“You’re one of Professor Oak’s aides.” He turns and looks down at her.
“You could say that.” A pause, and then he smiles.
“And? Not coming back to make another attempt at a Championship, are you?”
She allows the slightest upward turn of her lips. “Fortunately for you, no. I’m looking for Koga.”
“Of course you are.”
“Well?” She crosses her arms, brows raised.
“He isn’t in. Care to leave a message?”
Her head tilts, and she considers calling his bluff. His game is one she remembers too well. “Professor Oak had questions for him. Something about Dragalge poison.”
“And he couldn’t simply... call?”
“I have samples.” It’s a bold-faced lie, which they both know. She’s in a dress with no pockets, carrying nothing.
He pauses, shrugs, and turns back to what he was doing before she slipped quietly into the room. “I’ll let him know.” This is a lure, and she knows she’s expected to take the bait. He isn’t dismissing her yet.
Still, she turns to leave--makes it three, four, five steps, nearly to the door before it happens--
“You’re different now.”
Blue stops without turning. “You’re not.” There’s amusement in her voice, but it’s dry. “Didn’t you get the memo about the masks? We don’t have to wear them anymore.”
She hears the quiet rustle of his clothes, the soft tap of his shoes approaching, and she turns to meet him.
“I’d been wondering when you’d come for a visit. It isn’t in your character to leave things alone, is it?”
“I can see when an avenue isn’t worth pursuing.”
His chuckle is faint, slightly melodic. Her smile is vicious. “Would you like to tell me why you’re really here, or shall I tell you?” They stand just slightly apart now, face-to-mask. His eyes are bright.
“Reading my mind is cheating, Will.”
“You’ve never turned down a game before just because the odds were stacked against you.”
“I don’t play games unless I know I’ll win. And that was only ever a game to you.”
He smiles like a Sharpedo, all slow and sly. “And still, I’m the only one you can rely on for closure. Who else could possibly understand your experience?”
“Certainly not you. You chose to be there.”
“I think you’re giving Pryce too much credit. If I’d declined, would it have made a difference?”
“Don’t act like our situations were the same, Will. I was five.”
“You’re surprisingly hostile, considering you claimed to have forgiven the man.”
She bristles at that, and hates herself for it. “I said I pitied him, and knew that leaving him alone to suffer was the worst punishment we could give him. I said he was pathetic.”
“You still hate him.”
She pauses, and seems to consider this. Nothing needs to be said in confirmation; they both know it. She’s never hated, will never hate, anyone the way she hates Pryce. It’s carved into her bones, permanent and enduring.
“You have every right to it,” he says after a brief moment. “I’d think you stupid otherwise.”
