World – Game
Characters – Aaron, Flint, Lucian, Cynthia
Pairings – Cynthia/Lucian (Snazzyshipping)
Genres – Drama, Romance, Angst
Warnings – Crackfic with evil!Cynthia aka full blown butchery of her persona. And character death.
Note(s) – (Request #7) This was intended to be a gag fic, but just morphed into a twisted mass of angst and drama. But, I am surprisingly proud of this, it's one of my favourites.
Disclaimer – Meh, Pokémon? Not mine.

Bite a Poisoned Apple.

-

"She… she isn't doing well, is she?" Aaron clutched the cup of hot chocolate with fingers that shivered.

"Who'd have thought she'd have taken it so hard, huh?" Flint nodded grimly, intending to smile encouragingly but failing horribly in the process. He took his seat on one mahogany chair around the dinner table and laced his fingers together wordlessly.

Lucian raised his solemn gaze from the newspaper he was reading, his eyes lingering over the obituary section before turning to the table and its occupants. Two of the chairs were empty – from one who would never come, and from one who couldn't come. The man folded the newspaper silently and placed it on his cold, numbing lap, his mind blank as he urged something intelligent and hopeful to flow from his mouth, but to no avail. There was simply no silver lining in sight.

Weeks had flashed by since Bertha's untimely and heart-wrenching departure. And even then, none of the remaining members of the Elite Four could bring it in themselves to overcome the despairing incident. Cynthia was the one who had been affected the most. Of course, it was natural – the ground-type expert had been a mentor to the champion, as well as a humbled listening ear. The blonde was dealing and coping with the most damaging impact of the situation, and that justified the current state of mind she suffered from. The only problem was that the three men in the room did not know how long Cynthia's disconcerting rampage would decidedly last, and whether they would survive.

For weeks after the funeral, she had been sending potential challengers packing with Pokémon wounded far beyond the Pokémon centre's healing capabilities. The creatures bled steadily from sickening wounds that ripped through muscles and tendons, and had their battered limbs and wings twisted in awkward, repulsive positions. Lucian felt a piece of him crumble and break apart with every teenager that stormed past him, hugging a Pokémon dearly in their arms as they cried bitterly, rushing madly for medical attention that would prove to be fruitless.

Every time they bolted across the floor of the room, their muffled sobs and hunched silhouettes made him experience her death all over again. It was excruciating.

Flint rested his forehead on his palms, muttering gibberish under his breath while Aaron sniffed and shed a few tears into his own paling arm. The two were in no state to battle properly; neither were they in a position to talk to Cynthia and her recently worrying behaviour. Lucian finished the last drop of his English tea before setting the newspaper down on the dining table and retreating away to his quarters after a pat on the shoulder to both males. Perhaps he could find a book there. One that would be able to speak to Cynthia's heart and calm the raging tempest.

"Please, Cynthia – you have to be reasonable," Lucian almost stuttered.

Cynthia regarded him with an amused countenance and a mocking laugh. Her hair cascaded like pure golden water down her lithe back, lean arms and the sides of the luxurious armchair she currently resided in. She placed a hand on her cheek and leaned her back into the cushion of the black leather chair, her eyes flickering with wordless expectations and her mouth curling into a sadistic grin of sorts. The look she addressed him with was one that was distant and spacey. The black she was clad in used to signify her refinement and regal personality – now, it only proved to enhance the foreboding, spine-chilling sensation she seemed to emit.

"Kiss me," she ordered immediately.

Lucian nearly jumped out of his skin, his precious book toppling out of his hands and landing loudly on the spotless carpet of the Champion's room. He scrambled, trying not to show his alarm as he struggled to create coherent sentences with a brain that felt like it had been short-circuited. It took him a few moments, but he gradually collected his emotions and ran a thumb through his violet hair.

"I–I beg your pardon?" he pushed his spectacles further up his nose before bending over to collect the dictionary in his tremulous arms.

"Kiss me now, or else I'll continue doing whatever I want to all those pitiful weaklings." She waved a dismissive hand at the mention of the Pokémon trainers.

"But –" Lucian began.

"Are you volunteering to get added to the death toll, dear?" Cynthia sang in a sugary voice.

Lucian's eyes widened considerably behind the shadowed shades of his dark glasses, he glanced sideways and over his shoulder, only to realise that the other members of the team probably weren't spying on him now. His knuckles whitened as his nails dug tensely into the broad spine of the book he was holding. The man took a few calming breaths, weighing the pros and cons – before approaching the champion and her intimidating glower. It was unexplainable, really, how the grimace on her face proved to be the only way she could express herself now. The psychic-type specialist found himself drawing nearer to her, his concern and fear deepening painfully as her perverse smile grew in size.

He came to a stop in front of her throne, and paused for the longest of periods, unsure how he had to go about executing her cruel demands. Cynthia addressed him with soulless eyes and a tightly-lipped mouth that betrayed no emotions apart from her raw brutality. Lucian barely resisted the urge to frown in agony and pour his heart out to her, the one who once used to be regarded with sincere honour, respect and love. He raised his hand, in a bid to brush the long blonde fringe away from her eyes and capture a fleeting glimpse of the woman he once adored and treasured.

Cynthia stretched out a vicious arm, obstructing his way as she knocked his wrist aside in the rough process. She snatched at the collar of his black shirt and yanked him down hard and forcibly with her ruthless grip. Their lips collided before he could grasp the situation. And even as they kissed hungrily with his one knee pushed between her thighs, he still felt broken and incomplete. He had never wanted to be intimate with her under such circumstances, and the passion between them was close to zero – Cynthia was not doing this out of love. His hands trembled noticeably over her back, as if she was constructed of something insane and scalding that he could not bear to touch. She frayed apart the buttons of his shirt and clawed at the expensive material of his suit. Her teeth bit fiercely onto the side of his neck, drawing both crimson blood and grieving anguish.

"I could never do this with that old hag hovering around," she purred, sultry voice stroking his ear as her hands ghosted down his quaking chest and clawed feverishly at the buckle of his belt.

His book fell from his weakening grip, banging on the floor.

end.