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the warfront approaches. on the side of a mountain, absinthe trails after howard, bearing the beating sun against her brow with only the occasional dabbing of a cloth to her hairline.[break][break]

"you're right," she says behind him, a confirmation that she's more than experienced with beating back drunkards raising hell in her den, and that such drunkards usually leave with at least one broken bone. "although i usually do so with a bat."[break][break]

six pokeballs are at her belt. it doesn't escape her attention that howard is only equipped with the one, nor that his tone is important. she's certain that he would have been able to defend himself had he brought more than one pokemon with him, but it sounds like he wanted her specifically with him. eyeing him carefully, absinthe keeps pace, hoping to whatever god will listen to her that this fieldwork will not turn out like the last one.[break][break]

"and what is it we'll be seeing?" absinthe queries. "or do you prefer to surprise me?"

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she can’t imagine that it would be an easy story to tell. stories of gods and men rarely are. at the very least, it is a story that deserves to be told, and one that deserves someone to listen to it, even if it is underwhelming, even if it is sad.[break][break]

she nods, and then allows him to take the product. leaning up against the stainless steel countertops of the lab, absinthe watches him as he begins to make his exit, inundated with her work, albeit stopping at the swinging doors that lead back out into the snake pit. he mentions a tab, and absinthe can’t help the twinkle in her eyes. she silently wonders if it’s an extension of trust or a play to reduce costs, considering the man’s lackluster financials. perhaps it is both. regardless, absinthe waves her hand dismissively.[break][break]

“i suppose you may,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “because you asked so nicely.”[break][break]

adjusting the way her coat sits over her shoulders, absinthe glances at howard for a final time before she gets back to work. ”until next time, howard.” [break][break]

turning away, she busies herself with her work once more, this time with a tad more energy.

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absinthe's eyes rove across the remains of sootopolis as she is carried over the crater and into the city, scarred with kyogre's burst into the rock, steadily flooding. people are screaming. the scent of blood is thick in the air. attacks made of pure energy fly like bullets. worst of all, the sea is rising. absinthe's eyes narrow.[break][break]

the league is terrible, but is rocket any better, truly? it's all a matter of territory, of pride. a pointless war started for oft pointless reasons. does anyone here know what they are fighting for, if not for their own allegiances and loyalty? what is the point of fighting for a city if there will be no one to live in it once the ashes settle? once this night is over, there will be another battleground. more lives will be lost. history will repeat itself forever and ever. making brief eye contact with a woman and a bull-faced god, absinthe fully comes to terms with the hopelessness of all of this. in a war of gods, the most she can do is try to keep the body count low.[break][break]

absinthe's grip tightens on the cool, leathery skin of her crobat as they glide over the churning waters of sootopolis. the once-great city, now reduced to a battlefield of elemental fury, stretches below her, fractured and teetering on the brink of complete ruin. kyogre's rampage has gouged deep scars into the rock, and the floodwaters rise with terrifying speed, swallowing the streets and the screams of the desperate below.[break][break]

sanguinarine screeches, sensing her urgency, and they descend rapidly toward a cluster of panicked civilians scrambling for safety. the scent of blood is overwhelming, mingling with the acrid stench of ozone from the crackling attacks that crisscross the sky like the wrath of vengeful gods.[break][break]

as they land, absinthe jumps from crobat's hold, her boots splashing into the ankle-deep water already pooling around the ruined buildings. panciked people stare at rayquaza's shadowed figure in the sky. "climb!" she orders the mob, grabbing a man by the shoulder and shoving him toward a crumbling staircase. "get to the highest point you can reach. the sea’s coming for this city, and it won't stop. follow my Crobat!"[break][break]

her crobat lets out another piercing cry, circling low over the heads of the civilians, guiding them upward toward the still-standing heights of the city. the pokémon moves with a calculated precision, herding the people like sheep away from the approaching disaster.[break][break]

absinthe watches them scramble after her crobat. it’s the best she can do for them. she hopes that she may be judged fairly in the afterlife.[break][break]

once the last of the civilians are following her crobat, absinthe turns her gaze toward the rising waters, her thoughts shifting to the great dyna tree. there’s no telling how long it will withstand the relentless onslaught of the sea and those that would see it fall, and she needs a sample before it’s too late. to grow a dyna tree at will should they get ample opportunities to research it... unimaginable power.[break][break]

without hesitation, the chemist plunges into the water, her movements swift and deliberate. the cold bites at her clothes and skin, but she ignores it, focusing on her goal. the tree looms ahead, an ancient relic of a world that’s rapidly disintegrating around her.[break][break]

4AYKwFx6

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this whole thing is seeming a little bit familiar to absinthe at this point. the sight of the yanmega particularly scratches at the back of the chemist's mind as deja vu slowly flutters in and propagates therein. has she... met this lady before?[break][break]

regardless, the choice of a ride is an easy one. absinthe can't help but want to ride the skuntank, the poor, misunderstood creature. she chooses the option quickly, confident in her choice. she can't help it. she has a poison pokemon bias.

