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absinthe is reluctant to come to ultra plant, but if evelyn is here then she feels she must be as well.

the group approaches the downed spaceship and absinthe lets her hand drift over the dusty wires. there is science to be done. she frowns under her mask, allowing her hand to stay against the metal for a moment longer, electricity thrumming against her palm. her mind is wracked with her history at the power spot and she nearly recoils from the ship, her hand suddenly feeling like ice. still, absinthe can not afford to be weak.[break][break]

"how interesting," she murmurs, voice wavering. she presses down on a wire with one finger and watches it sink beneath her touch before springing back up. she knows this feeling. she knows this ship. there's something painfully familiar about it, as if she's seen it before. absinthe shakes her head to clear her thoughts. she cannot afford to lose focus.[break][break]

absinthe watches with an impatient, critical eye as rose's mimikyu, evelyn's vaporeon, and madeline's obstagoon attempt to destroy the ship blocking the group's path. the ghost type's wooden hammer strike is admirable, but does little against the metal husk. likewise, the water type's hydro pump sends the ship skidding backwards on the ground, but stops far short of shattering it completely, leaving much to be desired.[break][break]

absinthe takes a sharp breath, one that resembles a hiss, and steps forward. her black garbodor materializes beside her from a puff of dark shadow, its body pulsing and bulging in unnatural, liquid movements. it's almost a living shadow, and for a brief moment, absinthe sees the same in herself. a mere shadow of who she used to be, twisted into something unrecognizable by the world she lives in.[break][break]

"if you want something done right," the chemist mutters, more to herself than anyone else, as she narrows her eyes at the ship. "explosion."[break][break]

at the word of command from its trainer, the sludge pokemon moves with surprising speed towards the ship's carcass, and then explodes against it in a burst of foul-smelling sludge and dark energy. chunks of metal, wiring, and trash spray the surrounding area, clattering to the ground in a rain of scrap. the garbodor is nothing more than fluttering pieces of refuse now. absinthe's voice is low and intense.[break][break]

"that should do it."

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it’s not that absinthe is unused to children or that she’s unfamiliar with the concept of a family. it’s not even that she’s nervous to meet evelyn’s daughter.[break][break]

it’s more that absinthe feels as though she’s walking into a world of light when she’s covered in darkness, like there’s the potential for her very presence to taint this happy little family with the horrors she’s seen.[break][break]

but evelyn had asked her over, and there’s no real way for absinthe to decline, not when she knows what evelyn means to her. not when evelyn’s been so supportive. so instead of voicing her concerns or pushing back, absinthe merely nods and forces a small smile onto her face when the door swings open to reveal a young girl.[break][break]

"hello, sweetheart," she says gently, kneeling to eye level with the girl. "i'm absinthe." absinthe leaves her hand outstretched between them, inviting the girl to shake it. "it's a pleasure to meet you."[break][break]

but she can't help the way her eyes flick up, searching for evelyn, as if begging for help. this world is so foreign to her, a happy little domestic scene that absinthe could never imagine for herself. is she really welcome here, or is she just an intruder? does she belong in this world, or does she only belong in her lab, in her safe spaces, with evelyn far away from her and the life she leads?[break][break]

she knows she can't ask any of these questions. she's been invited here, and it would be incredibly rude and insensitive of her to ruin this moment, this connection that evelyn is clearly hoping they can build.[break][break]

so absinthe swallows her questions and her doubts and her fears. she forces the small smile onto her face and she hopes against hope that she's good enough, that she can be someone this little girl likes and respects. someone who won't bring horror and death and darkness into her life.[break][break]

"you must be persephone," she continues, glancing up towards the house. "can i come in?"

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absinthe stares at evelyn for a long moment, trying to figure out why this place of all places would have such a special place in her heart. perhaps absinthe is not the only one with a broken past, with aches and bruises where family should be.[break][break]

the snake pit is absinthe's place to relax and forget, but it is not a place she would ever go to celebrate. it is not somewhere she can ever feel at ease.[break][break]

she smirks faintly. "a bit more humble than your usual tastes, eh?" absinthe's remark is gentle, not harsh. absinthe allows her own bitterness and anger to color her words. but evelyn's obstentatious favor has never been something that bothered her before.[break][break]

what is most interesting, she supposes, is how much evelyn seems to want to celebrate with her, of all people. absinthe glances around and decides there are worse places to leave her sadness behind for a night.[break][break]

she gives a slow nod. "well, it's nice to be allowed to share it with someone now, isn't it?" absinthe asks quietly. it is a small admission, a softness that surprises even herself. it makes her want to go further, to close the gaps between the jagged edges of her past and present.[break][break]

"thank you for bringing me here." she slips into the seat beside evelyn before she can see the faint blush that is hidden beneath her mask, before she can see how grateful she is not to be alone.

