Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon or its characters. But if I did, chances are I'd remember to put disclaimers and warnings on things *subtly references the lack of disclaimer last chapter*.

Rosa's POV:

I'd always thought that Aspertia City was rainy and chilly in the spring, but that doesn't even hold a candle to the downpour I feel as though I'm drowning in once I enter Virbank City.

Muse is thrilled with the rain, slipping through mud puddles joyfully and tipping her muddied white head to the sky. Armstrong, on the other hand, couldn't be unhappier and made me recall him to his Pokeball as soon as we entered the city. I'd warned him that the weather was always like this here, but it certainly hadn't elevated his mood.

In comparison to the clean, if somewhat rundown looks of Aspertia City, and the rural comfort of Floccesy Town, Aspertia City is a slummy port city. Mom always said it was dangerous, but with Muse and Armstrong, I think I'll be perfectly safe. With this town, safety in numbers is always a good way to go. Currently, however, it's close to midnight, and between the heavy, dark rain and the figures roaming about with roving eyes and dangerous smiles, I come to the understand that these aren't the best conditions to be travelling in. "Perhaps it's time to go to the Pokémon Center, eh?" I mutter to Muse, who is currently busy splashing in the gutter.

"Osh?" she pauses to glance about. After a few moments, her gleeful expression vanishes and she suddenly realizes that there are some questionable people walking about. "Osh." She puffs up her chest and darts in front of me, acting like my bodyguard.

I can't help but laugh, in spite of feeling unnerved by some of these scary, heavily-tattooed men who leer in my direction.

The rest of the walk to the Pokémon Center is short and safe, thankfully. We enter the red-roofed haven. "My, you're out late!" calls the attendant, a rangy woman with copper-toned hair. "Get caught in the rain?" she adds, snickering.

Rude, I think, but I simply say, "Certainly. How much is a room for a night here?"

"Only 1000 Pokedollars. People don't want to stay 'round these parts for long," she responds as I wring out my hair.

Soon after, I'm in a room with Muse. With towels and blankets, I pat Muse's grungy fur down. "Mud, mud, and more mud. No wonder grunge started here. Everything is mud, rain, and depression in this town," I mutter. The music geek in me screams at the thought of being in the town where the subgenre of grunge got its start. Though this place is slummy and messy, I'll have to see the sights; maybe some inspiration will come here.

Wait. Inspiration.

I feel my stomach plummet. Music. I'd practically forgotten about my baby over the past day and a half. My stomach feels heavy with the thought that, with the introduction of Muse and Armstrong into my life, my first passion fizzled out like a candle thrown in a puddle.

I tear my wet shirt off and grab a clean towel, patting my face and torso down. It's just because I'm so busy, I think. Now that I'm in this musical town, I will be able to do music better, too.

With feeble conviction, I strip of every other soaked garment I am wearing and throw on a heavy gray sweater over my underwear. I don't bother with bottoms of any sort; it's more comfortable like this. Muse watches me with some concern as I string clothing over the radiator to dry. Glancing at her sad little face, I say, "Hey, don't give me that look, now. I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all. Do you want to sleep in my bed or in your Pokeball tonight?"

She points to the bed and throws herself onto it, sitting and waiting for me. She gestures to Armstrong's Pokeball nearby. With a laugh, I scoop it up. "I doubt that he wants to cuddle, sweetie, but we can try," I tell her. Upon his release, Armstrong immediately flinches, expecting rain to crash down onto him, but when he realizes he's safe and dry, he raises a brow at me.

It is quite late for a social visit, Rosa, he chastises me.

"So…you've decided you only want to be out if you want to battle?" I ask.

Of course not, he snidely replies, but I sensed some inanity. I was hoping to—

His voice cuts out as a loud voice from the hallway booms, "And ya can't make me pay for shitty rooms like this, you tramp!"

The attendant shrills something at him from the main room, but I've heard enough to catch the gist of the conversation. Some ruffian is causing trouble and refusing to pay. How unbelievably low of him! My inner sense of justice flares; absolutely nothing is worse than a bully…well, aside from a strings section in an orchestra that forgot to tune before performing.

Regardless…

Without forethought, I growl, "Come on, let's go make him pay for a night like everyone else."

Armstrong stretches his paw out toward me, shaking his head. Stop. Please think for a moment about why this is not the best idea—

I burst through the door with a very enthused Muse on my heels. The door clips something solid and human, and said ruffian curses loudly. "What the hell?" he snaps.

"Hey, you!" I say, pointing at him as though he can see me while facing painfully in the other direction. "I paid for my night here, so you might as well do the same!"

The ruffian spins around, glaring at me with the rage of a Liepard thrown into a bathtub. His eyes rove lower after seeking my face, and I realize I'm only covered by a gray sweater that reaches mid-thigh. I was attempting to warn you, Miss Rosa, Armstrong says, slinking out after me. I can almost feel his frustrated aura.

With a dark laugh, the ruffian advances toward me. "There are other things I'm thinking about taking without paying," he says, his voice deep and guttural. He's free of tattoos, unlike most of the men around here, but his muscular bulk and threatening words terrify me.

Swallowing my fear, I snap, "Don't you dare come closer!"

"Or what? You'll…wrap those perfect legs around me?" he says, planting his arms on either side of my shoulders. "Because I could get in on that."

You cannot talk to my Trainer like that! Armstrong snaps, and suddenly he punches this man hard in the gut. His breath whooshes out in a loud whoosh, urging him to collapse. Muse blasts him in the face with a Water Gun. Now that he's completely flattened, Armstrong gets onto his chest, staring at him menacingly. Pay for your night or leave. Whichever you choose, if you as much as look at my Trainer again, I will tear out your jugular with my bare paws.

