She did not mind the extra minutes of solitude. He ended his tardiness sooner than she expected from a leader of a crime syndicate. Still an honorable man somewhere in there, she assumed.

Mick’s eyes found him from a downturned face. She shut the book, slid it to the side of her. A warm smile welcomed him into her presence, an open hand invited him to sit before her.

”Welcome to Rustboro, sir. I hope you enjoyed the extra time wandering its streets.” She quipped with easy charm. The best strategy was to appease in a smooth manner.

Mick looked to the book he asked about and shrugged. That was not what was important. His next question addressed it.

”I wanted to ask you something.” Her eyes thinned as she probed.

”Do you care much for a city in the trees?”

---

SILAS BLACKWELL

He lacked honor, harboring in its place some misplaced anger at the world. Sure, he had his reasons, but Mick could not help but think the rage was so integral to his identity now that it served no other purpose. Irrational anger with a splash of devil may care, quite the cocktail for the chief commander of a terrorist organization.

Mick grinned at his sharp return to her wishes. She expected little else. What she failed to predict was the assumed care for her future actions. Her brow raised in surprise by the quick rejection of her ambiguous wishes.

Mick wished to frown, thought less of it. He was playing the long game which, she supposed, was a bit smarter than impulsively waving her a pass. The fact he was humoring her with his presence now meant that he knew better than to let her play without supervision.

His presence also meant that negotiation was a welcome friend amongst them.

”Ideas are the food of the mind. I happen to like mine a bit rife with chaos, sure.”

A million unspoken words hung in the dim light between them, finding passage through their held gaze. Mick eased herself forward, strengthening the highway of unconscious thought. He was a psychopath, similar to herself though vastly different in expression.

”I just can’t get this image out of my head, Sir.” Mick paused, looked into the void with eyes wide and alight with imagined flames. ”Something so… beautiful, so… bright.”

So much tinder to add to a glorious display of power.

To burn a whole city, how spectacular that would be. She looked back to him, pressed him to imagine the possibilities following a stunt like this. The doors of opportunity would be burnt away from their frames. Rocket could saunter through any which one they chose.

Make way for the next act of war. The slaughter of a hundred-thousand more pigs. Mick itched to lick her lips at the thought.

”Of course, this may seem farfetched. Even so, possibility exists even in the most wild fantasies.”

---

SILAS BLACKWELL

Different. What makes this different. Different.

Mick was not keen on self description. Introspection wasted too much precious time. This was no interview either. At least, not one about her. Silas Blackwell, ”what is it you want?”

Her fingers drummed the table whilst her mind spun. She wondered what the answer to that question was; for him, for herself. Mick was confident enough to know what she wanted and that was, simply, to feel a bit like God did. Whoever God was.

Did Silas share that desire? ”Is it really shameful, sir? Visions of destruction no longer tickle you as they so famously did before?” Mick’s lips twitched upwards, threatening a grin. ”What has changed, I wonder.”

Silas eased back into his chair, Mick eased forward. Sinister energy permeated the space, making the air thick and heavy. What makes this different. The question returned to her then.

”The world is a playground. People like to pretend there are rules; laws of nature. The reality is nothing that exists holds much significance beyond occupying a little temporary space in the universe. Even so, humans are adamant in believing that, if they behave themselves, they will be granted some mystic and fulfilling life.” Mick scoffed at the idea. Humans were so blindly optimistic. Such easy prey they made.

”You and I both know this is not the case.” She shrugged, lifted a hand to paint her point more strongly, closed her eyes and took a breath. ”You ask why Fortree.” Eyes flitted open, bore into Silas’.

”I answer, why not Fortree?” Mick laughed as if she delivered some funny joke. Why not all of them? Chaos was the only thing that made sense, that brought vibrant color to everything.

”Think about it, sir. Think about all of those people squatting in trees. About watching them fall from their scorched safe havens onto the dirt.” Mick leaned in further, her voice barely above a whisper.

”Aren’t you curious to see what would happen?”

She laughed.

---

SILAS BLACKWELL

He was correct. The idea could not be executed simply. Strategy would need to be wielded most masterfully if the notion of conquering the city wished to be realized.

