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That's... odd. A ring, out of nowhere, appearing from thin air, and Troy immediately pulls out a knife, a sleight of hand ever so small but one showing intent. The fangs of the ferocious killer come out, his blue eyes staring dead at the ring, when-[break][break]

A Komala. No. Not one. Multiple. Many. A dozen. They roll about, unable to control themselves, as they lethargically roll around with such confusion.[break][break]

Irritation. Aggravation. Stupid koalas. But it's when Sidney picks one up, that Troy snaps his gaze over to her... and he just buckles. With a breath, and eyes now away from them, he takes one long inhale.[break][break]

They... were pretty cute.[break][break]

"Yes, well," Two of them were rolling onto his shoes, attempting to climb up. With a big twitch of his eye, he begrudgingly picks one up by the scruff of their neck. "-perhaps our worries are for nothing."[break][break]

He says. As one happens to YAWN right at him. Troy's eyes drooping lazily.

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Ah. A pleasant laugh, a catty smile. Margaret probably would have been good friends. Not that he cannot now, but very pleased by her conversational skills. She's not at all lackadaisical, nor does she bore them. In fact...[break][break]

As the purchase is done, her tone and comment of her own web only does something to make him chuckle. Genuine joy, something he hasn't truly felt in his short, infinitesimally little lifespan.[break][break]

The act confounds him, his face telling it all.[break][break]

"I suppose so, Miss Fiorelli," he starts, quiet to match the tone, practiced in mirroring. "but should an Ariados find their web dismantled, it is important to remember that a mere Spinarak can help rebuild." He's a grunt, but no matter. He is pleased enough to offer it still. But, if something such as pride stops her, he won't push the matter any further.[break][break]

Placing the perfume bottle within a brown paper bag, he holds it out, gesturing with his hand to the bottom of the bag, saying without saying to keep one hand on the bottom, lest this transaction need happen again over a broken bottle.[break][break]

"Is there anything else I can do for you today, Miss Fiorelli?" He shows no fear in his words. She merely need ask him, and he will. Such is the relationship of Underboss and Grunt.

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Hm. Trivial. How easy it seems Blondie susses them out, it almost seems like his sleight of hand was meaningless. Oh well.[break][break]

"Nailed it." which meant Blondie knew he was in Rocket. And a bookkeeper for a perfume store. Two pieces of information he could have just as easily told her without the silly little game. "For the record though. I was engaged a few years ago," 'but it didn't work out.' Though that didn't matter to them anymore. None of it did.[break][break]

Whether gleaming in the light of the room, alone fully, that dim lighting left a more rugged chin, and a numb expression; jaded and hurt. Blondie's insistence to see more had them shy away further.[break][break]

Michief fit her. That grin-[break][break]

Each moment she spoke, he just listened. He wanted to take it in. A thief, a performer, and a one night stand... and Troy hears her giggle. He places a hand against the nightstand next to them, trapping Vanessa between him and the bed.[break][break]

"Do you want to fix that?"[break][break]

A very wide smirk, his brow risen in playful teasing. In truth, he just wants to see her blush, and a finger under her chin to have her look him in the eyes, he expected to be totally correct.[break][break]

He knows why he wants to see it too.[break][break]

"A performer and a thief...? Those sound correct." he pulls away. He's done teasing the poor blondie.[break][break]

Even if he liked doing it.

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With a response in tow, Troy chimes back. "My first contact into Rocket. Powerful woman." but knowing she owns Casino Starlight has them nod. She said as much before. They just aren't the gambling type.[break][break]

And then Cillian tells him who he is. And for the first time, Troy is on the backfoot. Hesitation is the only thing that seems to have really hit him.[break][break]

But on the inside, Troy is on fire mentally.[break][break]

"Is that right?" he hadn't realized... and now he felt something he hadn't. Borderline sheepish? Pesky embarassment. As he moves to scratch at his cheek, he quickly responds. "M-My apologies." Clearly, he was wasting Underboss Quinn's time and energy. But to his response at Blondie...[break][break]

"My date." There's a toxic possessiveness to his words. Venom seeps from his lips, but not meant for Cillian. It was like a reflexive response to mint frost's kiss cam. He reacts indifferently to the shot of him and Cillian Quinn. The reveal of the ring was all that was needed... but something about Vanessa Kingsley and ALOE EON irritates him. His left eye twitches.[break][break]

