“Bend over? In this dress? Be serious.”

Alison watches as Ambrose surveys her. She knew he was squirming to pick up on something with the dress – anything. She was accustomed to receiving some form of critique from the fashionista, not that she ever took it to heart, though. She trusted his opinion more than anyone’s regarding tassels and frills. Even if it was harsh.

But while Alison wouldn’t necessarily classify herself as vain, she knew there was nothing critical they could say that wouldn’t be a lie. The dress looked good. There was no denying it.

“Oh, you flatter me,” she says with coy smile, “You’ll make me float with the ego you’re giving me.”

Looking down at her body once more, she sighs in contemplation. God, it really was a shame. Maybe a little credit card debt would be worth it to flaunt such a gown? Her nose wrinkles in response to the thought. No. Let’s be smart, Alison. She would simply just have to bask in the gown while she could.

As Ambrose familiarly twists an arm around her waistline, Alison tilts her head at her friend, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“What about you then?” She muses, gesturing with her head at the clothing scattered about the couch. “What’s the situation with your fashion spree? Anything to model for me?”

ambrose orion

☉

“I hope you’re right,” Alison hummed in response. “It’d be nice to have more people I can rely on again.”

As far as Alison believed, her previous experience of supportive “colleagues” in the world of contests and pageantry had left her with an almost fatal encounter of falling stage lights. She could only hope at Rocket camaraderie wasn’t a ploy to hide ulterior motives; and from what Ameena seemed to offer through her words, Alison so far remained optimistic.

“Uhhh – I wouldn’t say pure power is what my team are good at.” Alison sheepishly smiles at her Mismagius. A flat look is returned by her Pokémon. “I’m severely lacking in that department. I can create a spectacle, perform, plan, organise, beautify anything – but brute force? I wouldn’t say it’s my strong suit…”

Ringing her hands together, Alison looked at the lady beside her under her lashes. Ameena seemed so starkly different to her. Strong-willed, determined, resilient, accomplished – Alison felt like nothing more than a vain, performative industry plant beside her soldierly grandeur. Yet, no matter how diffident she felt, Alison knew she needed to soak in as much as you could from someone in such a field. To learn, adapt, and pursue strength now that she was in Rocket was her number one priority.

With a sharp inhale, Alison turned fully to face Ameena, straightening her spine.

“…I was hoping you’d be able to help me change that.”

ameena abadi

☉

Chaos.

The crowd scatters in a fluster, shouting and screaming as SHADOW MIASMA took effect. Alison stands there stunned, watching as people push past one another and clamber to escape, retreating into their homes or taking to the road in fear. Heart thundering in her chest, she peers over at the figure who had caused this, the one whom she believed to be helping her. Her stomach drops as they lock eyes, his gaze determined – hungry.

God, she hoped he wasn’t after her too.

“Bastard!”

The reporter beside her shoves her shoulder as he runs forward, the cameraman dropping his equipment as the electronics fry in his hand and his vision goes dark. Blindly grabbing at the air, the reporter grasps the camera man by his arm, pulling him roughly as they stumble towards the van. With a yell, the van door slams shut and the vehicle speeds out in a cloud of dust as quickly as it had arrived.

As more and more of the crowd disperse, and the scene grows quieter, Alison's knees buckle as she squats down. Covering her face with her hands, she releases a sigh both exasperated and relieved, mumbling to herself under her breath.

“Fuck. This is the last thing I needed to happen today. Just perfect. Fucking - Fuck!”

Pulling her hands down her face, her gaze flicks over to her saviour standing across from her. She gives him a half-hearted smile.

“Thank you for doing that, as abrupt as that tactic was. I'm sorry you had to–”

Alison’s voice catches in her throat as she takes in Cillian’s appearance. He had changed from when she was last paying attention to him. The remnants of an illusion flicker in and out, revealing a face that plucks at her fight-or-flight response like an ominous bass line. Although no name springs to mind, recognition comes over her like a cold chill.

“Why do I recognise you?”

Cillian Quinn

☉

She turns her face away from him as he approaches.

“I’m not.”

Her lie was barely audible. Even though simple, the explosive element of the course had left her heart pounding. She hadn’t realised until the smoke had covered her eyes how the memory of her final performance lingered beneath her skin. How a simple spark from a voltorb could take her back to a moment she spent everyday repressing. Back to sparking lights and a blaze of fire.

She needed to get this over with.

“The explosion just… Startled me more than I thought. I’ll try again.”

THEO BECKETT

☉

“Oh?” Alison’s eyebrows raised at his offer. Her entire outing into the city had been in search of ingredients for her dinner, one she would later take cross-legged on the floor of her apartment. Alone. And with the time she was taking talking to Sevastian, she had a feeling the store would be shut before she even reached it. Meaning a cross-legged meal, alone, with a serving of – nothing.

