Grigori was a professional in lying.

Rather, he was very good at knowing when something was the truth, it was a lie, or when it was something inbetween. He lived in that limbo of mistruths and obfuscation of what actually occurred. Required to. She was a bad liar alright.

But he had that figured out long before she blatantly admitted it. The area was zoned off, or she desperately wanted to take his belongings and decide whether to let him live or not. Former put it as a large, very confidential League secret. Latter put her as a first day bandit.

Both were well outside his jurisdiction and pay grade. He was not a spy, and he was not stupid.

“My favorite is the noble Empoleon,” he said. Yet his boat shifted in a different direction than Melody’s, and he rowed faster than usual. “Strong. Determinate. Bold. I see a little of myself in them. Which is why I think it best to find Hoenn on my own. No harsh feelings.”

Unfortunately, his sense of direction had been ruined by Melody’s arrival. That’s why, very much on accident, he started to go straight towards her secret area. But he looked determined to get as far away from her as possible. Whatever it was, he was not the type to get mixed up into the matter.

“Your secret is safe with me. Good luck.”

---

Melody Miro

Is this how the King felt, when the bishop or rook or some other piece had it down in check? He had to answer, had to answer fast, or risk everything. Once more, he must act or face the disastrous consequences.

The hole must be deeper, lest it be for naught. His own grave will be much shallower.

“No.”

Every picture, a thousand words. A person, one million. His crimes?

Still being told.

“I was there, at the search parties for the missing peoples… last September?” He struggled to recall the exact date. Time flew when you were a criminal. “During the blood moon. When we were attacked by the Megalopolans, I acted. Killed.”

They were a hot topic amongst Hoenn, but that event had been brutal for all parties involved. It made it easy to pretend it was the only other time. But he had to sell it better. Without lying. What joy his life was. Did the man who gave him this fate feel happy in his grave?

“But my line of work… they weigh down on me, innocent or guilty or otherwise,” he said carefully. Constructed. Let him play the part of the unhappy Insurance Worker. One whose heart wept for those they denied life-saving money. “My line of work is merciless. It’s become rather hard to sleep at night.”

Let his ruse speak the rest. It must. If not, then he might as well flee Annalise’s wrath prematurely.

“But that is not your fault, your concern, or something that must come in the way of your life,” he finished. He took a sip from the sweet black liquid. More sugar. “Something I inadvertently did.”

“Words alone can not express my regret, nor my sorrows about the matter. What would you have of me?”

---

annalise henderson

Grigori grimaced at Temp’s hand. Gross. Fortunately, he had planned somewhat ahead. From one of the bags he kept, he produced a wet wipe for his boss to use. “Rather peculiar. It seems even the land wants to obfuscate our path forward…”

What did that leave then? They had to still cross. But being covered in that unknown substance sent a shiver down his spine. Temp touched it and he hadn’t fallen over dead yet. He also didn’t seem that nervous about it. So it was likely more annoying than dangerous.

That he knew of.

Grigori stepped up and set one foot on the bridge. Somewhat stable. Very wet. His foot squelched into the strange ooze. While he flinched, he put his next foot forward. The same effect.

This was going to be a very long walk.

“If you do not mind me asking,” Grigori said above the sounds of their footsteps, “what is your plan for when you find the Yveltal? Does its interest still align with Rockets?”

It drove him up the wall. Life was a healthy thing to desire, as seen with Xerneas. Death was a natural part of life. Yet its ruler could only spell misery and despair with its power. Its use. Better left alone, in The Border, while the people of Hoenn worried about the threats already in front of their faces.

Rocket would remember that death did not discriminate. It was just as likely to consume their own faction as it was the enemy. Did they really hope to win the zero-sum game?

“For that matter, are things so dire as to warrant its power?”

---

Tempest Quinn

Grigori figured as much. If the lack of eye contact didn't give it away, then it was the way he started rambling that did. Nobody had so much to say about someone unless there was a strong passion about them. And he certainly didn't have anything bad to say. Grigori sighed.

"Then do not feel the need to fish for my approval," he placed a heavy hand on the archeologists shoulder. "I will not stand in your way. Just... be there for when she needs it most."

Mentally, a realization dawned on him: it was not only his relationship with June that he sabotoged. When the time came, Howard would be forced to pick a side like the girl he loved. 

