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absinthe allows a small smirk at his words, knowing full well that she will leave no permanent damage upon the prisoner. after all, she cannot afford to draw the wrath of the rocket leaders upon her so soon after the credits of the war flashed upon the screen.[break][break]

that doesn't forbid her from enacting psychological damage, though, a fact that she relishes in.[break][break]

with a sharp nod, she reaffirms her grip upon the man's collar. the edges of his shirt dig into his neck, drawing forth a pathetic whimper that absinthe chooses to ignore. she levels her gaze upon tempest and upon her fellow scientists within the complex, finding her voice within the thick fog of her thoughts.[break][break]

"i’ll keep that in mind. i trust your judgement." at this point, absinthe doesn’t trust anybody further than she can throw them, but she says it anyways, because the opportunity before her is far too tantalizing to pass up. with that, she gives tempest a nod, and she disappears into the remains of petalburg.[break][break]

and, in the absence of any watching eyes, her self control wanes, and her tongue thirsts for blood.

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testing and preliminary trials on the hundreds of rattata they had infected with nihilego venom had yielded promising results. patterns began to emerge, and absinthe documented them as diligently and tirelessly as she was known for. it was meticulous work, draining both physically and mentally, but she poured her heart and soul into it, as she did with everything that struck her fancy. whatever shred of humanity absinthe possessed was housed in her work.[break][break]

as the week drew to an end, the chemist decided it was time to switch gears. the toxin research would take weeks, maybe months, and absinthe was growing impatient. besides, the most important project she had been nurturing had gone neglected for too long.[break][break]

she approached himiko one evening, rattata blood still staining her lab coat, mask fogging with each heavy breath she took. she needed a break. himiko would understand. in fact, she decided, perhaps it was time for her to let himiko in on her personal work. it was, after all, equally important.[break][break]

"come with me," she said simply, crooking a finger in beckoning. she wanted to show himiko her pet project, the passion that burned away her grief each night as she toiled away at its perfection. perhaps the other woman would appreciate its design as well, given how ruthless and determined absinthe had seen her be this past week. "i have something to show you."

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there is no warmth, there is no coddling. there are plenty of words that absinthe can offer on the subject, but none of them are particularly comforting, and yet she delves into them nevertheless, clinical and professorial.[break][break]

"ah," absinthe says, realization dawning. "deoxys." she tilts her head to one side, eyes narrowing as she regards makoto's face. "i can understand the concern, then."[break][break]

she takes a few paces forward, hands clasped behind her back. "when something so supernatural, so invasive occurs, it's not unnatural for such events to have repercussions on the mortal body." her voice is measured and calm, but there's an unnatural rigidity to her posture, like she's considering each of her words, painfully choosing what to say.[break][break]

the evidence supports it. mortal's bodies changing shape when forced into some form of temporary symbiosis with a foreign body isn't anything new. it happens in the natural world to an overwhelming degree, with parasect and the likes. it happens in humans less often, but in no less observable terms. the more she thinks of the possibilities, the greater her intrigue.[break][break]

"i would like to take samples from both you and the deoxys," she says to makoto, waving a hand towards a nearby chair obviously meant for the taking of blood. "i'll perform a brief analysis of both samples and compare. any abnormalities should reveal themselves."

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there is something that lingers around the corner of absinthe's eyes, in the wrinkle between her eyebrows, that twitches and spasms as the faintest form of a feeling begins to shape within her chest.[break][break]

this soft, sluggish warmth floods through her every extremity at the mention of her intelligence, a refreshing reminder of who she once was. it once brought her validation, acceptance within her community, amongst her peers. is it possible that people still perceive her as intelligent? is it possible that people remember?[break][break]

some amount of loyalty does stir behind her ribs. loyalty to who? not makoto, certainly, and not the parties who directed them to her services. it is loyalty to herself, then. she knows what she knows. there's no reason she can't use her expertise to her advantage.[break][break]

this, paired with a drive to renew her promise of confidentiality, of that pungent and overwhelming instinct to isolate herself and the knowledge she possesses, builds up and bubbles over into a steady and unreadable expression.[break][break]

"it's good to know my work hasn't gone unnoticed," absinthe admits slowly, pushing away from the countertop. "confidentiality is key in my profession. i don't discuss my clients or the nature of their inquiries."[break][break]

she sets one hand on her hip, as sharp and bony as the rest of her. "what did you have in mind?"

