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absinthe watches from a distance, perched carefully on a tree branch, her legs swinging listlessly below her. her eyes are hard and cold as she gazes at the garchomp and his less-than-graceful rider. she recognizes him instantly.[break][break]

it is josh devlin, a champion ranked trainer.[break][break]

he had been kind to her once, but that means nothing now. he is a high-profile target, after all, and his death would bring great honor to team rocket. more importantly, it would bring great honor to absinthe herself.[break][break]

a smirk pulls at the ruined flesh of her lips. he is alone, and he is vulnerable. it doesn't even seem like he has his best team with him. to her, it seems like a perfect crime scene.[break][break]

slowly, carefully, absinthe unhooks a pokeball from her belt. she presses the button and a beam of light bursts forth, materializing into a frosmoth, though there is a sickly purple pallor to her hue, and her antennae end in toxic chains. absinthe's very own poisonous weapon.[break][break]

"asbestos," the chemist murmurs. "blizzard."[break][break]

with a powerful beat of her wings, the frosmoth dutifully stirs the stagnant air into whipping, frigid winds. even worse, the snow itself is toxic—breathing it in is certain to be disastrous. absinthe cannot help but grin as she presses her gas mask closer to her face.

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absinthe considers lulu's clarification, nodding. "very well," she says finally. "anybody will do. but it would be helpful if you could find those who have already experienced lucid dreams."[break][break]

the chemist looks around her lab again, her eyes taking in the pristine machines and resources laid out before her, unblemished by failure and time. it's almost a shame to mar them with use. almost.[break][break]

she pauses, though, at lulu's question. slowly, absinthe leans against the nearest counter, her arms crossing over her chest. she's always liked to pace while she ponders over difficult questions. as such, she takes a few thoughtful steps forward.[break][break]

"to start, i need to study the brain both at rest and in the midst of a lucid dream," she says slowly, weighing her options carefully. "to lucid dream is a trainable skill. i would prefer my assistants train the test subjects in the art of it."[break][break]

the chemist taps her fingers against her upper arm as she ponders further. "when i know the structure of a lucid dream, i will know the parts of the brain that needs to be stimulated to induce the same circumstances. then, i can formulate the drug with that knowledge in mind. off a hunch, galantamine will form the base of this endeavor. acetylcholine may be a good crossroad to explore, but i believe serotonin could also yield fruitful results."[break][break]

absinthe finally glances up at lulu. "it'll take time," she warns. "but i intend to make that time worthwhile."[break][break]

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there is the faintest rustle of clothing as trypsin shifts, unseen, her scales barely glinting in the dim moonlight that dares pierce through the black canopy above. her beady eyes, much more adjusted to the darkness, narrow as she senses a warm body approach.[break][break]

absinthe can tell little of the nature of the potential victim, only that she desperately wants something to take out the fury of existence on.[break][break]

she thinks of the seviper around her neck, the power and pain she is able to cause with a flick of the wrist. she almost delights in it, in being able to bring death upon the so-called innocent. the thought consumes her. it maddens her. it blurs her vision.[break][break]

they are coming closer now. their steady footfalls are louder, the rustling of their clothes clearer. her hand rests on her scalpel's hilt, waiting.
and then, something in absinthe snaps. perhaps it is her newfound bloodlust, or the endless weeks of depression and spiraling insomnia. perhaps it is the erroneous way that she thinks with absolute certainty that she will get away with this, that nothing will stop her from continuing to carve a path through league bastards like a hot knife through butter.[break][break]

whatever it is, it spurs her on. the long, deadly knife leaves its sheath with the quiet whisper of metal on leather, glinting once in the moonlight. as quick and silent as death itself, the white-clad woman lunges from the shadows, her scalpel poised to strike like a cobra ready to sink its fangs into its prey.

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the ticking of time seems to slow to an agonizing crawl as absinthe stands amongst towering, scarred trees, her foot tapping impatiently against the dewy grass. she had chosen this meeting point for its seclusion, far away from the center of petalburg, if only because she was told that this particular delivery of supplies would necessitate discretion—a clear indicator to absinthe that the person involved is not of the rocket persuasion. the trees loom around her like silent guardians, their leaves rustling softly in the evening breeze.[break][break]

her gaze darts around the shadowy forest, searching for any sign of the delivery girl she had been promised. her irritation grows with each passing minute, threatening to boil over into a bitter rage.[break][break]

"i swear to arceus," she mutters under her breath, words muffled by the ever-present gas mask, "if this girl is late, there will be hell to pay."[break][break]

to whom? she's not certain.[break][break]

though, if she's honest, probably another poor prisoner. rocket has been too generous to her, to give her so many test subjects. it is a matter of time before absinthe begins using the wretches for her less savory experiments.