It would hurt twice as much, but his boss could not afford to choose wrong.

They drove off into the street, barely missing the car in front of him. Grigori remained silent the rest of the way.

---

howard slayte

“We can do our best,” Grigori resolved. Rocket was a machine built to tear things down. Destroy. It was their sole purpose in this universe. They came, they ruined, and then they moved on to further endeavors. Any kindness was a ruse, and any trust was merely a front for them to do wrong yet again.

Sootopolis would not have happened if they had not taken it by force. All the League needed to do was stop their own self-sabotage, and recruitment rates would decline. Support the downtrodden, and there would be no one left to con into the terrorist organization.

If only they lived in such a simple world.

“Oh, and Mr. Howard?” Grigori traded places with Howard, and shoved himself into the passenger side of the car. All things considered, his first attempt at a notably difficult parking maneuver was good. Maybe he should try to get a lisence.

"Do you love June?"

A loaded question-- and not just for her.

---

howard slayte

“I’ve been killing defectors for the last twenty-six years, Mr. Howard,” the grunt choked out. Relentlessly. Without remorse. Full of misplaced rage and despair of his own situation.

The kind that led him to a lonely mechanic’s shop in the dead of night on December 27th, 2001.

“I’m well aware of the fate that befalls them,” he said. The car finally came to a crawl as he attempted his first-ever parallel park. They went in relatively smoothly, and the gear shifted as he tried to fit the car into a tiny spot. How did people do this?

It was less a realization for the older man, but a truth. If you left, you would inevitably die. Gabriel probably thought himself safe all those years ago. And look what happened. Eventually, someone would show up and you’d die. Simple as clockwork.

“I will watch your associate's place,” he resolved. He bit his tongue as he inched closer to the car behind him. At the last possible moment, he stopped. “And I will continue to work in rebuilding Sootopolis and Petalburg.”

“It is the least I can do for my crimes.”

Those real and imagined. Treason was a high price.

---

howard slayte

“I can no longer ignore the problems of our organization,” Grigori spoke in a hushed tone. His knuckles threatened to tear the wheel from its axel.

“Team Rocket is a plague, a blight upon the world, and one I no longer want to be a part of.”

---

howard slayte

Grigori made for an excellent pack mule. Despite the constant ‘just a little further’ and uphill that never seemed to plateau a single time, he did it all without complaint. The equipment was heavy, but heavier was the atmosphere. So long as it did not drag him down, then all would be well. If not?

“It is not impossible,” he said. “But if it’s alright with you, I hope that our quarry is not inside whatever we stumble upon.”

Best not to think about it. Grunts were ill-equipped to deal with legendaries. They had entire programs and initiatives dedicated to them. More often than not, the answer was another legendary Pokémon. What a rough time to be a rocket grunt.

Even rougher when ugly, pestilence-filled mist spawned a massive, terrifying, ugly, awful, disastrous… bridge? Sure, it had seen better days. Much better days. Holes dotted its surface like it’d been hit by a colossal buckshot shell. Its legs looked shaky at best. And– did it just shift beneath the invisible breeze?

“I did not know there was a need for a flying type on this expedition?” Grigori set the heavy bags down for a moment and stretched his aching back. “Apologies.”

This was asking for trouble, to cross it the intended way. Yet the alternative was a deep ravine both ways. If it even ended at some point. “It might be best to split the load if you are willing and able. Distribution of weight might keep me from going through the floor with all of it.”

He left out the part where it was equally nice to not be carrying it all. “Have you any experience with these bridges, Mr. Quinn? This is my fifth trek into the wilds, and first in here…”

The Deep Sea and The Border made the Power Plant look stable. Reliable. Safe. “What else might lie ahead of us?”

---

Tempest Quinn

“Values change, Mr. Fox,” he said darkly. The temperature in the car dropped several degrees out of nowhere as he spoke, but maybe that was because his arms slammed into the dashboard as he tried to take the sudden turn. There were many honks as he did so. Very, very many.

“And so too do people. As our lives move forward, so must we– lest we remain stuck in a world no longer present,” he explained. That’s how you obtained those like june sleigh , or annalise henderson . Two kindred spirits, left to rot in the dust because of the actions of others.

By his own hand, he damned June to a life in the past. His heart suddenly ached, and a tear threatened to streak down his skin.

