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absinthe releases a cold, dark laugh. "broken?"[break][break]

the ground rumbles beneath her feet. the chemist looks ahead, undaunted. "it is beautiful in the way a wildfire is," she murmurs, holding her mask close to her face. "it is far more powerful than us. it destroys everything it touches. it is beautiful because it is greater, because it is scarier, and not in spite of it."[break][break]

absinthe turns her eyes to howard. "you call it a farce," she begins, eyes slack. "i call it a masterpiece. it breaks the barriers of reality, and for that, i admire it. the body it has left for us may yet be the key for humanity to also break the same boundaries that fetter us."[break][break]

absinthe blinks. for a moment, it seems to her as if the ground suddenly washes over in a deep red hue, and a pass of her eyelids renders it invisible once more. she presses onward, mind reeling. the hallucinations howard mentioned must be coming to a head. nonetheless, she continues, for the man headlong of her is indeed odd. "and you," she begins, suddenly focused on the horizon, the darkness of the cave beyond. "you are odd because you cringe at the tools you must use in your work with rocket. but you use them anyways. i often wonder if it is the remnant of a guilty conscience, or if it is a leash you put on yourself."[break][break]

by now, the rumbling of footsteps in the distance have hit a crescendo, and the whine of an untuned melody played on the piano accompanies it, growing in noise with every second. absinthe winces, holding her ears, and she looks back at howard to gauge if he's hearing what she is.[break][break]

then, downward. shoring up in squelching horror is a pool of blood, filling the entire cave, and slowly rising up and lapping against the soles of her shoes. absinthe watches it, her eyes widened. "fuck," she breathes to herself. "don't do this to me."

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absinthe does as she is told, absconding from the lobby with only a wave of her hand and a look over her shoulder. "thanks."[break][break]

and so the woman goes ahead, plodding through the winding hallways and stands of the arena, until she arrives at sector one, greeted with the sight of the champion atop a positively massive boltund. what the hell are they feeding these things?[break][break]

absinthe glazes her eyes over with a mask of complacency and simple excitement. today, she plays the role of someone she once was, and not the twisted mass she has become. the only blessing in disguise is that her mask remains: she's safe to crinkle the corners of her eyes and mask friendliness without bothering to reign in her mouth as well.[break][break]

"that's me," absinthe answers josh. "nice to meet you."[break][break]

she glances around the starting line, eyes raking over posts, saddles, and tack. "i've never done anything like this before," she admits. "but i'm sure you're used to teaching complete beginners."

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the peace is what absinthe likes most about petalburg woods at night. few trainers bother with this area past nightfall, and absinthe is left to her own devices, free to bask in the comfort of her own company.[break][break]

alas, the peace certainly does not last. the sudden droning buzz of insect wings cut through the air, a grating noise that set her teeth on edge. absinthe’s eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze toward the source of the disturbance. the sight of a flygon, its body glowing with a strange green light, protecting a yanmega, draws her brows down. the excited whooping that comes with it only bares her teeth further. so much for peace and quiet.[break][break]

"strange." tryptophan, attuned to his trainer's every mood, pauses mid-step, its glowing caps dimming slightly as if in response to absinthe's prickling.[break][break]

her eyes scan the shadows, weighing whether she should investigate the odd sight. suddenly, a subtle shifting in the darkness drew her attention. a gastly, its ethereal form nearly invisible against the dim light, drifted into view. its sly smirk glinted in the eerie glow as it floated closer, flickering with each movement. absinthe’s eyes narrow further, flickering in the twilight. she retrieves a pokeball from her bag.[break][break]

"shhhh," she hisses to the gastly, hopping off from her perch atop her shiinotic. "i'm listening."[break][break]

absinthe holds her hand close to her face mask as sleep spores begin to emanate from shiinotic's body with a shake of its main cap. the gastly looks as if it might defend itself against tryptophan, but soon falters, and then drifts to the floor, eyes shut. true to her word, absinthe's eyes remain on the underbrush: what had flown past her? and why? she grits her teeth as she throws her pokeball at the gastly's sleeping form.

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absinthe smiles. yes, they may destroy it one day, felling it with the very ingredients that make it whole, but it will not lie down forever. indeed, history repeats itself. where the league or team rocket cuts off one head of the serpent, another grows in its place. for as long as hoenn remains, dire circumstances will continue to plague it, and great threats to humanity will continue to rise. so howard kills eternatus: what will he do next? can a piece of a puzzle exist in happiness without the other pieces to make it whole?[break][break]

it is a question he must ask himself. and a question that absinthe must ask herself, as well: when the chemical is made and she is satisfied with her work, what will she do after? a weapon is only as good as the war it fights in, a viper only as good as its venom. every person must reckon with what they are in peace. peace: a cruel mistress. perhaps even crueler than absinthe herself.[break][break]

when howard tells her to follow, absinthe follows. she is inoculated, but her body has yet to fight off the horrors that wait ahead.[break][break]

left they go. absinthe listens to his musings, silent, eyes ahead and watching for prey.[break][break]

"both of us are odd," she admits with a tilt of her head, focus trained on the red haze ahead of them. "but in many different ways. tell me, what makes me odd to you?"

