Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. But if I did, I'd be a Japanese man.

Hugh's POV:

"What do you mean the ferry isn't working? It's actually nice out for once in this city and it isn't working?!"

The receptionist in the marina, a Johtonese woman formerly typing mechanically at her computer, glances up at me with an aggravated sigh. "Look, kid, Pop Roxie is out filming. Maybe once he's done for the day he'll start up the ferry, but that ship isn't going today. I'm sorry."

Rosa mutters, "And I know for a fact I told you that this morning." She's busy fiddling with her Xtransceiver, not even looking up as I scowl at her. "There's no point in heading out to Castelia City until you beat Roxie anyway."

Before I can retort indignantly to her comment, the receptionist suggests, "I suppose if you go up to Pokéstar Studio, you could get him to stop filming that stupid movie for the day and get him to work. There are upwards of twenty people waiting to go to the mainland because Pop is ridiculously stupid. I mean, you're right, the weather's nice for once," she adds, glancing wistfully out the window at the beams of sunlight.

With a loud sigh, I rub at my jaw; tiny dots of stubble claw at my hand. A moment of silence passes, and then I respond, "Might as well. But who would he listen to if he doesn't listen to his scary-ass banshee of a daughter?"

"Probably anyone. Let's stop thinking about it and let's do something," Rosa retorts. She pockets her Xtranseiver and gestures for me to follow her out of the marina.

Outside of the door, Rosa whacks my arm, hard. "What the hell?" I growl, clutching at my bicep.

Frowning, she points at the doors and questions, "Don't you listen? I told you this stuff this morning before we left the Pokémon Center! I thought we were going into the marina to reserve a spot, not demand a boat ride. Jeez, Hugh," she mutters, digging her Xtranseiver from her pocket and squinting at it against the glare of the sun.

I feel my lips set in a firm line. "Checking for tattoo guy's messages?"

"His name is Jason, not tattoo guy," she says mildly, pocketing it again. "He says hello, by the way."

"I say f*** you," I mumble.

She releases Forte, her new Growlithe, and simply retorts, "I remember when you tattled on me to my mom because I said the F-word. Do I have to tell your mom that you're a potty mouth, too?"

I don't bother to respond to her comments. Instead, I watch my feet as I walk. The streets here are dirty; I had to pick glass shards from Servine's feet and take him to the Pokémon Center after leaving the Virbank Complex two days ago. The sooner I can leave this dilapidated city, the better.

Hence, we needed to find this stupid Pokéstar Studios. Who had ever decided that setting up a film studio in Virbank City was a good idea?

"Forte, don't eat that. That's icky and you'll get sick," Rosa chides. I glance up from my feet to see Rosa scolding the Growlithe for attempting to eat a greasy burger wrapper on the ground. He obediently drops the wrapper, although I see him eyeing it hungrily over his shoulder as we keep walking.

I comment, "He's pretty obedient."

"Pack hierarchy. He sees me as an alpha. I read up on it this morning while you were still sleeping," Rosa comments before beginning to hum a low, sweet tune that sounds vaguely familiar.

"Researching Pokémon," I say to myself, "looks like she's gone off into the deep end."

"I thought you were happy that I became a Trainer," Rosa retorts tersely.

"I am, but—"

"But what? Stop making fun of me," she commands, glowering at me. Her eyes are frighteningly flinty today, the color of a cold stone as opposed to open water. I find myself drawing away just as she does so well.

I know her past. I know about her father. I know about her best friend being released to the wild. I know all of this, and I know it all too well. Yet she isn't open. She describes it all in vague terms to me. Rosa calls me her best friend, but how can I be her best friend when my jokes offend her and she won't be completely honest about her thoughts? It's as though she says more to people she'll never see again opposed to someone she sees almost daily.

It doesn't make sense for my rival to act this way.

I match her stride, doing my best not to sulk. She's back to humming, but the sound is filled with dysphoria and lacks the melodic quality it had before. Something is clearly on her mind.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask.

