at that, dominic actually laughs; a short, low chuckle. at least it's the most genuine expression he had shown all night. his amusement fades, albeit briefly, when marcel unceremoniously hands him back an annotated file. dominic narrows his eyes at what had previously been walsh's immaculate copy but continues speaking when he realises absolutely none of this makes any sense to him anyway.

"you always get so immediately defensive, what am i supposed to think?" he parts his lips intending to continue, constructing a jab in his head about their colleague's propensity to string along affairs with high-ranking league officials. dominic thinks better of it and closes his mouth, fixing a smile back across his lips.

marcel maeda

he figures marcel is trying to call his bluff, or otherwise dissuade him from getting what he wants. that's a challenge, and dominic isn't prepared to let up. his eyes narrow but his tone matches marcel's with its nonchalance.

"oh, not that one. i already know she's dead." dominic shuffles the papers around some more, studies one of the photographs taken from inside shoal cave after the articuno's departure just to do something. dominic lets a silence stretch for a few moments and with any luck, the admin will start to think he's safe.

"you'll have to try harder to get me to drop it, marcel." there's a lilt to his voice.

marcel maeda

a sense of satisfaction wells in the back of dominic's throat and he has to briefly bite back a smile at marcel's expense. he's just pleased the man is occupied with the documents and doesn’t see this shift in his expression. dominic half-heartedly flicks through some pages to veil the fact that his gaze is still primarily locked on marcel.

"alright, maeda," he says after a few moments, his voice dropped to a murmur. eyes alight, dominic leans forward with feigned interest.

"i don’t believe for a minute that a man like you has no one. who are you hiding from me?"

marcel maeda

there's no humour in dominic's smile, nor in the lilt of his tone. the narrow of his eyes matches gavin's.

"they fucking held hands while his pokemon spat fire at me and boris and all she did was watch."

dominic remembers the searing against his skin, only his scolipede’s protective barrier between him and petrov’s charizard. he remembers the grunt beside him consumed by flame when he prioritised boris and the jirachi over him; he blames petrov and wolfe for that too.

"you know…" he continues slowly, his voice dropping. this time the hostility is plain.

"one of our kids died in those flames." he had to think to recall the name, pre-empting gavin’s question. "you ever work with him? berwick?"

Cillian Quinn

"yes... petrov," dominic confirms slowly, raising a hand to take another drag from his cigarette mostly to hide his smile.

he remembers, with picture-perfect clarity, what it looks like to see charred flesh slough off the bone; he remembers kanto. the difference is that petrov remained alive throughout the process and still dominic cannot summon the pity.

"eyewitness testimony; conrad, nightingale, cross if you can find him. boris." dominic wrangles back a smile. "i could probably track down a few of the leaguers and make them talk. all for you."

he's got him where he wants him; he's sure of it. dominic wrangles the satisfaction from his voice.

"and gavin? we haven’t even gotten to the well-done meat of it yet."

Cillian Quinn

he hates that he flinches when the darkrai approaches. it feels, he thinks, like lethargy given form. for a brief moment, dominic feels too tired to even draw breath, but the sensation is gone just as quickly, settling in somewhere in the space between his ribs and his shadow. he exhales sharply and straightens to make eye contact with walsh.

dominic knew, of course. he was underboss under both blackwells and under cadis too; the rank and all it entails is engraved into his bones.

he watches the rest of the procession with an expression of faint, steely satisfaction, responding with an incline of the head and the flash of a grin when he feels hands clap against his back and shoulders, congratulations uttered in murmurs. his gratitude is expressed only by the razor-sharp quirk of his lips - the words for thanks don’t find themselves among his vocabulary and he trusts both darkrai and walsh recognise it.

as the questions arise, dominic’s gaze flickers from those gathered and back to their boss. when he shakes his head, it’s a minute gesture. dominic had taken pains to warn the man back in kanto; the hoenn branch is filled to the brim with clowns, only, unfortunately, they were primarily the human kind and not the ultra beast kind.

among the murmurs surrounding him, dominic catches cadis’s name being uttered, and calls out a question to alleviate their concerns rather than to put his own curiosity to rest.

"will cadis remain aboard?" he spares a brief glance behind him and the grunts milling around. "some of the newer recruits have grown fond of him, perhaps his presence is reassuring to them."

which is to be read as: they are soft. across the crowd, dominic catches circe crowley’s gaze and offers the briefest of nods.

:heyguys:

still and unblinking, dominic thinks he catches it, like something had fractured for just a heartbeat. he wants to reach further, to pry marcel's cards from his hands.

"must be nice," he adds in a murmur and with nonchalant ease, as though it's an afterthought. his smile is something wistful but the glint in his eyes if anything but.

marcel maeda

"unlike your favourite underboss," dominic begins, his brief sneer practically audible in the half-hearted mockery. "i don't have anyone here to put me to bed."

he had the benefit of walsh telling him about some of the side-effects of avatarship, and sleeplessness, he found, was only a boon when he had the benefit of being ashore. marcel didn't have the same excuse; dominic almost feels a twinge of something that he can't put a name to, but perhaps the closest word is pity.

marcel maeda

his eyes narrow but dominic doesn't comment; reading the inference behind marcel's words is a refined skill, and even still he can't always pinpoint what he's actually trying to say.

"no time to start like the present," he mutters, jerking his head at the stacks of pages. "unless you're going to pass out on me."

dominic's hand reaches for the folder marcel had discarded, but his scrutinising gaze remains fixed on the man.

marcel maeda

dominic quirks his brow but doesn't comment on marcel joining him at the table. he's thankful, he supposes, for a live person to look at other than walsh.

"maybe, hard to say," he says, raising a single shoulder in a shrug. he stares at marcel for a long moment before speaking again.

"isn't tracking this shit your thing?"

marcel maeda

for a flicker of a moment, dominic has half a mind to snatch the documents from marcel’s hands.

"are you worried about them too, or do you have some ideas to suggest?" dominic drawls, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin under curled fingers. "walsh’s door is open, and i’m all yours."

dominic doesn’t think about how there are any number of people within the league who would seek him out the same way, but he knows enough to realise that the league’s concepts of jurisdiction, probable cause and warrant to use force are as malleable as his.

his policy remains the same; shoot for them before they shoot for you.

marcel maeda

dominic exhales a plume of coiling smoke that shifts as though with a life of its own. "so it’ll be ignorance, then?"

cadis extended clemency to wolfe, so dominic stayed his hand; that protection eroded the second declan stepped a foot onto the submarine. idle and subconscious, dominic flexes the fingers of his free hand.

he thinks for a moment before speaking again, regarding gavin through narrowed eyes - chips of dark onyx in the gloom. dominic raises his hand again and inhales from his cigarette, basking in his captive audience; he has a flair for the theatrical in these rare moments.

"alright, i’ll indulge you. you recall the incident with one of our kanto beasts turning, fleeing to hoenn and being installed as gym leader here? apparently a very good friend of hers, gavin. and- was this barely just over a year ago?"

dominic’s smile flash of a grin is nothing but a jagged mouth of too-sharp teeth. "time really does fly when you’re having fun, huh?"

Cillian Quinn

"both," he says after a moment, watching marcel through narrowed eyes. he hadn’t really expected an answer, and lets his hand drop from the next file; this one containing the reports taken from the weather institute tracking the modified weather patterns observed in the wake of articuno’s surfacing.

the follow-up question results in a grin twisting across dominic’s lips, not quite derisive, but still very close. "are you worried about me or something?" he counters, leaning forward slightly.

marcel maeda