That’s what made it all so fun. Infiltration, lubrication, decimation: this was a favorite game of hers. Like a Glameow knocking a glass off a counter, watching it shatter, Mick was all for action vs reaction. Human reaction most especially.

She nodded, her face returning to a default expression. ”Of course, sir. Caution is a loyal friend.” He was right to tread carefully. Rocket did its best work in quiet darkness, Silas knew. She knew too. Playing predator was more fun that way anyhow.

"I will not disappoint your expectations.” A meal. She wondered what connotations stuck to the proposition he gave. Meat was easy enough to come by but something deep within her prompted her to think what he desired was something truly rare. Her mouth twitched at the thought.

Mick always loved a challenge.

She backed up from the table, her form casting itself in shadow as she rose. Standing there, towering over Silas in darkness, she felt a surge of hunger. A hunger for many things.

Mick extended a single arm, fanning her hand out as if expecting Silas to take and kiss it. ”I will await you at my table with great enthusiasm.” Mick let her face in to the light, her expression reflecting the sentiment.

”A good hunt will await us after that. I look forward to it all.”

She fished the books she read from the table and left to shelve them.

---

SILAS BLACKWELL

”You’re kind to think so. Oh, this? Why, I thought it fitting to come to this town wearing only the finest plumage. An homage of sorts.” Her expression was easy, directed towards the small gaggle of admirers crowding about her spot nearest the bar.

They had reason to take notice of her. Unlike Silas, whom preferred to blend in masterfully with the thugs of Fortree, Mick sought to draw them in, to make them wonder. A funny thing it was: being noticed. Mick tucked a strand of white-blond behind an ear, adjust the feathered boa about her shoulders.

She wore an outlandish gown, the kind reserved for elitist bourgeoisie. Adorned upon it were various stones of various coloration. They shimmered under the dim lights of the bar. Atop this dress was a white and purple boa made from Swanna feathers.

Mick radiated elegance, sipped her dry martini, winked at her admirers. She checked her phone after feeling it shudder. The message made her grin even brighter. Mick lifted herself from her stool and downed the rest of her cocktail. She turned to leave.

”If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I’m afraid I’ve been summoned.” A collective groan of disdain emanated from the patrons of the bar. They all watched her go.

Mick took her phone from its place and dialed. She listened to it ring once, twice, three times. He would send her to voicemail, she was sure. Then he would ring her back as an easy assertion of dominance. Mick sighed. He craved power almost too intensely. She wondered how he would react to seeing her attire. Would her break her neck in a rage?

She secretly hoped for that.

”Hello, sir.” Mick spoke softly into the void. She adjusted the feathers about her, smiling at onlookers as they walked past.

”Are you well?”

---

SILAS BLACKWELL

The gaudiness of her dress elicited no reaction. His answer to her inquiry was colored with deep-seated opinions, even so. Splendid, indeed.

Silas’ touch was rough, aggressive. Mick nearly tripped as she was pulled to his side. Wordlessly she followed suit, matching his stride. Her heels clicked against the wooden pathways as they moved.

They swam through crowds of invalids, nearly getting physical with one particularly drunken fellow. Silas broke the silence with an urgency she felt she should pay attention to. Her brow raised.

”Certainly, sir. Though these pickings certainly won’t please the pallet any. I suggest we ascend a bit. Find us a rare bird to deplume.”

Mick pointed up to the higher levels of the city, bustling with excess. Killing here in Fortree's lowest levels would bring no risk. Though they would dine easy, the sacrifice would lack fulfillment. Silas wished for splendor, she knew. He wished for the rush of slaughter with a meaning attached.

She would find him exactly what he searched for. She was as confident about it as she was overdressed.

”Sir, I’d be delighted if you’d act as my escort to a rather exquisite affair.” Mick’s fingertips lit upon his shoulder closest, trailing downwards to the hollow near his elbow. She encircled it lightly, withdrew a parchment from her person.

Delicate lettering detailed an evening spent among Fortree’s elite. Mingling in the very tops of Fortree’s foliage.

You have been graciously invite to attend the final birthday dinner of a deliciously rare creature. Please RSVP.

---

SILAS BLACKWELL