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An idle swish of her hand waved away the formality, brushing past it with a sly smile. "Oh, 'Lady' will be unnecessary, I think. Just Fiorelli is fine." [break][break]

The life of nobility had ended for one of them, if not the other. Although with the current condition of Galar, that state of affairs might change sooner rather than later. Could you remain a monarch, if your region was in ruins? [break][break]

Elisabeth kept that dark thought to herself, unsaid.[break][break]

A dry laugh answered him instead as the blonde lifted her own drink to mirror his toast. [break][break]

"I don't think it's so surprising. I often find myself alone, to be honest." Elisabeth brought the gin to her lips, only to pause before indulging to add, "Especially at this hour." [break][break]

Something she privately doubted was the same for him, given an effusive conversation luka chêne had on the subject of Remiel Calcifet in her flower shop several months ago. It brought a faint smirk to her lips.[break][break]

Nobility didn't change that much, no matter which region you were in.[break][break]

"I do agree with you, however," the Rocket admin continued, her gaze shifting to the shadows of the reef, before returning back to him with a subdued air. "The solitude here in the submarine is rarer than most."[break][break]

As if to illustrate, the sinuous form of a Milotic danced just outside the panel of glass, dappled in starry rings of azure light.

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Wordlessly, Elisabeth shifted to allow space for Remiel Calcifet to join her on the plush seating. Outside, the silhouettes undersea vanished in plumes of sand and scattered bubbles, lost to the black-blue expanse. [break][break]

"Is it work that keeps you up, too, then?" she asked him. [break][break]

Her drink was exchanged on a nearby table for a crisp manila file, one that she tapped gently to emphasize her own reasoning. At closer proximity, the darkness beneath her eyes was subtle, but noticeable.[break][break]

"Whatever peace we experience now is short-lived." Worry furrowed her brow as her line of sight narrowed in on the unseen contents of the folder. "Retaliation for our actions at METENO, and in Mt. Pyre and Littleroot, is inevitable."[break][break]

The ebb-and-flow of conflict demanded it.

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To his observation, she shrugged before saying at length, "I suspect that's by design. It is my belief that attempts at winning over the League's members through propaganda have been deemed as efficient as possible, and thus, the next phase of tactics must begin. And this is an offensive phase, in every respect."[break][break]

Elisabeth frowned slightly, glancing from her folders to Remiel Calcifet. She didn't know him particularly well, to speak truly. For all that she and the Galarian Ambassador had in common -- background in the aristocracy, a position of authority in Rocket, scholarly interests -- the two had existed in parallel lives within the organization more often than not.[break][break]

"You were there at the Transfer of Power. What is your thought on the matter?"[break][break]

A dangerous question to answer, particularly to strange company.[break][break]

Still, she wondered.

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"Sleight of hand?" A thin, amused smile curved her lips. "Ah. It is a Magician's Choice, then? The illusion of any choice at all, while the result of either remains the same." [break][break]

Elisabeth wasn't blind to Remiel Calcifet's position of power outside of Rocket.[break][break]

There had been fleeting glimpses of the prince, in passing, at events that demanded the presence of the wealthy and influential of their regions. Galar and Kalos held ties greater than most; nobility was a dying tradition, but one that they both laid claim to, in different ways.[break][break]

She'd stood in the shadows of great men, watching them lord over others while dismissing people like her on the sidelines as ornamentation.[break][break]

If Remiel had ever noticed the silent, dutiful wife standing behind her husband in those years, it would have genuinely surprised her.[break][break]

Yet that he'd heard of the mad woman who burned down the Bortiforte manor -- the so-called Black Widow of Kalos -- would not have surprised her in the same way.[break][break]

The aristocracy thrived on gossip. It was why those within it learned quickly how to use their words like knives.[break][break]

To his direct question, Elisabeth cocked her head at him as she leaned back, a cat-like grin on her lips.[break][break]

"Do you play chess, Admin Calcifet?"[break][break]

Outside, the Wailord sang to sleep the waning night.

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He'd caught onto her point, in more ways than perhaps he'd realized.[break][break]

"The overseers are the players of the game," Elisabeth said, sweeping a hand over an illusionary chessboard. "As for us, we are merely black pieces set against white. Some of us -- the grunts, the associates -- are pawns. Others -- let's say the Head Scientists, for example -- have a little more leeway due to their unique expertise, as knights that can overstep the rules that bind others."[break][break]

The Relicanth's retreating shadow left the ocean empty for a moment, nothing but endless blues as far as the eye could see.[break][break]

"You and I," Elisabeth said, holding his gaze, "are bishops. We slide our way between the other pieces, finding the best way to angle ourselves."[break][break]

Her hands fell upon her lap, as if setting the imaginary table anew.[break][break]

"In the end, however, we are simply pieces. All of us are expendable, should the player see value in exchanging us for something else. Whether it be a desirable position on the board, or a risky gambit."[break][break]

Littleroot had been both the former and the latter, and her life had been dangled repeatedly and loosely in the balance of Walsh's designs.[break][break]

"Do I enjoy being a piece on the chessboard, Admin Calcifet? Not especially. Real power is in the hands of the players. Until then, a piece does not get to determine the way in which they are maneuvered."[break][break]

Unmistakable bitterness echoed in the final statement, unspoken but voiced nonetheless.

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A treasonous undercurrent lurked beneath the surface of their conversation, whispering at darker discontent buried undersea. The more they spoke, the closer a mutual confession dared to breach the verbal barriers set up between them; the truth loomed as a shadow both could glimpse at, but neither dared to fully drag into the light.[break][break]

The nobility had taught them both better, or so Elisabeth believed. Which was why Remiel Calcifet's explanation caught her off-guard.[break][break][break]

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The prince's use of the past tense did not escape Elisabeth's notice, as evidenced by the faintest arch of an eyebrow as she turned to regard him. In some ways, his sentiment echoed her own. In others, the contrast between them had never before seemed so stark.[break][break]

"Was the power you already possessed in Galar not enough, then?"[break][break]

There was a bite to her question, a resentment that hinted at another: Have you ever known true helplessness, heir of Galar?[break][break]

Elisabeth's entire life had been from one cage to another. The cage of her father's debt. The cage of her marriage to a man obsessed with control. The cage of infamy that made a peaceful life in Kalos impossible.[break][break]

Rocket was a cage they had both willingly chosen in Hoenn for themselves. And that choice had consequences, as they were now both finding.[break][break]

The Rocket admin leaned her chin on her hand, eyes flitting to the window where nothing but emptiness greeted her distant gaze. Her golden hair fell over her shoulder with the motion, softly tousled with disarray.[break][break]

"Do you think there is anyone in this world who exists unshackled?"[break][break]

This time, Elisabeth's question came out tired. Her words ached with doubt, but underneath them was a quiet wondering.[break][break]

"dahlia goode herself serves the court of public opinion, as does the council. They cannot act freely in their own interest, not without repercussions. SILAS BLACKWELL himself was killed and betrayed by others in Rocket, and declan walsh sits on the same blood-soaked seat Blackwell once knew."[break][break]

She closed her eyes for a moment, considering the value in her next words, before letting them fall from her lips.[break][break]

"At least in Rocket, we can see the shackles. The chessboard we act upon is fully visible."[break][break]

Years of playing at intrigue in the dark, guessing at the shadows of friend or foe, had taught her to value that transparency.[break][break]

"Even the lowliest florist in Littleroot, Admin Calcifet, can be made to dance on a puppeteer's strings. All it takes is a meteor to fall from the sky, a barrier to be erected over the region to trap her in place, and for unknown enemies in the shadows to strike her home when she least expects it."[break][break]

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