His offer meant not only food, but company. Conversation.

She was happy to accept.

“You’re very sweet. That sounds lovely. Thank you. A reservation somewhere would be wonderful!” Her smile was picturesque, perfected to the point of almost looking natural. Almost. “Any preferences on where? I won’t deny that I’m peckish.

Her attention floated back over to the set, to the people who stood impatiently waiting for his return. Alison could remember times like that for herself, too. Of being doted upon. Watching as people flitted around her, redoing her makeup, polishing out her outfits, standing at her beckoning call while she simply sat and looked pretty. She missed the lights that used to shine upon her before they had abruptly darkened. Before her life had been ripped from her.

Her gaze momentarily flickered back to Sevastian, her supposed protégé, who had caught what had been thrown from her hands. And caught it well. Biting her lip, her bitter curiosity got the best of her.

“Do you want to meet up later or… Would you like me to wait here and watch?” Even though posed as a question, her fixed stare on the set gave away her desire.

sevastian beau

☉

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

☉

The bayleef’s HEAL PULSE allows Alison to catch her breath, her legs wobbling as she stands. Her limbs now scorched with black, she tries to ignore the dull ache that ripples across her skin. While not fatal, she wouldn’t deny that it hurt.

Hearing the underboss’ command, she finds herself again at the starting line. Crouching down into the same starting position as before, she stares at the floor, unable to will herself to move. Now knowing her fate if she wasn’t to reach the finish line again, her body was tense. Fearful.

“How many times do I have to do this?” She asks, regretting the question as soon as it was uttered.

THEO BECKETT

☉

Alison stood next to Ameena with a light smile, trying her best not to look too uneasy at the Alakazam that hadn’t taken its eyes off her since she arrived. She had heard of Ameena’s family’s service in Galar, their long history within the military that spanned decades and the research she had compiled in her company Abundance Connections. While not fully understanding the full array of her achievements, Alison knew that Ameena was accomplished - and that told her everything she needed to know; that she was standing next to someone successful, someone intelligent, someone with a lineage that adorned their name, and someone – she assumed – with many medals.

Self-conscious, Alison nodded at Ameena’s words.

“It’s okay. I appreciate the offer to meet. We all must be ready for what’s to come.

“I used to compete in the Pokémon Performances back in Kalos and tried for Kalos Queen a few times. Performing, modelling, that’s been my whole life. But, a few things happened, and I – changed my career. I joined Rocket.” She gave her Mismagius a quick look, one that saw sadness cloud her eyes for a moment. Mismagius floated next to Alison, watching her with silent understanding.

Alison blinked it away before it was noticeable.

“I rely on myself, mainly. My father. Rocket. There’s not many I can say I trust to have that honour. What about you?”

ameena abadi

☉

The crowd swarms around her, hungry eyes picking her apart as she tries to back away. With a thud, her feet hit the back of a flower bed and she curses under her breath. The man’s grip loosens as he turns to his colleagues to grab a microphone, choosing to ignore her pleas now she was cornered. She wasn’t surprised it was the reporter who was so ballsy and rude – all they wanted was the story and the profit from it. Never to really know her.

The reporter gives a thumbs up to the cameraman as he positions himself next to her. Watching as the cameraman begins a countdown with his fingers, Alison pushes the reporter’s microphone before he can speak, gritting her teeth.

“I said no. Stop. I have nothing to say,” Alison begged, “I’ll do it another day. Just–”

A low voice averts the hoard of eyes from her, heads whipping around to meet the unfamiliar figure. The cameraman pauses his recording with a grimace, the reporter peering over his shoulder. Alison follows his gaze, surpising painting her expression. Seeing the suspect, the reporter’s face contorts into a scowl.

“Who are you?” Not recognising him, he scrunches his nose and waves his hand dismissively, “Doesn’t matter. We’ll leave once we’ve spoken to her. Clear off.” As quickly as the attention had been diverted, the townsfolk and media team turned back to Alison. Relentless. “Right, where were we…”

Alison’s eyes were fixed on the unfamiliar figure. On the only voice that had broken through the crowd to support her. As the reporter began to drone on, his voice slowly became white noise, she stared, pleading. Do something. Anything. Please.

Cillian Quinn

☉

Alison barely processes his words before he and his Claydol disappear into thin air. She pears over at the guards and with a final breathe steps outside the vehicle. As her boots click on the pavement, she throws two Poké Balls into the air, her Ninetales and Mismagius appearing.

“Okay, time for a little fun.”

