A New Game

“Congratulations!”

The shower of well-wishes and champagne exploded all around Robin. The Gardevoir smiled, shook hands, and thanked those all about. It wasn’t easy leaving a company he’d been part of for close to two years, meeting a number of wonderful employees and customers—his current wife, for example.

Humming as he stepped aside for a moment to admire what’s left of his office, the little personalized touches moved out. The dust shadows wiped away and…it looked empty. Until he noticed just who was sitting in his old swivel chair.

“Ah, I didn’t think you’d come.” He chuckles, giving a faintly familiar face a second look. “You seem to have disappeared off the face of the region, and gotten tangled with the wrong sort of people?”

“Please.” Cherryl DeVille almost snorted, and tossed her rough-cut shaggy-pixie hair back. “Pencil skirts and one inch heels are so boring. It was all boring.”

“A mere formality.” He closed the door behind him, and leaned against it with his arms crossed. “So.”

“So.”

The fake smiles they shared with one another, one somewhat friendly and the other somewhat mocking, maintained their shape as the silence overshadowed them.

“You won’t be working with Gotts again, surely.” He pro-offers, ruby eyes watching her laid back shoulders. The relaxed empress almost lazy despite the commanding presence she held. “It was quite tense before.”

“You didn’t think your replacement came to you out of nowhere.” It’d be a trick of a light, to see a smoke ring leaving her pouty lips. “You aren’t stupid Robby.”

“I was suspicious.” He chuckles, “Ms Draketooth seems rather grumpy, much like Ms Pisces is.”

His laugh gradually trailed off, and he let a slow exasperated breath out.

“She working for you?” His eyes are sharp again.

“She owes me a favour.”

“Favours don’t include contracts and managerial duties.”

“Not the favours you do, Robby-boy.” Her mocking-smile curls into a thin smirk.

It took them both all of ten seconds before gut-bursting laughter rang in the room. Deafened by fairly loud music outside on the Night’s Whispers’ floor.

“You won’t be staying long.” A statement, not his question.

“I don’t really ever.” A short huff, a lazy shrug, “I may be back for your wedding. Congrats.”

“I didn’t invite you.”

“I can invite myself.”

Those four words made him grin.

“You know, we could have had a beautiful friendship madam.”

“Ugh.” She threw her arms out to rest on the sides of her chair. “How naïve.”

“Everyone could use more friends.”

“Not in a game for the top, Robin. Not in that game.”

He arches his brow, but swallowed his question as a portal opened up behind his chair. Time is up, he simply assumes.

Though what game will be played…?