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Cafes were the perfect places to conduct and review research, Aila had learned in Camphoreon. One could gather up an armful of books, order an iced coffee, pick a table, and spend the rest of the day reading, sipping, and listening to the smooth jazz that typically filled the establishment.

The coffee was not her primary point of interest, however - it was the research that truly interested Aila. Staring at the menu of the base's cafe with neither books nor papers in her arms to occupy her after making her choice, she floundered in the decision of what would best simultaneously quench her thirst and sate her palate. And she continued to flounder. And she showed no signs of stopping this floundering.

Fleur grumbled impatiently inside her pokeball, where she had found herself after she had grown bored and attempted to wander off. Such an indecisive girl on the least important matters, her human.

Hazelnut won over mocha, definitely. That left it along with chocolate and caramel, the two sweeter flavors threatening to form an alliance in the mutual interest of overwhelming hazelnut. The war raged in Aila's thoughts when an unexpected voice interrupted. She turned and stared, bewildered, at the young woman that had somehow appeared at her side undetected.

"I-I see," she managed to reply, embarrassment blooming in her cheeks. She turned back to the barista and requested the recommended caramel latte, giving her thanks upon receiving the beverage.

"I apologize if my indecision inconvenienced you," she said, stepping out of the woman's way, "and I thank you for your suggestion."

What was it that so clearly marked Aila as a new recruit, she wondered. Was it really possible that everyone was able to recognize the faces of everyone else? There were so many people in the base, and she could barely even remember the faces of her roommates in the trainee dorms...

Truthfully, the girl had no desire to join the stranger. To decline, however, would be terribly rude, and so she soon found herself seated on the other side of the small table. She sipped quietly at her own coffee as the woman spoke, listening carefully to her words. Lowering the cup from her lips, she considered what was said.

"I am not sure that what I am experiencing is frustration," she finally offered. "I am merely... overwhelmed, to put it simply. In the few days I have been here, I have participated in more conversations than I had over the course of several months in Camphoreon. Assimilation is proving a harrowing task."

What a difficult conversation this had become. Aila had always stressed being inconspicuous in her "occupation." The less anyone knew about her, the better. Her name, her age, her hometown - all of it was unnecessary knowledge that would inconvenience her should it reach the wrong hands.

But it was important to be amicable towards strangers within an organization, or so she had read. Depending on one's responses, strangers either became friends or enemies, and in a cooperative setting, the former was infinitely preferable over the latter.

"Yes," she responded at length. She was fighting her nature in answering, and it was obvious in her tone. "I resided in Camphoreon from my birth. It was..." her mind wandered to the slums that constituted her earliest memories, "...tolerable." She leaned forward slightly as she considered the second question, gaze averted and eyes narrowed in an expression similar to suspicion. "I am pursuing a certain goal. Team Rocket has the means to expedite my progress towards that goal. That is all."

Good to know, at least, that the investigation the red-headed woman had mentioned wasn't distributed to all of the base's inhabitants.

Aila lowered her gaze in a moment of quiet introspection. Surely her goal was decided of her own choice. Her mother's heated words had influenced her, perhaps, but was not the resolution her own?

A frightening realization began tugging at the ends of her thoughts.

"This patient," what an odd word to use - her description of the mentioned patient did not sound like one of the medical variety, "do you know if she has a path she wishes to pursue after fulfilling her goal?"

Her small thumb traced a circular path on the side of the cup, its contents all but forgotten. "Friend" was a word that came up frequently in her reading, sometimes even in her own thoughts, that she still could not fully understand. The definition was vague at best, indicating that like many other emotionally-driven sensations, "friendship" was a thing that could only be experienced.

Aila questioned if her goal was one that, when explained, would earn her much trust from others. Surely she would have no support once her intent was laid bare. She would not argue, however, if her life was to be a solitary one - she had planned for that from the start.

"Ah, please pardon my manners," she said, straightening her back and folding her hands in her lap. "My name is Aila. I apologize that my introduction was so delayed." She tucked her chin down as a slight pink hue rose in her cheeks, validating the sincerity of her apology.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, tilting forward in as polite a bow she could manage within the constraints of the seating accommodations - though if this Isadora was anything of the psychologist she claimed to be, she would surely realize the falsity of Aila's words. The conversation had been uncomfortable and disquieting, and the girl was beginning to quesion if it was even worth similar efforts to attempt to connect with others in the future.

The sudden change in Isadora's demeanor did not go unnoticed. She inclined her head slightly away from the woman, vaguely insulted that she would allow herself to become so visibly distracted in the middle of a conversation. She gave voice to her observation, "It would seem I am keeping you from some prior engagement." She rotated the cup in her hand in small circles, swirling the lukewarm liquid within in an effort to distribute the remaining heat throughout the beverage.

"I shall keep that in mind," she replied airily. How rude would it appear, Aila wondered, if she never indulged the invitation? She knew of psychologists and their ability to claw into one's innermost person. For the girl who lived her life never telling anything to anybody, such an individual was dangerous, bordering on frightening.

Aila could find no response to Isadora's desire for her friendship. It was a strange word, one she connoted with dubious, distrustful feelings upon hearing. She gave a curt nod in acknowledgment, turning her absent gaze to the decorated walls as the woman departed. One of the sconces flickered as she stared, suggesting the imminence of the bulb's failure.

With a sigh, the girl stood to leave. What a troublesome acquaintance she had made.