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absinthe grits her teeth. broken. terrible. unwell. she would like to pretend that these judgements are just waves against the firm castle of her psyche, but every passing day makes her feel more and more like she is a lone body in a sea of hatred. like she is not made for this world. like everyone around her understands something about being a person that she doesn't.[break][break]

she does not register that this statement might come from a place of concern. why would anybody worry over her? the body is a place of violence and hatred. such observations are meant to wound, not soothe. absinthe closes further, an embittered rose.[break][break]

"admin fox," absinthe exhales through her teeth, staunchly refusing to meet the man's eyes. "sleep is good. business is good."[break][break]

half of that is a lie, and howard likely knows that. a woman doesn't look as absinthe does without many sleepless nights.[break][break]

nonetheless, the viper throws him a pristine white lab coat from beneath the bar, and pulls her own over her shoulders. releasing her sleek black hair from the collar, she already begins walking back towards the bar's 'kitchen'. "come. you must want to see the lab."

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when absinthe returns to the surface, she appears bobbing on the ocean near somebody she recognizes. the man from the bar (Hawkins). they accidentally meet eyes, and absinthe stares blankly. is that a... happiny in his arms? wow. this is ridiculously awkward.[break][break]

in a desperate, obvious attempt to avoid conversation, absinthe dives back down. she would rather drown millions of miles beneath the sea than make small talk.[break][break]

2Y2S|zUG

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the snake pit is quiet on this night. all of her regulars are gone, her labwork is done, and so the bartender is alone with her own thoughts, idly sorting the shelves on the walls and doing chores she had not managed to complete during the day.[break][break]

the air inside is thick with the scent of stale alcohol and a hint of something more pungent, almost chemical. the walls, once a deep crimson, are now faded and peeling, with patches of grime collecting in the corners. a single, flickering neon sign above the bar casts an eerie, greenish hue over the room, barely illuminating absinthe's semi-masked face. the bar itself is long and worn, its surface marred with countless nicks and stains, a testament to years of neglect and rough patrons. behind it, absinthe moves with a kind of methodical precision, her movements sharp and uninviting. shelves lined with dusty bottles of dubious origin stretch up to the low ceiling, some filled with liquor, others with substances you’re better off not knowing about.[break][break]

she had hoped that, somehow, the night would end in silence, that she would be able to get back to the lab and avoid sleep for another night. alas, such fortune has never landed squarely in absinthe's hands. the snake pit's entrance chimes. absinthe glances up with narrowed eyes.[break][break]

god, let this go quickly.

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it has been a week since the failed expedition into eternatus' festering corpse. absinthe's hallucination has recurred in the form of the same nightmare every night since.[break][break]

tryptophan puts her to sleep most nights. it is their little routine: absinthe will stay in the lab to the point of exhaustion. the shiinotic will enter and cover her with spores. she will fall. the shiinotic will drag her to her bed. she will seize with night terrors all night. and so the process continues.[break][break]

thusly, on the day howard is scheduled to check up on the operations in the snake pit, absinthe's eyes are dropping, dragged down by severe, dark bags, and her cheeks are gaunt, her skin pale. she washes a glass even though it is already clean. anything to keep her traitorous hands occupied.[break][break]

most of all, she dreads the chime of the door. she dreads feeling like a stranger in her own pit.

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absinthe watches the pokemon that have approached her carefully, though flinches away from the sylveon's roaming ribbons. it is instinct, for the snake has rarely been touched so gently in recent years, and the sensation would certainly run a shiver down her spine. with a steadying sigh, absinthe reigns in her emotions, and her false expression of apathy returns in full force. venturing out from the lab is always a damn mistake. absinthe doesn't belong in this world.[break][break]

nonetheless, the woman approaches the arcanine, her hand gently reaching out for the beast to get acquainted with her scent. it is a good pokemon. it seems kind, strong, and honorable.[break][break]

breathing deep, absinthe circles around to the mighty dog's side, where she grabs at its saddle and pulls herself into it, although not without some struggle. the chemist's brows furrow as her muscles struggle to even pull her weight: she used to be so strong, but many months of eating very little and sleeping about the same have rendered her fragile. given some time, though, she gets atop the thing, and now sits tall. she casts her gaze to josh.[break][break]

"i don't think i know quite how to sit in the saddle."

