"it is so difficult these days, to trust," anya says carefully. it's not so much reading between the lines as it is staring straight up into the blackened hammer of judgment. declan walsh had never trusted her (why would he?) and lulu had been her only saving grace. 

curse that silly little girl. 

"sinnoh," she says next and leans back in her chair, knees crossing while she languishes.

"for a time. and then i returned to hoenn under the guise of molly fouller in lilycove. i still have a studio art gallery under that name, as well as an apartment on the northern side." she tilts her head and reaches into her jacket to retrieve a folder. 

"i continued what research i could, but underestimated my ability to procure the resources i, ah, grew accustomed to." her fingers lift from the folder, now on his desk.

declan walsh

☉

it's no longer her job to keep tabs on things like that. well, that's not entirely correct. she had been made to understand she was still expected to fulfill her duties as head scientist, but stripped of her title and most importantly, of her resources. it's proven a challenge, not a hindrance. 

she will prove her worth several times over if she has to. she had anticipated roadblocks. 

"oh?" she arcs a brow.

this is not an elisabeth she is familiar with. the woman before her is a variable. but from threshold to counter, fingers wrapped around glass, anya has scrutinized this woman's new strength. and her new vulnerabilities. whether or not elisa is aware of them is out of her sight for now, though she's quick to draw her own conclusion.

not that she would ever let that bias her study. 

"let's get you in the bath, darling. let me wipe the ash from your brow."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

a mated pair of lions stand at attention when the scorned enters their master's threshold. before, they were pet lovingly, given marks of her scent and told, in not so many words friend, so that they might not react as they currently are when elisabeth walks in. 

anya is currently in her study, scribbling furiously in her own shorthand. but when her lions snarl, she blinks and stands, sliding her papers into the false bottom of her desk drawer. 

when she emerges into the living room, she is wearing black silks and holds out a hand. the fiery manes of her pyroar still and yet their low warning grumbles do not cease, as the black-haired woman, muttering obscenities stands in the doorway. 

it takes a moment for anya to place her. 

and when she does, she arcs a brow, taking in the smell of smoke and dead brambles. she moves wordlessly over to her kitchen counter and fetches a glass of water. 

"here."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

a silph's mind is always stronger than its body. he withdraws from her with a sneer and she flexes her fingers, finding purchase once again on her wine glass. his denial in itself does not bother her, but what it means for her sway certainly does, but none of this surfaces on her face.

she rights herself and reaches around the side of his couch to grab the bag she'd brought with her. 

"we will not fail," she says offhandedly as she cracks open her laptop and strokes the keys. the screen casts a blue glow over her face. she will stay the night. the hour is late. tomorrow, she will satiate her desires with another's flesh, but tonight she will prepare for her departure. 

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

unwelcome nightmares still haunt this woman. anya's own dreams are fragmented once-wases, distorted with grainy sand and a blood-red siren's song. she wakes, sometimes, with a hum in her throat, lyrics to a song she doesn't know sitting on a tongue that isn't hers. 

and in the mirror, she washes her face and she settles into herself. counts what she knows about this world and her place in it and reminds herself of timelines, tasks, futures. 

"does it ever bother you? knowing that we might be puppeted by otherworldly forces? that we are so behind the curve?" they are picking up breadcrumbs left by malevolent benefactors, more than likely chasing their own doom. pawns on a chessboard and nothing more. 

"there is nothing easy about creation." her eyes glimmer. "true creation requires precision and passion. destruction is chaos and humans by their nature are so full of it."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

ah, the world would be so much better off if it were run by women. in the span of five minutes, they've managed to find truce without compromise, mutual respect, and navigate to comfortable, respectable waters. with elisabeth at ease after anya's placation, she leaves her stand by the door and takes a seat across from her. 

the crosses her ankles and languishes in the discussion, eyes gleaming now that they're talking about something of interest. 

"i would by no means claim expertise, but i have studied my fair share of memory. and what are dreams but our mind's conjured memories, written over with emotion?" the painter, molly, glimmers to the surface for a moment. 

"but to know that they can be made tangible is quite curious. imagine what an artist might be able to do, provided we craft the right material..."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

this strung out, caged in woman, with too many sleepless nights under her eyes. exhaustion bows her shoulders, draws at her face, and anya thinks a few relaxing hours may bring her some peace at mind. but it's a flitting, amused thought; one that she decided does not voice, nor act on. 