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holy shit. the happiny is so cute. absinthe hates the feeling, but she just wants to hug it when it comes paddling over to her. struggling to keep her eyes neutral even though her lips smile beneath her mask, absinthe only manages to survive this vicious attack by holding over the water much like a mother would to a child. "wow. hello."[break][break]

well, now she has a new assistant. thanks, Hawkins ![break][break]

MMhVXvy_

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the tiniest smile appears on absinthe's torn lips. he's an archeologist, of course he would be uniquely suited for such a task. he's dedicated his whole life to filling in the gaps of history. her history is no different.[break][break]

absinthe returns the mask to her jaw, which clasps onto her with a soft hiss and renders the scarred half of her face invisible once more. with her maw hidden, her expression goes too, and she's the same cold woman howard met the first time he entered the snake pit. even so, when she returns her eyes to howard to hear his request, there's a certain softness to her usually icy stare, thawed only slightly. she doesn't understand why the man is so hung up on killing a god, but she knows it is close to his heart. a passion, perhaps. one that might kill him.[break][break]

"i will," she affirms without thinking. "say the word and i will be there."[break][break]

she returns her flask to the cabinet she had retrieved it from. "but," she murmurs. "i'll need the story of you and god some day. my only stipulation."

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a shiver runs down her spine as howard's scarred fingertips make contact with her face, running a path from the portion melted together to the untouched curve of her upper cheek. for a second, she feels alive again. nobody has known absinthe truly since her husband died, much less touch her. howard, with every second, seeks to disprove every excuse her mind had made up about why she no longer deserved a society to exist in. she struggles to keep tears from her eyes at his question.[break][break]

some part of her wants to leave the memories to rot. she still feels called to the grave, as soon as her work is done. but howard makes her wonder if there might really be a light at the end of the tunnel for her.[break][break]

she swallows thickly. she blinks away tears that threaten to spill from her eyes. she nods.[break][break]

"i have to," she says finally. "if i don't, i will die."[break][break]

any version of absinthe before this moment would scoff. who cares? the world abandoned her. empathy is a fool's medal, and death the only fitting ending. but the absinthe here, right now, wants to see what the next day holds for her.[break][break]

she averts her eyes, slowly, as composure slowly returns. "i'm sorry," she murmurs, stepping aside from her pride. "and... thank you. for listening."

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absinthe's eyes flick down to howard's extended hand, and then back to his face as she decides, in a split second, that she will allow this closeness. he is a kindred spirit, after all. his eye is gone, her lips are burned away. they have both lost something. they have both lost almost everything. if there is anybody she will bare her soul to, it will be someone who can know, if even a little bit, what she has gone through.[break][break]

his question, though, is a question she has often asked herself, and one that has since gone unanswered.[break][break]

"i don't know," she admits, speaking in little more than a whisper, and what she says is true. some synapses in her brain seem to have permanently rotted away in the months and years following her husbands death. some memories are simply irretrievable. many months of her life have been lost to the endless haze of tragedy. she keeps her gaze steady with howard's even though her heart struggles to keep an easy rhythm.[break][break]

"one day, i was me, and the next day, i wasn't." she bites her lower lip, where there is already a scab from when she had bit it hard enough to draw blood a week prior. "i looked in the mirror and i was this. ruined. disgusting."[break][break]

her fingers gently run along the curve of her mask, nervous. howard stands to be the first person who knows what it hides.

