Nothing said suspicious like a motorcycle buried in a shrub. Very carefully at that. Emerald-esque leaves covered the machinery without even touching the precious parts. June would kill someone if it got so much as a blemish. A scratch would send her into a murderous frenzy.

That’s why she’d been so late and rolled up to the scene with her hands in her pockets. Act casual, and look normal. Wasn’t very normal to be in some random ass part of a forest, though. When would people learn that it was more normal to meet with a friend in a coffee shop or dingy bar than some bum-fuck nowhere clearing?

“Sorry, got lost in the forest,” she jerked her thumb backward, “was looking for a single tree.”

The delivery girl stopped in her tracks. Her client was wearing a bulky as hell gas mask. In the middle of summer. Why? On second thought, not something she wanted to know. But it did help determine the kind of person she dealt with.

This chick was nuts to a degree. Thankfully, the only thing she smelt so far was pollen and grass. When that changed to poison, she’d need to run fast and far. That, or she wanted to tag a few trees in protest of… something.

Fucking Howard. Always gave her the crazy people. “Did Fox tell you to plan a meet up here? Just because he’s your superior doesn’t mean you need to listen, y’know. I’ve negotiated drug deliveries in neighborhood playgrounds before– no one really cares as long as you don’t look out of place.”

Nothing screamed out of place like a forest and a gas mask. Maybe she wanted to burn it down? “What do you want?”

---

Absinthe Blackwood

Well, one thing was for certain: June was truly in the presence of a Rocket. Only a true terrorist would insist on secrecy above all else. It was almost a mark of pride, it felt, to choose to go to the most asinine places for a meeting. Past June would’ve insulted her client and made her never do it again.

Unfortunately, she now knew enough Rockets to nod her head and not say a word about it.

“Briefcase, schmriefcase,” June said as she snapped her fingers. Foliage shifted, branches bent, and a storm of ember-kissed feathers blanketed their heads. A sizeable Talonflame emerged and descended from the heavens, a thick black rectangle in her talons. June reached up and yanked it from the bird, which eventually settled next to her feet.

“Piece of cake,” she held it out to Absinthe. Whatever it was, it felt dangerous. Maybe it was the mystique, but that was infinitely more preferred than the knowledge of the contents. That’s how she disappeared without a trace in the dead of night. “This better not be a radiation hazard.”

As if that should make her fearful. Violet had likely done a number on her body as was. “Is that what the gas mask is for? Do I need to get screened for… whatever the hell is so important in here?”

---

Absinthe Blackwood

Damn. Chemistry was a bitch, wasn’t it? Yet again, the apple didn’t far from the tree.

“But if you killed me, you’d never get your hands on your neuro-whats-it– whatever the fuck you have a fetish for,” she crossed her arms. “Seriously, I don’t need the deetz. Next time, just tell me it’ll be the worst last minutes of my life like a normal person.”

The horrible ways to die via chemical interactions weren’t a topic of interest for the delivery girl. It was a weird fucking hobby to have. Like collecting those anime figurines. Or funeral urns.

“Oh, and also because if it somehow breaks, I’ll be the one fucking dying,” she jabbed a finger at her ‘client’. “Sorry, that wasn’t a stupid question, let me rephrase: would it kill you to warn me next time?”

Whatever. Failure on all fronts, what was new. Howard couldn’t warn her of who she was delivering for, Absinthe couldn’t be bothered to throw a warning label on the side, and she couldn’t give a flying fuck about whatever the nutso was going to do with the stuff.

“I’ll even throw in a protection clause: delivered safely or your money back,” she said. Not that she was paying. Howard was paying her for this delivery, right? She should really double-check that when she got back. “If you really want, I can say pretty pretty please. Maybe even with a cherry on top.”

---

Absinthe Blackwood

“Damn, sure am glad accidents aren’t real based on your word alone,” June shot back immediately. “Except– oh, wait, they are. And I didn’t ask for details. I asked if I needed to see a doctor, not how your unknown package would turn me into a doll for the minute I’d have left in my life.”