Right... he forgot they could be this way too. Jealous.[break][break]

She could talk to who she wanted. He's not going to ruin her fun.[break][break]

Quickly enough, Underboss Quinn gets their mind off of it, mentioning gifts, and Troy places both gloved hands at their back. "I suppose so." Deciding better than to constantly pester Cillian, he splits off to go ascertain the nature of his own gift.[break][break]

There's a certain joy he feels at the alcohol, but the ship in a bottle, this wonderful little Wingull on it that was cute... it was put together, and was quite a marvel. Whoever did this had all the time in the world. The bottle of wine though... something for the child in her, and something for the adult. "Impeccable taste..." he remarks to whomever was his assigned gifter.[break][break]

He needed some air.[break][break]

Troy decides it's a better option now though, and quickly ducks outside. Needing a bit of air for the moment.

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A hand returns towards her own. He knew her enough to know that he should be on his best behavior, and yet he felt so relaxed. Between the bounty and her leadership, Troy felt more at home now with her here. No sweat, not even a second of hesitation. Given the permission and go ahead, the hand is brought towards his face, a kiss placed on the back of her palm. If not given, merely stays a shake.[break][break]

Funny how that works. Rocket truly was more home than she ever felt with family, friends, or love. Margaret never really knew her place in the world.[break][break]

The mentions to the book has him push it forward, with a quick turn, the title fully revealed. With it, a comment of intrigue. "Perhaps so. Truth is stranger than fiction." Did...[break][break]

Did Troy just smile? Genuinely? That's...[break][break]

With a scanner in hand now, and a quick barcode scan for the perfume, Troy begins typing on the register. The price of the cologne itself, normally-priced. With another button, a fifteen-percent discount. Maybe not a huge one, but they still run a business.[break][break]

"Pleased to meet you in person, Miss Fiorelli. Do know, if the heat is ever too much, you can always stay here. A room will be made available to you." He doesn't need to ask his boss. As far as his boss is concerned, blackmail is a helluva bargaining chip if it ever came to it, and Troy follows one organization; Rocket.[break][break]

Aromatherapeutics is just a front to him.

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There's a particular nerve that Calpurnia Kubrick hits upon greeting him and Cillian Quinn, though less so his conversation partner, and more... the name. It's a good nerve to hit, because if nothing else, Troy is forced to make one of two choices; ceasefire, or the alternative.[break][break]

"Ah, Calliope." He chose the alternative. This petty squabble slap fight they had was too fun not to. "I'm glad you enjoyed the samples. You are free to the bananabread as well." He says so matter-of-factly. She knew he knew how to cook.[break][break]

Back to Cillian.[break][break]

There's nothing wrong with branching out, that's true, but the fruity taste in his mouth feels incorrect. But at least figuring out the guy was into scotch. A gift for later he could easily find.[break][break]

Ah. Sweaters were his husband's idea. Troy sees the husband in question, eyes on Tempest Quinn and Lulu Flint now, brow risen. "Ah. He's got the right idea." He can feel himself chuckle and-[break][break]

Wait, did he just chuckle?[break][break]

Cillian's questions of what he does for Rocket, Troy readjusts, and stands up straight. "Perfume and cologne shop in Mauville named Aromatherapeutics. After a deal with Miss Yumi Hasegawa, I help launder money for Rocket. I cook books, and my boss trusts me fully." Running a hand through his hair, he weaves fingers through his bangs, before continuing. "It's grunt work. But I wish to show my worth."[break][break]

"Yourself?" He asks, inquisitively, eyes shot towards Vanessa Kingsley from the distance, glass still in hand.

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When the blonde approaches, the book closes. A hand rested atop, the brunette trying to read her. With a hand peeled away, the title reveals itself. A true crime novel, one from Johto named Unmasking the Killer Within.[break][break]

"That depends entirely on you," he starts, a chime back to her banter on a wooing yet to be. Schrodinger's Woo can only be known when the box opens, "doubt you'd need the help though."[break][break]

Or when she says she's wooed.[break][break]

Grabbing the bottle of cologne given, he scans it quickly at the register, a little typing here or there. "You still have plenty of time for shopping, Miss...?" He doesn't know if he does in fact know her, before extending his hand.[break][break]

"Troy MacQueen."