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something breaks within her at evelyn's words, and she buries her face into the cloth of the other woman's shirt to stifle a sharp cry. the sobs come deep from her chest, as if from some dark abyssal place that only grief and regret can conjure. she doesn't care if her tears dampen the other woman's clothing. she just needs something to hold onto, some grounding force in the tempest of her turbulent heart.[break][break]

she does not feel strong. she feels lost, abandoned by the world and those she should have been able to trust. but evelyn is here, cradling her tenderly and soothing the jagged edges of her broken heart with soft words and gentle touches. and even in her sorrow, absinthe can feel her soul responding to the other woman's presence.[break][break]

"i just wanted things to work out," she sobs against evelyn's chest. "we could have been good. we could have been happy. i could have been happy." her tears flow freely, a dam of carefully maintained composure shattered by evelyn's unconditional support.[break][break]

"but everything i do just ends in pain."[break][break]

i'm the one who ruined everything, she thinks, but she is too ashamed and afraid to say the words aloud. what if evelyn thinks she's weak? what if evelyn leaves her too? absinthe has no delusions about evelyn staying by her side out of pity. she wants to be needed, and she is terrified that evelyn's kindness is fleeting.[break][break]

she squeezes her eyes shut and clings to evelyn harder, as if to anchor herself in the face of an overwhelming storm. even in her deepest despair, some small part of her is grateful for evelyn's presence, for her unwavering support. there is nothing in absinthe's world quite so powerful as the connection she has found with evelyn. nothing so warm, so unconditional. it is a feeling she has never before experienced with another person.[break][break]

absinthe lifts her head, cheeks streaked with tears, and gazes at evelyn imploringly. her eyes are haunted, filled with an unspoken fear that evelyn will leave her too. "don't leave me," she whispers brokenly, desperately, needing evelyn more than she has ever needed anyone.[break][break]

"please. please. please."

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the first thing absinthe notices about june is that she looks absolutely terrified. her face is red, and there's a thin sheen of sweat that makes her skin look clammy and greasy. she can hardly speak, stammering through some nonsense about a futuristic cyclizar or some other bullshit like that.[break][break]

absinthe doesn't buy it. june is many things, but bad liar is not usually one of them. and it's not the fezandipiti she's staring at, it's the motorbike at her side—the bizarre, futuristic creature that looks as if it has been snatched right out of the pages of a science fiction novel.[break][break]

but what is absinthe supposed to do about it? she has no idea what the creature is, where it came from, or even if it is truly alive. all she knows is that it is staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and fear, and that its rider looks as if she might pass out at any moment.[break][break]

also, that it is definitely not a normal pokemon. then again, the devil at her side certainly isn't either.[break][break]

absinthe's eyes narrow. "do you think i'm stupid?"[break][break]

she pauses, her lip curls.[break][break]

"or are you trying to insult our shared intelligence?"[break][break]

another pause.[break][break]

"what the fuck is that, june?"

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absinthe looks down at herself, truly taking inventory of the crimson dripping down the fabric of her shirt, the few flecks of crimson which spatter her jeans. it's too dark to see what could have transferred over to her coat, but she knows the likelihood of it remaining pristine is slim to none. grigori speaks of teleporting, digging, flying—[break][break]

but she doesn't have that kind of assistance on her. she brought only her shiinotic with her. she didn't think this would happen.[break][break]

no, she can't rely on her pokémon. maybe grigori was trying to give her a way out. give her a chance to find the dignity to save herself, but there's no dignity left.[break][break]

she has her pride, but pride is not enough. her lip snarls before she can catch it, the action painful as it stretches the scar tissue.[break][break]

"you have the cash?" she questions with narrowed eyes, glancing back to the man. "i can pay you back if you'd buy me something to wear."[break][break]

absinthe's heart races at the thought of him doing something so mundane for her. something her husband used to do. going into public spaces wearing the blood of her mistakes isn't something new for her, but having someone else bear witness to it, someone to cover for her—she almost laughs at the thought. she doesn't deserve it.[break][break]

but she doesn't refute it, either.[break][break]

and like that, absinthe pushes the responsibility onto grigori's shoulders, trusting him to handle it. she finds herself left with the breath she didn't know she was holding.

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the girl's response is a straight, hard stare. 'i'll have the strongest drink you've got.'[break][break]

absinthe's fingers tap twice upon the countertop—a brief flash of irritation—but the expression on her face does not change, as if chiseled from marble. ah. she's met this type before. a sharpness, a jaggedness, something not worn down by the world just yet. something... stubborn.[break][break]

the familiarity snags at her again. where has she seen this girl before? it's very important that she find out. but right now, the girl is waiting on her drink. she cannot ignore this request just yet.[break][break]

absinthe turns stiffly to a cabinet. it's darker here in the shadows of the bar, shelves crammed with dusty bottles of things that may or may not be potent, not that the girl would know. absinthe doesn't either, some of the time. but she pulls down a bottle coated in cobwebs and dust, old scotch — fifty years, it says. it's old enough to make a grown man feel like he's twenty-one again. she pours it into a glass. two fingers' worth. no ice. absinthe doesn't ask if that will be alright. it doesn't matter.[break][break]

the glass hits the counter with a decided click, just a little too hard. "that'll be seven fifty."

