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Can't be mad about that. They got their initial goal at the ready. Ms. Hasegawa is a pleasure speaking with, and it provides him with a satisfaction they felt they had lost. Though in truth, they never fully had it. Not really. She carries herself with professionalism.[break][break]

Her question doesn't strike a nerve, but any fake smile they did have shrivels and dies. As all it can ever do is be temporary.[break][break]

"Ah. You must mean Margaret." It doesn't bother them. They decide to go into it. A small glance in. "Ms. Hasegawa... what makes you a person?" A question for a question, and their eyes move upwards. His blue eyes lying in weight. "A soul? If you believe in that. A body? Perhaps. A preordained right by those who birth us?" They fiddle with their teacup. Gloomier eyes gaze longingly into the cup. A reflection not their own.[break][break]

"Margaret Victoria Queens. Look her up later if you would like. A respected woman until everything came crashing down after an accident. Laid in a hospital bed day in and day out, watching nothing but cheap cable, hooked up to machines that kept her alive and eating cooked up slop... the taste was unbearable." It's like he could taste it, though his tongue was foreign to that hell. He bit the inside of his mouth, and closes his eyes. He can picture her. Her face. Hear her voice. Yet Margaret Victoria Queens was buried in Goldenrod, a tombstone, a casket, the whole shebang. The reflection gone now.[break][break]

"I can tell you those documents are mine. Yet I never made them. I'm a veteran at bookkeeping, yet I've never done it myself. How can that be?" Troy posed the question, his mood less gloomy now. Whatever Ms. Hasegawa's assumptions came to, he'd let her believe them, for now.

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It was within a moment, that Sirin sees the strike coming. Her instincts go into over-drive, and her steel wing comes up to block a blast that was meant to kill. The blast hurts Sirin, the bullet digging in surely... but with it, Troy looks up. And their eyes narrow.[break][break]

"Ah. The evening entertainment." Devilish, he moves to climb atop Sirin, as the bird would take off immediately, its flying a little unevenly, but a Corviknight's armor was its biggest selling point.[break][break]

It's why Troy bought one.[break][break]

That shot wouldn't be made twice, and as Sirin flies around, making an insane flight pattern to freak out any shooters from below, the steel bird soars through the air with Troy analyzing every bit of the land. The trajectory would denote a shooter from a certain distance away. Moment he finds them?[break][break]

Troy will be sure to have his fun.[break][break]

Unbeknownst to their loving foe, creeping nearby through the ground, a burrowed Gliscor listens to the vibration in the ground... Drac was waiting to find them, and a time to strike properly. Having dug in as a precaution after Troy's fun earlier, he had done that upon his order, in case back-up arrived.[break][break]

Lucky day. That Gliscor's tongue could taste the fresh blood now. He was elated.

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Ah. Not as direct as he wanted, but he'll take the blow. The Beedrill was clearly trying to shrug it off, and Troy had to commend it. Strong as hell bug.[break][break]

But bugs are easy to step on.[break][break]

The Corviknight would caw out, as Troy watched the girl struggle in the air. Likely didn't hear them, but that was fine by them, Troy would allow them what they needed to switch. Game that didn't talk back was hardly fun for them, and so they lie in wait. Sirin needed the moment to catch her breath.[break][break]

They got away for just a moment. "This will be fun." He pats Sirin again, as they wait. Giving her the moment to retaliate, switch out. Eyes never leaving her. Moment they do, Troy and Sirin are gonna come at her with everything with killer intent.

