queen of hearts [1/?]
the rise of the black tulip. [domino, giovanni, silver, tyson, wendy, buson, OC]
pokemon; crime/drama; rated r (eventual violence & mature themes); 2700 words this chapter
She doesn’t remember how she got here, to this place all sunken with grime and strewn with refuse. Her mind is a blur of disjointed images and noise - Momma’s face, lipstick smudged and hair askew, fear in her eyes as she tells her to run. A hulking man sneering down at her maliciously, skin patterned with dark ink (like a map of past crimes). Running, slipping, careening down the rusty fire escape, vision blurring and throat tightening from the tears.
A scream, a gunshot, and silence.
She buries her face in her arms, twisting her tattered nightgown between her fingers. She may be young, but even she knows the truth: nothing will be the same now. The only thing that remains from her life with Momma is the hunger stabbing at her insides. That and the stuffed Skitty with the torn ear are all she has left, and even that lies forgotten by her side. (If only she could forget the hunger so easily.)
She sniffles and hugs herself closer, but peeks warily through her lank blonde curls when she hears footsteps approaching. A man’s shoes appear in her line of vision, black and polished to an unearthly shine, and her pulse begins to thrum with fear. Have they found her? Will they hurt her, like they did to Momma? Or will they take her away? Her breath begins to falter, and she tries to make herself invisible amidst the dank shadows. But no harsh voice ever comes. No one grabs her and tries to drag her away. The shiny shoes have clicked to a stop in front of her, and she cranes her neck to see who this quiet man might be.
He is beautiful, she thinks, but also sad. His dark eyes seem far too empty, and he looks pinched and thin in his immaculate suit. Pale like a specter in the night. He bends down to her eye level and she can see scars along the back of his hands; wishes subconsciously to trace them.
“What’s your name?” he asks. She decides she likes his voice - low but not rough, serious but not austere. Like smooth black water trickling through her ears.
“I don’t know,” she replies, semi-truthfully. Momma gave her a name once but never bothered to use it.
“How old are you?”
She frowns; holds up a hand to count on her fingers. Says: “Five, I think.”
“Why are you alone in this place? Where are your parents?”
“Umm… Momma did something bad, so the men came to visit her. She told me to run away, so I did.”
He raises an eyebrow, but otherwise looks unperturbed. “I see… Did they hurt her?”
She ponders this for a moment, then nods. “Probably.”
“You seem unconcerned. Aren’t you worried about your mother?”
She looks at him, stares deep into his eyes, and the silence drags on for what feels like eternity. “I didn’t like Momma very much,” she says finally. “She gave me food sometimes, and I stayed in her house. Now she’s gone, and I’m hungry.”
For a moment, she sees his lips curl into a small, sad smile. “Well,” he murmurs. “It seems we’re alike on more than one account. I happen to be hungry too - I’ve had an eventful day. Would you care to join me for a late dinner?”
He stands and extends a hand to her. When he pulls her up, though, her legs buckle beneath her, and she sinks to her knees in a puddle of grit and stagnant water.
“I can’t walk,” she says, blinking up at him, and he lifts her into his arms easily. She rests her head against his shoulder as they walk; settles into the steady rhythm of his steps and his breathing. It’s the safest she’s felt in her entire life, and she wonders who this man is, to have such an aura of absolute control.
“What’s your name, Mister?” she mumbles into his collar.
“… Giovanni,” he replies. Neon light illuminates the angles of his face in brilliant shades of pink and yellow. “But you can just call me Boss.”
--
--
They take turns peering through the keyhole, and she signals him to stay quiet. Their mark is not yet aware of their presence, and if they alert her their deep cover is blown. It’s taken months to infiltrate the enemy headquarters, slowly gaining the trust of the higher-ups and the lower-caste workers alike. Just a little bit longer, and the secret blueprints will be theirs for the taking…
“What are you two doing?”