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absinthe has no need for clampearls, and yet they come to her regardless. how fickle fate is, to be given things you have no use for. at the very least, it will make her a pretty penny.[break][break]

she dives.[break][break]

gAamTTI9

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just like that, the kid gloves are on.[break][break]

absinthe's eyes bore into howard's back as he turns. her throat bubbles with fury. she can be perfect—she can make as much product as necessary, she can haul supplies from one end of the cavern to another, she can run her business with impunity—but cole can ruin it all for her. he's always ruined everything.[break][break]

once, a predator. now, a bleating lamb, stuck, in need of rescue. how easily the facade falls. how easily absinthe's tepid existence is undermined.[break][break]

absinthe follows after howard, and tryptophan after her. the whole way, she is silent, except for the tiniest noises from behind her mask. her teeth, biting down into the remains of her lips, and splattering blood across the interior of her mask.[break][break]

she's unsure how she can ever look this man in the eye again. if it's up to her, she won't.

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absinthe is here alone. not for fun, but to forget. life feels easier to bear with the crushing weight of the ocean atop your shoulders.[break][break]

she dives.[break][break]

XRY2UgiL

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unwell. broken. sick. rocket uses her, but isn't afraid to tell her that she isn't welcome in a civilized society. not anymore. absinthe scoffs as she takes the man's money. "aren't we all."[break][break]

the drink is made quickly and according to specification with no love or passion. perfect, if boring, in a pristine glass cup. absinthe slides it onto the bartop, and then busies herself with returning the ingredients to her shelves.[break][break]

"tell me your business," absinthe commands, her back to the stranger. "and do it quickly."

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it is very late at night. absinthe can't sleep: obviously, if the bags underneath her eyes are any indication. when she can't sleep, she usually works in the lab, but tonight she has exhausted the work in her lab, and her hands tire of the chemicals. in this case, she is left only with her laptop.[break][break]

usually, in desperate times, absinthe makes music in a DAW. right now, though, the DAW is updating, and doing so very slowly. to pass the time, absinthe finds herself staring at an odd screen prompting her to choose a class. a video game, featuring a... strangely familiar face.[break][break]

hmm. odd.[break][break]

absinthe selects the "wizard" option. it sounds the most suitable.

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another step forward, another step back. not real, her mind cries. not real.[break][break]

unless it is, her heart returns. did she kill him? somehow, someway, did she kill him? the narrative in her mind, a narrative she built from the ground up, crumbles brick by brick. cole wanted that promotion for himself: unless abby pressured him with her easy success. cole lived outside of their marriage because of his own moral failings: unless abby unwittingly pushed him away. cole did what he did because he had drawn himself into a corner: unless abby was the one who had shackled him.[break][break]

the wind cannot be controlled. it will only blow through sails when the time is right. the wind chime only sings when the breeze is blowing through her. and the baby's wailing melody continues.[break][break]

some part of abby wishes he would just pull the trigger, real or not.[break][break]

and the shiinotic stares, unmoving, acknowledging howard's command but making no effort to assist. it was cole's partner, afterall: abby is not its true master.[break][break]

then, her name: what abby considers to be her real name, from a man who had no right to speak it. he forces her head away from cole, and her cheeks are wet, her eyelids red and swollen. the blood recedes, the gun lowers, facial skin reforms. the baby is still crying in music, but its voice lowers. abby is back in the cave. absinthe is, too.[break][break]

she takes a long, steadying inhale. she lifts a hand to swipe at her cheek. she turns away. absinthe lifts her left hand and stares at it.[break][break]

