“Thank you again, for the coffee and time. I’ll be sure to invite you over sometime soon,” Grigori said as he made his way to the broken door.

This had gone terribly. Absolutely awful. He couldn’t convince Howard to do the right (and smart) thing and pissed him off in the process. This pissed the grunt off even more. Fuck. Why couldn’t things be simple?

It was like watching a train crash in slow motion, and he stood powerless to stop it. The conductor was too stubborn, oblivious to the danger that lay ahead. It wasn’t necessarily it being Howard that got him concerned– a factor, but not the end of the world– it was the general distrust. People always meant well and wanted to get around to things like this. Hell, he used to be the exact same way.

Yet good intentions, or well-meaning, did little to fix a hurt heart. It was all too easy to wait until the very last minute or to let someone find out the hard way. And from there… good intentions meant nothing.

Good intentions damned his only relationship outside of Rocket. If it happened to Howard, he’d never forgive himself.

Grigori tried to open the door, only to find that it came off the frame. Right. He turned to the archeologist, “Mr. Howard, do you know where your landlord is? I need to go explain what happened and pay for the damages and repairs.”

---

howard slayte

Multiverses? That reminded Grigori of that strange dream he had. Where everything had gone right, he hadn’t joined Rocket, and life went much better than he could’ve ever hoped. Some small part of him wished that Grigori had a long, prosperous life of contentment.

But he did not exist in that one. Thus, he never let the thought go much further. That would be self-flagellation.

Much of which Howard accused him of anyway. Looked like the man had some bite and fight after all. Good for numerous reasons, but it had happened too late. If this was his assertiveness early on, then this conversation would’ve gone differently.

Instead, it felt like a cornered animal baring its fangs. At the hand that wanted to help. “... What I was going to say, Howard, is that you should be straight and honest when you do it. No need to hide anything, nor beat around the bush.”

Advice Howard or for himself? Hard to say. At the very least, he meant well this one time.

“But I can see that my abrupt visit has worn its welcome,” Grigori stood up suddenly. He polished off his coffee in a few massive gulps. Cloudy brown liquid escaped down the corners of his mouth. The mug carefully returned to the table.

“If I had it at all.”

---

howard slayte

Did Grigori do this for himself? A hard question, to be sure. His first instinct was to immediately call Howard out for the blatantly awful question. But before he could get the words out, his voice stopped. Was this really all for June and her alone?

Perhaps not.

“... I don’t lie, Howard. Some portion of this is for me.”

He attempted to decipher his emotions. His inner subconscious. “Perhaps the need to feel like I’m fulfilling a promise to someone I knew. To me, your hesitance to tell her feels like a failure on my end.”

“But I do not do this solely for my satisfaction,” he quickly added in. “I do this to help her. To help you. Relationships outside of Rocket seldom last long. I would know. To see you not try to preserve this to the best of your ability is…”

Disheartening? Aggravating? Confusing?

“Awkward, to say the least.”

But what else was there to say? Howard had given his answer. It might’ve sounded like a ‘Yes’ in his ears, but to the grunt, it sounded like a shaky ‘No’. He knew Howard meant well. Surely, in his head, he had all the intention to do what he said. Grigori did as well, with other things somewhat related.

And look how those went most of the time. “...A word of warning, since you seem to be hell-bent on this path.”

---

howard slayte

“Almost all of them,” Grigori responded simply. No fanfare, no dramatic pause– just blatant admittance to the circumstances. His face had a hint of something in there as he said it, but it disappeared just as fast.

“If you’re still referring to June, of course. If not, then you’d have to tell me what else I’ve done.” He took a long drink from his coffee, downing half of it in one go. Odd, if one considered how they had only been sitting for a minute or two tops.

“When do you plan on building up that courage? Tomorrow? Next week? Next year or five? Come on, Howard. I know how this song and dance works,” he said. Tomorrow was always one day away, never actually arriving. Excuses showed up at the last second, whether from outside sources or plucked from within the mind.

Grigori crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. “For now, I’ll say this about my relationship with her: I’ve ruined her life enough. I don’t need, nor want, your help. Even if this is but a smudge on the record, I want it gone. Can you do that?”

