NOTES

"In Kalos." Gavin's smile never reaches his eyes. "With the barrier and all of the chaos going on in Hoenn, it's not unusual for people to vanish. It's a risk one must accept, immigrating here."

That smile is haunting, cold. Here, where there is no need to put on a façade for the sake of Rocket's image, Gavin's capacity for savagery shines through in ways that light never will. Rocket have broken down the man he was and forged him into a weapon, sharp and cruel.

He's pleased to see how well-prepared Seraphine is.

"Perhaps they only found a part of him." If they really wanted to sell the autopsy, it was an option. "I'm sure he won't miss a limb or two."

NOTES

Gavin nods, curt, when she asks to see the prisoner.

While she may not partake directly, Gavin appreciates that Seraphine D’aureville does not shy away from the ugly reality of their work. There was no shame in distance; it could even be considered healthy, for some, but the knowledge that she didn't shun the darkness inclined the underboss to further working with the artist. There was little chance of her caving to morals.

Their footsteps echo as Gavin leads her to a dark, windowless cell. Belmont would not be graced with even the futile hope of escape through an open hole to the ocean above — the League must never catch a glimpse of the deceased.

"Good morning, Belmont."

Gavin's deep voice fills silence with cold authority.

"Merlino." Belmont looks caught between fear and disgust, instinctively stepping back from the door through which Gavin and Seraphine have entered but meeting any gaze with his own, defiant. "What do you want?"

His eyes keep darting to Seraphine, the unknown party.

"You're going to be writing a will." That bold gaze falters under the implication. "Think very carefully about what you want it to say."

NOTES

"Are you so eager to die?" Chandelure-cast shadows dance with a tilt of his head.

"No," Belmont insists, too quickly. Gavin knows his heart will be racing, rabbit-quick. He has known such fear enough to understand its effects on the body, the mind. Sweaty palms, churning stomach. Yet he feels no sympathy for Francis Belmont, for the organization that had taught him such fears have taught him distance, as well. Belmont is nothing more than a pawn on a chess board.

"Good. Get on with it, then." Belmont's hand is shaking, and Gavin clicks his tongue in disapproval. "Steady yourself, first. You have to sell it. You do want to keep the hand, don't you?"

Such casual threat of violence spurs the man onward. Gavin leans against the wall, the slip of his fingers around a pokeball subtle enough to go unnoticed by the man nervously penning his own downfall. By the time he's finished writing, it's already too late: a chill invades the cell as Gavin's Shadow Sandslash is released from its luxury prison. The feral creature growls, and Belmont stumbles back from it in shock. The room isn't large, and he has little space to run between people and Pokémon.

Gavin clicks his tongue and makes a sharp, deliberate gesture.

True to his word, Belmont's writing hand is spared. METAL CLAWS cleave clean through the flesh and bone of the opposite arm, a spray of blood painting the white stone walls. A concentrated BLIZZARD freezes the dispatched limb.

Turning to Seraphine D’aureville, Gavin gestures toward the door of the cell and steps over Belmont's writhing form.

NOTES

Though there will never be an admission, even Gavin feels more secure away from the stench of ice and iron. A sharp whistle echoes down the hall to grab the attention of the nearest enforcer on patrol, and Gavin quickly relays orders. Dispatch medics to the site, freeze the limb, await further instruction on what was to be done with it.

He is unerringly calm as they make their way back to the office he's commandeered, spots of crimson on the whites in his attire the only indication of what had just occurred.

"Take what time you need, within reason." She was a busy woman, after all. "I trust you were provided all the relevant contact information." It's not a question; he'd be more surprised to hear she wasn't. If he gave an order, he expected it followed. All who worked for him were well aware. "Thank you for your time."