She responds airily, "Melodic minor scales with flattened thirds and sevenths thrown in as color notes."

I doubt that this is what she's actually thinking of, but I respond as she would expect me to. "I have no clue as to what that shit is."

"Oh, it's quite a beautiful thing, it…" she begins to jabber. She'll talk about the music. She's always talking about the music.

We reach the main road and I hear a familiar, too-friendly voice that grinds itself against my mind. "Well, Rosa, fancy seeing you in the daylight," calls the damned tattoo guy in an unctuous voice. Rosa, in the middle of explaining something about "the darkness of minor tones", drops her explanation and looks toward the streetlight he leans against, smiling.

He looks like a damned Snivy in the grass.

"Hi," she replies, abandoning her chatter and trotting over to him with Growlithe at her heels. Thankfully, they don't start making out in broad daylight in the middle of a city street, but he does kiss her.

I clear my throat loudly. They look over at me. Rosa looks keyed up, whereas tattoo guy looks annoyed with my presence. "Rosa, weren't we going to go find Pop Roxie and tell him to get his head out of his ass?"And not make out with stupid ugly tattoo dickheads?

"Yeah, of course we are. Jason's going to come with," she responds. Her Growlithe barks happily at the prospect and darts over to tattoo guy to be petted.

I internally want to claw my eyes out. Last night was painful enough, thinking I saw Purrloin and instead getting an eyeful of Rosa being indecent with some creep in public, and dealing with this slimy loser during the day is more than I can take. Before I can stop myself, I snap, "If I catch you two sucking face with each other once, I am going to throw myself off of one of these shitty bridges and into this dank, polluted-ass water and drown myself."

"That's an overly dramatic way to die, dude," is all tattoo guy can comment. Rosa looks mortified, and I know that she'll yell at me later for my detailed descriptions and "bad behavior".

We walk on. Rosa puts herself between stupid tattoo guy and me as something of a buffer. It's a good plan; I want to punch him. Forte, as oblivious as a young Growlithe can be, weaves in between our legs and barks excitedly as we near a sparkling, gaudy gate. I can assume that this is Pokéstar Studios.

Tattoo guy snickers. "It's so…unnecessary."

"It looks like a tourist attraction more than anything," Rosa says, some disappointment leaking into her voice. "I always wanted to see this when I was little. I guess I was hoping it'd be charming and not…excessive."

"Growl?" Growlithe questions, smelling the sour emotion on his Trainer.

I'm not surprised. When I was younger, my dad brought me here to meet one of his friends, an aspiring actor who was playing a minor character in a modestly popular movie series at the time. At the time, it had seemed like the place where every dream came true. Now, it seems like the sort of place that could blind even a Zubat, what with the lights and gold embellishment.

We enter the gates after getting chatted at by a blonde man about its rather average and boring history, and we enter the studio area. "Wow," Jason mutters, tossing his arm over Rosa's shoulder. I shoot him a defiant stare that he misses entirely. "I've never actually been here in the years I've lived in Virbank City. It's…huge."

Various red-topped buildings dot the studio; actors and actresses in wild costumes and green suits parade themselves around, followed by film crews and boatloads of cameramen. "None of those guys look like Pop Roxie," Rosa comments, stretching up on tiptoes to get a better view.

"Judging by the zombie costumes, I'll bet you they're filming some horror film. I thought I'd heard Pop Roxie was playing the unassuming hero in some movie with a Riolu, if anything can be said about the gossip at the diner," he says.

"Or we could ask around," I suggest, rolling my eyes. "Watch me."

A zombie extra, a petite, jet-skinned woman in a tattered pink house dress, draws closer to us, trotting after the filming crew. "Hey," I call, catching her attention, "where's the Riolu superhero movie being filmed?"

"Studio five," she answers, squinting at me. Her makeup leaves her looking as though her jaw's been dislocated and partially rotted and her right eye socket looks hollow. It's obviously makeup, but it's so well done I have to do a double-take as she continues on her merry way.