---

howard slayte

Grigori muttered his thanks for the items as he joined Howard at the table. As said, he put in two full spoons of sugar and milk. Disgustingly sweet, just how he liked it. It felt odd to see from such a large, muscular man. Maybe that’s why he worked out so much: so he could afford such a comical amount of sugar in his diet.

As Howard explained everything, Grigori sat silent. He stirred his coffee and listened to every word, like a spectator to a show. Each word he clung to as it left his mouth until the keywords finally were spoken into the air. ‘June, Whitelist–likely’. His heart skipped a beat. Could this actually be done?

The grunt wanted to jump out of his seat and bear hug him. He almost did, in honesty.

Then he kept going. Until that faint flicker of hope was ground underneath his heel. Howard had gotten so, so close to exactly what Grigori wanted to hear. Yet he missed the mark by a mile. Intentionally? Better not be.

“I have no choice but to trust you will do your best,” Grigori finally spoke, disappointment thick in his voice. “I’m aware of the odds not being one-hundred percent, so failure on that front will be tempered on my end.”

“But you still don’t get it,” Grigori ground the cigarette into an ashtray. The clash of acrid smoke and sugary beverage fought violently in his mouth. He remembered why he stopped. “I know you know that you made a mistake. I trust that you will do your best to not make it again. But you still avoid my main concern: when will you tell June? She already has numerous bombs hidden underneath her feet. I do not want yet another.”

All because he wanted to hide and hope it never detonated.

---

howard slayte

Much had happened within the last while. That run-in with the Megalopolans on that search party, the island that sprouted from the sea. All those that went there, including someone that should’ve never gone. The aftermath of the train wreck Grigori saw coming a mile away. Headaches and anger and frustrations and–

Grigori drank his sweet drink. A concoction from Galar. At least, that’s what the Crownshead Stag claimed it to be. He imagined this would be the type of thing he’d find there. Non-alcoholic, of course. Bad memories. Mistakes. The whole nine yards. Yet it felt awkward as many wondered why he even came if not to drink. That’s what Galar specialized in!

He didn’t care. He simply sat at his table, minded his business, and attempted to unwind. Yet… he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing from this outing. The rare occasion that he didn’t trek to Mauville, or get pulled back to Rocket Headquarters, and yet his mind still drifted towards them. Damn Rocket. Couldn’t let him have this one night in peace?

Or maybe it was the simple fact that the chair across from him, at this two-person table, sat empty. Alone.

That was likely it, as he took another swig. Maybe he should invest more in Root Beer. A delicious soda, fit for anyone of any age. Not that it’d take away the loneliness, but it was a very good start. Shred wanted no part, and he didn’t want to talk with Howard right now. June was still recovering. That left…

No one.

Yet there was this one lady, sitting elsewhere inside the establishment who kept catching his eye. Not out of beauty, but familiarity. He knew this person, from somewhere. Obviously from Rocket– after all, they were in Sootopolis– but even more so than normal. A niggle in the back of his head associated her presence with that strange night in the bog. Griogori tried his best to keep his eyes to himself, for fear of drawing attention. He didn't succeed. It wasn't subtle.

But he definitely knew her from somewhere.

---

Lulu Flint

Grigori turned one curious eye backward. “You are correct, Howard. They don’t let anyone leave. And this organization isn’t in the game of losing.”

He didn’t feel the need to confirm Howard’s thoughts. Though, in all likeliness, it would be him that would have to do the awful task. That’s what enforcers were for: ensuring the absolute rule of the organization. Humor no slights. Punish all wrongs. Eliminate all hostile threats. Defectors fell firmly within all three of those categories. The kind he ‘fixed’.

But that wasn’t what drew his attention. The clink of porcelain on the table did, alongside the procurement of a cigarette and a promise. Something among the lines of a faint dream. One that he knew the man couldn’t ever hope to guarantee. One that he couldn’t hope to either.

But perhaps that was the beauty of it, this hopeful prayer. Grigori eyed him cautiously. “You have yet to address my concerns with you telling her the truth…”

However, Grigori pulled the lighter out of his pocket and lit the tube in front of Howard. “But I’ll humor you this once. However, I take my coffee with milk and two spoonfuls of sugar. Please.”

“And you better not be messing around with me. I'm very much not in the mood, if you haven't guessed.”

