Grigori finished the last line of the letter, signed to one Elisabeth Fiorelli , and then back down at the Pokémon now resting in his lap. Swirlix, full of sickeningly sweet excitement. She treaded his lap in a dizzying loop, unable to find a truly comfortable spot. He ruffled the soft hair on her head, the letter abandoned to his countertop.

Sugar was not amused. The feline had been on edge ever since the thing popped out of its bubblegum pink ball, tail straight up and fangs bared. Its target was none the wiser, and Grigori himself thought it cute. Even if she looked ready to pounce across the marble granite. He gave her an equally strong pet on the head.

So, that fiasco at the baths had likely been in revenge after all. That, or she truly thought him a ruffian only capable of violence. He pressed his lips together and sighed: who didn't think that of him? It's how he'd been for most of his life, and his file confirmed it. Embarrassment swelled his cheeks with hot red.

"Happy Birthday to me," he said to Skitty. He looked off to the side, towards his meticulously up kept bookshelf. A lone picture sat there, of him and another man in classic rocket grunt uniforms. They both looked much younger. Much happier. Guilt stabbed his heart.

"I'll see you later tonight, Gabriel," he said to the photograph. The Mauville Cemetery would have a few living souls today.