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the midnight air is like a thick, black curtain draped over route 102, a stifling darkness that would smother any light foolish enough to reveal itself. absinthe sweeps through the dense undergrowth with trypsin, her sleek seviper, coiled tightly around her shoulders like a living, breathing scarf. she is a diva, afterall, and divas do not crawl on their bellies like peasants. normally, absinthe would not tolerate such behavior. she makes an exception for one of her only companions.[break][break]

trypsin's tongue flicks out to taste the damp air, her beady eyes searching through the shadows for any sign of life. somewhere in the distance, a noctowl calls out into the night, and its cry echoes off the trees and drowns the silence in a momentary wave of sound.[break][break]

the familiar weight of her scalpel presses against absinthe's hip, a cruel reminder of the night's grim purpose. she can almost taste the tension that hangs in the air like a fog; the constant push and pull between team rocket and the league, each vying for control of petalburg and its surroundings, has been rapidly approaching a boiling point. tonight, she wants to ensure that she is useful, in whatever way possible. she craves blood.[break][break]

her breath comes slow and steady, collected in the confines of her ever present gas mask, creating a steady, low hiss as the air struggles to filter its way through the charred remains of her lungs. what she wouldn't give for one deep, clean breath. but she had been choking on the poisonous bile of grief and guilt for years, now. what difference does it make if her lungs were filled with toxins, too?[break][break]

nonetheless, absinthe keeps the mask. it has another purpose, a darker one. one only she and the only admin she can trust knows.[break][break]

a pitiful state of affairs. absinthe's fingertips itch. she will replace her need for clean air with a lust for blood. maybe, then, she will forget about everything else that falls down around her.

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route 102's towering trees extend into the sky like sickly green vertebrae, their branches interlocking and tangling into what feels like the skeleton of some giant, ancient beast. absinthe can't say that the feeling of being watched is a new one—tryptophan is always watching her, afterall— but there's a tension in her spine, carried through the brush of wind, that she's having trouble shaking off.[break][break]

this would be the time for a potential enemy attack, wouldn't it? god, what absinthe wouldn't give to see some pretentious, self-righteous league members try to invade rocket territory in search of any gain in a forever war. but perhaps that feeling is just a touch of paranoia talking, no more than the usual unhealed brain chemistry. after all, there is quite literally nobody around for miles.[break][break]

so absinthe thinks.[break][break]

as absinthe walks, her eternal watcher and most powerful weapon, a shiinotic named tryptophan, hops by her side, emitting a glow from the ends of its tendrils that spotlights the leaf litter in a diluted lilac hue. it keeps its large, round eyes locked onto absinthe, as it often does, perhaps only to make her insecure, to make her feel like a beautifly beneath a microscope. it has seen things that not even absinthe remembers.[break][break]

tryptophan unnerves her. it scares her. it reminds her of cole, and every terrible thing that happened at his hands. it is a reminder of the weakness that yet infects her, the memories of a man who likely didn't even love her.[break][break]

and yet it is the only thing in life she can trust, for tryptophan never changes. he only watches.[break][break]

that's why he joins her in the warfront. as a mirror. and as a weapon. absinthe shifts the gas mask on her face with a bitter twist of her lips.[break][break]

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her heart flutters for the briefest moment as she steps into the lab. it is everything she has ever dreamed of. more space than she knows what to do with, and all the supplies she could ever need laid out in gleaming stainless steel.[break][break]

if absinthe were a weaker woman, she would cry.[break][break]

thankfully for everyone, she is not a weak woman.[break][break]

she enters, straightening her shoulders, and sets her briefcase down on a nearby countertop. "yes, assistants," she says shortly. "at least two, and well-trained. i will pull my test subjects from the prison."[break][break]

she meets lulu's gaze. "this is more than adequate," absinthe murmurs, and her voice is surprisingly genuine. "you've exceeded my expectations in every way. thank you."

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if tempest had any idea what absinthe's thoughts were, he probably would have rescinded his offer on the spot. as she stands over the bound man, she feels a certain anticipation. a joy almost like christmas morning, for the chances to use him for her own twisted purposes. and when tempest mentions the meeting, all she can think is that a few hours sounds too generous.[break][break]

with a sharp jerk of her wrist, absinthe forces the man to his knees, where he chokes and sputters as he struggles to draw in breath through the dust and debris kicked up by her boots. she raises an eyebrow at tempest and shoves the prisoner forward, so that he lands in a disrespectful heap at the larger man's feet.[break][break]

"go ahead," she murmurs. "you have given me a great gift."[break][break]

she watches the proceeding frisking through narrowed eye, and the mentioned meeting sparks intrigue in her heart. a post-war meeting, certainly. she can't help but wonder if there will be hell to pay for those attending, or if the flames will be abated until the next warfront.[break][break]

either way, she will be interested to hear the results.[break][break]

then, when the frisking is finished, she takes the man by his collar. "i suppose i better let you get to your meeting, then."