Silver lets out a yelp of surprise and stumbles into Domino, who falls to the floor in an unceremonious heap. A moment later and she’s on her feet again, purple eyes blazing furiously.
“Tyson!” she exclaims, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You always do this! Every time we’re on an important mission, you always show up at the worst possible time and ruin everything!”
The brown-haired teenager smiles apologetically over the large stack of files in his arms. “Sorry, Domino,” he says. “But I’m supposed to deliver these to Wendy. You know how it is. Can you open the door for me?”
Grumbling, the girl complies. Inside, the office is dimly lit, and an old, static-riddled pop song plays from the speakers of a portable radio. Wendy glances up and scowls when she sees the three of them standing in the doorway.
“Oh joy,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Just what I was hoping for - two obnoxious brats and a shitload of paperwork.”
“Sorry, Wendy,” Tyson mumbles as he hefts the boxes on to her desk.
“And stop apologizing! Team Rocket agent, my ass…”
“Sorr… I mean, uh…”
Wendy’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Tyson, I have a migraine. And you know what that means. The last thing I need is your insipid stuttering causing me any more distress. Get out of my office. Right. Now.”
Tyson hurries to shepherd Silver and Domino out the door, wincing as several heavy books and a paperweight smash against the wall where they were just standing.
“Wow, what a bitch,” Domino huffs, crossing her arms and lifting her chin haughtily. “We didn’t even do anything. Not today, at least.”
Tyson looks affronted, and claps his hands over a wide-eyed Silver’s ears (too late, but it’s the thought that counts). “Domino!” he exclaims. “Kids shouldn’t say stuff like that! Who… who taught you that word?”
“Hmph. Not telling!”
Tyson frowns and shakes his head, then turns to walk away. “I’ll bet it was Buson,” he mutters.
“Domino…” Silver tugs on her sleeve, dark eyes downcast. “Domino, what about the secret files? What about the mission?”
The girl scowls; tugs her arm away from his grasp. “Forget about the mission, Silver. It was just a dumb game anyway. Now come on, let’s go report in to the Boss.”
“Ah, but… But Father is in an important meeting right now!” Silver looks agitated beneath the shock of red hair that falls over his face. “He said he didn’t want to be disturbed!”
Domino rolls her eyes and turns away. “Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes,” she calls over her shoulder. “You have to break a few rules if you ever want to be a top agent, okay? Now are you coming or not?”
The boy hesitates, then hangs his head in defeat and follows her. It seems he’s always a few steps behind.
--
Domino is a living legend in the barracks of Team Rocket HQ - a venerable myth, spoken about in hushed tones whenever a newbie joins up. They’ll be skeptical at first, of course, these new recruits. A beautiful little girl, no older than eight or nine, with golden blonde ringlets and an angelic smile, whose cunning deviousness knows no bounds. In retrospect, it sounds like mere fiction.
But once they finally meet her, the mysteries only continue. “Where did she come from?” they whisper. “Why is she here?” Some say she’s the Boss’s daughter (certainly acts more like it than the quiet red-haired kid, at least). Some say she’s the kidnapped child of a rich politician, kept solely for her usefulness and ruthless nature. Some say she’s an assassin, trained from infancy to eliminate any possible threat.
And Domino? Well, she’s not too sure herself. The past is all a blur to her, memories curling and blackened around the edges like burnt photographs. She’s tried asking Giovanni before, but all he does is look away, dark eyes locking the truth deep inside.
“Hey Domino,” Buson says, grinning at her from across the table. “Tell the story about how you got your name.”
She and Silver are sitting in the mess hall, having been momentarily distracted from the task at hand by the sound of raucous laughter. When she hears it she always knows that Buson is back (and she can never resist stopping to chat with him). Something about him is infectious, be it the crooked smile or the creative curse words he spouts or the way he listens to her like she’s an adult instead of a child.