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Someone taking a piss? Troy thinks of how little class that would show, but down in the night market, it was easy to see where she put that together. Sidney's comments are completely founded; because Troy had thought them himself minutes ago.[break][break]

"No kidding." Their eyes trail listlessly down the way, down where the voice spoke to them. Whatever voice that may be...[break][break]

Sidney responds with blue. "I'll cover you, Sid." Troy takes the moment to almost defensively move near her. A hand reaching behind his back, a hand on the grip. He didn't want to reveal himself so easily and handily in public, but if that's what happens... c'est la vie.[break][break]

Waiting for the answer to take form, Troy's cutting eyes look on, at the ready. Ready to fire.[break][break]

4wrcRsN8

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Watching Blondie walk on over, sashaying, her teasing is mostly ignored. A crack of something underneath the mask. But, with her now seated next to him, he finds himself scooting just an inch closer. Involuntarily, he wonders why he did that. Why does he feel the compulsion?[break][break]

It's a simple game. Two truths and a lie. One that she'd played before, and with pretty damn good effect. So naturally, he agrees to it. She even let him go first.[break][break]

So, if he's first... he'll start easy. "I'm a bookkeeping clerk for a perfume store in Mauville. I'm engaged. I'm in Team Rocket." Shouldn't be too hard for her to get this one right. He's starting it easy, but to add to the difficulty, he hides his right hand from her. As if he's hiding a ring he doesn't have. "Which is it, Blondie?" he asks with an airy tone, intending to take a swig if she's right. If.[break][break]

And why not make it a little harder? He moves closer, looking down at her face, hot breath from his mouth as he gives her the look. Like he's trying to make her squirm with his eyes.

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Aromatherapeutics. A play on the move AROMATHERAPY, where it is used to help alleviate hardship, and cleanse the body of any conditional statuses. While their wares will never quite hit that mark, it is their hope to make one believe they can. A scent alone can provide so much context. Used by animals to search for someone. Used by humans to woo and wow one another. Used to mask the things that they don't want seen.[break][break]

The store is dark, dark walls and a black marble flooring. The lighting twofold; a half from the lightbulb centerpiece hanging over a display table for various sample brands, allowed for customers, written in cursive French jouir. Nothing too grand. But it's the lighting trailed from above, lingering on each row of bottles that really takes the cake. It's dim enough not to overpower the center bulbs, but just bright enough to read the names of their various bottles.[break][break]

Troy liked it for one reason. When they were her, back then, she loved the smell of cologne. She loved the smell of perfume. That's something he inherited from her.[break][break]

It's a quiet day. Troy manages the counter, dressed in a beige sweater, smelling between sandalwood, cinnamon, and incense. Pulling a page of a book they're busy reading, the chime from the door jettisons them from that.[break][break]

With a practiced customer service smile, blue eyes trail on first the fashionable blonde, seconded by the Roselia. A unique color-scheme that has him question what gave it such a unique palette. With her heading first over towards their colognes, his eyes zip back to the book. One of the most irritating things back then, was being pestered by a worker, so he'd at least extend the branch when she wanted it.[break][break]

Another paragraph, and her voice comes out. A question of price, lavender and sandalwood.[break][break]

He likes her already.[break][break]

"At present, that one is about $45. A middle of the road price, nothing like our hundred dollar bottles, but I quite like it. Light, warm... not so overpowering, but enough to woo anyone who gets close." Spoken like it had been practiced before, but with enough care to add that personal charm. Troy doesn't wish to disappoint.

