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

☉

Alison made an ‘ah’ shape with her mouth, her eyebrows raising with faked shock and recognition.

“Delilah Silph? Oh wow, what a pleasure. I should have known it was you – you look stunning, as always.

Alison’s silver nails shimmered as they interlocked with the similar, manicured hand of Delilah.

“Alison. Everly.” Alison couldn’t help her gaze drifting to the Delilah’s nail varnish, to her elegantly flowing dress, to her hair cascading over the shoulders like ebony satin. God, it was nice to finally be around someone who also cared about their appearance. Too often she was surrounded by people with no affinity for fashion, for beauty. And since joining Rocket, it had become even worse. But Delilah’s perfectly powdered complexion, charm, and beautiful choice of dress was a sight for her sore eyes.

It was a shame who Delilah was affiliated with.

As guests began to move and mingle, Alison couldn’t help noticing Delilah’s gaze on her. Her look swam with a familiarity that she couldn’t quite place, a memory faded from too many years of attending events, of learning too many names. Alison wasn’t surprised she didn’t remember her, but she couldn’t help feeling a little butthurt.

“You might remember me from the Kalos Queen competitions,” she stated, a sly smile creeping up onto her lips. “I believe we actually met a few years ago at one of the showcases. I can barely remember it myself, it was so long ago, but I do remember you attending.”

Delilah Silph | Outfit | Fascinator

☉

Alison nodded at her words, her eyebrows furrowing as she listened. She often forgot she had entered Team Rocket at a perilous time. It was unfortunate, really. With a war looming over the horizon, it was practically guaranteed she would be called upon to fight. No matter how terrifying the thought, she knew hiding in a dressing room wouldn’t help her.

And hearing Ameena note her skills may be of use, Alison hoped she wouldn’t be as weak as she thought herself to be when the time came.

At her question, Alison paused for a beat, her gaze fixated to the floor. Memories flashed across her vision – feelings of anger, upset, frustration, vengeance – before dissipating like a thin veil of smoke. There was so much she hoped to achieve. Too much.

“There are people who need to be brought to justice” she responded, her tone sharp – hurt, “People I hope to one day hurt as they have hurt me. But I need to be stronger before I can do that. I need to be more than just a performer if I am to make them regret their decisions.”

She ruffles her fringe with her hands, smiling at Ameena as if her previous sentences hadn’t been uttered.

“I appreciate all that you offer. Any opportunities to gain more, Pokémon, build a team, and become stronger I am happy to try. What do you have in mind?”

ameena abadi

☉

She hadn’t had the luxury of trying this restaurant he was referencing since being in Hoenn, but Paldean food was one she had become particularly fond of from her travels. Seeing how keen Sevastian was to take her, she was excited to try it, and more interested to see how it differed from the authentic cuisine.

She smiled as his words trailed off from the interruption.

“That sound’s perfect," she reassured him.

As her somewhat obvious tactic of getting to stay was noticed, her smile deepened into a cheeky smirk. 

“Well, if you insist. I’ll try not to be too picky.” She was half-joking.

Alison watched from the sidelines by the crew as he rejoined his peers, quickly getting into position. Her eyes ran over the models as her brows furrowed with focus, settling on Sevastian after a prolonged stare at one of the girl’s haircuts. Even if she wanted to be nit-picky – which in a way, she did – it felt impossible. He was a natural. Every movement was fluid, every expression perfect, every pose practised. She folded her arms with mild frustration, a pang of jealousy radiating across her chest. Somehow, she kept her expression controlled.

When he finished, the crew beginning to disassemble the set, she clapped her hands slowly as he walked back towards her.

“Well done. Ugh, look at you! It’s ridiculous how easy you make it look. Can I get your autograph now before you make headlines next year?” her jest is sweet, friendly, despite her own inner conflict.

“I am,” she responds, restyling her fringe with a quick brush of her hand. “Please, lead the way. I'm absolutely famished.”

sevastian beau

☉

For the third time that day, just as the crescendo of the performance hits, the lights go out.

Alison stands on the practice stage with a face of thunder, throwing her hands into the air with exasperation as she turns to the director standing to the side. Dressed in her full-get up for the upcoming performance – a ruffled dark blue princess dress, silver kitten heels and an outrageously elaborate up-do hairstyle – her patience was beginning to wear thin.

“Jane, this is the hundredth time this has happened today. What is going on?”

Jane scribbles on her board without looking up, pushing her glasses up her face with disinterest.

“I don’t know, Miss Everly. I’m not an electrician,” She clicks her pen. “I’m sure it’ll come back on in a minute.”

Alison tuts loudly. Pulling her dress up to her knees, she steps down from the stage, her Mismagius and Ninetales exchanging a look before following closely behind her. Shooting Jane a sharp stare, she pushes the doors of the theatre open with a bang.

“Fine, I’ll find out what’s going on myself.”

Her low heels click on the floor as she marches through the hallways, a frown etched into her heavily made-up face. Quickly approaching the backdoor of the complex, she swings it open, her hairs rising from the blow of cold air that hits her. Holding her arms for warmth, she scours the area for what she understands an electrical issue might look like. At a first glance, she notices nothing. It was silent.