“How I got my name?” Domino raises an eyebrow and lowers her voice all secretive-like, and the new recruits lean in to hear her better. “Well, I’ll tell you… See, I was only four years old when I first robbed a man blind. And since that day I’ve been on the run from the law, hiding out underground and stealing to stay alive. One day at age six I wandered by mistake into an underground casino, where they played nothin’ but dominoes, all day long…”
This story is one of her favorites to tell. It always captures the audience’s attention. (It’s a harsh life she’s created for herself, but she wishes it were true. In reality, she can’t remember anything before the windowless walls of the Rocket HQ.)
When the story’s finished, the newbies share furtive glances, and she can read the questions in their eyes. Is it true? Did she really beat Lorenzo ‘The Sharpedo’ Castiglione at a game of Russian Roulette Dominoes? And all at six years old?
They’ll never know for sure, and that’s just the way she likes it.
“That’s a class act right there, Domino,” Buson says, as they walk together through the halls. Silver is still trailing behind like a lost Growlithe. “Never fails to sucker ‘em. You’ll make a hella good con artist someday.”
“You think so?” Domino murmurs. Her purple eyes are wide and starry as she tries to imagine the life of crime that awaits her.
“Sure thing, kiddo. You’ve already got them in the palm of your hand. Try getting some cash out of ‘em next time, and you’ll be on your way to greatness.”
This idea so enthralls her that she almost doesn’t notice Buson attempting to slip away, sidling down the opposite hallway inconspicuously.
“Wait, Buson!” she shouts. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a mission, kiddo,” he calls over his shoulder. “Some rich bitch’s Pokemon to steal, you know the drill. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
And with a parting wave he’s gone, vanished around the corner.
Domino pouts as Silver struggles to her side, breathing heavily. Buson never stays for long. He comes back to headquarters for a meal and a few quick words of “wisdom”, and then he’s gone again, off on another assignment straight from the top brass. Domino knows it’s the sign of a great agent, to always be out in the field. Particularly an agent so young (Buson’s only nineteen, though he looks years older). She just wishes he was around more. Out of all the eccentrics in this place, Buson is by far her favorite.
“Domino,” Silver whimpers, still out of breath after running to catch up. “Domino, I tripped and fell and my hand is bleeding!”
“Shut up, Silver,” the girl snaps. “You’re the Boss’s kid. So you better start acting like it.”
--
Giovanni’s face is unreadable as Domino pulls the double doors open and launches herself inside. As she catches him in a tight embrace, enjoying the looks of shock on the faces of his bigwig business partners, a quiet sigh is the only sign of annoyance he gives.
“Domino, what are you doing here?” he asks, extricating himself from her arms. “I told you specifically that I had vital work to take care of today.” Anyone else would hear a threat thinly veiled beneath his words, but Domino knows he would never hurt her. She’s his best agent after all, constantly on alert for signs of unrest among the ranks. The Boss’s little spy.
“I thought you might want to know what I overheard in the mess hall,” she says, with a sickly sweet smile. “It’s probably way more exciting than what these old windbags are spouting anyway.”
“Wh-what!?”
“Well I never!”
“What a rude child! She can’t possibly be yours, can she, Giovanni?”
For a moment she sees a flicker of amusement in his eyes, of laughter buried beneath years of practiced apathy. “We’ll talk later, Domino,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “I thank you for being so vigilant, but now is really not the time. Oh, and send Silver in, will you? I know he’s listening out there.”
She considers disobeying him for a moment, but then she scowls and turns sharply on her heel; stalks out of the room with her head held high. Outside, she glares daggers at Silver before shoving him through the door unceremoniously.
The last thing she sees before hurrying away is Giovanni lifting his son into his lap and motioning for his guests to continue.
--
“It’s not fair!” she shouts, stamping her feet like a whiny toddler. “Silver’s the wimpiest wimp that ever existed! I should be the one sitting in that meeting, not him!”