I shoot a glance at Rosa and tattoo guy. "Well there you go. Studio five."

"Excellent work, Watson," Rosa compliments. "Let's figure out where that is."

"Excuse me!" Before we can head toward any of the studios, a harried middle-aged man jogs over, puffing furiously as he comes to a halt. "I'm currently filming over in studio eight, and we need some male extras. Would you two lads be interested in it?"

I find myself exchanging glances with Rosa and tattoo guy. This is not what I came here to do—in fact, the longer I'm stuck in Virbank, the more likely I'll be to douse myself in acid. Rosa turns to the man, smiling sweetly. The effect is amplified by the high pigtails her hair is tied into and the white summer blouse she's wearing. "Well, Hugh and Jason would love to help you out. Right, guys?"

Damn you, Rosa! I scream mentally, gawking at her.

Tattoo guy simply nods. "I've always dreamed of being an actor." He glances at me, unmistakable challenge written in his eyes. "Haven't you done so as well, my old chap?"

Forget tattoo guy. He's now TSH, or Tattooed Shithead. Capital letters, initials and all. "Sure," I say through gritted teeth, "Of course, Jason."

Rosa shoots me a relieved smile, and pushing her hands into our backs, she shoves us toward the middle-aged man. "Have fun! I'll find Pop Roxie on my own!"

"What kind of film are we going to be extras in?" TSH asks as the man puffs a sigh of relief.

"Oh, it's a science fiction film! We'll need to put you in some makeup, of course…Your red eyes and spiky hair make you a good candidate for a Luxray, and your Dark-type tattoos make me think Skuntank."

"What sort of sci-fi shit is this?" I mutter.

He beams at me. "Oh, the protagonist was injected with a ghost Pokémon's DNA by the horrid Team Rocket and she turns into a telekinetic that kills her fellow experiments, who have also been injected with Pokémon DNA. You'll both have to die in this film and be splattered in fake blood."

I turn to glare at Rosa, who simply waves at me with a smile. "Damn you!" I scream at her. She turns and walks away, placing her feet delicately as she saunters off. Forte's tail wags happily as he follows her.

"It'll be much more fun than you give it credit for, I promise!" The middle-aged man says, clapping a hand onto my shoulder. "Makeup may take up to an hour, though, as well as wardrobes."

"We've got nothing but time," TSH says, smirking over his head at me.

I'm going to kill him and his stupid tattoos and then give Rosa a stern talking-to before even considering that she might be cute again. I don't have time for this shit.

Rosa's POV:

Free of the awkward tension stemming mostly from Hugh's prickly nature and Jason's blasé reactions, I seek out studio five with Forte on my heels.

"I'm Hugh's rival. What's his issue with me having someone to kiss?" I ask Forte, flipping my ponytails over my shoulders. "At least you and Armstrong aren't jerks when you're together."

"Lithe, growl," he comments mildly and slinging me a toothy smile.

We dodge a group of women dressed in pastel Victorian dresses charging off toward one of the buildings toward the end. On their way past, I ask them, "How do the numbers work on the studios here?"

"Studio one's on the far end, and thirteen is back that way!" shouts back a brunette with her hair pinned up in fat curls.

I glance at the red-roofed building at the far end, next to a gilded cinema. Already Forte and I are headed in the wrong direction. "Thank you!" I yell after them. We turn and trot off toward studio five. Around here, there's less commotion. There are no zombies or ladies in Victorian garb, simply men toting around some cameras and a scrawny girl dressed in plaid scribbling things into a notebook.

As we draw closer, the girl looks up at us. She looks absolutely exhausted, but she shoots us the full wattage of her friendly smile. "May I help you?" she asks.

"I'm looking for Pop Roxie. I hear he's filming here," I say.

Her smile fades, only to be replaced by a slight frown. Quietly, she says, "Yes, well, if you're looking for him, go into the studio. Just be prepared for anything. He's quite unhappy."

"Why?" I query, raising my eyebrows. He'd seemed fairly valiant and proud of his acting efforts only the day before. What had happened since?