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that is the cruel truth of their reality. neither of them will ever find solace. how could they? they've bathed in blood. how can absinthe repent when she wishes every day for a little more darkness? when she looks at the life she's ruined and wants it for herself? they're stuck in hell without having the dignity of death to save them.[break][break]

absinthe takes her hand back. she's suddenly aware of how cold her fingers are, how stiff. she looks down and uncurls them, staring at her palms.[break][break]

"more good." her voice cracks. "i don't think i'm capable of it."[break][break]

there's an invisible noose tied around her neck. it tightens with every word she dares to whisper, desperate for absolution.[break][break]

it's easy for her to say she hates cole. she blames him for so much. sometimes, she still pictures him when she's hurting others. she's still angry. she's still hurting, even if her tongue is too heavy to explain to grigori exactly why she killed william.[break][break]

he should have been here. he should be able to yell at her, to call her a monster. she wouldn't care if his insults were empty, the bite lacking the same venom they once had.[break][break]

but he's dead, and all that remains are her memories, tainted with guilt.[break][break]

she stands to her feet and wobbles there for a moment.[break][break]

"i should change my clothes."

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there is something acutely unnerving about this place. there's a heaviness to the air here that feels both suffocating and hollow, as if the world itself is holding its breath. every so often there is the soft sound of whispers, too faint to make out, but there's a feeling of stories left untold hanging thick around their shoulders. absinthe can't shake the feeling that she's being watched by a thousand eyes she cannot see, a thousand voices she cannot hear.[break][break]

she's quiet as they move, her mask comfortably settled back over her face. there's a restlessness in her eyes that wasn't there before, a new understanding that her life will never be her own, not while the devil still looks over her shoulder. but she also feels a new determination, a fierce protectiveness over the things she loves, even if they may never be fully safe.[break][break]

she glances at evelyn, studying her face for any signs of discomfort or fear. absinthe reaches out a hand, a gesture of comfort and solidarity, before she speaks.[break][break]

"do you think we'll find anything useful here?" she asks, her voice hushed even though there's nobody around to hear them.

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she's silent, almost too silent, at his admission that he believes in her. then, a small sound, like the air being let out of a tire, escapes from her, half-laugh, half-sob. she can hardly believe he's being so kind to her. she doesn't deserve it.[break][break]

it seems like every time she turns around, howard is being forced to pick between her and rocket, and for some reason she can't fathom, he consistently chooses her. she doesn't know why. absinthe is far from a team player and she's not even going to pretend like she's a valuable investment. she can only offer him turmoil, and yet time and time again, howard extends his hand to her.[break][break]

this time, he extends more than his hand. he tells her, in a roundabout way, that he is there for her, and that he isn't going to turn his back.[break][break]

he even offers her a hug.[break][break]

absinthe stands still, shocked into silence once again. evelyn helps sate her desire for human touch, but absinthe has been deprived of it for so long that it doesn't fix all of it. the simple idea of a hug has her feeling like she's been submerged in cold water. she can hardly move, hardly breathe, feeling itchy and prickly all over. the only indication she gives that she's alive, let alone heard him, is a subtle stiffening of her shoulders and a sudden stillness, as though she's bracing herself for him to change his mind. or for her mind to change, snap out of it, go back to normal, where the world is cruel and unfeeling and so is she.[break][break]

then, slowly, her hands are reaching out without her permission, grasping for him.

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there's a soft, strangled noise that escapes from absinthe's throat, like a trapped animal begging for mercy. there is an apology there, for past decisions and misdeeds and all things in between, but she can't find it in herself to voice the words. even if she did, it wouldn't make a difference. she knows how rocket's hierarchies work, knows that forgiveness is seldom granted.[break][break]

the chemist wants to say that it wouldn't matter if she revealed it now or if she revealed it in five years. the truth has a habit of coming out, one way or another. she knows that there will come a day when the ugly parts of her life can no longer remain hidden from the world. there will come a day when she has to face the consequences of her actions head on. the people she's betrayed and manipulated. the guilt she's buried under years of research and vials. she can't push it back forever. she can't contain it, despite her best efforts. absinthe has a feeling that once the dam breaks, she will be unable to salvage any of it.[break][break]

and she knows people will hate her. she doesn't need him to tell her that. she's always known that. she's used to it. that's why she doesn't form bonds with anyone besides her pokemon, who have no choice but to follow her. she's used to being judged and hated and feared. the thought of doing this alone, doing all of the things that she's committed to doing, doesn't scare her.[break][break]

it's the price she pays, though. she's come to terms with it a long time ago. she thinks howard can see that. it doesn't make her feel any better.[break][break]

she lets her eyes close for the briefest of seconds. "let them." absinthe finally says, her voice broken, jagged shards of a broken mirror. "i can handle it."[break][break]

in fact, perhaps she needs the hatred. perhaps it is the only thing that allows her to continue.[break][break]

everything she has said up until now has been posturing and lies. saying she wanted the fezandipiti to study it is an easy excuse. the truth is darker, worse, but howard has gotten to the bottom of it.[break][break]

absinthe is a broken woman, and she only feels like a person when she is hated, abused, and reviled. it was cole's parting gift—the chemist never feels more loved than when she is on the chopping block.[break][break]

when she speaks again, her voice is louder and firmer. "i can handle it."

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