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something in the air shifts. there is a scuffling, like the scratches of a spearow in the dirt, and absinthe mind prickles. it raises the hackles on her neck and arms, makes the blood beat in her veins. somebody is watching her, and it's not tryptophan. or rather, it's somebody other than tryptophan, which is almost a given by now.[break][break]

there's a hiss from the bushes, a malicious one, not the sweet calls of any native pokemon, or even her own lovely monstrous beasts. it sounds human. it is not familiar. all at once, the shape of a woman becomes clear through the thicket. a viciously curved bow is pointed straight for absinthe's heart. an enemy. a terror.[break][break]

and oh, she recognizes this enemy. perhaps not by name, but the battle at sootopolis had been formative to both her reputation and pride. a woman with this power isn't easily forgotten, and those dragged up, serpentine eyes only serve to solidify her place in absinthe's rapidly filing memories.[break][break]

a whip cracks in her spine as fight or flight kicks in. a breath hitches and catches raggedly at the breathing apparatus tangled at her face. one finger twitches as her fury transitions to excitement, and absinthe squeezes the hand beside her thigh so tight she hears the joints pop. she wants a reason. she craves a reason.[break][break]

her eyes crinkle and tear at the edges—with her mouth hidden, it is anybody's guess whether she forms a snarl or a wicked smile with her lips.[break][break]

she lifts her hands. they are empty. "i do so apologize," she murmurs. "it seems i have wandered far into a land unfriendly to me. please do forgive me."[break][break]

absinthe's pointer finger twitches. tryptophan hardly moves from where he is, does not tear his eyes away from absinthe's form, but the shifting of his body renders the air a sickly purple hue as SLEEP SPORE emanates from the myconid, aimed particularly at freya herself.[break][break]

absinthe craves the blood of dragons. more than she craves her own.

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when makoto enters, absinthe fixes them with an appraising stare from above the relative anonymity of her black gas mask over one half of her face, taking in their entirety. her eyes bore into them, green and glinting like deadly jewels even in the half-light.[break][break]

all the while, she cleans up her work station, brisk and efficient. she throws the facade of the mad scientist, haphazardly creating concoctions that will light the world aflame, but in reality she knows she has to be careful. a delicate science requires a steady hand, a mind unwaveringly loyal to the rules and limits of nature. sometimes, she mixes chemicals with such painful precision that the chances of overdosing and killing herself becomes startlingly high.[break][break]

she likes that. she thrives on the edge of a knife.[break][break]

"so you have, makoto," she says evenly, testing their name on her tongue, setting down her materials. to be heard of is both confounding and a source of pride. she cannot help but imagine, in some back corner of her mind, that she is not spoken of with confidence, but with derision, as crazy, as maddened.[break][break]

some of it is true. absinthe hates it.[break][break]

there is some unspoken sense of confidence, at least, knowing that whoever has been lead to this hellhole was sent by someone who matters. absinthe leans against the counter. "what have you heard?" she asks finally. "i imagine you've come in need of something."

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absinthe's makeshift lab is located in one of the only areas in petalburg that still stands, where the edges of petalburg's jeweled crown have started to rust. though amongst the wreckage and debris, though the exterior walls are tainted with dirt and grime, the building yet stands proud, and hosts therein a brilliant mind.[break][break]

inside, a variety of scents mingle in the air: bleach, ammonia, and embalming fluid. beautifly corpses line the walls and ceiling, dead by the very chemicals that are being cooked up in glass beakers on a cluttered countertop, pinned there for close study. macabre guardians, they are, watched merely to witness the effects of burgeoning new chemicals on fleshy bodies.[break][break]

and then, there is absinthe, standing amongst it all as naturally as an undertaker stands among his graves. her hair, as black as murkrow feathers, clings to the sweat on her forehead as she finishes pouring some dark liquid into a vial, sealing it with a satisfying pop.[break][break]

when she hears a knock, her spine straightens. she is not often bothered for no reason. it is always, unfailingly, for business. she allows herself one deep, shaky breath, and then lifts her head to glance at the door. is she expecting a visitor?[break][break]

"it's open," absinthe calls. "come in if you're going to."

