Gifts. Sure. That's what the Delibird was carrying.

And to anyone that chanced a peek into its tail-sack, that's exactly what they'd find. Holiday gifts wrapped in colourful paper awaiting their recipients. Only those that thought to dig to the bottom would find the reason Rocket had gotten involved in such a delivery.

A blue-furred midnight Lycanroc keeps pace at Gavin's heels.

Snow boi? His brow arches.

In contrast to the light, airy demeanor he'd adopted outside the Weather Institute, Gavin-on-the-job is dour and sharp of gaze. He acknowledges her with a curt nod.

"Merlino," he corrects, then thinks of Killian Decker. "Gavin, if you'd prefer."

The Lycanroc prowls ahead, taking point; unlike its trainer, the threatening aura it exudes is far from subtle.

"Jessie," he says, after a pause, recalling that Martín del Mar had called her as much. It could be an alias, so he clarifies, "Your name?"

@jessica

Gavin nods as she confirms her name. "Likewise."

Her apology draws a low huff of air from his throat. "If you considered that a win, you've clearly never had a real snowball fight."

They got downright dirty in Galar, at least among his cousins and their friends. They'd sooner pelt you with chunks of ice than snow, and they didn't obey any courtesy rules such as avoiding shots to the face or other sensitive areas.

Really, Jessie and Eris had been tame.

Gavin's breath mists in the cooler air, wisps of black threading with white fog. "We're off, then. Have you been with Rocket long?"

Lycanroc lopes a few paces ahead of them, fur bristled along its rocky spine.

@jessica

"Canalave," Gavin echoes. "Sinnoh, right?"

He's been to the region only once, and not to the city in question. Slateport he knows far better, having lived in the port city himself for a time until he'd saved up enough money for the house in Fallarbor.

"I spent summers in Galar and Kalos," he says. It's only a partial lie. He'd lived in Galar, spent summers in Kalos to get away from the snow rather than seek it out. But she didn't need to know that. "So snow's nothing new to me, but it's funny to see everyone in Hoenn lose their minds over it. It is weird, the weather we've been having."

He's lived in Hoenn for near half a decade, now; long enough to know snow isn't normal.

"Ah, you're one of those Blacks." A councilman's daughter? Fascinating. Useful, perhaps. But he makes a point not to eye her up like a choice cut of steak in Rocket's banquet. "You know, black Wooloo are rare and valuable. So you should think of that as a good thing."

@jessica

"To Sinnoh, yes," he affirms. "Once. To Sunyshore."

He'd wanted to go to Canalave, to visit the library and see the great bridge, but it had been his father's trip and there was no reasoning with Thomas Quinn when it came to such frivolities as sight-seeing. They'd only been there a few days.

"Different?" His curiosity seems genuine. "How so?"

He can't imagine what it would be like, to see snow for the first time well into one's adulthood. He'd been born and raised amidst the snowstorms of Circhester.

He chuckles at the thought of a shiny human being, but nods.

"Yes. One that stands out among the rest." And if she stood with Rocket while the rest of her family were staunch supporters of the League? Well, that was a good thing so far as Gavin was concerned. "Rocket don't care where you're from. Only what you do."

Well, except if where you're from was beneficial to them, but...

@jessica

"In shows, they usually use fake snow," Gavin says as they walk. His boots crunch down the snows and carve a path that the Delibird might follow safely up the mountain. "But the real thing can be light and fluffy, too. Only that tends to upset the kids who want to play in it; you can't really go sledding or pack snowballs with fluffier snow."

His lip quirks at some long forgotten memory, dredged by their conversation.

"My cousins used to pack their snowballs so tight it felt like being pelted by rocks."

His cousins had been assholes, at least on his father's side.

His smile fades to suit a grim, determined countenance when conversation slips to the topic of Rocket. The look of an underboss.

"Loyalty is paramount."

@jessica

"Evil," Gavin assures her, but leaves it at that.

Perhaps the Quinn cousins were wicked youths, but it had been Gavin to find his niche within a terrorist organization. What could be more evil than that?

He shakes his head at her concern.

"If Martín trusts you, I trust his judgement." Martín del Mar hadn't brought any concerns about Jessica to the underboss, so Gavin could only assume there were none of paramount importance. He hadn't known the admin as long as some others within Rocket but an understanding had been forged between them. "So long as you're willing to stand against them should they get in our way... but if they stay out of the conflict, then that shouldn't be a problem. Civilians shouldn't be dragged into this."

It was Blackwell's biggest flaw, Gavin thinks. Involving the innocent.

They're closing in on their destination, the Delibird chirping at their heels.

@jessica

"Not a clue," Gavin admits. "Figured you might, or the 'bird itself."

He'd gotten involved for one reason only: to get to know a member of Rocket. It was important to understand those who worked beneath you. What made them tick, what might make them turn. He considered Rocket as his family. You didn't always like your family, but if you had to spend time with them, might as well understand who you were dealing with.

He decides that Jessie is one of the decent ones. He wouldn't begrudge working with her again.

"We just need to make sure he gets wherever he's going without losing a certain package. No idea why he's decided to lead us up a mountain for that, but..."

Gavin shrugs.

@jessica