“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

☉

With a final deep breath, she nodded and kicked off. Her trainers squeaked on the floor as she ran, Alison reaching the first panel faster than she wanted. Her years of performing had made her fairly athletic, but avoiding voltorb was going to be a different ball game.

The first panel felt easy, her core managing to keep her steady. Leaping to the next, she felt the vibration of the voltorb beneath her feet, causing her balance to waver for a moment. Looking over at Theo briefly, she composed herself and proceeded to the next. And the next.

Don’t SELF-DESTRUCT. Don’t SELF-DESTRUCT. Don’t-

Reaching the eighth panel, her ankle slipped. Landing on her knees with a thud, she looked forward towards the finish, willing herself to get up. As she attempted to stand, the panel rumbled beneath her, static crawling over the edges. Her eyes widened.

Fuck.

She heard the explosion before she felt it.

THEO BECKETT

☉

With a nod, Alison leant back into her seat, satisfied with his response. At least she wouldn’t be risking her life without compensation. She might be able to get a nice pair of earrings out of this.

Feeling more or less prepared, she shifted her gaze from Howard as she desperately tried not to cringe at the sounds emanating from his direction. This truly was her worst nightmare, stuck in a car with a man who she felt probably didn't even know the last time he used hand soap. Somehow, the bodyguards waiting for them felt like child’s play compared to this.

With his last finger lick, Alison took a relieved breath.

Then he spoke again.

“That isn’t even– ?” Her voice quiet, she trailed off as she covered her mouth with her hands, disbelief and contempt painting her expression.

It’s just one mission. It’s just one mission.

She nodded at his suggestion, swallowing down a gag.

“I can do something like that. I’m not a popstar though, by the way; I don’t ”sing”. But I can perform. I can keep them distracted.”

Straining a smile, she finally turned her body towards him again.

“But I rather agree with your style. I would like killing to be a last resort, if possible.”

Desperate to get out of the crumb-filled car, she looked over at the target once more, sighing dramatically.

“Are we ready then?”

howard slayte

☉

It had been a while since Alison had seen someone so starstruck. So nervous to be around someone. Even longer since it had been someone meeting her.

As he spoke, flustered and stuttering, Alison felt a bout of anxiety rise in her chest. On one hand, she wanted to retreat, feeling unfamiliar in this once familiar territory. But in the other, she wanted nothing more than to bask in it. To be reminded of who she really was. Of everything she had achieved. To be celebrated again.

With a subtle breath, she allowed herself the latter.

“Please don’t apologise, it’s okay, you’re good” She reassured him, keeping direct eye contact – listening, “I’ve been in your position myself a few times. It’s scary as hell.”

She held out her hand as he offered it, well-polished and soft.

“It’s lovely to meet you Sevastian,” she said, polite and genuine, “One of the biggest? That means a lot for you to say, wow.

"Sometimes I forget my career can be more than just a spectacle to watch on the sidelines. I never realised it could inspire as much as entertain.”

Her eyes trailed over to the bustle of the photoshoot, the staff with headphones around their neck scrunching their eyebrows in confusion at Sevastian’s sudden departure, hands by the mouths to try and get him to hear them. Her lips lifted into a small smile, envious.

Envious?

“Seems that inspiration really got you somewhere. Quite popular, aren’t you?” she mused, “Big shoot today?”

sevastian beau

☉

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

☉