With a low chuckle, she points me in the direction of the studio. "I have to take inventory, actually, if you don't mind. That's something you'll have to ask him," she replies, shoving her glasses up her nose. "Best of luck."

With that enthusiastic and positive send-off, I stump off with Forte at my heels. What's wrong with Pop Roxie? What could possibly be upsetting him? "What do you think, Forte?" I ask absentmindedly, scratching at my cheek. It feels hot and ruddy; perhaps I've been sunburned.

"Lithe? Growl! Grow, grow, lithe," he responds.

I chuckle. It seems as though he's suggested that someone had bitten him. "People don't really bite each other for the most part, Forte."

He shrugs. "Lithe."

"I mean, when I was little, my mom said I had a biting problem, but I doubt there are any small children named Rosa on set to bite him," I say, chuckling.

I shove through the door and into the studio. Unlike the rest of the establishment, activity here is at a bare minimum. There's a large area with a green screen and a floor crisscrossed with cameras and cables. Scattered makeup tables, computers, and other such functions and stations decorate the rest of the concrete floors. I scan around, looking for Pop Roxie. I don't have to look long, though, as he's laying on the ground nearby, clearly moping.

It looks like I have quite a bit to figure out with this man.

Hugh's POV:

I seriously hate the Tattooed Shithead. So much.

Here we are, getting makeup cemented to our face like modern-day geishas, and the piece of shit is flirting with the makeup artist.

"You really do have artist's hands," he tells the makeup artist, a lanky woman about his age with a half-shaved head and heavy eyeliner. "Such long fingers."

She raises her eyebrows. "It's more like the dirty nails tipped you off, right?" she says in a voice that reminds me of velvet. What is it with these tattooed people having such nice voices? It's not fair.

He laughs, and it pisses me off. How dare he talk to her like that! For whatever reason Rosa seems to like him, and here he is flirting!

I clear my throat loudly. My makeup artist whacks me with her brush. Unlike the girl with the half-shaved head, she looks like a traditional Unovan beauty; long, wavy blonde hair, bright, almost acerbic blue eyes, and lips brightened with a smear of red lipstick. Rosa can probably write lyrics about a girl like this. "Quit moving. I almost have the ear tips attached.

"So that's what you're doing back there?" I mutter.

She pokes me with the end of the same makeup brush she had whacked me with. "You're sassy. No wonder he gets the girls and you don't."

"It's just…you know…he made out with my rival and now here he is flirting with some makeup artist," I say loudly enough to have TSH glare at me, "and that's not cool."

The woman doing Skylar's makeup, painting a deep purple across his nose and cheekbones, pauses to glare at me. "That was hardly flirtation…and if it was, you need to up your game," she adds to TSH, who gives her a sheepish grin.

I seethe as she applies my makeup. Why do they have to put so much makeup on extras? Across the room, the lead actress is putting in contacts that leave her eyes nearly colorless, a startling contrast to dark skin. Rosa would love this. If only they'd needed female extras instead of stupid boys.

I glare at TSH with the vengeance of Arceus in my eyes. With his makeup, he looks particularly inhuman; his tattoos gone, his features darkened. I'd always thought of Skuntank as something of a joke as far as Pokémon go, but Jason is utterly terrifying as one.

I glance in the mirror and barely recognize myself. My hair is slicked back in spikes, and my skin is suddenly dark blue. "Now, we'll be putting in the contacts soon. I'll request a good shot of you dying; I didn't have to do much to make you look like a Luxray, you know," she says, smearing something dark and tarry over my lips. "You're kind of angry and intense-looking like one. Very proud. Very protective of what you think is yours."

"Excuse me?"

"That guy, Jason, and your rival. You'd probably consider murder if he hurt her," she says, and then makes a face. "Unless your rival is a guy, and then I'm terribly sorry for assuming that everyone is straight."

I have no idea what to address first. With obviously superior intellect, I snap, "Of course I'm straight!"

She snickers. "What's his name?"