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The chortle from the man only grows, as he looks down at the shore. The Milotic's instincts had kicked in, and saved their Trainer. How precious. A Trainer with Pokemon who cared about him.[break][break]

Cracking his neck, as the Frogadier comes onto the field, Troy taps on his Corviknight, and she immediately flips upside-down, dodging the Hydro Pump, and letting Troy fall onto the sandy shore, knife in hand.[break][break]

"A fight?" They toss it in their hand, letting the weight push their hand down, a little taunt. Blue eyes peer down at the Trainer. "No. This is a game."[break][break]

From the sand, his Gliscor bursts from the sand, intent on slashing the Frogadier through with a NIGHT SLASH, as his Corviknight uses a HONE CLAWS from above. In the confusion, he begins making his way towards the Trainer, walking slowly. If his half-mask wasn't obscuring his identity, he'd be smirking ear-to-ear, spinning the knife in his hand.

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She asks exactly what they're proposing, and they're pleased. The teacup clacks against the saucer, and both gloved hands interlaced with one another, as he leans forward. A lioness with such a mind has them proud.[break][break]

"Precisely. But anyone can write numbers, it takes someone with a brains to cook books. As I'm sure a woman of your caliber knows all too well." He very much means that as a compliment, hoping his fake smile isn't seen as condescending.[break][break]

"I'll be sure to maintain the books myself, and all I ask is twelve percent atop whatever money I make within the organization." But telling her without showing her he meant business was not their style at all, and reaching now into the suitcase, he places the necessary papers on the table itself. Work experience, under the name MARGARET QUEENS. Years of bookkeeping experience, dating back to 2017, professionally drawn out. Legitimate documentation... not his name.[break][break]

Blue eyes watch, and his head turns towards the Liepard. Contrary to years ago, Troy was definitely a cat person.

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The tie is pull tighter. The watch reads 11 at night. One hour till midnight, and the clock is ticking. Apparently, being in the middle of the night, cover was easier to find. And in that time, Troy was tasked with sabotage and subterfuge. Being assigned a partner for the stealth mission, he neither complained nor showed joy.[break][break]

If this is what was necessary, so be it.[break][break]

Joy isn't something he shows his partner, just a stoic look of indifference. He would do his job, and that was that. They were to head out immediately, as a small window was all they were allowed to get the job done, efficiently, and quietly. No one needed to know they were present.[break][break]

"Troy MacQueen." He introduces himself, a gloved hand outstretched as they await a shake. Gesturing to the direction they need to go, dressed in black with a half a skull mask, he quietly walks on...

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Right on cue. A hero. A victory half-baked, a ship frozen within the sea itself. He must be so proud of himself. A pat on the back for a job well done.[break][break]

Troy's favorite.[break][break]

With a nosedive downwards towards the ocean, Sirin would stop just short of the ocean itself, pulling up the waves. Shining with a fury of rainbows, a STEEL WING picks up the sheen of the waters, aiming to cleave the hero in twain. And if that's not enough, the suited Rocket riding atop of Sirin holds a knife, intent to dig it in.[break][break]

If not him meant for him, then the Milotic. Make the hero swim to land. Make him struggle upon the waves.

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There's no reaction to the comment on the tea, because Troy doesn't require the satisfaction of knowing he made a great cup. The satisfaction was her facial expression, how she hid so little at that moment, and guessing correctly over coffee. A part of them wonders if they should have made coffee instead, but he doubled down on the cherry blossom sencha green tea, because while coffee would keep them awake, he wanted something less bitter than his preferred black coffee.[break][break]

"I did." He doesn't need to say much more than that. He brewed it. It's not a skill Troy MacQueen ever had in his repetoire. He just used that skill from memory alone.[break][break]

The conversation leads more to the important side, the reason Troy contacted them to begin with. After he goes over it all, and she asks if she was mistaken, he shoots his customer service smile.[break][break]

"You're correct, Ms. Hasegawa. A deal like this needs its basis founded in legitimacy or the brown-nosed League dogs will come in packs." Blue eyes focus to study Ms. Hasegawa. Studying. Unflinching and curious how she feels about the League in general. Gauging her opinion. "Tens of thousands is dangerous to cook at once, sure, but a couple grand will go under law enforcement's noses. Annually, fifty grand is a good basis for a single organization to legitimize."[break][break]

He takes his teacup, curling a finger around it, raising it to his lips. Soft sipping. The lovely taste of cherry blossoms.

