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even with the tight clench of her teeth and the tight grip on her titanium cane, each step absinthe takes sends a jolt of red-hot pain from her knee through the rest of her nervous system. cold sweat rolls down her back, and she has to pause to lean against a wall every few feet to keep herself from collapsing.[break][break]

for a moment, she lingers in the shadow of the pharmacy she's spent the past few hours casing, hidden from view by the enormity of the brick behemoth. she presses her back into the wall and focuses on steadying her breathing. when the pain has receded from her knee, if only for a moment, she prepares herself to begin the long, agonizing trek back to her station in the barren remains of petalburg.[break][break]

she's only made it a few blocks when she hears the crackle of a radio behind her, followed by the clipped, authoritative bark of an officer. "stop. turn around."[break][break]

absinthe stiffens, then slowly turns, careful to keep her weight off her injured knee. the officer is tall and broad-shouldered, his face obscured by a dark-visored helmet, but there's something about his stance that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. "...and you are?" she asks, trying to keep her voice calm and level.[break][break]

"officer marcus weld," he says, and even through the helmet's distortion, absinthe can hear the sneer in his voice. "and you're absinthe blackwood, widow of that piece of shit, cole. i never thought i'd see you slumming it down here in slateport."[break][break]

absinthe's blood runs cold. she knew her husband had enemies—god knows she was one of them—but she never expected one of them to find her here, limping and alone on the empty streets of a sleeping city. she takes a shaky breath, mind racing as she tries to come up with a plan.[break][break]

"what do you want?" she asks at last, tightening her grip on her cane. she's injured, yes, but she's not defenseless. she'll go down fighting if she has to.[break][break]

weld takes a step closer, looming over her. "i want you to know that your husband was a worthless piece of shit, and i'm glad he's dead," he hisses. "and i want you to know that you're not welcome here, or anywhere. you're a disgrace."[break][break]

absinthe sneers, prepared to bark back something sarcastic and witty, when the man moves too fast for her to react to and slams his fist into the side of her face. she is sent reeling to the ground in a heap of black clothing and blood.[break][break]

"he ruined my life and never paid the price. now, i get to ruin yours."

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absinthe manages to not pout when it becomes clear that she hasn't been crowned the winner of a rather dumb little game. of course, she quickly rises to the challenge of the next pumpkin, peering down at its striped form, lantern eyes and near territorial expression barely sparking any warmth in absinthe's demeanor.[break][break]

she should have known it was far too early to be excited about something so removed from her actual work at the lab, removed from the rapid approach of action and perhaps a dazzling display of pyrotechnics that she's truly looking forward to.[break][break]

perhaps rocket has softened her. gaming with the upper crust of rocket hierarchy in a razed town? she scoffs quietly. this wasn't her end goal. she doesn't know exactly when she began to place herself in positions to be disappointed by rocket protocol. was it when she almost cried in a front of a superior?[break][break]

dissatisfaction breeds traitorous ambition, she reminds herself, and writes a number onto a slip of paper.

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the depth of absinthe's memories are shallower than she oftentimes lets on, but at lulu's implication that not all members of the board have finished wrapping their heads around the urgency of lulu's project, absinthe instantly recalls her own superiors at her previous job dismissing her desperate pleadings after the death of her husband.[break][break]

whispers lie along her bones. it'll get better, they promised. and yet it never did.[break][break]

the similarity ends there. while absinthe has repainted the color of her life into neutrals, afraid of striking the match that will destroy all over again, lulu's screams passion. independence. they are in different stages of the fury attached to a grievance; lulu's beginning to burn brighter while absinthe's is overcome by magma that dries into black, bubbling peaks. containment.[break][break]

"interesting," she says, glancing away briefly. "extradition is an important human cause, though i'm hardly a researcher of space. i see, now, why you feel such passion, regardless."[break][break]

at that, absinthe moves towards one of the machines provided in her lab. "well, then," she says, running a hand lovingly across the stainless steel of the structure. "shall i begin?"

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oh, so shalin bites off more than she can chew. absinthe raises an eyebrow at the state of the girl, who appears much like she would were she thrown off a cliff or trampled by a herd of bouffalant.[break][break]

nevertheless, her hands are slow as she reaches for the small key to open the gate. part of her despises shalin, after all, and relishes in the continued suffering for the sake of absinthe's progress. alas, she might as well get them both somewhere safe before getting the girl back to her two feet.[break][break]

absinthe opens the locked door and drags shalin through it.