"Arceus, shut up. Her name is Rosa, and she's my rival. Nothing more. She's currently looking for the guy who will ferry us over to Castelia City," I groan.

"Don't mess up your makeup, Hugh," TSH chastises.

That's more than enough. People don't need to be jerks about every little thing. I slide off the chair. "Find a different extra. You're all a bunch of assholes," I growl.

"Hey! I've been working on that make-up for forty-five minutes!" The blonde woman yells. I storm out of the studio, not particularly caring about the makeup. I'll find Rosa and Pop Roxie and get the hell out of this town.

Rosa's POV:

"Pop Roxie? Are you all right?" I ask quietly.

He sits up, startled by the voice. His face is blotchy, as though he's been crying, and he's wearing the same mariner's gear that I saw him in yesterday. "Y-yeah. I'm fantastic," he breathes, his voice wobbling with unshed tears.

I glanced around and sit down. Forte immediately clambers into my lab. A silence stretches between the captain and I before I break it with something of a short monologue: "My name is Rosa, and I'd heard that you were acting here. A friend of mine needs to get to Castelia City, and I know you drive the boat. I was going to ask that you do that, but you look upset, so I think I'll just ask what's wrong now."

He gives a sad little laugh and draws his knees to his chest. This posture is sad, small, and vulnerable, and it makes my chest tight. Forte had been like this no more than twenty-four hours prior; it isn't a position I want to find anyone in. "They fired me and replaced me with a younger actor," he says simply. "I don't have the 'vigor' to play a superhero."

I blink. "Oh. That's really terrible."

"Isn't it? Oh, they've completely trampled my dream," he sighs, scraping the heels of his hands under his eyes, obviously checking for tears. "When I was young, I lived in Nimbasa City and acted in musicals before the Pokémon Musicals took off. I often had major roles. People praised my acting skills. But once the Pokémon Musical became popular, I had to be practical and take up ferrying. My father owned a boat in Castelia City that he never used, and I made a business of it. The sea is not my love or my passion, but according to the people here, neither is acting. I'm not lively enough for it."

A flash of nauseating pity almost cripples me. His story…what if I end up like him? I haven't written down a single melody or lyric since I've left home to train Pokémon. What if I lose my ability to sing and play piano and write music and I ruin my chances for later? Or even for now?

I kick those feelings away. This isn't the time to think about that. This is time to rationalize and help this man feel better—also getting him back into sailing. If it bothers me later, I'll take care of it.

I take a deep breath. "Maybe they were just trying to say a superhero isn't the right role for you," I offer. He's not old, by any means, but there certainly is a preference for the young and spry-looking in modern superhero movies. "I'll bet you just haven't found the right role. What did you used to play?"

"Villains and supporting characters, mostly. My nose is not heroic," he sniffs. It is true; his nose is particularly beaky. It's like looking at a Braviary.

I pat his shoulder in consolation. "Don't feel bad, then. You should audition for those sort of roles, then, not a hero. Who's the new guy?"

He tosses his hands up helplessly. "Some young buck named Nate. Supposedly his nose isn't nearly as atrocious."

I smile at him. After a moment, I ask, "Do you think you'll try again?"

"As a lead role? I doubt it. Maybe I'll start small and work my way up to the villain in a film…but I'd first have to hire someone to run the ferry for me." He wipes his nose and rises to his feet. "Would you mind helping me collect my things? I need to get back to the job I have right now."

I nod. It can't hurt. Digging through my pockets, I release Muse and Armstrong. "We can help out."

About twenty-five minutes later, we've gathered the various belongings laying in his dressing room, and we're heading out. I have a half-full keg of a nefarious-smelling alcohol under one arm, a tiny potted fichus tree in another, and a backpack filled with trail mix and notes on "heroic scowling." Muse and Armstrong are making a tag-team effort at carrying a folding chair, and Forte has a folder filled with various formats of the script in his jaws. I mentally question every single thing that we're carrying, but I don't remark on anything verbally. Pop Roxie himself is carrying an oversized stuffed Arbok and a bag of pebbles and doesn't seem embarrassed by it, so I suppose I can't really question anything.