Gabi shakes her head, smiles as she presses her hands into the soft earth. “Oh Domino,” she sighs. “Maybe if you hadn’t insulted the men there, Giovanni would have let you stay.”
“Yeah right,” the girl huffs. “He just doesn’t care about me! All he cares about is goddamn Silver! Silver this, Silver that, all the time. It’s stupid. What’s so great about him anyway? He can’t do half the things I can do! He’s not the one who’s gonna be the best con artist ever.”
“Not many children are like you, Domino,” Gabi says. She brushes a strand of dark hair from her eyes, leaving a smudge of dirt on her forehead. “Silver is still young. He’s only five. And he’s the Boss’s son, you know. Sometimes Giovanni has to put his family first.”
Domino kicks at a stray pebble, scuffing her shoe in the dirt. “I’m his family too,” she mutters. “He told me so himself!”
(This is untrue. Her mind tends to fill in the silences with things left unsaid.)
Gabi gets to her feet and takes off her gloves, then puts a comforting arm around Domino’s shoulder.
“Oh honey,” she says. “Giovanni loves Silver. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you as well. It’s hard for an important man like him to show affection the way the rest of us do, but believe me when I say that he loves you very much. You play a vital role in Team Rocket, sweetheart.”
Domino nods sullenly.
(But I don’t want to be loved for the role I play, says a strange voice in the back of her mind. I want to be loved for real. I want a father, not a boss. I want a mother, not babysitter. I want a home and a family and everything I’ve never, ever had - )
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing to a bare patch of earth, recently watered. Gabi’s eyes light up with excitement.
“It’s a new type of tulip,” she exclaims. “A hybrid, from some faraway place. I had to beg the higher ups to let me plant them here, and yesterday they finally caved!”
“What color are they?”
“Hmm? Oh, they’re black,” Gabi says. “Black tulips. Very rare, and very lovely.”
Domino stares down at the patch of dark soil and wonders when these black tulips will bloom.
She hopes it will be soon, because she’s already waited long enough.
pokemon; crime/drama; rated r (eventual violence & mature themes); 2700 words this chapter
She doesn’t remember how she got here, to this place all sunken with grime and strewn with refuse. Her mind is a blur of disjointed images and noise - Momma’s face, lipstick smudged and hair askew, fear in her eyes as she tells her to run. A hulking man sneering down at her maliciously, skin patterned with dark ink (like a map of past crimes). Running, slipping, careening down the rusty fire escape, vision blurring and throat tightening from the tears.
A scream, a gunshot, and silence.
She buries her face in her arms, twisting her tattered nightgown between her fingers. She may be young, but even she knows the truth: nothing will be the same now. The only thing that remains from her life with Momma is the hunger stabbing at her insides. That and the stuffed Skitty with the torn ear are all she has left, and even that lies forgotten by her side. (If only she could forget the hunger so easily.)
She sniffles and hugs herself closer, but peeks warily through her lank blonde curls when she hears footsteps approaching. A man’s shoes appear in her line of vision, black and polished to an unearthly shine, and her pulse begins to thrum with fear. Have they found her? Will they hurt her, like they did to Momma? Or will they take her away? Her breath begins to falter, and she tries to make herself invisible amidst the dank shadows. But no harsh voice ever comes. No one grabs her and tries to drag her away. The shiny shoes have clicked to a stop in front of her, and she cranes her neck to see who this quiet man might be.
He is beautiful, she thinks, but also sad. His dark eyes seem far too empty, and he looks pinched and thin in his immaculate suit. Pale like a specter in the night. He bends down to her eye level and she can see scars along the back of his hands; wishes subconsciously to trace them.
“What’s your name?” he asks. She decides she likes his voice - low but not rough, serious but not austere. Like smooth black water trickling through her ears.
“I don’t know,” she replies, semi-truthfully. Momma gave her a name once but never bothered to use it.
“How old are you?”
She frowns; holds up a hand to count on her fingers. Says: “Five, I think.”
