Gavin Merlino
he/him
36
october 28th
circhester, galar
demisexual
the harbinger
underboss
creatures of habit, carrion flowers, growing from repeated crimes.
TAG WITH @gavin
Cillian Quinn
Old Faces, New Country [m] [past]
POSTED ON Jul 12, 2022 13:52:53 GMT
"Can never be too careful," Gavin grunts.
Still, when Zev places his pistol and knife on the kitchen table, Gavin follows suit with his own gun and the knife in his pocket. He does not disarm himself of the knife in his boot; trust could only extend so far.
Jerking his head toward the balcony door, he says, "Only other viable exit is the fire escape."
He'd seen the sweep, and knew it well. He, too, performed a similar examination of each location he entered. It was important to understand one's vulnerabilities in any situation, even simply going out for dinner.
You could, as he'd said, never be too careful.
He doesn't know.
Amber eyes widen a little, and Gavin licks his lips before recovering from the surprise.
"Blackwell's dead." They're alone in his tiny apartment, yet Gavin whispers the man's name as if he might manifest from the shadows. "There's whispers Rocket turned on him, but I don't—" He shakes his head, brows knitting. "I don't know, but everyone's scattered. We had the city for a while but the League moved in once he was killed and..."
He trails off, making a vague motion with his hand.
"I've kept in touch with whoever I could. The ones who haven't gone dark." Silas Blackwell had been a psychopathic tyrant; many in Rocket were glad to be free of him and the organization both. It was Gavin's chance at freedom, but conditioning in Kanto saw his loyalties bound to the organization for good or ill. He had nowhere else to go, here. No one else to rely on. "There's whispers about reforming, but I haven't heard anything solid yet."
His eyes dart to the exits, as if assuring himself they're still there.
"Thought at first you'd been sent over from Kanto to clean up the mess."
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