S1E1, Pilot: Giovanni tries to have alone time with Ariana. Proton discovers a ukulele.

Team Rocket HQ was much more luxurious than anyone in the greater KohJoh area likely ever would have thought. Nestled away in the Victory Mountains, a stone's throw from the Pokemon League, officially it was simply a derelict ski resort that had been abandoned long before it ever opened. Giovanni's mother had purchased the property on foreclosure for pennies on the dollar, and began renovations to turn it into a League-adjacent challengers' resort. Contracts fell through, and now it was simply maintained as a storage facility for the Sakaki family's numerous other entertainment businesses. Unofficially, it was Giovanni's castle from which his unyielding, insatiable greed would one day overtake the very Earth itself.

For now, it was home. Giovanni Sakaki had grown up within these walls, had loved and lost, and had grown into the confident man, powerful gym leader, and wealthy entertainment mogul the Kanto and Johto regions had come to see as an honorable, generous philanthropist and patron of the sciences and arts alike. Though, perhaps not all held that opinion, anymore. Despite Giovanni's quite clear appearance at an exhibition match in Hoenn at the time, there were some witnesses who tried to tie him to the unfortunate take-over of Silph by the nefarious Team Rocket. The evidence was all completely circumstantial, but enough to raise doubts—his disappearance to attend to his poor health some years ago was seen as suspicious in light of it all. Nevertheless, the Pokemon League found no concrete evidence of any wrongdoing, and after his leave of absence, Giovanni had returned to the Viridian Gym like nothing had ever happened.

That meant, of course, returning to the clusterfuck of the daily grind at Rocket HQ. It was the single-handed reason for his unending headaches and eternally high blood pressure. It would have been one thing if it was only the grunts. He didn't have high expectations for them, or any expectations at all, as a matter of fact. Grunts were replaceable, and any who weren't a net benefit to Team Rocket could easily go missing and no one would bat a single eye. The admins, too, to a certain extent. Giovanni was, overall, glad he didn't have to put up with either very often. That task was left to the four people he did have to put up: his loyal, hardworking executives. Each of them were highly intelligent, extremely skilled individuals with ambition enough to rival Giovanni's own.

Unfortunately—or perhaps, in certain cases, thankfully—each one was a uniquely special brand of idiot. They were not so easily replaced, and were perhaps the closest thing Giovanni had to family, and so, he put up with their oddities and quirks and learned overtime to take amusement, pride, and his medications when they enacted their ridiculous and frankly frustrating antics.

That morning, Giovanni was in his private office, guzzling down coffee faster than it could brew. The massive windows behind him filtered the morning sun neatly onto the expensive hardwood flooring. He'd already greeted Matori and confirmed his week's schedule, most of which was dominated by pre-season teleconferences with the other gym leaders. It was the very beginning of the week, and it began as it always began: he was refreshing his mug for the fifth time when a neat and tidy knock sounded at his door, and Executive Archer entered unbidden.

He came to stand in front of Giovanni's desk, bowing politely to him. He carried his regular thermos in one hand, quality stainless steel emblazoned with the Indigo League's logo from several years prior that he tended to favor, and in the other hand he held a manila folder, thick with paperwork that Giovanni prayed wasn't for him. His usual sling bag was over his shoulder, and Giovanni could only imagine that was filled with more paperwork. He tried not to think about it.

"Good morning, Archer," he greeted. "What blend is it, today?"

"Good morning, Sir," Archer replied. "I'm trying the organic sencha blend you brought from Fuschia. It has some lovely citrus notes."

"Wonderful. You may sit."

He obeyed, settling into the armchair set just across from Giovanni's desk. He moved one arm - Giovanni watched him carefully, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding as Archer merely moved to hold his stack of paperwork neatly on his lap. "I have good news for the morning. The bid on the land parcel in Cinnabar was accepted."

"That's very good news," Giovanni agreed, "how much did you have to add?"

Without the smile ever for a second leaving his face, Archer replied, "Actually, it was reduced. The other potential buyers all had a change of heart at the last minute."

"Convenient."

"Quite."