---

howard slayte

On the way out, though, Grigori encountered something unique: a weird pupa stuck on the side of a tree. Larvesta seemed to be foraging for food, yet it seemed hopelessly out of place here. When's the last time a Larvesta was found outside a desert setting? Maybe this one was confused. Or misplaced. Or something. There was no way it lasted out here.

So, Grigori tapped its little body with a safari ball. Poor creature.

---

Catch attempt on Larvesta. 2/4 Safari Balls

“...” Grigori stared hard at Howard, letting him let out all his built-up emotions. Frustration, regret, sorrow– a depresso espresso. A cocktail of everything he’s kept simmering beneath the surface. Likely for longer than this encounter had gone on. Beyond that, He could not guess. It was an understandable feeling; one he also knew as well.

Yet…

Grigori slapped Howard. Not hard, but firm. The smack of skin rang throughout the apartment, a return to reality. “Absolutely pathetic.”

“I’m telling you that sitting around on your ass isn’t helping anything,” Grigori snarled. Those who acted in such a way garnered nothing but pity and anguish. Even if they shared a friendship, that did not mean he would be around the bush any longer than necessary.

“Did you not just hear what I said?” he asked. “It took me twenty-five years to regret my decisions, which was five years ago! ‘Blips on history’ my ass. I've been in Rocket longer than not.”

He stepped away, not able to even face his friend at the moment. A quick smoke did little to help the cloud that stormed within his brain. If he squinted hard enough, he could see the little blips of electricity arc between the grey cloud. Howard seriously didn’t get it, did he?

“And guess what, Howard? They fucking notice, alright. They know when people are acting like you do. It shows up in reports. Gets mentioned casually. Before long, you build a reputation you can’t hope to escape,” he explained. Their reports told their story for the bosses to read. A lack of one spoke just as loud as a record chock-full.

“And even if it isn’t all of them, it’s enough of them. It only takes one fuck up in front of the right person.”

Another drag.

“You act like your life is over when the chance to cleanse your conscience stares you dead in the eye.”

---

howard slayte

There it was! It floated in the air, oblivious to Grigori's presence as it did... he had no idea. Did it watch? Did it wait for something to happen? Regardless, the living symbol did not move much. All the better for him to carefully pull a safari ball from his side and toss it at the thing. It disappeared into the ball, and did not come out as a soft click rang out.

Success!

---

Catch attempt on Sigilyph, 3/4 Safari Balls left.

“That’s why we are not the same. And that’s exactly why it matters,” Grigori left the side of Howard’s table and approached the broken door. He pulled it back and attempted to line it up with the door frame. All things considered, it wasn’t an unfixable break. He managed to brute force it back into the proper place sans the hinges and remnants of where it had pulled apart. It ‘shut’ with a satisfying click.

“You think ambition means a higher spot on the ladder?” Grigori turned around, adopting that scary visage from when he first walked in. “My ambition for the longest time was Rocket gaining power. I harassed, stole, assaulted, murdered, —all in the name of Rocket. Because if she kept power, then I had control. Control a high position could never hope to replicate.”

In those days, he wanted to be on the opposite end of the relationship. Not to be beaten around by a deadbeat drunk that called himself a father, but the one who didn't live in fear.

“It’s taken me twenty-five years to regret my decisions, Howard,” he kept his eyes locked onto the Key Stone, his turn to hide from scrutiny. “And it’s too late to change a damn thing.”

“And that’s where we differ.”

Grigori dug a finger into Howard’s chest. “Do you know how much potential you have? The world is your Cloyster, Howard. Despite how thigns may seem, things are yet to be cast in stone. You still have time to make things right, no matter how big or small,” the grunt explained. If he was blind, then Howard was oblivious. 

Even if he stumbled up, the man had yet to truly define himself. For every one thing Grigori learned, he felt like there were two other facts yet to surprise him. He could hold his own when push came to shove. It had been proven many times, over the course of their early friendship. Yet something always came back and reared its ugly, disappointing head. 

“Yet you're afraid. You keep running, hiding. You did it at that Power Plant. You did it on that island. And you're doing it now. Don't you get it, Howard? It matters because it's going to ruin every good thing that happens to you, if you let it."

---

howard slayte