when she removes the ring from her finger and places it in her bag, cole disappears. the baby is gone. the music is there still, as it always has been, but gentler, smoother. the melody she's always recognized. absinthe is herself again, and abby is gone: separate, as they always should have been. the shiinotic finally takes up a blank-eyed stance alongside absinthe once more.[break][break]

absinthe glances up, around the cave, through the darkness. anywhere but howard, anywhere but the claydol that had been protecting her from a specter she had never been able to defend herself from. "we were mining, right?" she finally murmurs, though her voice cracks. another inhale, another steadying breath. her mind focuses on the only thing that will keep her sane: a duty to do.

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it is a nightmare she has had almost every night for years now. the setting is no fixed point, but the same things always happen. blood fills the room. cole appears before her, skin fused to bone in a nightmarish amalgamation of what her husband used to be. he is carrying a baby. he is holding a gun. absinthe only avoids this nightmare with her own solutions. she often fails to sleep at all.[break][break]

so she knows what comes next. even so, she's never prepared for it. her stomach churns as the same, horrifically disfigured man stands in front of her, baby in his arms. when the baby opens its mouth, music plays. an aria, piano notes. she knows its not real. it never has been. "you're not real," she echoes howard, a prayer said like a mantra. "you're not real."[break][break]

the blood rises. it's at her ankles now, and cole's face continues to melt. absinthe's brain works in overtime. it can't be real: her clothes aren't stained red, howard is looking at her and not at cole, a baby can't cry in music. but her heart aches. for as long as she can remember, she has closed her heart, and she has allowed her logic to do the speaking for her. cole was the one exception, and he continues to be. that is why she never left him. that's why she still has his ring on her finger.[break][break]

when absinthe meets howard's eye, her face is twisted. he has seen cold understanding, he has seen cruel excitement, he has seen broiling hysteria, but he has not seen this. she is terrified.[break][break]

and cole is very much real—perhaps not physically, but the specter of their life together still works to haunt absinthe's present. cole lifts his arm, now only muscle, and aims his gun at absinthe. you killed me.[break][break]

absinthe flinches, as if on command, as instinct cultivated over many years under the scalpel flows back into her. "you killed your own damn self," she hisses through her teeth. "it was you, it was you! you and your shitty ambition. and you killed my life with it, too."[break][break]

cole advances a step, and absinthe takes a step back: the collected, severe chemist is gone. absinthe is abby again, and abby could never tell what was real and what was fake.

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rocket, league, and their respective forces certainly have a way of fucking up life for everyone else.[break][break]

it's obvious even to absinthe, who lingers near to the hole made in the drowning city. noise sounds to her in every direction: screaming citizens, the flow of water, kyogre's knells. with the water rising, everyone in sootopolis is on a time limit. they'll all only have so long before the world is drowned.[break][break]

pressed up against the cliffs on the exterior of sootopolis, absinthe eyes the curve of the horizon, southward. her true reason for being on the warfront dawns, breaking up the barrier between sea and sky: the dynatree, and the king atop it. the chemist's fist tightens around the scalpel in her canvas bag. what could be gleaned from this nightmare if she could just get a sample? she knows her duty: initially, to evacuate the citizens from the city, having been brought in as reinforcements, now to fire on league agents attempting to breach sootopolis from the hole kyogre has made. by now, though, the lines between duty and personal interest have been burned.[break][break]

absinthe glances upward. sanguinarine, her crobat, meets absinthe's eyes.[break][break]

"sanguinarine, get me in."[break][break]

the muffled command from behind absinthe's ever-permanent gas mask sparks the crobat into action. the beast, nearly a head taller and larger than absinthe, flaps its wings with fervor, and absinthe grabs onto its waiting feet as they slowly take to the air. it's slow going, but absinthe hopes sanguinearine can fly long enough to get her over the cliffs.[break][break]

eYl3rzkJ[break]
rocket advantage

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