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absinthe's eyes finally draw up towards howard. she had expected him to leave. there's no logical reason absinthe can find for why he's still in the lab, telling her that he's to blame for what happened at the power spot. if anything, an appropriate response would be to let her go, to let her fester in the mistakes of her life, to let her drink herself to death.[break][break]

for some god forsaken reason, he's humble. even sympathetic. he shows her his own scars, reveals that he's broken too, and absinthe's eyes trace up his arm as her hand silently rises towards her own face. markings like lightning spark across his skin. he went in and he came back changed, and he can never go back to the way he was before. neither can absinthe.[break][break]

for some reason, absinthe wants to trust him.[break][break]

tiny pneumatic valves hiss as absinthe unclasps her mask from her face. pure oxygen rolls out of it in shaky tendrils and then dissipate as light dapples the unseen portion of her face. she drops the mask to the countertop. her jaw and mouth are revealed in full: burnt, warped patches of flesh poorly washed over with ugly mounds of scar tissue take up the majority of the bottom half of her face. her lips are mangled, and a small portion of them almost completely missing, offering a grotesque window into her teeth and gums. she grits her teeth as she reaches down into a lower cabinet and reveals a flask, which she uncorks and guzzles.[break][break]

wiping flecks of liquid from her mouth with the back of her arm, absinthe fixes howard with a stare. "i don't know where to start," she finally manages, voice softer than usual. "my husband died. i lost my job at a respected pharmaceutical company. we were going to have a family, and i lost that too."[break][break]

she presses the remains of her lips together. "i saw my husband at the power spot. that's who i was talking to. i just... wasn't ready for it," her voice cracks. "and i haven't been able to work through it because i don't even know how he died."

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absinthe's teeth grit, her eyes darken. she stares holes into her products, even as she gently returns the briefcases into a clasped position. she feels much like a butterfly pinned to a table, inspected with a microscope for any impurities. howard will find there are many, of course. her mind has not escaped her past unscarred.[break][break]

absinthe looks away from him, as if burned. her eyes trace the curves of her hands as they tense against the surface of one briefcase.[break][break]

"you must think me very unstable," absinthe finally manages, her voice strained. "a liability."[break][break]

because of course she is. she has been for a long time. many former colleagues outright refuse to speak to her. friends of her husband she had once been on good terms with avoid her. worst of all, absinthe doesn't understand why. does her husband's reputation still poison her? has she been broken beyond repair?[break][break]

rocket has finally given her a purpose, even if it fails to address the ruined state of her life. but even the war criminals don't want to associate with her.[break][break]

absinthe realizes what this feeling is with a start. she feels like she is drowning. but the woman has no strength to hold onto her life preserver any longer.[break][break]

"my work is all i have. if you do not want it on account of who makes it, you are free to leave and never return."

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absinthe does not flinch when ruza growls. not because she has nerves of steel, but because absinthe has little care for what happens to her body at this point. she stares, instead, with fascination, tracing the curve of the dog's jowls, how toxin seems to collect in the folds of its gums. it is beautiful.[break][break]

absinthe straightens as the houndoom backs away, hackles raised. the chemist instead fixes the owner with a withering, piercing stare. what kind of woman has such an anomaly in her possession? how lucky that she came across absinthe? for the first time in a very long time, absinthe feels touched by fate. though invisible, a smile curls on her lips, indicated only by the way her dark eyes crinkle at the corners. "very helpful, thank you," absinthe says, and her head tilts slightly. "i do dislike having to take care of matters in my own way."[break][break]

a busted kneecap is, truly, a regrettable experience.[break][break]

"your houndoom is anomalous," absinthe observes finally. "how did it come to possess that venom?"

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the lab is as it always has been: pristine, quiet, blindingly white, completely sterile. tryptophan stands in one corner, the eternal bastion, the ever watchful guard, and his blank eyes follow absinthe and her charge as she surges into the space. this is her safe space. predictable equations, predictable results. where the mind is uncharted territory, subject to the fallibility of human consciousness, the lab and the chemicals therein represent pure, unfettered logic in a world otherwise tainted by matters of the heart.[break][break]

it is safe, and yet she still feels on edge. is it tryptophan's eyes boring into her back that set her heart into a frustratingly exhausting rhythm? or is it the knowledge that the man following her has peered into a part of her life that she had been content to bury?[break][break]

absinthe doesn't hear howard when she enters the lab over the thrumming of her chest, over the flick of her lab coat's sleeves. instead, she approaches two small boxes in the corner of the lab, one red and one blue, industrial in nature and clasped over on the top. she grabs both by their handles and hefts them up onto a stainless steel countertop.[break][break]

"this is what i've made since we last met," absinthe murmurs in a low, cold tone as she opens both cases with a click of their clasps. within one briefcase are recreational drugs—crystalline substances in small plastic bags, dark brown liquid in a large amount of syringes, and fine white powder, each of them labeled exhaustively. their names, their strains, when they were produced, the exact ingredients, from shiinotic spores to alcremie cream. within the other briefcase, more offensive strains. toxins, poisons, numbing agents, neurotoxins, the works, labeled in much the same way.[break][break]

absinthe barely glances up. "they are of satisfactory quality."

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