And wasn't that always the way of it? Roadblocks were easy to remove with the right tools. Archer's pressure was refined, delicate even. There would be no trace left of anything that could have possibly happened. He imagined it was an easy process this time, as well; the land was the desolate ruins of the old Pokemon Mansion, and he doubted the locale would have been worth it to any of his rivals once the flames began to turn up.

"Anything else?" Giovanni pressed, and Archer shook his head.

"No, Sir, that's it," he answered, "ah, but I believe I saw Ariana return a few hours ago. I'm certain she'll have much more than I."

Ariana was back? Giovanni's breath caught for a moment, and he bit his lip. He considered Archer's words for a long moment, drumming his fingers idly on his desk. Ariana hadn't spoken to him in weeks - months, at this point. Since their child's birthday, at least. She'd never forgiven him for what happened - not necessarily their son becoming a veritable runaway (though she was still incredibly pissed about that, and he tried to carefully navigate all of their discussions since then) but moreso the fact that she'd been very insistent on the both of them visiting him and Giovanni told her he would rather dangle himself in front of a starving arcanine than put up with Silver's attitude, these days.

That was probably why they'd been divorced for a while, come to think of it. But even so, Giovanni was, in some ways, a very weak man - and Ariana knew she could twist him around with just the right words... and the right touches, of course. It was an arrangement that worked for the both of them, at any rate.

"Would you mind taking her a message?" Giovanni finally said, and Archer bowed his head.

"As you wish, Sir."

"Tell her I'd like to see her, today. Here. Alone."

Archer looked back up at him, and to Giovanni's annoyance, did not confirm his orders. Instead, he maintained eye contact, and took an awkwardly long sip of his tea.

"I'd rather not do that, actually, Sir."

"And why the hell not?"

"I don't enjoy being used to booty call my sister, Sir."

He took another sip of his tea. Giovanni stared him down. It wasn't much different from staring down a seething rhydon, something Giovanni had plenty of practice in doing. He was stoic. Solid. Like the earth itself, he refused to budge - and he knew Archer, dedicated, loyal servant he was, would bend in the end. Except he didn't. He simply stood and gathered his things.

"Well, this has been a lovely conversation," Archer finally said, "but, ah, it would seem I'm running late for... something else entirely..." He pivoted on his heel and made for the door.

"I know that's actually Redtauros, you fucking dweeb!" Giovanni called after his retreating back. The door clicked shut without another word between them, and Giovanni sulked in his chair, turning to stare out one of his massive windows and into his wonderful view of the mountains. Drumming his fingers more quickly, he reached for the intercom on his desk and held the button. "Matori. I'd like you to send a message to Executive Aria-"

"Pardon me, Sir, but Executive Archer requested I ignore this request."

The security division's break room was a comfortable place. The lights were dim compared to other break rooms in the base, and it boasted three vending machines, two tall bistro tables, and the most comfortable couch and love seat combination in the entire building. Everything was in good shape, but well-used and somewhat worn, a testament to the camaraderie of the individuals who worked within security's jurisdiction. That day, the regulars were hanging around: Jozef Peng sat at one of the bistro tables with Ashley Forhan and Kira Heim, playing cards as they listened to the radio. Ray Carillo was busy fighting with the snack machine, as per usual. Leo Decarli was relaxing on the couch as he browsed a sales catalog from the Celadon Department Store. Everything was calm.

Executive Proton kicked the door in and rushed for the couch.

"What the hell!" Jozef griped without looking up from the cards, "it wasn't locked! Chill the fuck out!" Proton ignored him.

"Decarli!" he said, "Decarli, I need you! It's an emergency!" Decarli shot up to his feet, throwing the catalog to the floor and whirling around, ready to rush off after Proton. The others turned their heads, eyes alight with excitement that quickly turned to confusion as Proton slapped a flat cardboard box on the coffee table.

"What's in the box?" Decarli asked, throwing up his fists as he turned towards it, "fuck, it's another rabid pokemon isn't it, I keep telling you, stop grabbing random ratticate from the grass-"

Proton grabbed the top of the box and threw it aside.

Inside the box was an old, beat-up ukulele. The wood was chipped in places and the varnish faded. It only had two and a half strings, each of which seemed significantly rusted. Decarli slowly lowered his fists.

"Proton," he said, "why did you dig a ukulele out of the dump?"