Then, faint but abrupt, a sudden sizzling noise catches her attention. Hurriedly, Alison turns around a corner to the noise. Stopping a few metres away, there, hunched over somewhat conspiratorially by a sparking generator, she sees a man.

“Hey! Excuse me!” She yells, hands cupped around her mouth, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

☉

notes: mission | outfit | hair

“I’ll repress it until this is over. It’ll just – make it harder otherwise.”

It felt strange to hear a man she believed to be phlegmatic and ruthless offer support in response to her anxiety. While seemingly in good faith, she couldn’t help feeling uneasy. Training with a side of a therapy with an underboss? She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

“You say that, but performing doesn’t usually include traversing across exploding Voltorb,” she responds coolly, shooting him a sharp look. Performing, while difficult, didn't normally leave her seared.

Remembering who she was talking to, Alison quickly turns to look back at the course, regaining her composure. Stretching out her fingertips pressed into the floor, she waits patiently for his next words, anticipating kicking off once more. 

THEO BECKETT

☉

“Thanks.”

Alison took his hand gingerly, her uncertain eyes dragging up and down his body as she was hoisted up. He seemed sincere enough, but she knew her gut was right to be uneasy. Even the most unassuming things could hold the deadliest poison.

And then uttered his name, and dread washed over her.

Oh. When he meant a PR nightmare, he really meant it.

“What?” her voice was laced with disbelief. Criminal was too kind a word to describe the man standing before her. She’d been warned of his proceedings as an entertainer in Kalos. Of the things he could orchestrate; of the terror he could cause with the snap of a finger. She wanted to believe none of it was true, but she knew better than to be naïve. She knew he was dangerous.

And yet, he had helped her?

“Sorry. Let me guess this straight. I’m to believe that Cillian Quinn happened to be waltzing around Oldale Town, and decided to lend me a helping hand?” Her laugh was dry, humourless. “Right. Do you want to tell me your actual name now, or?”

While her words were mocking, a nervousness was evident in her tone. With every bit of strength she could muster, she tried not to back away. She feared she had been thrown from one viper's den to another.

She knew it was him, and she didn’t know what to do.

Cillian Quinn

☉

The flirtatious behaviour displayed by the guards was something that didn’t surprise Alison. She wouldn’t deny it felt nice – she did love being reminded of her beauty – but she had been betting on it since arriving. She wasn’t wearing leather jeans for nothing. And, just as planned, they were entranced. By the lights, mainly, but maybe the pants as well. Regardless, it would make everything a lot easier.

“Oh, that’s okay,” she said, her lips curving into a smile, “Show me what you have and… Maybe a number can be arranged.”

As she followed the guards to the corner of the store, she gave her Ninetales a look, raising her eyebrows quickly as a cue. Understanding her, he scampered to the back of the store, looking to slyly nab some jewellery in their fur out of sight of the guards. Her attention then turned back to guards and the glass case now before her. Alison’s eyes widened. Dozens of rings, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, all ordained with iridescent sapphires she knew had a price higher than she could ever afford. They were beautiful.

“‘Wonders of Western Hoenn’ you say… They’re definitely quite a wonder.”

Holding her hand out in front of her, she pulls a thoughtful expression, tilting her head to the side before turning to the guard closest to her. “You don’t suppose I could try some on?” Looking at them under her lashes, she pouts her lips to side sultrily. Distracting.

howard slayte

☉

Alison readjusted the fascinator upon her head with frustration. Charity events had never been her favourite pastime. But, as most of her useful skills revolved around such scenes, Alison had been instructed by Rocket to mingle at one. Intended to be a way of gathering intel on League, she began to wonder if this was their non-offensive way of trying to get rid of her for a day.

Because, as far as she could tell, no one here was of any significance.

Her eyes flitted up to the stage where the biologist stood. Alison faked a smile with every achievement they mentioned, the speech littered with biological jargon she could barely understand. She tried desperately to pay attention, but she found her mind turning to a more pressing matter in the room.

Her outfit.

Alison’s face pulled into one of mild disgust as her eyes dragged along the fabrics the biologist had seemingly thrown together seconds before crossing the stage. For an event intended to celebrate her accomplishments, the outfit was… definitely a choice. Alison knew she couldn’t blame the biologist for their fashion blindness. They spent most of their time in stained lab coats and khakis, after all. Though, as her eyes flitted over to the beauty of the Milotic, she couldn't help expecting better.

As the speech ended, Alison released an aspirated sigh. Swigging down another class of champagne from a passing waiter, she scanned the room of unfamiliar faces, searching. At this point, she just wanted someone to talk to. Anyone. 

As if by fate, a voice beside her made her turn suddenly. She blinked in disbelief. Delilah Silph? She’d recognise that face anywhere. For her own sake, though, she tried her best to hide it.

“I’d be lying if I said marine biology was a subject I was familiar with,” She whispered in response, matching Delilah’s playful tone. “I was worried if she said ‘Anthozoa’ one more time, a curse might suddenly be afflicted upon us.”

Alison tilted her empty class towards Delilah, feigning ignorance of her identity with an inquisitive expression. “You look familiar. Are you sure you aren’t an oceanography fan? I could have sworn I saw a poster of you and – Katy? – swimming with Finneons at the entrance.”

Delilah Silph | Outfit | Fascinator

☉

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

☉

“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

☉