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Not realizing at all that they were the saving grace at the moment to stop some sibling-trouble, nor who Cillian really was, the brunette turns towards the server; Steven Campbell. With a gloved hand, he points them out, and the tray of drinks he served. "Server said gold was alcoholic. Prosecco or red grape cocktail." A look at the glass, and his face squints.[break][break]

"I prefer bourbon." But they won't hold that against the server. Guy looks like he's going through it tonight.[break][break]

He could see his date in the crowd, talking with Elisabeth Fiorelli, ALOE EON, and Xiura Balfaltin. Only one of them he knew personally, and only professionally more so. Eyes linger a moment, seeing a redhead, Aurelie Lefevre, and with it, he hears the words. Huh. That's French alright. He may hate the taste...[break][break]

But he drinks anyways. The taste is not like what she might remember. Troy needs the hard shit. As soon as a third of that liquid nightmare coats his throat in pain and woe, he recoils, irritation stretching over his face. An irritation he unfortunately shoots at every Rocket who looks his way, such as Makoto Kurumi. The genuine pain on his face evident, as he refocuses. He had been mingling.[break][break]

"Love the sweater. Reminds me of someone I used to know." Even if he hated the taste of wine now, some habits die hard. "Not holding you hostage, am I?" He still is blissfully unaware of Lulu Flint and Tempest Quinn's relationship to Cillian, though he does see them both from the corner of his eye. His facial expression lacks genuine concern, made up for in a practiced one.[break][break]

Gotta say though. That dress slays.

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Hm.[break][break]

It seemed she was pleasant to be around. As she takes her long swig from the flask, he pondered if she was just as dumb as those fools outside a moment, hurt by the sudden inclusion of a drink, only for it to feel like before. Nostalgia, again. That sensation, as the flask was held out to them.[break][break]

A drunken night at college. Happiness and parties, sex and cocktails, not studying and just not. He understands why they do it. But he's past that college lifestyle. But this quiet moment, having someone to drink with, someone to connect to, it pulls it out.[break][break]

Before he knows it, the flask is in his hand. Before she knows it, he's already taking more than a swig. And then the flask is held back out. The burning sensation down his throat. A memory of her in flashing through his head.[break][break]

For the first time since Route 105, he responds in kind.[break][break]

"Only if you get closer." He pats a space right next to him, against the door. While he is fine with her taking the bed, and fine with that distance, he also feels a need. Maybe it's also the plump lips she is pointing to like that causing his brain to go haywire.[break][break]

She did have a few female college friends she liked. When another more attractive woman than her had come around, she always thought about what if.[break][break]

Then he covers his tracks. A smirk on his face. Confidence? Or arrogance? "It'll be easier to pass the flask back and forth." A pseudo cover.

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Nothing better than a man in a suit.[break][break]

Troy isn't really one for the holidays, but a tightened tie, a suit jacket for warmth, and a practiced smile, they enters in with their plus one, a woman they met at another party for Halloween. Vanessa Kingsley . They'd gone through the motions to make sure they looked good too. Make-up here or there to touch up their facial features, hair combed neatly. The smell of aftershave subtly on his person, he would pick up Blondie once he felt ready.[break][break]

Arriving with his own teeny tiny gift, he gestures to his 'date' to give him a moment. Passing through with waves of feigned delight, and a few "Good evening"s later, he would amble his way towards the tree. A quick, black gloved hand moving to place the gift of shower steamers underneath, neatly wrapped in a gift overly designed with cute Delibirds dressed in holiday hats and holiday sacks.[break][break]

A glance around the venue, to look to those he knows. A glance at the owner, Yumi Hasegawa , has him think pleasantly. She did say she was the owner of this casino in their short meet, though Troy is no gambler. Ah, and there was that other woman, Xiura Balfaltin , looking just as lovely as the others he knew. Rocket knew how to put out, it seemed. Spotting Calpurnia Kubrick nearest another man he didn't know (schuyler tate ), his expression shifted from a forced, practiced smile to no expression at all.[break][break]

Kaylee was already prowling the floor tonight, it seemed.[break][break]

A little sleight of hand on golden drinks from Steven Campbell 's serving tray, Troy fits two glasses between three fingers, and merely gives the blonde a look. "Thank you." before moving along, before turning gaze at the DJ Minty Fresh (mint frost ). Troy's face doesn't light up. Being told to forget class and throw that ass was something.[break][break]

Now... social gatherings did require him to meet the people. No better way to start than one of the duo in the ugly sweater.[break][break]

"Can I offer you a drink?" he offers to Cillian Quinn , the gold drink denoted from the server to be alcoholic. Attempting to show his best foot forward, a gloved hand comes up, empty blue eyes gaze over him. "Troy MacQueen." He further introduces himself. He just hopes his date doesn't mind. Socialite event, and all.

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