"That's not important," Proton began, but Carillo cut him off.

"Holy shit, don't touch it," he called across the room, "Decarli, he's trying to assassinate you. You're gonna cut yourself and get tetanus. Actually, wait, touch it, I'll get your job."

"Shut up, Ray!" Decarli leaned low over the ukulele, and every inch of the poor, abused instrument he saw caused him a little more pain than before. His heart went out to it, truly. When he turned back to Proton, it was to see him waiting with wide eyes and bated breath. "So what's the deal?"

"I found it in an old storage room. You used to be a music teacher, right? Can you teach me to play?" He looked so excited, practically vibrating in place in the way he only did when he was busy drafting a new pokeball blueprint. It had been rare for Decarli to catch that look on his face since the Silph fiasco. He was always tired, overworked, and on edge. Even though he was older and mature compared to his early days as an executive, occasionally the stress would take its toll and Proton would lash out in malicious fury. Other admins would do their best to appease him to avoid his wrath, but Decarli had mentored Proton when he was still the squirrely grunt Lance. The guy was like a little brother, and there was no way in hell Decarli could say no to those damned lillipup eyes.

"Ah," he said carefully, "I could, but this is pretty beat up... you... did you get it from the dump...?"

"No, no," Proton said, "I got it at a pawn shop. I know it needs some TLC, but I thought maybe if I tuned it up, you could, y'know, help me? C'mon. I just - ya just gotta show me how to play one song, Decarli, I'm beggin' you-" Decarli waved one hand to settle him down and turned his attention back to the ukulele, eyes searching out the most important areas they'd need to fix. Obviously, it would need new strings...

"I think I've got some things at my bunk that would work," he sighed, "come on. We'll see what we can do." Proton began vibrating in place again, and quickly he slammed the lid back over the box, grabbing Decarli by the wrist to drag him towards the door.

"Bye, Decarli," Kira said, "don't forget, Crypt tonight!"

Decarli didn't get a chance to answer as he was whisked off down the hall

Giovanni was like a man possessed. He hadn't been able to focus on anything since Archer came into his office and dropped the bomb on him, only Ariana. Thinking of her. Imagining her. Imagining them. The love, a whirlwind romance that had wreaked devastation to rival Bonnie and Clyde, had never died out. Not truly. Love, lust, chemistry - they had it all, the two of them. But there had been things in Giovanni's past he'd never let go of, and they were things Ariana couldn't overlook. Old dreams. Old obsessions. It had been her idea to break up. Giovanni was an asshole, but he wasn't entirely unreasonable; he wasn't going to beg or force her to stay. They didn't speak directly to each other for a long while until they were both too cooped up and horny to contain themselves. The pants came off, and stayed off after that... er... figuratively speaking.

Unable to sate the buzzing urges in the back of his head, and frankly fed up with both his senior executive and his personal assistant, he'd taken matters into his own hands and took the trip to Ariana's office, hoping she was feeling awake enough to have clocked in. The light was on when he arrived, and he knocked quietly before slipping inside. She was there, and he caught her smile as she looked up at him. It was quickly replaced by a cold frown, and she lowered her eyes back to her work.

"Giovanni," came the chilly greeting.

"Ariana," he replied, slathering on the charm. He leaned on his palms over her desk, then smiled teasingly. "And how was your trip? I thought you were gone until next week."

"I had to cut it short. You know how my family is. Always asking questions that could get them into trouble." She finished typing a few lines on her keyboard, her immaculate, sharp red nails clicking along with the keys. Slowly, they stilled, and she finally looked at him. Giovanni admired her eyes, irate as they were tender in the way she would only ever look at him. Yes, he thought, today would be a good day.

"And there's none of them I have to deal with, I hope?" he teased, "I almost had your father gifted a wonderful pair of cement shoes the first I met him."

"He warned me away from you, you know. I think he was right." Giovanni leaned further across the desk.

"Am I so dangerous?"

"Dangerously stupid." A pause. "I missed you."

It was most certainly code for her wanting something from him, but the transaction would be fair in Giovanni's books. He leaned further. She leaned to meet him. He could smell the perfume on her neck, some intoxicating brand they only sold in Galar. Yes, Giovanni was a weak, weak man, indeed. Their lips met.