We're close to the gate when I hear a loud cry of, "Rosa! Wait up!"

I turn to look at who's calling, and I find myself staring at what looks like a bipedal Luxray in Hugh's clothing. They did his makeup well, I think to myself.

Armstrong gasps, dropping his end of the chair. I will take care of this creeper, he vows.

"Wait, Armstrong, no! That's—"

As Hugh draws close, Armstrong leaps into the air and drives his elbow into his face. Hugh lets loose a stream of curses, and I set down all that I'm carrying to check on him. "Armstrong, that's Hugh! You just hurt Hugh!" I exclaim.

Pop Roxie watches with his eyebrows raised as I help Hugh to his feet. "Your Riolu is certainly very protective," he comments.

"Of course he is! That's their nature." I dust Hugh's jacket off and examine him. In spite of him looking intensely pissed off, I can't help but admire his makeup job. The contacts that skew his pupils golden and the whites of his eyes red really complete the blue face and flappy ears of a Luxray.

It makes me realize that, even without the makeup, he's fairly attractive in a feral sort of way.

He notices me looking at him and growls. "Stupid f***ing makeup. I dropped. Jason's gonna be filming, though. Since you've got Pops here let's just go." He sweeps past me, obviously flustered and angry, and I don't know what to say to him.

Pop Roxie nudges me. "Is he all right?"

"He isn't fond of a boy I like," I reply, gathering Pop's belongings. Bobbing my head toward the gate, I add, "Let's at least try to make him happy and get him to Castelia City."

Do I have to say sorry when I see him again? Armstrong asks.

I nod, gazing at him sternly. "It had better be an articulate apology."

He snorts. Wouldn't that just make your day?

As we leave, I think sadly upon leaving Jason without saying goodbye. With Pop Roxie back on duty, I could easily visit him when I'm in Castelia City, but I'm not sure where we stand. To him, a kiss might mean nothing. Maybe he'll never want to see me again after this.

Even if he never wants to see me again after stealing a kiss under rain-leaden skies, at least he bestowed me with inspiration before he left.

Hello and welcome to this week's episode of "It's been February since I last updated any fic of mine, and if you hate me, I honestly can't blame you."

Well, anyway, I'm not dead. And that's a good start. A lot happened in between last update and this current one-for example, I am now playing the baritone saxophone in a very prestigious band, which is good. A few not so great things happened, which is bad. If you're curious as to what those are, you can PM me and ask specifically as to what's going on, but a lot of it includes things I don't want to share willy-nilly with people who might want to tear my throat out for not updating-as some of you want to do already, due to the lack of update.

Anyway...story-related stuff...

I'm really excited. Next chapter we get into Team Plasma stuff obviously, since this is loosely following the game plot. Also, a possible time-skip might be coming up in the near future. It won't be huge and nothing drastic will happen-it just depends on whether or not I'm in the mood to write filler chapter or just say "Nah, screw it, we'll just say 'Three weeks later Rosa is...'" except obviously in first person, since Rosa is our primary narrator.

I never liked how unrealistic Pokestar Studios was about movie-making, so I tweaked that a little bit...and also foreshadowing on Nate. Whereas Rosa is musical and Hugh is being his angry little self, Nate is a thespian/actor, obviously. I figured since I changed the female playable character, the male one should have a few changes, too. I can't wait to write his character. He has potential to be such a yuppie dork. I promise I won't make him too much like Ethan from HGSS, but the temptation is strong within me...

I can already say there wasn't nearly enough Armstrong and Muse in this chapter and I'm going to sell myself into slavery if I do that again next chapter. Actually there weren't enough Pokemon in general in this chapter. Ugh I'm such a loser author.

So leave a review! Do realize that this is my first written chapter in a while, and if it's rough, it's because I haven't really gotten back into my writing groove. Please be gentle with me. ;-;