She was used to this, or so it seemed. She hardly fussed at all when he brought her to the brig, sat her down, and shut the door. She just followed him with her eyes, wide grin on her face the entire time.

Watching, til he sat himself down at the desk and averted his eyes behind a magazine.

The weakest link blinks first. She seemed satisfied with that, lounging on the bench and watching the ceiling. Like a big cat, a tiger perhaps, or a lion. Having taken her kill, she could now relax.

"You into hot rods too, sheriff? Me, I was always more into bikes, but I know a lotta men who fancy themselves car guys. Most of 'em can't tell a V8 from a V10, but I'm sure you could show me the difference, hm?"

She asked the question lazily, making casual conversation as if she hadn't just taken several lives not an hour ago.

No answer.

She shrugged. Eyes wandered, from the magazines, to the bookshelves, the desks, taking in what she could of the cramped little room. It almost seemed like she was searching for something, studying it all intently, gleaning every detail. Her eyes fell back onto the law, the focal point of the room, once he finally addressed her.

"Hungry? You bet, I'm famished! Haven't eaten since this morning! What're we in the mood for, eh? Kantonian beef? Unovan? Well, it's your treat so I'll have whatever you're having. What's your fave? Wait, no, don't answer. Lemme guess... it's spaghetti, ain't it?"

She could hardly contain her shit-eating grin, watching him upside-down with her head leaning off the bench. If he'd removed her cuffs, she'd have made a little gesture, pretending to take off a cowboy hat. The sheriff sure was lucky he'd taken his precautions against that. Like all lawmen, he was stiff, uncompromising. Couldn't stand a lick of fun.

She could warm him up to the idea yet.

"So much for a spaghetti western, hm?"

She looks right at him, beaming. She's almost too proud of herself for that.

She sits up, leaning back against the wall as the man speaks. Whatever else she was searching for in the room, she ignores it, puts it to the back of her mind. Turns out, the important bit of info was on the cover of his magazine the whole time.

"Yeah, sure. You name it, I've probably ridden it."

Her smile grows wider.

"Y'know those modded imports? Stuff that's barely street legal. Stuff you and your friends would probably get all uppity about. Knew a guy in Slateport who was selling those parts out of a chop shop, provided you asked the right questions. Was on every cop in the lower district's shit list, evaded them the entire time.

"Turns out, you're a respected fixture of the community? Cops tend to look the other way. Don't even look twice when you're selling illegal shit right under their noses. Anyway. Guy would let me take his bikes for a spin, with a little 'coercion'. Probably taken a ride on more things than you could dream of at this point.

"Rice burners, they're nice. Yeah. But the stuff that nearly comes alive between your thighs when you squeeze the throttle, well..."

She pauses with a breathy sigh, as if remembering good old times. All the while, she looks straight at him. It's a stare that's almost too intense, like a cat, watching intently for something. But, whatever that might be...

Eyes flick to the door before the knock arrives. She watches carefully, catching a glimpse of the man through the crack and nothing more. There's a twinkle in her eye, but she waits for the sheriff to finish conducting his business, watching carefully.

As he starts talking about Slateport, she sits up excitedly, on the edge of her seat. There's an exhilaration in her smile, though it never quite reaches her piercing eyes.

"You know Mitsuhide?"

She catches herself quickly.

"Well... knew." A slight sigh. "Still, wouldn't expect you of all people to end up a customer. Would've thought a lawman like you more like the guys he was payin' under the table."

But not one of the oblivious ones who was none the wiser.

She's seen the way he fights. This man's not stupid, even if he is a cop.

"I'm no hick. Not a city girl neither. I'm just me, go where I please. City, country, middle of the jungle. Long as there's good food, cute guys, and a fight to be had... "

She stops for a moment, flashing those white fangs with a laugh. Then she switches course.

"Spent time in Slateport for a while when I was still nearly a girl, til the money for odd jobs dried up. Left when the commissioner started crackin' down on the slums to make his constituency feel safer. Never liked the heat. Heard it only got worse when the people rose up, tried takin' over. Was long gone by then, though.

