Like a frustrated cat, his Sylveon's tail lashes back and forth as it eyes the unwelcome intruder with narrowed eyes. Gavin may have invited this stranger into his office but the ribbons that curl around its master's arm alert the empathetic fairy-type to the truth.

Gavin is anything but relaxed.

Gavin leans back in his chair, the picture-perfect mirage of comfort.

This is his space, his office.

He does not look in good health. Still recovering from Necrozma's assault, the dark bags beneath his eyes have become a permanent feature. There's a sharpness to his cheekbones and a hardened quality to his gaze.

He exhales purple-black miasma when he puffs on his cigarette.

"You flatter me, Calem."

I can use your name, now.

At least he isn't in the police uniform this time. No, that was somewhere buried under sand with the original owner.

"Of course."

Much like the Xatu he commanded, Calem is still. Ice. Unmoving.

"I'm so glad you invited me here, Merlino."

His eyes scan the other, linger on bruises under eyes and sunken in flesh.

"It will be nice to return to work."

As if any of this was normal.

Cillian Quinn

Gavin is not glad. Gavin's experiencing stages of regret.

"We're making big plays in Hoenn. I needed competent enforcers under my command."

Gavin is restless, overwhelmed with the desire to fidget and burn off the energy that thrums beneath his skin, but Calem Pollet's eerie presence keeps him still.

"Walsh has been clear in his directive, however. We can't be bloodthirsty without reason. I trust that's understood."

You will not do to my team what was done to me.

His eyes shine.

He knows how uncomfortable that he's making Cillian Quinn.

He knows Gavin knows that he knows.

That makes it better.

"Of course, sir." Cotton candy words are spun from the knives in Calem's mouth. "I will make sure to uphold myself with the highest of dignity as long as I'm here."

The problem is they both have very different ideas of what 'without reason' means.

Even the deference does little to assuage Gavin's anxiety. It's bone-deep, suffocating.

"Good. Behave yourself and it could well be a permanent position."

It's the only leverage he might have over Calem Pollet, however small. They'd sent his old Hoenn handler back to Kanto when his sharp edges had drawn too much blood for their liking.

A fresh cigarette is slid carefully from its carton as an excuse to fidget with something, the soft scratch of a lighter too loud in the stillness of the office. He doesn't bother tilting his head away from the other when he exhales wisps of smoke and shadow.

"Have you gotten an update from customs?"

His thoughts swim with sharp claws and soft scents.

"I will do my best, sir." To those with untrained eyes, the smile would look genuine. Flattered, even.

Cillian Quinn knows very well what hides underneath.

Smoke caresses his face and as always he only smiles.

Sickening and saccharine.

"Unfortunately." A very small shake of the head. "It seems my pokemon did not make the cut. Father had to collect them for me."

He beams again, face lighting up less like the sun and more like a neon sign. False light.

"Except for my Hattrenne. I managed to smuggle her in last minute."

A smile could never look so unsettling as when it adorned the lips of Calem Pollet. A dangerous veneer of normalcy conceals the savagery beneath — but not from Gavin, who's seen that very smile as his own blade bit into his flesh.

"What a shame."

False words conceal a relief felt only until amends are made.

Of course he'd get that one through.

It was, in Gavin's well-informed opinion, the worst of the lot.

"How very fortunate for you."

Fingers pinch his cigarette just too tight, the filter depressed beneath their grip.

Eyes follow the miniscule movement.

He doesn't hide it, in this instance, open in his peering.

Let Cillian Quinn know that he sees.

Until his eyes make their way up to Gavin's, that false cheer more painted on than a clown's makeup.

An endless dance between the two of them until one of them snapped.

"That does lead to a few problems. I will need to find more pokemon to replace them. I hope this doesn't make me less useful to you, sir."

Gavin knows that Calem Pollet sees.

In the past, it has always been Gavin to bend. Rocket has taught him to be pliant, obedient — but so too have they taught him the importance of hierarchy, a shift that should have changed the steps to this delicate dance.

It does not feel so much like things have changed; Calem calls him sir but that smile still winds its way into Gavin's psyche and threatens to pull him apart.

"I'm sure you'd find a way to be useful even with your limited selection," he says, as if his skin's not crawling, "but I'll be sure to allocate some time toward helping rebuild your... collection."

Cillian Quinn is a man that found Rocket later in life. He was taught to bend, to break, had blood and sweat and tears forced him until he was a loyal dog. Gavin was someone who would bow his head and jump when asked. It's what he was. What Calem had had a hand in working to ensure.

Calem was born into Rocket. When Gavin was taught to beg like the animal he was, Calem had been taught to smile.

"Oh, would you? I would be very grateful for that, sir. I've never been to Hoenn before, you know. Even before Kanto's liberation."

I've never been to Hoenn before, you know.

The lie spoken through lips curved into their twisted mockery of a smile sees Gavin's jaw clench. Mere words could not take away from the experiences he'd had in the aftermath of Kanto's fall, forcibly separated from his team and dragged to a new region.

Like a dog hauled by its leash to serve a new master.

But Calem Pollet was nothing like Theo. There was nothing behind that smile but sharpened teeth.

"Watch it."

Gavin's own teeth flash with the warning, something growled in his voice.

There is no flinch or sign of startle like Cillian Quinn might have wanted.

Calem simply tilts his head to the side a bit, a mockery of a confused dog, slips still quirked upwards.

"I apologize, sir. Have I said something to upset you?"

Sweet and saccharine. If it were anyone else, the question might have sounded genuine. As if Calem was actually concerned that, maybe, he had accidentally said something to upset the other.

But he had gotten what he wanted.

He hates it.

The way that Calem Pollet can make him cower and yet he cannot achieve the same, no matter how much power he'd accrued in their absence. Underboss, avatar, master of shadow Pokemon, and yet he is the one whose heart thuds unsteadily against his ribcage.

His lips purse.

"You know — exactly what you said."