"Executive Ariana, I have the reports you... wanted..."

Quickly, the two pulled away, heads snapping to the door to view Ariana's lieutenant standing awkwardly just inside the room with a bag Giovanni was certain had been stolen from Archer's office. She was a slight woman from Lavender Town, if Giovanni was correct; she wore large-framed glasses and kept her dark hair tucked into a single neat braid. She shuffled anxiously from foot to foot, then lowered her eyes and rushed for the desk, slapping the bag down.

"Mitsuko," Ariana greeted through a tight-lipped smile, "yes, I suppose we have more work to do. Thank you for stopping by, Master Giovanni. I will take your instructions to heart."

Giovanni, scowling, slid his hands into his pockets and eyed Mitsuko grumpily. They could very easily send her out. Giovanni was the boss. Grunts and admins would throw themselves at his feet to gain even a notion of favor from their god. But Ariana made it quite clear by her tone that she expected him to scram, and although he would have put any of his other executives well in their place if they so much as dared to think of speaking to him in such a manner, he could not feasibly tell Ariana 'no.' So, with a nod to the two of them, he took his leave from her office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Petrel was having a pretty good day. Usually, his criteria for a good day involved approximately three things that were absolutely essential: a pack of cigs, a full mug of coffee, and any excuse not to have to deal with grunts in the infirm. Usually, all three were accomplished while he was working in his private lab, but while not entirely rare, this was an uncommon occurrence, and was predicated on the idea that a) the infirm was not understaffed, and b) he had no pressing meetings or surgeries to perform for the day. Today, while meeting all of these criteria, (technically; he'd shoved most of his work off onto his admins) was especially rare in the sense that his Good Day could be had from the comfort of his own dorm in the base. He'd gone out only briefly to steal a bag of coffee grounds from Archer's office, and now, he was back, still barefoot and hanging around in his loose-fitting t-shirt and pajama pants.

He had shoveled a few heaping scoops of coffee into his brewer and was busy fiddling around with Chatter on his pokegear when the worst noise to ever assault his ears floated down the hall from Proton's room:

"OoooOOOOOOoooooOohhhh... aaaaaAAAaayyyyaaaaaAYYYYYY... mountain steps... pouring rain... a cold breeze like...uuhhh, l-like... a..." Plonk. Boink. Snap. "SON OF A BITCH."

Petrel stared in the direction of Proton's room as dread settled into the further pits of his stomach. His eyes slid to the door. His office wasn't far. He could make it if he ran fast enough. He tapped a cigarette out from the smushed carton in his pocket and lit it, taking a long drag to calm himself. He needed to go see what happened. Pouring himself a fresh mug of coffee, he strolled down to nudge Proton's door open, peeking inside. Proton was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a hand tight to one eye. In the other hand he held... wait, was that really...?

"The hell?" Petrel said out loud, and Proton's eyes shot around towards the door. He quickly recovered the one as Petrel cursed quietly to himself and slipped inside.

"P-Petrel!" Proton said, "I, uh, didn't think you were... home today..."

"Let me see," Petrel demanded, motioning to the hand over his eye, and hesitantly, Proton lowered it. He could see a red welt and bruises, and his eye looked a little bloodshot, but quickly he determined there was no cause for alarm, and he went to sit himself in Proton's chair instead. "Stop being such a little bitch, you'll live." He motioned to the ukulele with a clearly broken string gripped in Proton's hand. "The hell is that for? Is that why it sounded like there was a dying meowth in here?"

"It's, uh, a ukulele," Proton said, "Decarli's teaching me to... to play it... and... yeah." His face was bright red. He must have been embarrassed about hurting himself, Petrel assumed. He ought to have been more embarrassed about his singing. It was dreadful.

"So you find a ukulele and your first step is to play a 90's rock ballad?" he asked pointedly, and Proton lowered his head.

"I... just thought. You know. I heard you playing that song once, and..."

"And you thought you could just do it? Wow." Petrel took another drag of his cigarette. "Have you ever played an instrument before in your life?"

"I played the recorder in school...?"

"Hot cross buns doesn't count."