“Why are you alone in this place? Where are your parents?”
“Umm… Momma did something bad, so the men came to visit her. She told me to run away, so I did.”
He raises an eyebrow, but otherwise looks unperturbed. “I see… Did they hurt her?”
She ponders this for a moment, then nods. “Probably.”
“You seem unconcerned. Aren’t you worried about your mother?”
She looks at him, stares deep into his eyes, and the silence drags on for what feels like eternity. “I didn’t like Momma very much,” she says finally. “She gave me food sometimes, and I stayed in her house. Now she’s gone, and I’m hungry.”
For a moment, she sees his lips curl into a small, sad smile. “Well,” he murmurs. “It seems we’re alike on more than one account. I happen to be hungry too - I’ve had an eventful day. Would you care to join me for a late dinner?”
He stands and extends a hand to her. When he pulls her up, though, her legs buckle beneath her, and she sinks to her knees in a puddle of grit and stagnant water.
“I can’t walk,” she says, blinking up at him, and he lifts her into his arms easily. She rests her head against his shoulder as they walk; settles into the steady rhythm of his steps and his breathing. It’s the safest she’s felt in her entire life, and she wonders who this man is, to have such an aura of absolute control.
“What’s your name, Mister?” she mumbles into his collar.
“… Giovanni,” he replies. Neon light illuminates the angles of his face in brilliant shades of pink and yellow. “But you can just call me Boss.”
--
--
They take turns peering through the keyhole, and she signals him to stay quiet. Their mark is not yet aware of their presence, and if they alert her their deep cover is blown. It’s taken months to infiltrate the enemy headquarters, slowly gaining the trust of the higher-ups and the lower-caste workers alike. Just a little bit longer, and the secret blueprints will be theirs for the taking…
“What are you two doing?”
Silver lets out a yelp of surprise and stumbles into Domino, who falls to the floor in an unceremonious heap. A moment later and she’s on her feet again, purple eyes blazing furiously.
“Tyson!” she exclaims, jabbing a finger in his direction. “You always do this! Every time we’re on an important mission, you always show up at the worst possible time and ruin everything!”
The brown-haired teenager smiles apologetically over the large stack of files in his arms. “Sorry, Domino,” he says. “But I’m supposed to deliver these to Wendy. You know how it is. Can you open the door for me?”
Grumbling, the girl complies. Inside, the office is dimly lit, and an old, static-riddled pop song plays from the speakers of a portable radio. Wendy glances up and scowls when she sees the three of them standing in the doorway.
“Oh joy,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “Just what I was hoping for - two obnoxious brats and a shitload of paperwork.”
“Sorry, Wendy,” Tyson mumbles as he hefts the boxes on to her desk.
“And stop apologizing! Team Rocket agent, my ass…”
“Sorr… I mean, uh…”
Wendy’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Tyson, I have a migraine. And you know what that means. The last thing I need is your insipid stuttering causing me any more distress. Get out of my office. Right. Now.”
Tyson hurries to shepherd Silver and Domino out the door, wincing as several heavy books and a paperweight smash against the wall where they were just standing.
“Wow, what a bitch,” Domino huffs, crossing her arms and lifting her chin haughtily. “We didn’t even do anything. Not today, at least.”
Tyson looks affronted, and claps his hands over a wide-eyed Silver’s ears (too late, but it’s the thought that counts). “Domino!” he exclaims. “Kids shouldn’t say stuff like that! Who… who taught you that word?”
“Hmph. Not telling!”
Tyson frowns and shakes his head, then turns to walk away. “I’ll bet it was Buson,” he mutters.
“Domino…” Silver tugs on her sleeve, dark eyes downcast. “Domino, what about the secret files? What about the mission?”
The girl scowls; tugs her arm away from his grasp. “Forget about the mission, Silver. It was just a dumb game anyway. Now come on, let’s go report in to the Boss.”