"... Y'know, it's funny. Never seen a city more dangerous now, with all that hard work he put in. You think Monroe's proud?"

There's a sour tone in her voice when she says his name.

All the while, she watches the sheriff carefully, studying his reactions. As if looking for something.

Hana grins.

She keeps grinning. No matter what he says or does, while she's prisoner, she doesn't seem willing to give him the satisfaction of a moment where she isn't thoroughly enjoying this.

"Meet the new boss, same as the old boss," she qups, when Navy brings up the current commissioner.

There's a defiant look in her eyes. She doesn't seem willing to take his word for it.

"Neither of 'em would have to deal with opposition like Rocket if the people weren't askin' for change. People want a good life. See change as the only option. Fightin' that's gonna make them ignore all the bones you throw 'em. By the time the dog eyes the bloody steak on the table, thinks its his, a bone or two ain't gonna be enough to sate him anymore."

She studies the sheriff for a moment, then she leans in.

"Cop that hates cops, huh? Funny. Almost like an assassin who hates killers. You think you're gonna make a difference? You think you're gonna change anyone's minds, sheriff? They're beyond that, I fear.

She finds it almost funny, huffing in amusement. The one lawman in Hoenn who still has scruples? Is that how he sees himself? It's laughable. Naive at best.

" It's us versus them, no matter what we do. No matter how much you want change for the better, you ain't gettin' it from this lot. Sayin' so makes you a terrorist. No talkin' sense into 'em, may as well be the scum they already see you as."

She watches, resting her chin on a hand. She's got him talking now, so she waits, and listens. Her eyes are piercing, probing him for weaknesses, taking in everything he says and searching for an opening, just like when they'd fought before...

She sees none of that familiar intensity while he talks.

"You know, I'm not sure I believe that sheriff."

She says, finally.

"Somethin' tells me you're not content with just that. Protecting your little corner, I mean. Dewford, and the people... you only cared about protecting them, doing your part, you'd have rejected that appointment from the commissioner, yeah?"

The way he'd fought before was unsteady. Everything was off, like she was fighting two people at once. She could see it in his eyes, that disparity between thought and action. The person he wanted to be, and the person he thought he ought to be. However fierce he looked at her with that steel gaze cutting through her, however dangerous his every action seemed to convey before he followed it through, there was always that disconnect.

He was holding back, denying himself.

"Live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse. What else could a Warrior want than that?"

She gives him the widest smile. Watching, and waiting. But where there was only a passive nonchalance before, stubborn refusal to act like a prisoner, now the fire in her eyes had returned. A challenge, sans swords.

She smiles wide as he stands up in a rage, suddenly gleeful.

She's got him.

... But when he falters, is given time to think, he recollects himself. She silently curses on the inside, but outside it's all smiles. Nothing but smiles.

"Just giving 'em a reason to live life to the fullest," she responds, flippant. Either she doesn't understand the severity of the words he is trying to impart on her, or she does not care.

"Remember death, right? Memento mori, mono no aware. Nothing's permanent, but nobody changes. Not truly. The person you are today's the only person you'll ever be. They'll die, and the you of tomorrow will be a different person. It's the same, in the end, as all those pretty corpses."

She doesn't seem to care about his insinuation she'll end up dead. She seems oddly at peace with that, a life lived to the fullest in her eyes. A life balanced on the edge of a blade...

"People like me are just a reminder. You should live as your true self, before it's too late."

She locks eyes with him as he approaches.

His cold steel reflects the her boundless azure back at her, cutting through her... but like the sea, she parts for only the briefest moments, not backing down even as she faces his glare head on.

When the food is placed on the far end of the bench she's sitting on, she moves toward it gently. Calm, measured movement, no sign of betrayal. She takes a long whiff, and then...

"Ah, finally! I'm famished!"

She digs in immediately, shoveling the food into her face.

Philosophy, threats-- all of it melts away, with the jubilant energy of a feast.

She moans slightly, savoring the taste.

"At leash you'we hon'st w' yo'self, thash a start!" She shouts across the room, her mouth full.

The taste of a battle won without even drawing her blade.