Proton idly plucked the remaining strings of the ukulele. Petrel absolutely hated the sound. It was too... cheerful. And it reminded him of the time he was forced to go to luau in Alola the company his brother worked for was hosting. Sand... so much sand. His nose scrunched. Finally, Proton looked up at him, his brow raised.

"Do you really think it sounds bad?" he mumbled.

"Oh, godawful," Petrel answered without missing a beat, "I thought about stabbing myself in the eardrum to make it stop, but we're going to see that movie tomorrow, so... you know. That would put a wrench in things."

Proton thought a moment longer, then took his ukulele and headed for the door, so red now he could have passed for a magby. He didn't say anything as he left, probably because he knew Petrel was right. Score another for him. Shrugging, and now in blissful silence, Petrel took his cigarette and his coffee and returned to his desk in the den to get on with his work.

Ariana paced the Executive lounge, filled with anxious energy that gave rise to so many butterfree in her stomach that she may as well have risen into the air and fluttered away, herself. It was a dangerous game to play, even for her. She needed more funding for the construction of the new hot spring bath house in Cinnabar, and she needed it ASAP. Giovanni was notoriously cheap; he wanted to cut costs anywhere they could, but Ariana knew there was no substitute for quality, and especially no substitute for luxury. Not at the new location. She especially didn't need any trouble with the building inspectors. A few of the bath houses in the past were held up from opening until Giovanni had paid to have them brought up to code, costing them more time and cash in the long run. But he was still a stubborn man and used to getting his way, so he still demanded they cut corners to give it to him. There were many ways to attempt to convince him otherwise, but Ariana had one fool-proof method of her own, and it had everything to do with just how much Giovanni thought with his cock.

Also, she wanted him to come on the picnic she'd somehow, by the grace of Arceus, convinced Silver to join her on. Was some good, quality family time too much to ask?

So it was her turn to wait for her ex-husband, and this was the place to do it. The Executive lounge was the private break room for the four of them in the middle of Giovanni's private wing. Much like the rest of the area, it was gorgeous, with hardwood floors, expensive furniture, a projector, and a fully stocked snack and drink bar. The karaoke machine, unfortunately, had been out of service for a few months. She would get him to replace that with their next encounter. But for now, she waited, knowing full well this was the break room Giovanni and Archer often met in the afternoons to discuss League statistics and trade off paperwork. She had taken special care to make sure her brother was well out of the way, this time, and she had taken all of his paperwork into her tender, loving care.

She heard the door click.

"Giovanni!" she began, smiling, but quickly a frown overtook her face as she turned to find Matori entering with a stack of papers in her hands.

"Ariana," Matori greeted, "what a surprise to see you, here. I was told to expect Archer."

Normally, Ariana was happy to shoot the shit with Matori. They were two peas in a pod, outside of work hours, going on hiking trips, camping, assaulting children to steal their rare(ish) pokemon... sometimes just hitting the town to shop or grab a bite. It had been a while, too, since their last outing or even their last non-work related conversation, seeing as Ariana had gone home to Galar for a few weeks. But right now... Right now, Matori was definitely not who she wanted to see. She did her best not to let on.

"I was told to expect Master Giovanni," she replied, smile returning, "what would those two do without us, Matori? They're practically helpless."

"I wouldn't say that," Matori chuckled, "well, you're right, but I still wouldn't say it. Did you want to go rock climbing this weekend?"

"I'd love to, but I'm supposed to be taking my son out on a picnic. Rain check?"

They chatted for a minute more, but Matori was always on a tight schedule, and so they swapped stacks and left each other to it. Ariana scowled on her long walk back to her office. She'd wanted to see Giovanni, and it was hard for her to admit that now, it wasn't even especially for business. She... really did miss him. She shivered delightedly as she remembered the way he'd been looking at her that morning. It was alright. He'd show up again. He wanted this just as badly.

Sighing to herself, she flipped the folder open to begin nosing through the documents, but stopped short as her eyes landed on a yellow post-it note hastily scribbled and left... just for her. It was in Giovanni's handwriting. She snatched it up and hastily read it over.

Roof. Midnight. Champagne? Don't keep me waiting.

Feeling like a school girl, Ariana couldn't help the giddiness that came over her, and with a bounce in her step, she went to while the time away in her office.