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in silence, absinthe sets off into the outskirts, her long stride taking her in near even pace with her partner. the branches rustle and crackle beneath their feet, and in the distance, a far-off creature cries out mournfully. the wilderness is alive with the promise of violence.[break][break]

evelyn's mention of territorial creatures darkens absinthe's gaze.[break][break]

"pests," absinthe derides with a curl of her lip. "i have heard of them. they burst with light when destroyed. if they didn't, i would already be arm deep in a dissection."[break][break]

creatures linger in the distance. a canine, a bird. absinthe narrows her eyes, then ignores them, for they are not her preferred prey, and a sated predator has the luxury to be picky. she would prefer a creature either with chemical makeups more similar to humans, or a pokemon useful in her experiments. the two beings silhouetted on the horizon are neither.[break][break]

the chemist shakes her head sharply, and she approaches the drainage pipe leading into the sewers. the cloying stench of waste and damp earth hits her hard, and for a moment, absinthe wonders if her old friend is rethinking her decision to follow the chemist into the underbelly of society. for a moment, she dares to hope that there is some shred of humanity left in the snake. she is a fool to believe it.[break][break]

"too pretty to step through sewage?" absinthe asks evelyn, a biting question that belies both bitterness and... familiarity.

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a prisoner's dilemma, indeed. but neither side, to the great detriment of both, is willing to take the risk of cooperation. they continue to play out the same song and dance, to the exasperation of every other player in the game. the most insufferable chess game known to man.[break][break]

the sight of shalin yawning draws a sharp glint from absinthe's green eyes. "very well," the chemist responds coolly. "hopefully we won't have to cross paths again."[break][break]

in many ways, she means what she says. she does not like the ranger captain.[break][break]

even so, in the back of her head, she feels a twinge of regret as the words leave her tongue, knowing that, whatever their individual allegiances and goals, both of them are just desperate souls trying to navigate a system that cares little for their lives. but her anger is a wellspring, and her apathy a chasm, and shalin is too close to the former for her liking.[break][break]

as the ranger prepares to leave, absinthe looks back to the darkness of the woods. she, too, should head back to her lab. more experiments to run, more poisons to brew. it would not matter, not in the grand scheme. the wheels of hoenn's destruction would continue to turn, with or without her. but she is nothing if not dedicated to her craft.[break][break]

so, with that, off into the darkness she goes, prepared for another long night amongst beakers.

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something up there must have thought it a good joke, to allow absinthe out in the sun on this rare occasion. the light is something good, something pure amongst the grime of slateport city—even something strengthening, as the rays of the sun seem to fill absinthe with a sort of pulsing vigor she had thought long lost.[break][break]

alas, from what she remembers of tales of gods, they are vengeful, selfish things. she shall keep this paranoid opinion in her mind for the meantime.[break][break]

she stomps in her boots up to her usual spot, a satchel full of empty pokeballs in her arms. team rocket gives her subjects to use when she requests them, but they could never quite hold a torch to seeking out the pests herself. besides, rattata are hardly sparse in these parts. they reproduce quickly, and seek to swell the sewers with their progeny. it would prove an easy task to scoop up a few younglings from their families.[break][break]

after all, test subjects are test subjects, and as such, must be procured at all costs. absinthe simply cannot work on anything relevant without them.[break][break]

"we should have a good choice of test subjects. they usually stick close to the city," she says to evelyn, motioning in lazy indication to a drainage system spilling into the burgeoning wilderness. someone told the chemist when she'd been new meat that this would be a prime spot, especially if one desires only the foolishly secure or the foolishly arrogant. frankly, absinthe sees little difference.[break][break]

with brisk certainty, the chemist hands off a hollowed pokéball.

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a deep breath escapes absinthe at evelyn's acceptance to join team rocket. she cannot say she is surprised, not really. perhaps some part of her always knew that evelyn was a bit of a snake in the grass, willing to slip into darker paths should it suit her. it seems she has come to the conclusion that this darker path does indeed suit her.[break][break]

it's almost funny, in a tragic sort of way. a weight off her shoulders and a burden all at once.[break][break]

"alright," absinthe breathes out sharply, nodding once. "i can put in a good word soon. get you in touch with logistics."[break][break]

the implications of drawing her old friend into the fold are almost too much to bear. evelyn doesn't know what she's getting into. not really. she won't understand what it's like to be roped into rocket's dealings until it's too late. absinthe didn't. and surely, rocket will eat her alive, just as it did with so many before her. joining will either be evelyn's salvation, or it will be her tomb. rocket rarely does in betweens.[break][break]

in this moment, absinthe knows that rocket will be her tomb. death is the only fitting end for a viper. some days, absinthe wishes it would come sooner.[break][break]

nonetheless, absinthe pours them both another glass of amber liquor. "here’s to persistence, evelyn." she raises a glass. "and to grasping life by the throat."

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