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absinthe, predictably, sends daggers in evelyn’s direction, but says nothing more on the matter of the berries. afterall, there is a mystery to solve, as all of the clock hands grind to a halt.[break][break]

”it is a classic ghost story,” absinthe intones with a roll of her eyes as she idly trods after evelyn into a nearby room. ”there must be some reason that the dead yet walk. a grudge is the classic offering. but a grudge against who? or what?”[break][break]

she casts her gaze across the dusty room they’ve found themselves in, the panicked and inquisitive shouts of other guests echoing through termite-ridden walls. with a gloved hand, absinthe picks up a nearby package and turns it around beneath her eyes, studying the string, the wrapping paper, the markings and letterings. she then uses another hand to hold up a magnetic stone. she tilts her head.[break][break]

”research. a quarrel between academics, maybe?” absinthe murmurs, then casts an appraising eye up to evelyn. ”we know what that is like.”

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ah. and so the outside world beckons to her. the game can be done with one decision, the fictional world can collapse in around the girl absinthe has repeatedly thrown to the dogs. for a moment, absinthe considers it—she has already wasted an embarrassing amount of time on this endeavor, and her lab calls to her with it's urgent siren song.[break][break]

even so, who doesn't love more riches?[break][break]

absinthe decides to backtrack and head through the descending tunnel.

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absinthe has never been one to believe in fate, but as lulu explains the relevance of the interdream zone and her fascinations with it, she can't help but feel as though something has drawn her towards lulu, towards rocket, towards the endeavor of the submarine. the universe works in strange and mysterious ways.[break][break]

"i see," she says softly, her attention captivated fully by the concept that lulu is suggesting. her hands have ceased their usual nervous twitches in favor of lying limp against her upper arms, and a wrinkle has set between her brows. "so what you need is a chart. your exploration needs a map and an unmoving sky to navigate by."[break][break]

the unmoving sky, of course, being the state of lucidity invoked by a drug. absinthe's tasted the idea in her mind and she finds she enjoys the flavor.[break][break]

perhaps that is an immensely dangerous thought. she's already witnessed how tampering with unknown forces can level her into the dust, but absinthe has been in the dust for so long. at this point, she doubts she has much left to lose.[break][break]

but she sees something inside of lulu that she recognizes. something familiar. she digs deeper.[break][break]

"were you put on this by superiors, or do you pursue it all for the sake of scientific advancement?" absinthe pauses, eyes cutting. "or is it more personal than that?"

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absinthe clenches her hands into fists at the explanation. 'climbing the ladder,' howard says. as if she wants his job. as if she wants to be puppeteered by terrorists and sent on this glorified death mission all for queen and country and organization. her insides recoil at the idea.[break][break]

"don't worry," she spits bitterly. "i have very little of myself left to lose."[break][break]

she pauses. so had howard—and then he lost it, in the form of an entirely new body.[break][break]

then, a poor excuse of an attempt at a promotion—ghostbusting bodyguard. howard hides himself behind her while she stares the rocking horse down. emboldened by the ill-fitting title, she squares her shoulders, standing tall in front of her cowardly boss. there was something about her gaze that really seemed to put the fear of god into anyone—living, dead, or inanimate.[break][break]

the old saying must be true: the ghost had more in common with absinthe than she had with the living, and they recognize her as such. this trait, her knowledge of these classic coexistence rules, are why he's put her in charge, or so she tells herself.[break][break]

she raises her arms slowly in a dramatic sweep and locks them next to her face, index fingers pointed outward. her eyes are wide and frenzied. "ooo," she moans ghoulishly, doing her best (which is a poor, inauthentic best) to sound like a poltergeist rising from its grave. "ooo-oooo-"[break][break]

as the last haunting "o" leaves her lips, she glares back at the admin.[break][break]

"ghostbusted."[break][break]

there's an unearthly amount of sass in her voice for an undead individual.[break][break]

she relaxes her arms back down and exhales sharply. the phrase 'back to life, back to reality' pops into her head. she slowly turns back towards the entryway of the abandoned house and slowly steps towards the door. then, it shuts right in front of her, as if on it's own. absinthe, heart lurching in her throat, immediately begins a futile struggle with the doorknob, only to find that it is jambed shut. her hands fall away, and she is left staring at the exit.[break][break]

"you're kidding me."

