[attr="class","tag"]Girard Fraser

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🔗 M: Zero to One Hundred

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Cillian spoke with a carefully constructed accent that hinted at a Kantonian refugee living in Unova. His build was thicker than Girard remembered, flaxen hair fashioned differently, gold eyes hardened and haunted behind a flat, business-like neutrality. It was almost a good enough lie to fool Girard, convince him that he was mistaken: that he was merely seeing the ghost of an old friend in someone similar, not living proof of said friend’s survival.[break][break]
But Cillian’s eyes had widened at the sound of his name, just enough to break character.[break][break]
Just enough for Girard to know that he was right.[break][break]
Several emotions surged within Girard’s chest. Cillian had been one of his closest friends during his undergraduate studies at Hammerlocke University, but they’d ended up in different post-graduate programs, Girard attending Wyndon’s renown School of Finance and Cillian’s scientific prowess landing him on a different, yet equally prestigious, path. Girard had attempted to keep in touch with the other man, but one day, Cillian had just...disappeared. Girard had tried to visit his estate, but Cillian’s parents had turned him away. Not long after...Cillian had been declared dead.[break][break]
Girard had mourned his friend, but he had eventually moved on. However, the circumstances surrounding the blond’s death had always been rather fuzzy. Girard had often lamented not trying harder to look into it. Seeing him standing there, in the flesh, awkwardly setting down the crate he’d carried into Girard’s shop…it suddenly struck Girard just how much the entire thing reeked of a cover-up, in retrospect.[break][break]
Arceus, he had been such a fool back then.[break][break]
"Cil," he murmured softly, briskly walking up to the other man, voice strained with emotion. "It’s me, Girard. You remember me, don’t you? We were roommates in college, back in Galar." He paused, glancing at the door, recognizing the risk it posed. He moved past the other man, quickly locking the door and flipping the sign from open to closed.[break][break]
He turned back then, watching as Mortimer approached with the mint tea. A pregnant pause hung between the two men while the Mr. Mime waited patiently.[break][break]
"It’s mint," Girard said finally. "Your favorite." The hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

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[attr="class","tag"]Girard Fraser

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🔗 M: Zero to One Hundred

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Girard had always been an observant man. He was particularly successful as a buyer and seller of rare goods precisely because he had a talent for reading people. Getting into the minds of those who wished to do business was critical for ensuring he always came out on top.[break][break]
Now, his keen eyes could see that Cillian barely registered the peppermint tea. The blond had tensed up when Girard had locked the door. He licked his lips, fidgeted with his hands. Girard could see the sheen of sweat on his brow.[break][break]
Cillian was terrified.[break][break]
Girard immediately adjusted his approach. He walked up to his former friend, dropping his voice low. "Of course. Nobody will know. Merlino, right? Gavin?" The name felt strange on his lips. He didn't know Cillian Quinn, not like he knew Cillian Quinn. A mild dread started to tug at Girard's consciousness, urging him to reconsider his initial assessment that this was the wry, confident man he had attended university with, the man he had spent many long evenings laughing, drinking, and (sometimes) studying with. Girard had been one of the few who had been able to crack through Cillian's proud shell, see some of the vulnerability underneath. The man standing before him now was not that man.[break][break]
Perhaps Cillian had died after all.[break][break]
"What happened to you?" He murmured softly, tone haunted, the tea forgotten.

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[attr="class","tag"]Girard Fraser