“Even if you pose that values do not change, I will suggest that the overall value might remain the same for a select few. But it is the form of it that changes. If you take a sphere and flatten it, it is still made of the same material. But it is no longer a sphere.”

Yet he had ignored the most important part of Howard’s point. The meat of the matter. Where did the grunt come into all of this? His opinions on the matter, ironically, mattered little to the words he spoke. They conveyed a grander purpose, one fully beyond him. To return to Grigori, he had to return to scale.

Monumentally insignificant.

“I have tossed out my sphere, so to speak, and replaced it with a cube of different cloth. An illegal value, foreign to our line of work.”

If Grigori could become paler, then he did so. Taboo thoughts threatened to topple all that he held. One slip, and he was wiped from the face of the earth instantly. “For your question, I have a comment.”

---

howard slayte

The stress from the potential of a question evaporated as the attention did not go to June, but Shred. What a question indeed. What was he supposed to say? There were many facets of the man that was Shred Zeppelin. A depressed alcoholic, a man who strived for more yet never received.

A sociopath who only cared about himself and never the woes of others. Many things made up a person, and that was never so visible as it was with him. Unfortunately, Grigori knew a touch more than most.

“A safe conclusion,” he said. The car swerved into another lane, and his forehead nearly met glass in the process. “But you might need to be more specific. Physically, he’s never been more different. Psychologically, there might have been a snap. Mentally… it feels like he is still the same man beneath it all.”

Confidence still oozed from the man, the little they interacted. All it took was a life-changing bond with a paradox that shouldn’t be. One that also changed June forever more. "What did you mean specifically?"

---

howard slayte

“I’d like to not know personally,” Grigori said. The umpteenth car passed them, and he tried his best to keep between the lines. Impossibly hard, and forever changing. How did people do this not only daily, but on their phones? It seemed not possible, physically.

If it was anything similar to what she said about the things she read on her phone, or saw on the TV, then it wasn’t something he didn’t know. And if it wasn’t something like that, then it would be horrifying. Best to leave it to the imagination. There, it could be believed to be unreal.

Grigori couldn’t tense any further than he already was, but his body did its best regardless. “I will try my best to answer, Mr. Fox.”

---

howard slayte

Grigori raised an eyebrow. Was she even a part of the Pokemon League, or what she instead a pirate hoping to draw him to a trap? Hard to say, given her shady responses and backwards logic.

“Rayquaza would certainly remove the clouds,” he agreed. “But… then how the waves? Surely even a powerful creature like that could not hope to contend with the very sea itself?”

Impossible. Kyogre was a force of nature, much like its two brethren. Groudon ruled the land, and Rayquaza guarded the skies with ferocious intent. Yet it was the blue creature that commanded her seas with the fury of a storm. And if Rayquaza attempted to stop it, then there’d be conflict.

And everyone would know.

“And no thanks. I’d prefer to be home swiftly if the seas are truly dangerous right now,” he said. Secret spots were dangerous. All his superiors knew was that he was heading home via sea. It’d be days before anyone noticed he was absent.

“But we can still chat. What is your favorite sea creature, I suppose?” Grigori rowed alongside Melody as they kept going. He managed to keep up, a surprise given the different methods by which they moved. Strong, heavy arms pushed and pulled the oars as they cut through the calm waters.

Very, very calm waters. Strangely so, even.

---

Melody Miro

“Don’t apologize,” he said instinctually. Like he read off a script. “It was thirty-one years ago. But it does mean I know nothing about what I’d be serving. How to make the stuff.”

He left out the part about how he’d likely kick out anyone that had one too many without a second of remorse. Everyone had their little things they kept to their chest. Shred was the only one he pitied.

The rest of them were better off scorned, and left to their own devices alone. Away from the vulnerable.

“I did not tell her how to bribe a cop,” he said. The light flashed green, and he very slowly started to inch forward. The cyclist went around them and smacked on the hood with a gloved hand. Grigori ignored it. “It might’ve been Gabriel– her father. He was the type to…”

“When I knew him previously, rather, he was never fond of the law or higher ups. The only time he didn’t like to ‘go with the flow’, as he put it,” he mimicked Howard’s own air quotes. His hands shot back to the wheel when it drifted towards a parked car. He wondered if Howard could hear his heart race.

“Like father, like daughter, perchance.”

---

howard slayte