he/him
forty-eight
December 26
Slateport City
asexual
Enforcer
grunt
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Grigori Sokolov
Into the Lion's Den
POSTED ON Jan 26, 2024 17:33:37 GMT
Elisabeth’s idea of interesting included torture. Perfect.
This was a mistake. It was a mistake for Grigori to come here. It was a mistake for him to take the wine glass in his hand. It was a mistake for him to not immediately put it on her desk, apologize for wasting her time, and accept the assassination attempt on him later that evening for comedic levels of disobedience.
Instead, he stood there motionless for a few tense moments, unsure on which part of this he hated more. Was it the Nihilego poison, the alcohol, or the feeling that this was once again a test?
The first one needed no explanation: the documentation of the vicious, awful poison was known enough to make most grunts quiver in fear. However, his doubts immediately formed when the wine bottle came into view. Awful, pungent, repulsive, detestable. Memories of his childhood flashed in his head, all of which unpleasant. Of her. Of Him.
There’s a reason he detested it as a whole. If she knew, she either didn’t make any comments on purpose or accident. Given the circumstances, odds were split right down the middle.
Yet a doubt clung inside his head. Did she expect blind faith and obedience, or some level of critical thinking skills? This was cult-like behavior from the Underboss, a kind absent from Team Rocket. They were an organization, an arguable ruling body which looked to expand its territory. Not a group of nut jobs which looked to get as many people as possible to do a suicide pact.
Ultimately, he needed to make a decision. And ultimately, his initial decision of words meant he must partake. His word was all he had, and he had given his word. To go back on it was not an option.
“As you wish, Ms. Fiorelli,” he did a short, mock toast. His lips formed a hard line. The deep red color only made his stomach queasy, but he raised the glass to his lips and took one single, solitary, punctual gulp. As soon as the disgusting liquid entered his throat, he stepped around Elisabeth and set the glass on her desk.
“As requested, I’ve drank.”
A cough escaped his lips immediately after. The corners of the room moved ever so slightly, and tension started to build in the back of his skull. He blinked rapidly, completely caught off guard. This was a faster acting poison, it seemed. No wonder the other grunts seldom brought it up without a healthy dose of terror.
“Do you believe me now?”
Elisabeth Fiorelli
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