military. Here, we are the insurgents."

Amber eyes glitter with the word.

Their revolution would soon be at hand.

"Besides, I am no grunt, as I'm sure you've inferred."

He doesn't elaborate, merely offers a conspiratorial smile.

"Well, then, Ms. Fairbanks, I won't take any more of your time." He extinguishes his cigarette against the table, stands. "Reach out to our mutual friend when you've made your choice. I hope it's the right one."

He leaves, and doesn't look back.