He looks at her, warily bemused. Even so, her excitement was infectious. He hid a fit of chuckling behind a closed fist, before smiling to himself. Sometimes, business was easy. Disturbingly so. It made him feel a little guilty. Once the paintings were made, they'd be sold at auction and private collections would be completed.

Yet even if history was in the hands of a scant few, it would still exist. The great works lost to time that would be reclaimed far outstripped any moral quandaries he had. Knowledge and wealth were the lifeblood of the world, after all. Yet to do that to someone so openhearted made his soul weary.

This was something Admin Delaney would do. Yet sometimes, funds were required. All so Team Rocket could acquire new sources of income.

"Now now, hold on! It's not something that you start at the drop of the hat. Geez, I'll need to get a list of pieces for you to work on..." Truthfully, he could spill one to her right now. His memory for history was like a steel trap. Yet he needed time to approach this. "And I'll need to scrounge up some old paints and canvas."

Expensive, yet Rocket would foot the bill for this particular expense. Plus fern delaney kept much in the back for forgery and counterfeit. If the admin didn't have a bunch of old paints, Howard would be surprised.

His hand hurt. She had squeezed it ridiculously tight during their handshake. Who would've thought that a painter would be so strong?

"Relax, Ana. Breathe." He soothed her as he waited for her head to explode in a massive storm of confetti. "Trade contacts with me. I'll find a studio for you, and you can bring Whiskers along."

He raised an eyebrow as he pulled out an ancient flip phone.

"How's that sound?"

---

Anastasia Harmon

As Howard begins speaking, Ana does her best to listen—really, she does—but as he warns her to relax, she can't help but expel all the contained excitement inside her in one, trembling breath. Okay, calm down. Deep breath. In and out, in and out.

Honestly, who knew a day that began with doodling excrement would end with an art career?

His mention of buying paints has her suddenly bursting with another spark of energy, this time a touch more frustrated. "Well, if you're getting the stuff, I need to tell you exactly where to get all of it, or it'll be terrible stuff!" Ana rummages through her bag and pulls out a small planner dutifully decorated with charms, stickers, and paint stains, and she promptly starts writing in it. "I need to get some new oils, good brushes, linseed oil..." She makes a list, rattling off necessities for her new gig. She's particular with her supplies, and they're almost as close to her heart as Whiskers himself.

Whiskers... Who needs to come with her!

She's glad Howard already offered for him to come. The cat is basically Ana's heart. She winks at the peacefully purring Espeon with a smile.

"As long as he won't be a bother!" Ana amends as she writes down her mom's tried-and-true oil supplier in Hoenn, reciting the well-known address over the pen. "We've never really been apart."

After writing her phone number and all her other contact information into the page, Ana tears it out, producing a hot pink, sparkly slip of paper. Without hesitation, she hands it over, beaming.

"Can you get all that stuff? My number is on there too."

howard slayte

Notes are exchanged. Hers was a sparkly piece of pink paper, while his had a small Omanyte in the corner, cheerily waving at the reader. His penmanship was fairly solid, a testament to his inability to type something down on a keyboard or use a computer. Technology was a scary thing, after all.

He was familiar with the oil painter in question, actually. Fern used it in replicas, occasionally.

"Gotcha. I'll do my best. If possible, I'm going to get period-appropriate materials for you. The more historically accurate it is, the better it'll look. Besides, even replicas can outpace the originals if you put enough heart into it." How did one measure the amount of heart put into a piece, though? Was passion a quantifiable thing? "So do your best."

He smiled at her, before glancing over at the Espeon. Whiskers reminded him of Shirley. If the Espeon was as important to Ana as Shirley was to Howard, then the two couldn't be separated.

He took a silent note of that.

"Well, that's that, then." Howard adjusted his briefcase as he took one last look at the stall. There were a lot of good pieces here. It was a shame he couldn't afford any more. "Stay safe, Ana."

He turned away with a small salute, his hand flicking out as he did so. After a few steps, Howard stopped.

"Seriously. This war is ramping up. We already lost Petalburg to Team Rocket. Rustboro and Oldale might be next." His Aerodactyl followed him as he disappeared amongst the stalls. "Have a good one!"

---

Anastasia Harmon