"i want only an amicable relationship between colleagues," she assures her with a chuckle. 

her thoughts at elisabeth's musings, of course, drift to FERNANDO SILPH. they'd opted to give her time. allow her to grow accustomed to the shadows, put out feelers for the watch upon her back. her lions have sniffed out their fair share of stragglers and so it hasn't been safe to send him information as promised. 

soon though. soon.

she will pick up the slack left behind by Lulu Flint. she will turn her studies to the dream mist, and of memories, and she will plunder their treasures for her own taking. 

only here, within these walls, will she attempt extraction from elisabeth. call her softhearted. 

"only the careless ones," she says with an offhanded flick of her wrist. "and we are not careless."

she shifts her weight to one side. "i've taken the liberty to sift through flint's studies. shame to lose such a brilliant mind."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

"i can't say i'm surprised," she breathes. though his saliva is still on her tongue, aftertaste a pleasant warmth, she's yet to relinquish her hold on him. so she continues her coaxing with her hand, her glass of wine forgotten on the table behind him.

"their knowledge is our power." progress must not stop. a conversation must be had. but she may also have her way.

'their resources, for our taking. whatever i do for them, i do for you. i am your architect; you are my visionary. nothing you ask of me is impossible."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

fascinating. this is a woman well within her faculties, so long as she is confined within these four walls. she looks down at her, sifting through hypotheses. no, this is deeper than just a lack of inhibition. most people do not impress anya fowl. most people have nothing under their masks. 

one brow raises and elisa manages to coax a laugh from the scientist. 

"on the contrary. i know only what your daily schedule permits, as i haven't the faintest interest in looking into you further. and, not desperate. never desperate.

"hungry is more apt."

her hand falls from the lock and rests at her side. curls shift with another chuckle. 

"you'll excuse me if i say not for very long. i've only recently returned to my previous position." her expression is plain, leaving no room for questions. 

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

she knows the taste of want. whether he likes it or not, she knows how to make him pliant. with her hand placed so, that elastic snap of muscle gives her satisfaction. languid lips withdraw and she stares up at him like a content feline, with the promise to taunt at another moment's notice.

oh, how she's missed his flesh. 

the soft edge of her tooth traps his thumb against her mouth. she exhales, expelling her heady want, the wine-drunk fog behind her invigorated eyes. 

"i will not let you down, my heart. we have no room for failure." not in their perfect little world.

"one of your kecleon can see to retrieving my findings." passing information digitally would be too dangerous, even if she used her cypher. 

FERNANDO SILPH

☉

there is a cloud that hangs over this place. lulu's sudden disappearance has given her reason to believe walsh's connection to darkrai has grown stronger. if she cared more, she may have chased after the frayed threads, but she's no use for poking around in this sort of business.

she offers him a pretty smile in the low light; her icy eyes absorb light better by a fraction so after a couple of blinks, she is more or less accustomed to it. that does not make the somber atmosphere any more inviting. 

"you're not so bad yourself," she says with a purr, cold gaze steadied on him. unease prickles as the gliscor behind him stares her down. 

"i hear our operatives were successful in retrieving the seal stones." 

declan walsh

☉

this woman is a frightened bird. she looks upon anya with a carefully guarded porcelain mask, with the cracks all glued up with a savant's precision. but anya is a surgeon at heart, the mother of frankenstein's monster, and if she hadn't uncovered every thread of elisabeth in that bar of hers, she had betwixt shared sheets. 

so she knows every word that falls from her lips will seem disingenuous. every calm assuage to elisa's fears will only coax their growth further. a puzzling enigma, one that enraptures her.

distractions are not something she has ever afforded herself before. elisa will be no different.

"rocket doesn't begin and end when we leave these walls, darling, but you already knew that." she leans against the doorframe, wishing idly for a smoke. 

"i came only to remark that this changes nothing of our peculiar arrangement."

a fingertip trails to the lock as though to tease it back open. 

"i'm free tonight. after office hours."

Elisabeth Fiorelli

☉

as he analyzes the inner workings of her mind, what he ceases to account for is the innate core to her very being, which isn't surprising - she is only beginning to understand it herself. motherhood. this is not a god she reveres. she loves it wholly, as much as she did when it was still a squirming, writhing mass of gelatinous consciousness in her lab.

they recognize her lullabies. they recognize her. they know her as mother. and that is a necessity bored into every nerve, every blood vessel, every piece of bone matter inside of her. 

fernando is the adam to her eve and this world, their garden. they have slaked their throats with forbidden nectar and still sticky, with full bellies, he hungers for more. she licks her own lips and discovers she has the same appetite. 

"and now comes the hard part, hm? ensuring our survival in the first place."

this close, she does not care for his dismission. she kisses him, roughly, tongue slipping neatly under his lower lip. but she only wants a taste. she can settle for a taste.

"they'll be watching me," she says quietly. "contact will be difficult."

FERNANDO SILPH

☉