It all seems a bit ostentatious to her, really. Sure, she supposes she can see the practical applications of a submarine, if she really puts her mind to it. Or, well, she can see them if she also imagines that there isn't a single half-decent Water-type specialist amongst the League's higher echelons. It can't be too likely, can it? It isn't as if half the region is open sea, or anything.

Bah. It is what it is. There's no point in complaining privately. It's a decision born and made before she was even a part of this organisation. Or, in other words--

--Not her monkeys, not her circus. She shrugs to herself as she keys the open button to the lab door. They can throw away all the money they like, really. It isn't any of her business.

Her first impression of Team Rocket has not been of an incredibly practical organisation. Downright sloppy, if the scenes in Petalberg are anything to go by. But, it also doesn't really matter. So long as they're effective when it matters, she can grit her teeth, pinch her nose and deal with all the idiosyncrasies that come with a particularly overgrown terrorist group like this. What she needs from them is more important than her personal tastes.

She peeks her head into the room, her expression not wavering even a little as her eyes slide over its contents. She isn't interested in most of it. She just needs one thing.


"I hope there's someone at least mildly competent in here. It's a very simple request, really."

Alba Evovae

☉