Lilycove City seemed to have some sort of obsession with him.

Any time he seemed close to finally leaving, back to his home and station in Rustboro, something would suddenly pop up that required him to extend his stay at the Lilycove Hotel. But this was certainly the most ironic and surprising reason yet. The man he had blackmailed days ago at a bookstore for a rare tome was the same man Rocket had sent him towards as support. While anyone else might have laughed or at least snorted at the situation, however, all Remiel could manage was a raised brow. Anyone who went through the trouble to change their identity in this region was likely affiliated with Rocket in some way.



Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, the spectacled young man sighed. Then, dispassionately, he spoke. "I won't apologize for the means I take to acquire what I need. But will this interfere with our assignment?" He inquired, his blue-grey eyes fixed on Marcel's expression. He seemed reasonable. But there was also a gleam in his eye that told Remy that any response could never guarantee the permanence of an agreement.

---

— marcel maeda

[attr="class","header"]

[attr="class","thread"]Yeah, he was Rocket alright. Marcel regard's Remiel with a cold expression of his own. At least now they were aware of the other's alliance, the chances of them clashing like they had at the bookstore were narrowed.
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He's used to people like Remiel, dealt with them on a daily basis, in fact. Rocket had always been full of ambition. Still, experience makes it easy to brush off his attitude, as displeased as he is with him. Work was work.
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"Course not." It'd be worse for him if they didn't complete the task, after all. Remiel had a life outside of Rocket, Marcel did not.
[break][break]
He leads the man through the dark to what appears to be an run-down building. It's surprisingly nostalgic to face what had been his old office, despite the makeover it'd been given. "Some idiot dropped a memory stick when we were clearing the place out," he explains, "All we gotta do is find it and be on our way."
[break][break]The structure's weak enough that Vega breaks through the door easily. His Noivern leads the way, Marcel close behind.
[break][break]
"Well, let's get started."
[break][break]

[break]NOTES: ...
[break][break]

TAG:[attr="class","tag"]Remiel Calcifet

Pleased with the answer, but wary (always wary), Remiel gestured for Marcel to lead the way as they continued with their assignment. Remy had only really been given the bare bones of the details, so he was quietly appreciative of the context given. He entered the run-down building behind Marcel and his Noivern without qualms, quick to look around for all the exits within immediate sight. There were few. He sighed and looked around at the mess as Marcel spoke.

"If some vagabond hasn't already acquired it, of course," Remy muttered as he swept aside old newspaper and trash with the side of his foot. As the Noivern proceeds to guide them through the musty hallways, however, the Galarian native is sure to keep up. Unclipping a luxury ball from his belt, Remiel summons a Litwick behind him that instantly fills the room with the soft glow from its fire. He turns over his shoulder briefly to regard it as it follows. "Dim." And it heeds the command, eager to please her new master.

With decent illumination from the ghostly candle gliding across the floor behind them, there was a lot more detail to be seen on the trashy ground and rotting wallpaper that peeled off the sides. Curious, Remiel asks: "Is this where you used to work?" Looking around, the furniture made it fairly obvious it was some sort of workplace— dilapidated as it was.

---

— marcel maeda

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[attr="class","thread"]marcel considers the possibility. "then we find the vagabond." his voice is firm, he's not quite used to this part of himself.
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if he appreciates the new source of light, he doesn't mention it. his focus sticks to the littered ground. vega strays only slightly, nosing through piles of debris. suddenly he regrets not punching that grunt, remiel seems a saint beside him.
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until he speaks up again, that is.
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the question catches him off guard, but he's not entirely surprised. remiel was clearly smart enough to put the pieces together. "yeah," he answers after too long a pause. the nostalgia's not so sweet anymore. they continue walking to the next room over. "and this is where the magic happened."
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it was as if he still saw the files scattered around the room ("organised piles", he would call them), his desk at the centre, and vega napping in the corner. with that also comes the memory of countless rockets charging into his office demanding this, that and whatever. his expression shifts.
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"you won't find anything to use against me here, in case you were wondering. memory stick's all that's left, and you need me to decrypt it."
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[break]NOTES: ...
[break][break]

TAG:[attr="class","tag"]Remiel Calcifet

The 'magic' must have been chaotic. As opposed to his own organized office at the Devon Corporation HQ, Marcel's former work station looked like a hurricane had passed through it. He didn't, of course, believe things were entirely like this before the building had been abandoned. But with this much paperwork and a lack of cabinets to store them in (including evidence of there ever having been many to begin with)... it was safe to assume.

