"Papa, this is so good. Try some."
"If it's good, eat plenty of it."
Draven smiled, all fondness, and stroked his daughter's head.
Watching his wife and children eat so contentedly, the Team Rocket Division Commander felt himself a very happy man.
Some feeling he could not name filled his heart and left him deeply satisfied.
Twenty-odd years of fighting his way up, so long adrift — perhaps what was in front of him now was the thing he had wanted all along.
Once a man is older, he wants a "home," somewhere to belong.
Then he thought of Vance, whom he had seen a little while before, and his expression turned ugly.
He had reckoned Vance could come back; he had not expected him this soon.
Vance was back, and Grady was out of contact — you did not have to guess what had happened in between.
The man was no simple matter.
Had he known that earlier, he should never have had a hand in Grady's business; now he had landed himself in a dangerous place.
Luckily he had made his arrangements beforehand. Even so, the grudge was struck; he had offended the man past mending.
What sort of people generally run with Team Rocket? After all these years, having risen to Division Commander, would he not know??
There might be a few good men among them, but most were hard men, and those who had climbed up from nothing were harder in the heart than any.
Hard on themselves, hard on everyone else.
He knew that well enough. And why?
Because he had come up that way himself.
And remembering that gesture Vance had made — this would not end well.
He was afraid.
Because the other man was younger than he was, and had nothing tying him down.
"My dear, do you remember that account? I've finished off a project these last few days, and I've put what I made into it."
"Of course I remember."
Draven nodded slightly, and then said with a laugh, "Ha ha, good, as long as you remember. Look at these two little gluttons — do you hardly ever bring them here? Don't stint. Bring them out to eat more often from now on. Eat what's worth eating, go and enjoy what's worth enjoying. The money side of it you can leave to me."
Leaving the hotel, Vance and the other two came to a lavishly appointed villa.
The villa was one Ambrose had just bought. In his own words, once you've made money you have to enjoy it properly — live in a villa, chase pretty girls, all of that.
There were beds over at the shop, but Ambrose complained the place was too cramped.
"Pop—"
Ambrose opened a bottle of red wine with a practised hand and filled both their glasses.
"Fatty, you've got taste. The furniture alone must have cost a fair bit." Vance settled into an enormous sofa with his glass in hand and looked around him; the place had been done up with real taste, he thought.
"Heh heh. That's what life is. After all the grinding, a man has to enjoy himself a little, doesn't he? And where he lives, naturally, ought to be to his own liking."
Ambrose laughed to himself, half reclined in his chair, looking thoroughly pleased.
"It's only somewhere to live. Why be so particular about it?" Emery muttered, took a mouthful and swallowed it straight down. To this day he could not taste anything in the wine.
"Ha ha, Emery, you little country mutt, you never change. A home is proof of what a man is, you know — there are all sorts of advantages and uses in it. Never mind, there's no explaining it to a country mutt like you." Ambrose jeered.
"Uses — meaning somewhere to bring women, is that it? I'd be careful if I were you. Bring back enough of them and you'll end up inside. Mind you don't die on top of one." Emery struck back.
"Heh heh. Never."
The villa had grounds of its own, so the Pokémon did not have to stay in their Poké Balls. Vance went out to the grounds, took out his Poké Balls and let the Gyarados and the rest of them out.
"Roar, roar—"
When the Gyarados and the others appeared in all their vigour, Ambrose and Emery both jumped.
"Bloody hell — a Blaziken! An Aerodactyl! And a Zweilous!! Boss, did you rob the League's bank?"
Ambrose cried it out once he had taken it all in.
How could the man be so formidable? A handful of days away and he had caught this many Pokémon!
A pseudo-legendary among them, even!
"I haven't got it in me."
Vance said it with a laugh, and let the Pokémon move about as they pleased; it did them no good to be shut in their Poké Balls all the time.
"Magnificent!" Emery looked at the Zweilous and the rest of them and all but drooled, thinking to himself: are there really that many strange encounters out there? Perhaps he ought to go and have a look.