"No, I'm telling you, someone broke into my office." Archer sat across from Heim in security's break room, looking absolutely livid. His arms were folded across his chest, one leg crossed neatly over the other, and at his feet sat his houndoom, watching Heim with its big, dangerous eyes. She swallowed and turned her laptop for Archer to see.

"Well, sir," she said carefully, "when I check the logs for your door's card reader, only your ID has been swiped... so, uh, like I said before, no one's been able to get inside, those are... new..." She trailed off as the houndoom let out a small, low growl, and Archer reached casually to pat the beast on the head.

"Being a security agent," Archer said, "I expected much more of you. I know you're stuck inside all day, but surely you understand the concept of 'breaking in?' And that one doesn't necessarily need the correct key to do so?"

"Well, so, without the proper camera feed-" He leaned forward in his seat. Heim was sweating.

"So get the feed," he ordered, "someone's broken into my office and stolen my mugs. I want to have a chat with whoever was stupid enough to steal from an exec-"

The two paused as Jozef Peng stalked passed them, hunched in on himself in the way he only ever got when he was barking up a new conspiracy tree. He knelt at one of the cabinets in the back, shimmied his way inside, and then backed out and popped up, turning a shotgun over in his hands.

"Peng," Heim called, desperate for back-up, "what are you doing?"

"Bathroom's haunted," came his simple reply. Archer and Heim exchanged looks.

"What?" Peng ignored them for a moment, then climbed on top of one of the counters to shuffle through a cupboard. He pulled out a box of shells and loaded a few into the shotgun, then pumped the action.

"Bathroom's haunted," he repeated on his way out the door. They watched it swing shut behind him, and slowly, Archer and Heim turned back towards each other.

"Ah, so, I should...," Heim started, and Archer nodded.

"I should come with you," he said, "and afterwards you can pull the camera feeds for me." Defeated, Heim slumped over and followed Archer out of the break room and down the hall. They could see Peng up ahead of them, marching his way with his shotgun held resolutely in his hands. Heim and Archer broke into a job to catch up to him, coming close in on his heels as he kicked the bathroom door in and charged.

"Peng, wait!" Heim shouted. He ignored her, and she heard him kick in one of the stall doors-accompanied by a startled scream. Heim and Archer broke into a run.

They rounded the doorway in time to see Peng laying splayed out on his stomach, with Proton standing over his prone form with his ukulele clutched tightly in his hands, curb stomping him. The shotgun was laying a few feet away, under one of the sinks. Heim lunged to grab it and empty the chambers. Archer watched the spectacle with a heavy frown.

"Proton!" he shouted over Proton's aerodactyl screeches, "Proton, what the hell is going on?!" Proton gave Peng one final, heavy stomp, and whirled around, his eyes wide.

"Archer!" he replied, "this fucker tried to shoot me, holy shit, one second I was practicing my ukulele, the next there was a fucking shotgun in my face-!"

"Shut up!" Archer snapped, "shut up, hold on! What does this have to do with the bathroom being haunted?!"

"Th-the voice...," Peng groaned in pain, "I heard the voice..."

"Idiot was shouting something about ghosts when he kicked in the stall," Proton grumbled, "I wasn't singing that bad, was I?" Archer looked from Peng, to Proton, and finally, to Proton's ukulele. Yes, he could believe that. Archer remembered the first time he and the other executives included Proton in their monthly karaoke sessions in the executive lounge. There was a reason they had never invited him again, after that.

"You," Archer finally said to Heim, "take your friend to the infirm. Proton, perhaps you should find somewhere... safer... to practice."

"Yeah, don't I fuckin' know it." Proton followed Heim and Peng out, and once they were all gone, Archer let out a heavy sigh and turned to peer at himself in the mirror. He looked tired, he thought. Needed a nap. But there was too much work to be done-and enough energy drinks in his office's mini-fridge to keep him going for a few days, yet. He confiscated the shotgun and began the long trek back.

Giovanni straightened his collar as the elevator shook and rumbled. He was, as usual, dressed to the nines: an expensive suit, his Rolex, his freshly shined patent oxfords, his Dior Sauvage, his hair slicked back neatly like he used to when they were dating. In one hand he held a chilled bottle of champagne, and in the other, two crystal champagne flutes. He was rocking eagerly on the balls of his feet, watching the floor numbers scroll by as his mind raced ahead of him to the roof. The elevator, of course, didn't go all the way up, and soon enough he was taking access stairs two at a time until he came to the final door to the roof. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he pushed on through and into the chilly night air.

