“How did you get in here again?” Corbeau asks, a vein throbbing in his temple when he sees you slip through the front doors and wander into his office. It must have been the eighth time this week that you’ve been able to sneak in here. Corbeau’s finger hovers over the button on his desk to call for Philippe, but he stops short when he sees a new Rotom phone floating by your head. “Arceus,” he gripes, trying to rub his migraine away. “You owe us money, but here you are making worthless purchases. This lack of discipline is how you ended up in debt to us in the first place, you know.”

It was only a couple of months ago that you’d come to Lumiose City with lofty dreams of making it big in the art scene, but you couldn’t sell a single painting or pay rent on your studio, so eventually you ended up under the generous patronage of the Rust Syndicate. Corbeau himself was fronting the cost of your apartment and art supplies while you kept searching for buyers. A temporary arrangement, he’d told you, but you were already comfortable, and unfortunately, so was he. Your art decorates the Rust Syndicate’s office, and some of your smaller pieces are in Corbeau’s own house.

“Well? You obviously didn’t come here just to get on my nerves,” Corbeau remarks, steepling his fingers atop the desk as he gives you a pointed look. “Out with it. What do you need this time?”