No wonder so many Trainers chose to travel. There really were a great many chances out there.
"That's a pseudo-legendary. With one of those, Elite-Four-class is no trouble at all."
Ambrose went on. Pseudo-legendaries, given proper raising, mostly reached Elite-Four-class; that was the ordinary course of it.
Catch a pseudo-legendary, and barring accidents along the way, the odds were very good that it would make Elite-Four-class.
Which was why pseudo-legendary Pokémon were so sought after.
Good-looking, imposing in the bearing, and above all strong. That was a pseudo-legendary.
"And it isn't only the Zweilous. The rest of them are no ordinary Pokémon either."
Emery pushed his glasses up, with intelligence in his eyes, and gave his reading of it.
As a Trainer he had that much of an eye. One look and he knew these Pokémon had been raised superbly well.
After that Ambrose and Emery let their own Pokémon out as well.
The same ones as before, with little change; Ambrose had caught two more, Emery one.
Both of them had some resources to hand now and had raised them better, and each of them had Pokémon of Advanced strength.
Advanced strength showed that they had not been idle and had worked hard; most ordinary Team Rocket members were about at that level.
Barring accidents, another stretch in the ranks and they would be Elite-class Trainers; another ten or twenty years after that, or several decades, and they might even become Gym-class Trainers.
That night Vance stayed at Ambrose's villa.
The next morning, while he was in the Pokémon Cottage, several men came to call on him and presented a card: he was invited to the finest restaurant in Celadon City, they said, as there was a matter to discuss.
"You can go. I know about this already."
Vance tossed the card onto one side of the desk, leaned back in his manager's chair and said it flatly.
He did not even have to open it to know who was doing the inviting.
Who else but that Division Commander Draven he had run into the night before.
Seeing him last night must have shaken the Division Commander badly.
"Very well. I've delivered the message, Squad Leader Vance, and I hope you'll bear it in mind."
"Mm."
Vance gave no more than that small grunt and paid them no further attention, and seeing it the men had no choice but to leave.
The moment they were gone Ambrose picked the card up and read it.
"Tsk. I knew it was Draven's."
Vance had not so much as glanced at it. Perfectly at his ease, he said, "Who else would it be. We ran into him last night; it could only be him."
"So will you go, boss?"
"Go for what? To collect his body?"
Vance was laughing as he said it, and the two of them still felt a chill go through them.
In the end Vance did not go to the dinner, and so a few more days passed.
Then one day another man came to the door.
This one was no errand-runner, and Vance knew him: a Division Commander he had seen a few times while out on assignment, and who seemed to be on good terms with Sylas.
"Division Commander Halden, what brings you here? Have you some instruction for me?"
Vance came straight to the point; he had already guessed why the man had come — to plead another's case.
"No, no. I've come here on someone's behalf, to deliver something."
The Division Commander called Halden said it with a smile; perhaps he had heard something, for there was nothing haughty in his manner.
As he spoke he took out an invitation, finer than the last, and laid it in front of Vance.
"An invitation. Whose? Don't tell me it's Commander Sylas's."
Vance said it to make conversation.
"Nothing of the sort. I said I was asked to bring it. If it were your Commander Sylas, he would hardly need me for it."
"Oh. Then I had better see whose it is, and whether it's worth going. I've a great deal on lately."
Vance made a show of picking the invitation up and opened it, and the name on it was not Draven but Bram.
Their Branch Chief, Bram, an Elite-Four-class Trainer; Vance had seen him a few times as well.
"Chief Bram, is it."
"That's right. I've passed the word along. Whether you go is your own affair."
After lingering a while longer, Division Commander Halden took his leave and went.
"Bram. So Draven carries more weight than I thought."
Vance looked at the invitation, a cold light in his eyes.
A coincidence like that — he would never believe Draven had no hand in it. He had not gone the other day, so Draven had wheeled this one out instead.