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It's a high-class apartment in Rustboro. It's not playboy-philanthropist level like some kind of suite, as it's mostly average, but everything in the one bedroom apartment itself is quite well made. The owner has an eye for luxury.[break][break]

Troy definitely does. More purples, pinks flood the space. More feminine coloration, yet the smell of sandalwood in the air, a cologne he used for himself would denote more masculinity. Odd.[break][break]

Dressed in a sweater for the cold air conditioning, Troy had invited one of his Rockets to dinner. It's a friendly occasion, and meant to get to know his coworkers a little more. Aside from Kaylee (Calpurnia Kubrick) and Yumi Hasegawa, he was still trying to meet a good few of them. Good relationships was important.[break][break]

He'd even made some roast. And all was going well, the table had been set, and everything... when the power shuts off. The roast had already been done, the dinner occasion wasn't ruined.[break][break]

But Troy's blue eyes peer from the darkness.[break][break]

"Mr. Amemiya-" he starts. "-I'm afraid our dinner might get cold. I'll go get the candles, perhaps we can-" The landline of the apartment goes off. That's not normal, maybe it's on a different circuit? Troy's fury palpable and flooding the air.[break][break]

"Would you mind getting that?"

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Another ship of supplies for Rocket. Troy was manning it today, running the show, and flying in the sky, making sure it reaches its destination to the shore. Getting them there was he easy part, but being told 'opposition' is likely doesn't deter him.[break][break]

Quite the contrary. He's hoping some poor Ranger or Officer wants to play hero.[break][break]

As he flies atop of Sirin, soaring through the sky and watching from below to the ship, all seems calm on the beach for the moment. The ship had supplies that Rocket needed, and getting them there also meant more grunts on the ground.[break][break]

Troy was ruthlessly efficient in his work. He may not like it, but it was his job. And he was definitely intending to continue his job.[break][break]

He waits now.[break][break]

A hero should come any moment... and the moment they do? They will break that hero into dust.

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It feels so alien. Something as mundane as drinking from a water bottle. It already should feel that way, it's not his. He took it off of one of the Leaguers he left in a pile. But it's the irreplacable feeling that it isn't him. They don't feel right.[break][break]

The water tastes good. Working up a sweat does that.[break][break]

"Thanks." He throws it down towards the unconscious body of the Ranger he pilfers it from, tossing it at their head empty. "You have my permission to die now." He steps on the body, closer towards the neck, before walking up a hill overlooking the shoreline.[break][break]

Blue eyes look over everything. The battles were slowing down more and more. Still, he felt nothing. That kid, probably nineteen? Who knows. He's probably dead now.[break][break]

Maybe he shouldn't have been a Ranger.[break][break]

As he approaches Sirin, his Corviknight, he throws a slab of meat to her. Feeding her the Pokemon that the little Ranger had, the morsel that remained after the kill. "Good girl." Sirin caws quietly.[break][break]

He was about to leave for the day...

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With a ruthless entry, Troy hides above the clouds atop the steel bird, the red eyes peering below, as Troy's blues kept watch of his prey. Some random woman? Perhaps. But as he stalks ever closer, he ponders how to best approach this.[break][break]

"Sirin." They don't need to say much more. Attaching himself onto Sirin, the steel bird does a vertical arc, and nosedives, intending to take the woman out, and her little Beedrill, with a STEEL WING, wanting to clap them fast, quietly, and loose. The wing was meant to take her head off, or if not that, to debilitate the bee.[break][break]

The moment they stall in the air, the Rocket calls out from below now.[break][break]

"Oops. My Pokemon slipped." There's a lackadaisical edge to how he says it. As if he didn't plan for it already. He'd told Sirin the plan since the moment they caught her in aerospace. But to enrage this girl? That was worth more to them.

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