June was the last one to give out judgment for weird things. Everyone had their little thing. Hobby, self-interest, passion project. She had her own. Howard had weirder ones. Wanting to dump information about it was annoying, but little more. No one would normally care.

But telling someone, unprompted, how their ‘important work’ could brutally murder did not fall into any of those categories.

“Whatever, there you go, shit delivered,” June groaned. Somehow, Absinthe was still only in the top three for the weirdest person she had the displeasure of working for. Hard to beat the offer to be a– nope, don’t remember it.

June turned away ready to wash her hands of this situation– literally. “Have fun throwing a sack of Littens into the river. Maybe if you’re lucky, you can rope the spouse in on it too. Make it a date night.”

She felt bad for the person who had to live with the sociopath. That, or Absinthe also had a weird knack for wedding rings.

---

Absinthe Blackwood

Unfortunately for both of them, June is too busy wishing she could strangle Howard for the ‘weirdo’ to notice Absinthe’s cold hands until they wrap squarely around her neck. It sent a chill up her spine. Her grisly words echoed in her brain. There were always things far worse than death.

And also, unfortunately for both of them, the ‘brilliance’ of June’s mind is also lost in the sudden attack. Her hands shove backward and try to pry the woman from herself. Even as her lips part, words don’t escape past the sudden blockage in her neck.

That’s why it was entirely accidental that a shock, like a jacked up palm shocker, or a near-dead car battery, lights up Absinthe like a holiday tree. She didn’t even realize it until the damage is done, and she can finally breathe again.

Her own hands rubbed her neck. This bitch was nuts. She’d hit a nerve, somehow. A nerve like that was not an easy one to hit. While she breathed heavily and put an arm against the closest tree, she squinted and stared deeply at Absinthe.

Into her soul.

It was awfully similar to her own.

“When’d… he die?” Her words were raspy, but they filled the suddenly tension-filled clearing.

Arceus. Would annalise henderson attack her like this if she asked for how her time in containment went? Guilt shot through her heart. She'd fucked up bad.

---

Absinthe Blackwood

A cop. It’s not pity that jolted her system, but the dangerously fulfilling sense of satisfaction. Good, she almost said. Rot in hell. Cops hadn’t treated her well since her own thing, and they weren’t about to start. The less of them, the better.

But three years ago? That was before Dad. Even if he was bad, it wasn’t relevant to June. There were bigger fish to fry.

“My Dad was murdered two and a half ago,” she said. Her voice returned, alongside her sense of time. “Cops and investigators were content to rule it a freak accident. Didn’t even try.”

Regardless of circumstance, it was yellow that told the both of them to kick rocks and piss off. Not each other.

“Sorry. I kinda deserved that.”

---

Absinthe Blackwood

June considered the widow's words. Were they really that similar? Broken?

“That’s as far as it goes,” June disagreed. “My Dad was a good man, and he didn’t deserve anything that happened to him.”

She didn’t even know what she’d do if her father’s killer ever came to light. It was not a thought that graced her often. So many things stood in her way as was, each of them more debilitating than the last. Revenge got lost beneath the mountain of debt, a feeling to consider afterwords. She’d ignored Rocket’s call for a long time.

Yet Absinthe had consumed the idea and made it her life’s goal. She’d do anything for it– even join a terrorist organization. Willingly.

“Our cracks are different, or something like that,” she said. Their shared understanding felt tainted, somehow, but she couldn’t put the idea to words. “It’s all we have in common.”

For some, that would be good enough to form a relationship. For June?

“If you need anything else delivered, let me know. I'll make it work however I can.”

“But at least give me a heads-up if looking at the stuff funny would kill me?”

She needed a little more than one shared tragedy. Especially after the rest of what occurred here.

---

Absinthe Blackwood