[attr="class","body"]

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?"

[attr="class","credit"]

[attr="class","body"]

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.

[attr="class","credit"]

[attr="class","body"]

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.

[attr="class","credit"]

[attr="class","body"]

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."

[attr="class","credit"]

[attr="class","body"]

absinthe tilts her head to the side, furrowing her brow. great. another bleeding heart to cry her a river.[break][break]

she tugs her gloves off of her hands and throws them into a bin beneath the countertop, turning her back on the still-warm rattata body. she crosses her arms over her chest and fixes howard with a withering stare. ”i can be crueller,” she murmurs, tapping her fingers on her arms. ”but where a gun is only as good as the person holding it, my work…”[break][break]

she gestures to the rattata in the box. the corner of her eyes crinkle and barely hidden excitement flickers in her gaze. ”my work speaks for itself.”[break][break]

compared to the cold, even morose aura absinthe presents to the world in the bar, she’s a new beast entirely in the lab. she laughs more, she even smiles. it is one of the only things that make her happy nowadays. if the rattata need to die to fuel her reason for living, then so be it. if people need to burn to bring her work to the next level, then so be it. her husband is dead. her baby is too. all she has left is her extended family: the rattata, and the ways they die. but, as business resumes, her expression—what can be seen of it—swiftly falls back into nothingness. she’s a businesswoman again, the cruelty that once defined her eyes completely absent now.[break][break]

”without the distractions of coordinating my supplies and dealers, i can make double what i make in a month,” absinthe answers. ”that is, well over three hundred units of each.”

[attr="class","credit"]

[attr="class","body"]

absinthe is silent as she draws a pipette of clear liquid from a nearby flask. once, there was sympathy in her heart for the poor creatures she kept in cages, for the short but agonizingly slow lives they led. they are more innocent than human beings, and quieter too. they take care of their young, they do not steal and kill. on hard nights at school, absinthe wished she could live among them. but, by now, she has nothing left to give to them. by now, they are nothing more than numbers on a clipboard, indicating how many male, how many female, how many young. absinthe is too old to be caring for the rungs of a ladder. only the apex matters now.[break][break]

she still trusts them more than human beings, though. they will never lie to her.[break][break]

absinthe pulls the oldest rattata of the colony out, screaming and crying, and ushers it into a sealed off glass enclosure nearby. it scratches at the walls and runs circles inside, desperate for an escape, but there is none. "the product i have on the street is of a more... pleasurable variety. depressants, stimulants, sleep aids." absinthe pauses to inspect the pipette of clear liquid in the fluorescent light of the lab, then lowers it. "but this... this is my true passion."[break][break]

the woman extends her hand with the pipette inside the enclosure and drops the liquid within onto the glass floor. the rattata cowers away from her touch, watching her warily, but straightens as her hand leaves. "it's a nerve agent. even just brushing up against it..."[break][break]

absinthe taps the glass, startling the rattata into running across the liquid. "...is enough to kill."[break][break]

absinthe watches with morbid curiosity as the rattata immediately falls upon itself, salivating uncontrollably and jerking as if she has been lit afire. "it restricts the body's ability to turn off its glands and muscles," absinthe murmurs as the ratatta continues to spasm, until the spasms grow slower, slower, slower. "fatigue sets in. basic bodily processes start shutting down. i'm not sure which goes first, though: the heart or the lungs."[break][break]

nonetheless, they go. within just five minutes, the rattata is dead on the bottom of the container, eyes wide open, drool dripping from its maw. "it's not perfect. i'm not sure how it does on larger creatures. but it's a good start."

[attr="class","credit"]

[attr="class","body"]

absinthe, shrouded in the dim light of early evening, slowly rides atop her shiinotic, tryptophan, as they navigate the dense underbrush of petalburg woods. the forest is alive with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal pokémon beginning their nightly routines. yryptophan's bioluminescent caps glow faintly, casting an eerie, ethereal light that dances on the surrounding foliage. the gentle illumination creates shifting shadows that seem to pulse with the rhythm of the forest, giving an almost dreamlike quality to their journey. absinthe sits atop the pokémon with a quiet, determined grace, her posture straight but relaxed, her eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp intent.[break][break]

this is a common procedure for the both of them. absinthe, never the kind of woman to get down and dirty in the wilderness, instead opts to be slowly carried through by her beloved partner. the fact of the matter is that she needs ingredients for her experiments, and, sometimes, only pokemon can provide. so, keeping her eyes on the darkness around her, she bobs through the land.[break][break]

the air is thick with the scent of moss and damp earth, and the occasional chirp or rustle signals the presence of nearby pokémon. tryptophan moves with an almost imperceptible grace, its mushroom-like feet barely making a sound as it steps over roots and fallen leaves.

[attr="class","credit"]