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absinthe's eyes narrow at the girl's apology, taking in her explanation for her tardiness with all the enthusiasm of a vulture circling a rotting carcass. though, perhaps that's just the paranoia that comes with wearing a mask that filters one's air at all times.[break][break]

"no," absinthe replies shortly, her voice raspy and low, "this meeting place was my idea. i didn't want any potential interlopers interfering with my delivery."[break][break]

her eyes scan the surrounding trees, searching for any sign of movement beyond the swaying of branches in the breeze. the girl's question is just vague enough to draw absinthe's mind to wander. what does she want? the better question is what she doesn't want. she wants respect. she wants power. she wants the freedom to work in her lab and make her magnum opus. she wants to turn back the clock and do everything differently. if she could, she would want to cut the wedding band from her finger, she would want to have never met the bottomfeeder that once was her husband, and she would want to be spared of the woman she has become today.[break][break]

but that is all impossible. and it is not the subject of this particular delivery. the important supplies from her lab in slateport are.[break][break]

"fox should have told you of the briefcase that i needed brought here," absinthe says finally, returning her gaze to the woman before her. "so, i hope you have brought it."

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asbestos, the mutated frosmoth, lets out a harsh screech of pain before crumpling to the ground in a flaming heap, her poisoned wings twitching once, twice, and then falling completely still. the woman's fingers tighten around the pokeball when it returns to her from where she sits atop a tree branch, struggling to contain her anger.[break][break]

the chemist turns to her trusted toxapex, tossing the ball into the air. soman materializes in a flash of brilliant white light, her small spines rigid and poised to attack. the sight of josh's typhlosion sends a fresh spike of adrenaline coursing through absinthe's veins. she is no stranger to flame-type pokemon, and she knows just how to handle this one.[break][break]

"soman," absinthe commands, her voice hard and unwavering. "liquidation."[break][break]

the toxapex's body begins to glow with an eerie blue light as she summons a vicious torrent of water. the liquid surges toward the typhlosion with incredible force, hungrily consuming the fire in its wake. absinthe watches with bated breath, her heart pounding against her ribcage like a caged animal. this is her chance to prove herself to team rocket, and she will not let it slip away so easily.[break][break]

"show no mercy," she hisses, her eyes narrowing behind her gas mask.

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cruel as she may be, absinthe is not stupid. to charge blindly into places when one can simply use their brain first is a fool's errand. as such, when she hears the cries of strange pokemon, she decides to first listen, and judge whether they are at all worth her time.[break][break]

absinthe decides to attempt to identify the pokémon from their cries.[break][break]

Cc_h1ds5

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outrunning past mistakes is a futile effort. they will always cling to the flesh and bone of the afflicted with the visco-grip of glue. to run only slows one down, allowing the bad decisions to accumulate like fall leaves and damp earth upon cold stone.[break][break]

one can only beat themselves up for so long. still, this comes as little comfort to the chemist.[break][break]

absinthe hopes cole is somehow at peace in the afterlife. hell, that is—if he deserves the mercy.[break][break]

absinthe's eyes do not waver from her companion as she speaks, even as evelyn hounds the dog with her dragonite. for years, she's believed evelyn dead to her. it only seems fair absinthe could learn of the woman evelyn has become—even through what seems a trivial squabble. after all, perhaps she killed the girl absinthe so loved to hate long ago. "filth?"[break][break]

the smirk drawn onto her lips, albeit hidden by her mask, tastes of copper. "oh, evelyn," she chuckles, a sound devoid of any mirth, "i'm already filthy."[break][break]

the inside of the sewer pipe is pitch dark, though that does nothing to dissuade absinthe from pressing on. she can already hear the rustling of rodent-like pests further inwards, and in truth, in places like these, sometimes feeling is more useful than seeing. absinthe need only reach her fingers forward to feel the brush of mangy fur or the wet twitch of a dank tail. vermin are creatures of grime, of filth, and now so too is she.[break][break]

it is only expected to see a creature within that rules the garbage as a king. a garbodor is silhouetted in the distance against light filtering down through the gaps of a sewer grate. with a flash of light, absinthe calls forth an almost pristine looking frosmoth—normal in every way besides the slight purple tinge to her scales, the way her feathered antennae end in toxic chains.[break][break]

evelyn may bother with the beautiful pokemon of life, but absinthe only feels at home amongst the trash. that's why the frosmoth goes forth and stun spores the garbodor. that's why absinthe throws an empty pokeball at the thing in turn.

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