Just as Remy stepped forward with his Litwick in tow, sauntering towards the main desk as he pulled out a pair of brown leather gloves and put them on, Marcel decided to give him a courteous heads up. With his gloves on, the Galarian native swept up a mess of papers haphazardly strewn across the desk, unifying them into a messy pile he promptly and effortlessly straightened before placing at the corner. "I never presumed you to be so daft," He replied, looking under and putting away the sheets of paper and debris that remained. "I doubt you would have let me walk inside so easily, otherwise."

As Mictē, his Litwick, glided across the floor to stand beside her trainer, Remy finished scouring the surface of the desk and moved on towards the cabinets. One of them was stubborn to open but, after a good yank, it gave in. He sighed and rummaged through it. "Furthermore, I'd say the two of us being Rocket might change things..." He didn't entirely believe that. But it most certainly could alter their situation for the better— even if it resulted in mutual blackmail.

---

— marcel maeda

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[attr="class","thread"]he chuckles. "what? i scratch your back, you scratch mine?" despite the joke, he can't deny it would be useful to have another ally. while his outside contacts were mostly intact, his time away and the reformation of rocket meant marcel still had to work on those within the organisation. sometimes he wondered if he would have been better off just staying put.
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growing impatient, he sends out his metagross. marcel gestures around the room and the pokemon hums in understanding. the litter on the floor begins to float thanks to psychic, making it far easier to sort through. he winds around floating papers (all dummy documents--a red herring for anyone sticking their nose where they shouldn't) eyes open for the memory stick.
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[break]NOTES: ...
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TAG:[attr="class","tag"]Remiel Calcifet

Remiel almost scoffed. "That implies intimacy. Friendship." He almost spat the word out, but he didn't really understand why. He hadn't done so before. "What I am alluding to adheres more to the terms of a mutually beneficial professional relationship. If we can both agree to that."

He paused and watched as Marcel released a Metagross, briefly expecting to hear a loud clamor of noise from its massive feet but relieved to see it emerged hovering instead. When the debris in the room starts to float, Remy sifts through it all much in the same way Marcel does. But he quickly starts to think that the memory stick isn't in this room. "Perhaps we'll have better luck searching the hallways. Did you two load a truck parked in the back alley?"

---

— marcel maeda

[attr="class","header"]

[attr="class","thread"]marcel takes a moment to regard the man. "yeah, alright." perhaps it's because the man doesn't even know his real name, but he feels it is safe enough to settle into an alliance with him. for now, anyway.
[break][break]
as the suggestion comes, marcel things he spots something by a cabinet in the corner of the room. "wait." he crouches to the floor, pushes some floating papers out the way. grabbing the memory stick off the floor, he examines it before he allows himself to feel relieved. "got it."
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thank fuck. he didn't know what would have happened if the league got their hands on this. though he was confident in the security of his encryption, he didn't want to underestimate whoever the league had at the ready. the bosses would be pleased.
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his demeanour appears to lighten, either due to their newfound discovery, or the quasi-friendship between remiel and himself. the litter carelessly drops back to the floor, it wasn't as if they'd be using this building again. "let's get going." then, as an afterthought, "thanks for your help."
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[break]NOTES: ...
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TAG:[attr="class","tag"]Remiel Calcifet

Thankfully, the memory stick ended up being a lot closer than he'd begun to believe. Their assignment was over. And, though he suspected Marcel hardly trusted him more than when they began, he would be surprised if the older man didn't feel at least some degree of relief for finding the incriminating item. Remy's Litwick cheered for the man.

"Splendid," The spectacled lad spoke, watching as the floating debris was reunited with the earth's gravity once more. "We should evacuate the area immediately then." He nodded, leading the way down the hallway and towards the back entrance. When thanked for assisting, he tossed a dismissive wave back over his shoulder. "It was the job I was assigned to. Think nothing of it." A brief pause. Then, he continued. "If we are to be assigned together again someday, I hope it goes as efficiently as tonight has."

With that vague compliment out of the way, the two men would make their exit and deliver the good news to their superiors.

---

— exit
— marcel maeda