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🔗 M: Zero to One Hundred

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Girard was no fool. There were many facets to the gemstone that was Team Rocket, and all of them were double-edged. A much younger - perhaps more foolish - Girard had sought out the organization himself, in order to enact revenge on someone who had hurt him, but it often - more often - went in the other direction: Rocket found the soldiers it needed, one way or another. The Kanto Regime was especially unforgiving: Girard had heard of Project Gossamer, he'd heard of the brutality of the Kanto secret police, he'd heard of scientists disappearing if they did not deliver what was promised to those looking to harness the various powers of Pokémon for worldwide takeover. Girard had managed to avoid much of the emotional and psychological manipulation that went into pledging one's allegiance to the criminal organization: perhaps that had been luck, and perhaps it had been Girard's own tendency to keep the violent side of Rocket at arm's length. In Galar, that had been easy enough to do. In Hoenn, well...[break][break]
How long his luck would last, he was not certain. He had the skills to do more than business transactions. Somebody would notice eventually.[break][break]
It seemed Cillian had not been quite so lucky. However he'd ended up here, it had been a far more difficult path than Girard's.[break][break]
"You were in Kanto," Girard said by way of explanation. It was not a question. It also didn't need to be elaborated on. The sympathy he'd displayed dissolved into acceptance. After all, it was clear that Cillian - no, Gavin - did not need or want his sympathy.[break][break]
"I stayed in Galar," he continued. "And suffered a great betrayal. The man who stole my intellectual property and my financial contributions to the company he promised we'd start together will never do business with anyone again." He paused, letting that sink in. "Revenge is a decision you can't do over, can't take back. We work for the same people now. I volunteered willingly. Perhaps that's a greater sin than being conscripted, who can say?" He shrugged, a small, wry smile dancing across his lips.[break][break]
"We are on the same side, Gavin Merlino," he assured the man that used to be his friend. "Same as always."[break][break]
If loyalty is what you demand, you never lost it from me.[break][break]

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[attr="class","tag"]Girard Fraser

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🔗 M: Zero to One Hundred

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A better deal.[break][break]
"Yes, I suppose I did," Girard muttered, following Gavin's gaze around the shop's interior. He'd been allowed to open his business, use it as a front for the work he conducted for Rocket - transactions of an illicit nature, the transference of rare Pokémon, bookkeeping, and the most dangerous business of all: the buying and selling of information. It was not lost on Girard that he was a man who knew too much; one of these days, that might mean trouble rather than trust.[break][break]
The way to prevent that would be to back the right people, ensure that they came to power within the criminal organization: men and women who needed Girard, who saw him as an asset.[break][break]
Perhaps old friends.[break][break]
"I am sorry for what happened to you," Girard said after a measure of weighty silence. He meant it, but his tone was devoid of pity, only a genuine sense of regret. Cillian had not deserved such a fate; but perhaps Gavin would make something of it, despite the trauma. It was hard to pinpoint, like a speck of dust, the future of the man standing before Girard. A man who, Girard was beginning to sense, was still a friend...a new one, risen from the ashes of a life he could never return to.[break][break]
"I often deal in information," Girard said to Gavin, matter-of-factly. "I sometimes trade with important people - our own leadership, for instance. In exchange, I occasionally gain Rocket knowledge most grunts are not privy to." He paused, letting that sink in. "But not all of our current leadership are...worthy of their power, in my expert opinion. I would be willing to back anyone who was worthy, regardless of where they currently sit in our ranks."[break][break]
He left the real proposition unspoken, because Cillian had been an extremely intelligent man, and he doubted Gavin was any less sharp. There was no getting out now, not for Gavin and not for Girard.[break][break]
Might as well make the best of it. Together, as allies.

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[attr="class","tag"]Girard Fraser

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🔗 M: Zero to One Hundred

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Girard nodded, seeing - for the briefest of moments - the clever eyes of Cillian looking out from the face of Cillian Quinn. The alchemy of this man who was an old-new friend was fascinating. There was something else, also. Hatred. Maybe not all of their current underbosses and admins were unworthy of their loyalty, but Girard and Gavin were in agreement about one thing: the power dynamics needed to change. New leadership meant new tactics. Kanto was one way, but it was not the only way.[break][break]
Destroy your subjects, and who is there to rule? Exploitation was a far more elegant solution. But Girard had always been an elegant man. Some might call him soft for it, but he could kill a man if he had to.[break][break]
And sometimes you had to.[break][break]
In the end, the peppermint tea disappeared, just like Girard's original expectations when he'd first recognized Cillian's face. He could accept Gavin, he decided. Gavin hadn't eliminated Cillian, he'd merely repurposed him out of necessity. Such a thing, it turned out, was easy to forgive.[break][break]
"You are always welcome here," Girard said to Gavin. "And if you need anything - information, supplies. Just name it. I can deliver." It was an arrogant statement, perhaps, but Girard's survival depended on his ability to find what people needed. And so he did, by whatever means.[break][break]
If they were going to work towards the same goals, then they needed to trust one another. Like they had in the past.

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