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she waltzes into the jewellers, trying her best not to get distracted as the jewellery glints and flickers in the corners of her vision. Stopping just inside the door with crossed arms, she clears her throat, interrupting the guards' conversation.

“Hey boys, sorry to intrude. I was wondering if you’d be able to help me – I was looking for a necklace that’ll look great in a performance I’m in, and it's proving difficult. Let me show you what I mean –“

Before they can respond, she whistles softly, and, with a flick of their tails, her Ninetales performs WILL-O-WISP, several purple orbs of fire dancing across the room above their heads. Her Mismagius then releases CONFUSE RAY, flashing lights emanating from their body and swirling around the orbs, creating little sparks that dim the lights and create tiny firework-like bursts across the ceiling. The jewels flicker and dance against the new light sources, Alison shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly as she watches their expressions.

“As you can see, the lighting becomes so dark, and I need something that’ll really sparkle. Any ideas?”

howard slayte

☉

The bustle of the city had done well in patching up Alison’s heart when she had first arrived in Hoenn. The familiar streets that echoed memories of childhood outings gave her comfort in her somewhat dreary hour. But when the lights and the blur of moving bodies on streets became nauseating, she found herself retreating to the countryside.

Oldale Town was a particular favourite. It’s houses with their window boxes, the well-kept community garden, the symphony of rustling leaves that played softly in the breeze. Seating herself down on a bench, Alison took a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. Watching the towns folk potter around quietly, some replanting flowers, others simply chatting, she felt at peace.

Peace, however, was always ephemeral.

Screeching tires pulled her attention to the road. She looked over her sunglasses with a grimace, a grey van breaking to a halt. TV Mauville was written in large letters on the vehicle's body, causing Alison to pull her hat down and readjust her glasses. Please no. With a bang, a middle-aged interviewer jumped from the van’s side door, cursing under his breath. Dishevelled, he approached Alison.

“Hi Ma’am, sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you had directions to Mauville City? My driver seems to have taken a wrong.”

Keeping her eyes low, Alison pointed to a very obvious sign showing Mauville City – 5 Miles on the road ahead of them. He smiled sheepishly, embarrassed.

“Ah. Thanks so much – Wait” The man paused, looking at her more squarely. Dread ran through her veins at the man’s change in expression; recognition.

“Alison? Alison Everly ?” his voice rose, the others in the van looking over in their direction. Some of the townsfolk’s attention turned in their direction.

“Oh my god, it is you. Holy shit. No one has managed to have a single interview with you back in Kalos since the Kalos Queen performance. This could be huge… Could you spare us a few moments – Dan! Get the camera!"

Snatching her jacket from the bench with a strained smile, she stood to leave.

“I’m busy today, sorry. Some other time.” Alison’s voice was quiet as she moved around his body. Her pathway was instantly blocked by the interviewers’ hands on her shoulders. She flinched at his touch, watching with anxiety as a small crowd began to form behind the camera the other man had pulled from the van. A chill ran down her spine.

“Move. Please. I don’t have time for this today.” Her firm tone was tinged with fear. Desperate.

Cillian Quinn

☉

She was truly pleased for Ambrose. Listening to his accomplishments, the opportunities that were laid out before him, she felt a deep sense of pride. He seemed to be achieving everything he had once dreamt of. Every time they stumbled into each other’s lives, somehow his life seemed better, brighter, more glamorous. Successful.

Deep within her a green-eyed monster groaned.

“Put it on?” Alison laughed gently, taking the dress from Ambrose gingerly. The satin swam through her fingers, the expense of each stitch evident with the delicate ripple of its fabric. Pursing her lips, she looked at Ambrose under her lashes, debating. It’s not like she had the funds for a dress like this. She shouldn’t have even been looking in this store in the first place. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to see it on? She did need something to wear for the upcoming Rocket mission – maybe this would give an indication of what she wanted.

Plus, it’s not like Ambrose would accept a no.

“Oka-ay,” she said, her tone high pitched with uncertainty. “When it looks shit, you better not laugh.”

Taking herself quickly to the changing room, she shoots a quick smile to Vivi. Another familiar face she had missed dearly. Behind the curtain, she peels of her clothing and steps into the soft, black bouffant, pulling it over her body. Zipping up the back, she glances in the mirror and bites her lip.

It fit like a glove.

The fabric hugged her hips perfectly, accentuating the curve of her bust like that of a femme fatale. Simple yet classic, Alison felt only frustration with how well it suited her. She knew where she was coming with her first paycheck.

Pulling the curtain aside, she steps out bare foot. Twirling her body so the skirt fans around her legs, she looks over at Ambrose expectantly.

“Be honest, is the waist line too high?”

ambrose orion

☉

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

☉