“Ah, but… But Father is in an important meeting right now!” Silver looks agitated beneath the shock of red hair that falls over his face. “He said he didn’t want to be disturbed!”
Domino rolls her eyes and turns away. “Don’t be such a goody-two-shoes,” she calls over her shoulder. “You have to break a few rules if you ever want to be a top agent, okay? Now are you coming or not?”
The boy hesitates, then hangs his head in defeat and follows her. It seems he’s always a few steps behind.
--
Domino is a living legend in the barracks of Team Rocket HQ - a venerable myth, spoken about in hushed tones whenever a newbie joins up. They’ll be skeptical at first, of course, these new recruits. A beautiful little girl, no older than eight or nine, with golden blonde ringlets and an angelic smile, whose cunning deviousness knows no bounds. In retrospect, it sounds like mere fiction.
But once they finally meet her, the mysteries only continue. “Where did she come from?” they whisper. “Why is she here?” Some say she’s the Boss’s daughter (certainly acts more like it than the quiet red-haired kid, at least). Some say she’s the kidnapped child of a rich politician, kept solely for her usefulness and ruthless nature. Some say she’s an assassin, trained from infancy to eliminate any possible threat.
And Domino? Well, she’s not too sure herself. The past is all a blur to her, memories curling and blackened around the edges like burnt photographs. She’s tried asking Giovanni before, but all he does is look away, dark eyes locking the truth deep inside.
“Hey Domino,” Buson says, grinning at her from across the table. “Tell the story about how you got your name.”
She and Silver are sitting in the mess hall, having been momentarily distracted from the task at hand by the sound of raucous laughter. When she hears it she always knows that Buson is back (and she can never resist stopping to chat with him). Something about him is infectious, be it the crooked smile or the creative curse words he spouts or the way he listens to her like she’s an adult instead of a child.
“How I got my name?” Domino raises an eyebrow and lowers her voice all secretive-like, and the new recruits lean in to hear her better. “Well, I’ll tell you… See, I was only four years old when I first robbed a man blind. And since that day I’ve been on the run from the law, hiding out underground and stealing to stay alive. One day at age six I wandered by mistake into an underground casino, where they played nothin’ but dominoes, all day long…”
This story is one of her favorites to tell. It always captures the audience’s attention. (It’s a harsh life she’s created for herself, but she wishes it were true. In reality, she can’t remember anything before the windowless walls of the Rocket HQ.)
When the story’s finished, the newbies share furtive glances, and she can read the questions in their eyes. Is it true? Did she really beat Lorenzo ‘The Sharpedo’ Castiglione at a game of Russian Roulette Dominoes? And all at six years old?
They’ll never know for sure, and that’s just the way she likes it.
“That’s a class act right there, Domino,” Buson says, as they walk together through the halls. Silver is still trailing behind like a lost Growlithe. “Never fails to sucker ‘em. You’ll make a hella good con artist someday.”
“You think so?” Domino murmurs. Her purple eyes are wide and starry as she tries to imagine the life of crime that awaits her.
“Sure thing, kiddo. You’ve already got them in the palm of your hand. Try getting some cash out of ‘em next time, and you’ll be on your way to greatness.”
This idea so enthralls her that she almost doesn’t notice Buson attempting to slip away, sidling down the opposite hallway inconspicuously.
“Wait, Buson!” she shouts. “Where are you going?”
“I’ve got a mission, kiddo,” he calls over his shoulder. “Some rich bitch’s Pokemon to steal, you know the drill. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
And with a parting wave he’s gone, vanished around the corner.
Domino pouts as Silver struggles to her side, breathing heavily. Buson never stays for long. He comes back to headquarters for a meal and a few quick words of “wisdom”, and then he’s gone again, off on another assignment straight from the top brass. Domino knows it’s the sign of a great agent, to always be out in the field. Particularly an agent so young (Buson’s only nineteen, though he looks years older). She just wishes he was around more. Out of all the eccentrics in this place, Buson is by far her favorite.
