Alison loved the spotlight. They way golden, artificial lights would flicker and dance over her skin. She’d grin widely as the audience cheered and screamed, bowing a perfectly low bow, and blowing kisses to the fans who would swoon in admiration. She was an experience, an innate entertainer, a star. Charismatic and charming.

But behind the curtain was when you would realise it was all an act. Her truth, one-on-one, could be a lot quieter.

She had been following silently for a few minutes before he motioned to a small table to sit. Alison had been caught off guard when she received the invitation to meet with Grigori Sokolov . Despite her years of media training, and interviews after interviews, more intimate conversations always made her nervous. She didn’t always like people seeing behind the façade she had perfectly constructed. She didn't like not having a preconceived script to read from.

She tried to grab any thread of courage to present the persona so many people would recognise. A semblance of confidence; a guise that could hide the reality of her exponential sadness. She had to ensure he knew she could do this. That, even despite the bruises she had so far acquired, she was strong enough to be a part of Team Rocket.

But in the aftermath of the incident, the mask felt cracked.

“That’s okay,” she responded breezily, her lips tugging up ever so slightly as his frothy coffee marked his nose, “You saved me from going on an extravagant shopping spree, anyway.”

She watched him; his carefree posture, his tall figure, the neat dress-suit, searching for a sign of a motive. Perhaps she had nothing to be afraid of with him, but her guard stayed sturdy.

“I can’t say that battling is my forte with a background like mine, but it’s been – good,” she said, coating her uneasiness and obvious lie with a bright smile, “Even with its difficulty, I’m not one to keep myself from a reward to cheer myself up.” She paused briefly to take a sip of her un-sugared latte. “It will all be worth it in the end, anyway, I’m sure…”

Grigori Sokolov

☉

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” she said sincerely, watching him under her lashes as she tried to hide the shock. Since joining Rocket, she had begun to believe the camaraderie shown to her had been a fallacy. A foy to get her in their clutches. Even though she was here for her own personal reasons, regardless of any kindness shown by others, she had hoped there would be good people here. Someone who cared. Looking at Grigori, albeit sceptical, she was a comforted to know he might be one of them. “I’ll be sure to inform you if I break a nail.”

A ghost of a smile came over her face, both in amusement and unease at his question.

“Pageantry is definitely a word for it”, she mused, leaning back in her chair as she glanced at the sky. “But yes, I compete – I used to compete in the Pokémon Showcases in Kalos. I have done since I was young – my mother used to do it. I’ve won everything you can think of.” Alison ran her fingers through her hair in thought, moving it over her shoulder with a swish. Her smile faltered as quickly as it came. “Well, everything but Kalos Queen.”

Her demeanour darkened considerably as she paused, her gaze transfixed on the latte in front of her. Furious. Memories of years of failure despite her regional success flooded her vision, the silver instead of the gold, the bitter talks in the cemetery over her mother’s grave, the fire that engulfed the theatre…

Taking a breath, she moved her eyes back to Grigori, able to escape the flashback that had begun to shroud her vision. Evident sadness clouded her eyes, a thousand unspoken words swimming within them. Then she smiled, a perfectly perfected façade, as if nothing had happened.

“I changed field because the Pokémon Contest scene can be hard, let’s put it that way. Plus, I’m getting older. People won’t want to see me in the scene for much longer. The young will always be the most dazzling, after all.” Alison picked up her latte, taking a long drink before continuing. She settled the mug down with a clink. “So, I switched things up. I saw Rocket was – hiring and joined. That’s it.” Her lie felt obvious. “I thought someone might as well make use of my theatrical skills while I still have them.”

Grigori Sokolov

☉

And just like that, she turned cold, unable to stop her reaction.

“Like I just said,” Alison bit back, subtle but venomous, “I was a performer. I never got to where I wanted to, so I joined Team Rocket. There’s nothing else to it. I don’t think I need to go through every one of my short comings. Why do you need to know the gruesome details of my life?”

Her push back was controlled, but her mask wavered, her soft features beginning to slowly morph into a scowl. Had this all been a ruse?

“Did you only meet me here to interrogate me?” she wondered aloud callously.

Grigori Sokolov

☉

Alison bit the inside of her cheek – hard. She should have held her tongue, should have controlled herself better. Looking at Grigori, his serious but kind expression seeking her cooperation, she looked away in shame. Her reaction had only made this worse for herself.

“I’m sorry,” She spoke quietly, ringing her hands in her lap. Her guarded demeanour began to shrink as her nerves set in. “I didn’t mean to respond so – abruptly. I don’t like to talk about it. It’s not something I want to willingly remember.”

Staring at her hands, she listened to him in silence. She knew at this table she would have to tell him one way or another, details or not; but having never discussed it with anyone before, she wondered where to begin.

How do you explain to someone your deepest trauma simply over a cup of coffee?

