Gavin didn't often find himself in Lilycove but for one reason — a quaint little café with Galarian flare. From the posters behind the counter of famous trainers across the pond to the TVs that always showed the latest competitive matches, it sang of what had once been home.

It's the menu that brings him back, time and time again.

He doesn't have to place an order. The middle-aged woman who owns the place knows him well enough by now, and the fish and chips are in the fryer by the time he's settled down.

Amber eyes flick to the TV as the cry of a Corviknight rings out over cheering crowds.

"I'd put my money on that one."

@cat

Gavin delicately snips half of a chip with his teeth. He's polite enough to chew and swallow before he answers a girl whose attention he's seemingly grabbed with his off-hand remark.

"I can't imagine fearing them."

That's entirely a lie. His shadowed Corviknight was terrifying, and he'd trained the rest of the flock to be equally ruthless in battle.

She doesn't need to know that.

"Do you have one of your own?"

He pops the rest of the chip in his mouth.

"That's most birds," says Gavin with a shrug. "Caught one of mine as a Rookidee in the Safari here, maybe they'll bring 'em back some time."

One of his, because Gavin owned several.

"Thomas," is the name that comes immediately to mind; his father's name, recalled with a bitter taste. He was still going through the process with Killian Decker to have another 'real' identity to fall back on, for Patrick and Liam were bridges burned. "Prefer Tom, though."

Because his father had hated the nickname. It felt like a subtle 'fuck you' to the old man's memory.

Gavin laughs before taking another bite of his fish. It tastes of nostalgia, of home, of slipping away from the university campus for a lunch break at a quaint little diner down the road.

"Famous? No, just passionate."

He was famous, in a sense — infamous, but she didn't need to know about that. He's got to disguise himself to go anywhere outside of Sootopolis, these days, identifying scars covered by make-up, hair dyed, contacts in place of his glasses that serve a dual purpose in shifting his eyes away from their ordinarily amber hue.

"Do you battle, yourself?" He gestures toward the TV with his fork. "Or just watch?"

Something warm tinges his expression at the mention of Pacifidlog.

"Ah, I know the gym leader there. He's a good guy."

Poor words to sum up Tempest Quinn but this kid doesn't need to hear a grown man wax romantic over his partner.

"You know, they run the gyms differently in Hoenn. It doesn't always come down to a battle. But it can, if that's what you're after."

He knew Tempest Quinn wasn't as big on battling as the mission of conversation and understanding the aquatic Pokemon that frequented the area but there was some sort of mandate that required the availability of traditional challenges.

Gavin's lost in his own thoughts of the place that was no longer a home when she turns away to hide her face and thinks nothing of it.

"I'm only in Hoenn for a little while, doing research on the fossil Pokemon here."

An easy enough lie.

"Museums, ah? You ever seen the fossils local to the Galar region? Ridiculous."

His lip quirks, suggesting a fondness despite his disparaging tone.

"I collect fossils and revive them, so I've a fair few myself. What sort of Pokemon do you like, then?"

She seems to like a couple of steel-types but he doesn't jump to conclusions based on two alone.

Gavin's lip quirks as @cat nearly leaps out of her chair with enthusiasm; he can't imagine having that much energy. Even in his youth, he'd been comparatively reserved.

Her answer is a long one, and seemingly encompasses every Pokemon under the sun.

"Steel and ice, as well as fossils like I mentioned."

Then there's the shadow Pokemon, of course, but he can't run his mouth about those.

"FERNANDO SILPH has an interesting gym challenge for Steel enthusiasts, I've heard. Used to, at least."

He's not sure what Silph's gym is up to these days.