“Domino,” Silver whimpers, still out of breath after running to catch up. “Domino, I tripped and fell and my hand is bleeding!”
“Shut up, Silver,” the girl snaps. “You’re the Boss’s kid. So you better start acting like it.”
--
Giovanni’s face is unreadable as Domino pulls the double doors open and launches herself inside. As she catches him in a tight embrace, enjoying the looks of shock on the faces of his bigwig business partners, a quiet sigh is the only sign of annoyance he gives.
“Domino, what are you doing here?” he asks, extricating himself from her arms. “I told you specifically that I had vital work to take care of today.” Anyone else would hear a threat thinly veiled beneath his words, but Domino knows he would never hurt her. She’s his best agent after all, constantly on alert for signs of unrest among the ranks. The Boss’s little spy.
“I thought you might want to know what I overheard in the mess hall,” she says, with a sickly sweet smile. “It’s probably way more exciting than what these old windbags are spouting anyway.”
“Wh-what!?”
“Well I never!”
“What a rude child! She can’t possibly be yours, can she, Giovanni?”
For a moment she sees a flicker of amusement in his eyes, of laughter buried beneath years of practiced apathy. “We’ll talk later, Domino,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “I thank you for being so vigilant, but now is really not the time. Oh, and send Silver in, will you? I know he’s listening out there.”
She considers disobeying him for a moment, but then she scowls and turns sharply on her heel; stalks out of the room with her head held high. Outside, she glares daggers at Silver before shoving him through the door unceremoniously.
The last thing she sees before hurrying away is Giovanni lifting his son into his lap and motioning for his guests to continue.
--
“It’s not fair!” she shouts, stamping her feet like a whiny toddler. “Silver’s the wimpiest wimp that ever existed! I should be the one sitting in that meeting, not him!”
Gabi shakes her head, smiles as she presses her hands into the soft earth. “Oh Domino,” she sighs. “Maybe if you hadn’t insulted the men there, Giovanni would have let you stay.”
“Yeah right,” the girl huffs. “He just doesn’t care about me! All he cares about is goddamn Silver! Silver this, Silver that, all the time. It’s stupid. What’s so great about him anyway? He can’t do half the things I can do! He’s not the one who’s gonna be the best con artist ever.”
“Not many children are like you, Domino,” Gabi says. She brushes a strand of dark hair from her eyes, leaving a smudge of dirt on her forehead. “Silver is still young. He’s only five. And he’s the Boss’s son, you know. Sometimes Giovanni has to put his family first.”
Domino kicks at a stray pebble, scuffing her shoe in the dirt. “I’m his family too,” she mutters. “He told me so himself!”
(This is untrue. Her mind tends to fill in the silences with things left unsaid.)
Gabi gets to her feet and takes off her gloves, then puts a comforting arm around Domino’s shoulder.
“Oh honey,” she says. “Giovanni loves Silver. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you as well. It’s hard for an important man like him to show affection the way the rest of us do, but believe me when I say that he loves you very much. You play a vital role in Team Rocket, sweetheart.”
Domino nods sullenly.
(But I don’t want to be loved for the role I play, says a strange voice in the back of her mind. I want to be loved for real. I want a father, not a boss. I want a mother, not babysitter. I want a home and a family and everything I’ve never, ever had - )
“What’s that?” she asks, pointing to a bare patch of earth, recently watered. Gabi’s eyes light up with excitement.
“It’s a new type of tulip,” she exclaims. “A hybrid, from some faraway place. I had to beg the higher ups to let me plant them here, and yesterday they finally caved!”
“What color are they?”
“Hmm? Oh, they’re black,” Gabi says. “Black tulips. Very rare, and very lovely.”
Domino stares down at the patch of dark soil and wonders when these black tulips will bloom.
She hopes it will be soon, because she’s already waited long enough.