A small, cold smile spreads across Giselle’s face at his answer. The world. It’s a fitting response, she thinks. Grandiose. Ambitious. Entirely within her expectations for someone like him, a high-ranking admin of Team Rocket. She’d expected nothing less, though she could appreciate the audacity. Still, she wonders at what cost. She's seen enough men throw themselves at a crown only to end up broken and bleeding in the dirt. That could be Howard Slayte's fate if he isn't careful.

"The world," she repeats, voice dripping with an almost mocking amusement. She glances over her shoulder, her sharp gaze meeting the seven red dots staring back at her through the window. It doesn’t faze her. Men have been trying to intimidate her for years with far less.

She turns back to Howard, uncrossing her arms and letting them rest in her lap, a gesture of ease and confidence. She finds his answer amusing. Almost stupidly romantic. Like a child with his eyes bigger than his stomach. Giselle knows the world is far too vast a place for any one person to hold onto for long. Such is the lesson her mother learned that frosty day she hung herself before Giselle's eyes. Life spilling from her, wide open, wishing she could call back all the little failures which brought her to that point, so Giselle could live a life more than mediocre.

Giselle Moreau has no intent of following in her mother's footsteps.

"Well, Admin Fox," she continues. "The world is nothing without the power to shape it. You could have every city, every region, under your thumb, and it would still be meaningless unless you had the influence to bend it to your will."

Giselle gently throws a strand of long, sleek black hair over her shoulder.

"That kind of power kills the weak. You best be prepared to kill every ounce of softness inside of you, if that is your dream. Are you prepared for that, Admin Fox?"

Giselle's eyes flash. She has been without softness for many years now. She idly wonders if the man before her has the willpower to fully disconnect himself from that which he loves.

howard slayte

"What do I want?" she echoes, her voice taking on a sharp edge. It's a question she's been asked many times, by many people – usually men who thought they could control her, shape her desires into something more... palatable. The idea is almost laughable.

Her cool blue eyes never leave his, not even for a second. "I want what everyone wants, Admin Fox. Power. The ability to shape my own destiny, and the freedom to accomplish that in whichever way I want. The very same thing the war has deprived Hoenn's people of."

She speaks of the civilian's plight knowing full well that she does not care for them. Should they wish to not die like dogs, they must start fighting like wolves.

Giselle shifts in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest as if in challenge. "Rocket needs money. I need influence. It seems to me a mutually beneficial arrangement."

She raises an eyebrow, studying his face for any flicker of hesitation. In Giselle’s experience, there is no room for weakness in negotiations. No room for error. Every word, every move, is calculated, deliberate, a strategy she had been perfecting her whole life. She wants to hold her finger on his pulse and press, just to see how long it takes for him to begin squirming. It is what has been done to her countless times before. It is what must be done to the uninitiated and to the unknown, so Giselle may better get a grasp on their intricacies and quirks.

"What do you want, Admin Fox?"

howard slayte

The coolness in her eyes doesn’t waver, even as the corners of her lips twitch upwards into something resembling a smirk. She finds his perspective is narrow, limited. Like so many men before him, blinded by the immediate, the superficial. She had expected nothing less.

"War? Please." Her voice drips with disdain. "War is for those who lack imagination. I’m talking about something far more... sustainable."

Giselle leans back in her chair and adjusts the designer glasses on her face with a shift of her expression, wrist moving in such away to allow the dismal light filtering through the window to catch on her diamond bracelet. A man is only as good as what he can offer her, and Admin Fox is no different. A rung in the ladder. A stepping stone for unimaginable influence and power. Everything Giselle has ever wanted.

"I believe Rocket is the future," she continues, slowly. "The war will end. The cities you have destroyed will be rebuilt. When all of this is complete, you have a new world to create in your vision. I want a seat at that table."

In a brief moment of silence, there is a confession. The current method of government has made it difficult for Giselle to establish her business in Hoenn in necessary ways. Backing a few terrorists financially to carve a path of least resistance through the region seems to her the fitting option of recourse.

Her lips quirk upwards at the corners. "And, in turn, yes, I will fund your war effort, your rebuilding efforts, and the endless minutiae."

howard slayte

Giselle's eyes, sharp and calculating, never leave Howard's face as she settles into the chair across from him, the clink of her diamond bracelet a soft whisper against the leather. She crosses her legs smoothly, the sleek line of her black dress a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Regirock's appearance is merely a backdrop, a stage setting for the real battle – the one happening in this room.

"It's a pleasure, Admin Fox," she begins, her voice like silk. A slight smile plays at the corners of her lips, never quite reaching those cool blue eyes. "I appreciate a man who values directness."

She leans forward slightly, clasping her hands together. "I'll be frank. The recent... disturbances have opened up certain opportunities. While others see destruction, I see potential. And I believe Team Rocket could be the key to unlocking that potential."

She settled back, her gaze piercing into Howard, as if studying him for any flaws or impurities, like a jeweler might to a ring. "I'm prepared to make a significant investment, is what I mean. But I want a part in the action."

howard slayte

[nospaces]



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The soft hum of classical music floats through the air, blending seamlessly with the clink of silverware and the low murmur of conversations. Giselle sits at a corner table in L'Amour d'Or, one of Slateport's most exclusive restaurants, the kind of place where fortunes are whispered over champagne, and deals are sealed with the flick of a wrist and a diamond-encrusted pen. She’d chosen the table strategically—bathed in the warm glow of the chandelier but tucked just far enough from the main floor to provide privacy.

Her fingers trace the edge of the crystal glass in front of her, filled with a rare vintage from Kalos, though she has barely touched it. Dressed in an elegant black gown that hugs her frame perfectly, a statement necklace of diamonds cascading down her neck, Giselle looks every part the powerful woman she wis. Her sleek black hair is pinned back, the lines of her face sharp and poised—ready for what comes next.

She glances at her watch, its subtle glitter catching the light. The hour of the night draws near.

The waiter approaches, silent and respectful, refilling her water glass without a word. She waves him away gently, her mind already on the conversation that is to come. A joint fashion line, she had proposed—a union of two fashion giants. The Fontaine name has history, but Giselle has something far more important: vision. And, of course, the quiet understanding that this partnership is only temporary. It isn’t in her nature to share the spotlight for long.

Mirabella Fontaine