Rocket HQ was certainly laid in a beautiful location, and although Giovanni spent most of his time admiring the mountains, he had to admit that there was no single location in the KohJoh area that could hold a candle to its night skies. Nearly unimaginable numbers of stars were strewn overhead like a great blanket, dancing and twinkling in the bright blue galaxy smeared out behind them like clouds. This view, and this alone, was the reason for one of Giovanni's stricter rules for the Rocket HQ: most lights were to be out by ten. He usually fed his underlings some bullshit about discipline, but really, he just enjoyed stargazing. It was the perfect view, he thought, for a romantic encounter.

Ariana was waiting for him. She was dressed in a fine cocktail dress of her own, short enough for him to have an excellent view, long enough to leave a little to the imagination. She also had apparently dragged some of the reclining pool chairs all the way from ground floor, and currently she was laid casually across one, her arm resting on its top as she watched the stars, too. He paused on his way to regard her form, his eyes lingering on her gorgeous thighs, but she heard him coming, and looked over with a teasing smile.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" she pestered him, "or are we going to drink?" Giovanni grinned.

"Let me pour you a glass, my lady," he replied gallantly, and he went to the edge of the roof, peering down to the darkened grounds. After a minute, he beckoned her over and handed her the flutes. "Do you see those sentries over there?"

Ariana squinted and followed his gaze down to a darkened silhouette of two grunts patrolling the grounds. "I see them," she confirmed, and smiled as Giovanni's grin broadened.

"Watch this."

He stripped the foil from the bottle's neck, then carefully, he aimed. Three... two... one... He squeezed the cork until it POP!ed and rocketed off, arcing through the air until it disappeared from their sights. A few seconds later, the muffled swearing of the grunts floated up to meet them as one fell over from the brief impact, and Giovanni let out a charming laugh that Ariana joined.

"You're terrible," she chuckled as he poured her glass.

"A criminal, even," he replied smoothly, "I think you're sleeping with an outlaw, tonight."

"Oh, whatever shall I do?"

They toasted each other and sipped at their drinks. Ariana leaned on him; Giovanni wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Soon enough they refilled their glasses. Somewhere in the middle of it all, they ended up back on the pool chairs, nestled close together, sharing brief kisses as they continued to drink. Kisses gave way to touches, the light brush of his fingers along her thighs, the tangling of her hands in his hair. Their kisses became hot and heavy, breathing against each other as they moved closer and closer.

"cAAAAaaaaaAAaannnn you fEEEEEEEEEEEelllll... the LOOOOVVEEEEEE toniiiiighhhtttt..."

Giovanni tried to ignore the horrible sound, but Ariana quickly pushed away, her face falling into a scowl.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped.

"It's probably nothing," Giovanni answered. "Ariana, come..." He reached for her waist to pull her back, but Ariana was already shoving herself to her feet and marching off towards the far end of the roof. Giovanni huffed and checked his watch. It was nearly two-thirty. He wasn't a young man, anymore. He needed sleep.

"Ari... Ari... Ari, no! ARI!"

"Give me that stupid thing, you little rattata!"

Giovanni boredly watched as Proton zoomed past him, ukulele clutched tightly between his hands. Ariana chased after him.

"I WAS TRYING TO HELP SET THE MOOD!"

"I'M GOING TO THROW YOU OFF THIS ROOF, YOU FUCKING PERVERT!"

"I'm going to bed," Giovanni said as he stood. He took his suit jacket from the ground and threw it over his shoulder, shuffling tiredly back towards the access stairs. He only paused when Ariana grabbed Proton by the back of his uniform and threw him against the wall, and he watched as Proton threw his ukulele up in front of his face as Ariana threw a heavy-handed punch at him. The ukulele's neck snapped.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT I JUST HAD IT FIXED!"

"WHY THE FUCK WERE YOU WATCHING US?"

Giovanni stepped through the door and quietly locked it behind him.

Certainly he would still have at least three Executives in the morning.