She looked up at his offer, her interest peaked. If it was akin to hers, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to explain her experience after his. If he was so keen to know, he could start the formalities with his own story. That seemed more fitting.

“Yes, I would appreciate that,” Alison responded, readjusting herself in her seat. Her attention was now solely focused on Grigori. “If you could state yours first, I will follow...”

Grigori Sokolov

☉

Alison’s eyebrows rose with each sentence he uttered. First disbelief. Then shock. Then… Understanding?

She diverted her eyes away when Grigori finished, watching the food vendors potter around them as she mulled over his words. At first, she struggled to believe him. He seemed too gentle. Too kind. Since they had sat down, Alison had thought of him as a man of patience. One with eyes curved with compassion and understanding; and he had killed his father? It seemed ridiculous.

But as she looked back at him, her eyes ran along the muscles that pushed against his well-polished attire, his height that made her own tall physique feel small, the rough hands that cradled the sweet coffee, the slight sadness that tinged his disposition. As much as it scared her to think, she knew he wasn’t lying.

“I can’t say all of that was familiar,” she responded honestly, the edges of her lips pulling up with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes. “Only some of it.”

While the murder certainly did not resonate with Alison, the rest of his tale struck a chord. The loss of support in the people you had once trusted, the bitterness one begins to feel towards the world, an overwhelming and building affinity for revenge… It echoed within Alison’s bones in a way that made her body turn cold.

“I’m sorry to hear that happened to you. To your mother. I know it wasn’t easy,” She paused, remembering her own mother. Her Dragonite. Her life. Her face hardened with a sudden seriousness.

“I know you speak from your own experiences, but how can you be so sure it will be the same for everyone? Revenge. What is so wrong with seeking retribution? Why must one suffer, forgive, let go, while those that caused harm remain unscathed? What’s so wrong with the taste of spoiled milk if they get to taste it, too?”

Grigori Sokolov

☉

She allows the tension to mount between them. At first, she says nothing, anticipating his next words as she continues to listen. Yet with every sentence he utters, Alison’s face contorts, eyes narrowing, lips puckering with frustration. She begins to wonder if he understood the cost she was willing to pay. To so many, she was just a young a girl. Silly, reactive, innocent. A victim of an unfortunate accident.

It seemed no one was able to see the bitterness that was freezing her heart.

“Rocket–” she begins through gritted teeth, her eyes on the table, “–haven’t taken anything from me. They’ve so far given me the best company I’ve had in years. No one has taken the time to understand me like they have. I’ve had no one. No one to talk to, no one since–”

Alison cuts herself off, looking up at the sky to stop any tears from forming. She blinks them away before they can fall. Taking a ragged breath, she continues.

“Why do you talk so confidently like you know my motives, my story? I lost everything in Kalos. My career, my friends, my partner, almost my life. I have nothing. Everyone seems to see me as some passion project, a problem they want the honour to say they fixed. I’m not some puppy you can nurse back to health. I’m not some kid that wants a plaster.

"All people see is a tragic story that will be rerun by the media every few years. They'll forget what I went through. But Rocket will help me change that. People will realise soon enough. They'll help me…”

Her eyes dart up to meet Grigori’s, but her eyes are vacant. Despite the eye contact, her eyes look right through him.

“I know who it was and they won’t get away with it. I won’t let them. I’ll do anything, befriend anyone, no matter the cost. It doesn’t matter what is paid – I don't need a receipt. As long as I get a result, I'll do it.”

Grigori Sokolov

☉

Alison bit the ends of her acrylic nails, staring at Grigori with unblinking eyes. Even with her continuous outbursts of confidence, every sentence he uttered made her doubt herself. Was this truly what she needed? She wanted comeuppance – yes – to hunt down the culprits of her trauma and string them up in the name of justice. Yet, with every scenario he alluded to, her reasoning sounded misconstrued – delusional.

An inner conflict roared behind her eyes, fear and grief consuming her. She felt like two separate people, fighting back and forth between right and wrong, good and bad. For a moment she felt bitter and self-assured, confident in the vengeance she sought; but in the next, her breathing wavered and she had to try not to curl into a ball.

Grigori was right to question her. Did she even understand what revenge meant?

Alison watched his body hunch in defeat, a wave of uncertainty settling in her stomach at the motion. She suddenly felt alone, her big words and spiteful persona diminishing to the unbridled terror of a little girl. The man before her had given up, and Alison realised she was to him what she had never wanted to be – a lost cause.

But even if Grigori’s words sang true, she felt she had thrown herself in too deep to be able to get out of the water now.

Somehow, she felt like she was letting him down.

“What other choice do I have?” she spoke quietly, smiling through her words with a humourless laugh. While a question, her tone was hopeless, metaphorical hands tied and tugged down a path she believed she wanted to take – that she had to take.

“I am in so much pain and I am scared. I need to know the truth and I was promised help. I have to do this – it is only way I can finally have peace. I don’t know how else to let go until I have answers.”

Grigori Sokolov

☉