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absinthe watches as howard leaps over the bushes. she grits her teeth as she shoves the cut branches out of her way and trudges forward, the ghost of a migraine looming. her nostrils flare as she exhales. she supposes this is technically fieldwork. it's also technically a waste of time.[break][break]

"i don't get paid enough for this," she grumbles as she comes up beside howard. she pointedly ignores his attempt at injecting fun into the excursion. her forehead is wrinkled and the corners of her lips are taut. she likes to avoid things that remind her of her current state of in-between-ness; with one foot in the past, full of memories of being an ambitious, desperate grad student, and one foot in the grim darkness of her potential future.[break][break]

this silent, dilapidated house is no exception.[break][break]

adventure awaits. she'd much rather paper cuts await. all of the funding she gets from team rocket just for it to be squandered on wages to trek out to a place where someone OD'd with a needle in their arm or fell in love with a sharp knife and a warm bath. she can hardly believe it.[break][break]

a sudden remembrance of policy—an amendment— from the hr department of her pharmacology jab that had funneled to her lab slips into her mind, about breaks and the lower productivity from not taking them, and the tight purse strings loosen. she hopes that's not what this is, but if it is, it doesn't matter. she will resent every moment.[break][break]

she always pictured howard more the type to go straight for the liquor cabinet when he needed a break, however. she huffs.[break][break]

"how do you want to do this?" she says. her eyes are downturned, sharpening. she's hoping he gives her an idea so that they can get this over with, go home, and she can wash her hands clean of the whole thing. the sooner she gets back to her lab, the better. the outside world doesn't seem to care for her, anyway.[break][break]

absinthe opens the door of the house howard chooses, desperate to enter and get it all over with, and finds herself standing in the center of the entryway, finding only stillness and a thick layer of dirt and dust all over every surface. in the corner of the house, there is a creak. absinthe's eyes immediately snap up towards where the sound had emanated from, and finds that a wooden rocking horse embellished with many decades of muck and grime is rocking ever so slowly. forward, then back, then forward.[break][break]

absinthe narrows her eyes. "okay. you were right. it's haunted."

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absinthe was only able to linger in the first moments of the waltz before, as with most things, the moment decayed like an ignored wound. surprise lingers in her eyes, and when she pulls away, her lips curl up ever so slightly—misery loves company, after all.[break][break]

"berry interesting," the chemist says after a brief pause, paying little mind to the groan-worthy pun.[break][break]

for a moment, just a moment, absinthe considers the possibilities. mysterious events seem to surround the manor like bees to honey; more than that, though, they always seemed to congregate in teams when the chemist managed to catch wind of them. mysterious matters, no matter how small, sent almost masochistic shivers through absinthe; after all, she sought suffering in every shape and substance.[break][break]

and, oh, the addictive sweetness of the unknown has absinthe's pupils dilating.[break][break]

the dining hall somehow manages to maintain an overbearing, monstrously grand air, despite the fact that it should have expired. decadent tables hold heaps of food; enough to feed a small army on one side and on the other, three lavish plate settings—a horribly thought-out facade meant to conceal whatever lies beneath.[break][break]

curiosity teems within absinthe's every vein. circumstances seem to be steeped in coincidence. berries, grouped in trios, are rather unheard of when crafted as decorations. absinthe roams her gaze over the room cautiously, eyeing each piece as the misshapen puzzle pieces clank together with the unease of uncertainty. "what do i think is going on? i think somebody is playing with the guests."[break][break]

she coils her hands into fists.[break][break]

"durin, hondew, aguav," each are familiar to her—tools for coordinators, but also used for medicine. absinthe racks her brain.[break][break]

ah.[break][break]

absinthe glances at evelyn. "the party coordinators think themselves clever, i believe."

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the solemn weight of returning to littleroot town, where absinthe and her husband began their life together, settles heavily on absinthe's shoulders. the fresh air and lush greens of their hometown seem almost mockery of her dark purpose here. every quaint, charming detail that might once have brought her comfort now twists her gut with an unwelcome pang of longing.[break][break]

with each step, the overgrown path leading to the cemetery crunches underfoot, evoking a painful reminder of the decay and neglect that she and cole had been subject to during the final months of his life. hot tears spring unbidden to her eyes and she struggles to contain them.[break][break]

after some time, they come to a stop in front of a grave, one that, despite absinthe's diligent care, has begun to show the wear of time and hard rains. her husband's name, coldly etched into the stone, brings a sudden, terrible lucidity.[break][break]

"cole," she chokes out, and then bitterly, so softly it's nearly drowned out by the wind, "how's hell this time of the year?"[break][break]

she reaches out to touch the granite, worn rough and pockmarked by the weather. her fingers tremble slightly. she wants to say something to evelyn, to give voice to the tumultuous torrent of emotions raging in her heart, but she finds herself unable to produce the words.[break][break]

instead, she turns to look at her companion, her heart aching for some sense of understanding, of reassurance that this foray into her past has not been in vain. four years now that absinthe has been alone.[break][break]

or, perhaps, less than that, now that evelyn is here.[break][break]

absinthe's heart aches without her permission.

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