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infinity energy washes both of their faces in black and white: his remaining eye, the curve where her mask hides her mouth, the humanity they have fled. "and history will repeat itself."[break][break]

space warps around them, and they are gone. in another world, they reappear. a cave, pulsing, thrumming with latent energy. the chemist feels it on her skin, in the air. her hand drops from howard's in favor of pawing at her supplies, brought with in a well-worn canvas bag. she relinquishes a clear, empty vial from the depths within, and her eyes look out into the cave. howard knows the danger, he has already been initiated into it, but absinthe knows not. a snake trying to swallow a tiger, a tiger playing dead. it is ugly to howard, but the corners of absinthe's eyes crinkle.[break][break]

"beautiful," she breathes to herself. she cannot help it: danger allures her. she draws closer to the walls, and tryptophan follows her. the blank-eyed shiinotic turns, watching the environment with a simple smile, as absinthe holds a vial up to the cave rock. blood-like poison oozes into the receptacle, and absinthe watches, face reflected in the liquid.[break][break]

there is certainty in her tone as she twists the cap onto the vial. "a plague, too, can be destroyed. i believe that is when it is most beautiful," she says. "the plague alone holds what is needed to destroy it, though. it must be dissected."[break][break]

history repeats itself. a vaccine for a disease, an antidote for a venom. the coils of fate wind tighter and tighter.[break][break]

absinthe turns towards the paths ahead of them, tucking the vial back into her bag. "what lies ahead?"

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while absinthe far prefers the comforts of her lab, she is no stranger to field work. howard is not necessarily her first choice of companion to venture into the heart of a god with, but she won't deny that he always comes to her with an opportunity in hand—and what an opportunity this is. the corpse of life itself, pulsating with energy beyond her wildest dreams.[break][break]

they need only reach it. absinthe rakes her eyes across the forward camp: mining picks, drills, hardhats. there is labor ahead of them, and it won't be easy. absinthe's shiinotic stares blankly ahead.[break][break]

"ah, yes, i had imagined such a task to be a walk in the park," she says, arms crossed over her chest, eyes lingering on the power spot before them. "try not to complain too much. you will annoy me."[break][break]

absinthe places her hand in his, and meets his eyes with her own. "take us in, then."[break][break]

a shiver runs down her back. in the back of her head, for the first time in a long while, she is excited.

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absinthe can't help but let her eyes wander. the rainbow of pokemon running in the arena, visible from even the front office, is enough to distract her. it seemed to her that anything that was even remotely quadrupedal was present on the grounds, drawn from the ground up in racing tack and saddles.[break][break]

being here makes her skin crawl. a long time ago, this was the kind of place she went to on the weekends. she can't help but feel completely out of place in a world that must be... fun. god, when was the last time she had fun? for many years, the only places she went to beyond her lab and bar was the grocery store and the wild to get ingredients. but this world...[break][break]

it reminds her of a time she refuses to remember. it reminds her of a time that makes her heart ache.[break][break]

looking at shelly, absinthe puts on her sweetest voice. she's so out of practice with interacting with normal people that it comes out sickly sweet and raspy. it doesn't fit with her eyes, which refuse to crinkle or even take on any kind of mirth or happiness. "abby should be the name," she answers, allowing the name to comb over her barbed tongue.[break][break]

abby. a very old nickname.

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alas, there is no doubt that even the gun requires skill. one must aim it, must look their enemy in the eye and decide in that moment to cease seeing them as human, and then they must pull the trigger. absinthe, watching the still-twitching corpse of the rattata, knows what she does is different. there is no need to put the guilt of murder in her own hands—it is a trap. set it down, and watch it do what it does best. aerosol it, turn it into a gas, and the degree of separation is further broadened. even the stupidest, meekest people can do it. for that reason, absinthe finds it a superior weapon to guns, to spears, to swords. it is more elegant, it is sweeter.[break][break]

alas, maybe the chemist has a bias.[break][break]

absinthe doesn't look at howard any further as he speaks to her. she's distracted—returning nitrile gloves to her work-worn hands, pulling a white labcoat over her shoulders from a nearby hanger. she can feel the chains, still wrapping around her wrists, her throat, her legs, but perhaps a part of her likes to be reigned in. perhaps a part of her likes the bite of restrictions around her body. pushing the boundaries is so much sweeter when she knows what she has to lose—then, her respected job in a respected field, now the protection of an organization far bigger than she.[break][break]

they have chains, but the widow just does not give a shit about it. she doesn't give a shit about rocket. they are a means to an end, and nothing more.[break][break]

the madness returns to her eyes. she's already busying herself with a nearby beaker. "that's great," she murmurs to howard, voice cold, hair wisping across her face. "now get out of my lab. i have work to do."

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