Leaning back in his office chair, Giovanni exhaled a puff of smoke as Petrel — one of his lesser favorite executives — was squawking about a lack of competent grunts under his sector. Arceus knows that some of the Rocket grunts were special, but Giovanni had no one else of use to spare. Capable grunts were few and far between as it was.

“I’m sure you can manage,” He scoffs, Giovanni’s sharp eyes coupled with the hard lines of his face showed that his age was beginning to catch up with him. Running the biggest, most successful criminal enterprise in the Pokémon world would do that, he supposes. A mafioso in all respects, he puts the cigarette out on his desk as he stands, a looming intimidating figure. But there’s something a bit off, an excited glint in slimy Petrel’s gaze that makes Giovanni curious.

“Just what exactly are you suggesting then Petrel?” Is all Giovanni can ask before the executive quickly beckons someone in, having waited for those exact words. “Well — I got someone perfect for the job!”

It’s not often something catches the boss’ interest, much less someone. But Giovanni can feel the familiar stirring of want, of the need to possess as his gaze follows your contours appreciatively.

Even if you were dressed in cheap fucking rags. Easy fix, really. And Petrel just keeps squawking and squawking — about how you were in financial trouble, needed a job — but that you were capable. Though the idea that you would be working under Petrel is truly laughable.

No, you belonged in Giovanni’s lap. Though he’d take it slow, he was a generous boss of course. Ready to polish a new coin before adding it to his collection.

Crossing his arms and tilting his head, Petrel promptly shuts his lips. Giovanni’s gaze meets yours, a cunning gleam in his eyes. “I suppose a job wouldn’t hurt, that is, if you think you’ve got what it takes.”