I don't know that the ruffian has understood a word of Armstrong's powerful threat, but he glances at us in fright and scrambles away, charging straight down the hall and back to wherever he came. A moment too late, tears of alarm spring to my eyes and I sink down the wall until I'm sitting with my knees drawn under my chin. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I curse myself. Should've remembered that I wasn't wearing pants.

Muse mewls sympathetically, and she snuggles into my side. "Osh," she says. I wish I could understand her, too. Granted, Armstrong's sarcasm has already enhanced my life, yet Muse is so much sweeter and earnest than the caustic Riolu could ever be.

I scoop her into my lap. Quietly, I murmur, "Remind me to watch my back in this town from now on."

"Wott, osh, osha!" she responds, nodding vigorously.

Armstrong concurs, I suppose so, though everything that just happened was entirely unnecessary.

Rattled and teary-eyed, I scoop up Muse, beckon Armstrong to follow me, and disappear into my room once more. Perhaps this is a town important to Unovan music history and also as the site of my next Gym Badge, but this is a town where I need to remember that no one aside from my two very young and inexperienced Pokémon and me is going to look out for me.

I lock the door with every manner of lock and bolt that is provided, and then I bury myself under the covers. Muse curls into the curve of my stomach and falls asleep quickly. Left awake for longer than my starter, I stay on my side, staring at the alarm clock. The numbers read 12:04, but it could be two in the afternoon for all I know. Sleep refuses to come.

I feel the covers shift, and a small, warm body pushes into my back. Go to sleep already, Armstrong mutters. You sigh far too much while you are awake and troubled.

"Gee, thanks," I mumble to him, but the comforting warmth of his body is enough to make me relax. My eyelids slowly grow heavier and darker until the darkness blankets me in sleep.

Come morning—when I was woken up by Armstrong's tail slapping against my back in the middle of one of his dreams—I make an executive decision to look the part of a Virbank City girl and less like a gawky young Trainer.

Dressing in skin-tight gray jeans and a ratty black t-shirt printed with a stylized Chandelure that I find squashed into the bottom of the bag, I start to look less like a girl from a safe little city like Aspertia. I throw on my high-collared blue wind breaker and smudge some dark eyeliner under my eyes and voila. Suddenly Rosa from Aspertia could be a girl from Virbank. Muse gazes at me in wonder; this isn't how she's used to seeing me.

"Do I look like a hardcore girl from a slummy city yet?" I ask her.

You look terribly ragged, if that's what you're asking, Armstrong comments sleepily. Muse nods in agreement with him.

I sigh. "Well, good. I figure if I look like one of them, they won't mess with me." Throwing my hair over one shoulder and tying it in place, I give what could best be described as a Zorua's grin. "Let's get out of here, eh?"

We leave the room. The attendant from last night looks at me oddly. Back when my mom still worked as an attendant, she used to be gone for twenty-four hours at a time for her job, so I didn't find this particularly unusual to still see her on duty. "Hey, you. Did you even check in last night?"

So far, so good on the native look. I laugh. "Yeah, I did. I suppose you could say I worked a little more on blending in around here."

She squints at me before recognition flashes in her eyes. She nods. "Smart of you. The men around here would take advantage of a pretty little thing like you pretty quickly," she says, tossing her hair. "Good thing you have two tough little Pokémon with you. They beat the daylight out of that man who tried to stay for free last night."

Armstrong crosses his arms defiantly. I will protect Rosa, and Muse will protect her just as fiercely.

The attendant doesn't seem to hear him. We leave shortly after and walk out into the rain. This morning, it's far warmer than it was last night. Yet now the rain seems as heavy, if not more so, than when we first arrived yesterday. "Why do only certain people understand you?" I ask Armstrong. "Is that by your choice?"

Currently, I can only communicate with humans who have aura that is similar to that of my species. I am too young to expand my communication field to people who are unlike me. Muse glances over at him in interest as he continues to explain, Rosa, aside from the fact that Muse is incredibly powerful, I wanted to travel with you because you have aura that was like Sensei's.

"Sensei's?"

The Lucario who saved those of us trapped in Challenger's Cave is Sensei. He protected us and taught us how to defend ourselves before leaving a while ago, Armstrong explains tetchily, displeased with the rain.

"That sounds like my dad's Lucario. He was always so concerned about everyone else," I murmur, hopping over a puddle in the street. Muse promptly leaps into it, skidding along merrily.

Armstrong shrugs. Who knows? He stumbles into a puddle and growls externally. Do you have some manner of protecting me from the rain aside from the damned Pokeball?

I think for a moment and then rummage through my bag. Out pops a small, collapsible umbrella in gray. "Unwrap the strap around it and press the button," I explain. "It's an umbrella."

How is this—oh dear Arceus! The umbrella snaps open, startling Armstrong. Moments later, he discovers that if he holds it above his head, he's able to protect himself from the rain. A noticeable grin marks his features. Most excellent. Should trouble arise, I can use this as a weapon as well.

"Wott!" Muse cries, looking incredibly affronted by the thought of unnecessary violence being conducted by a Riolu with an umbrella. I simply clap a hand to my forehead, sighing. Damned warmonger Pokémon.

Thankfully, though they're warmongers, they at least have a little tact. "Lu, rio ri," Armstrong reassures her in the Pokémon language.

Near a canal, a lanky bald man in a glossy black jacket approaches me. I prepare for another creep like last night's, but this man actually shoots me a genuine smile. "Hey miss. I got a Great Ball here. I'll trade this to you for a Pokeball."

"Why? Isn't a Great Ball a better tool for catching Pokémon than a Pokeball?" I ask, crossing my arms to ward off a cold breeze rising off of the water.

He nods. "I know, I know, but I need a Pokeball. You want this?"

Armstrong, propping his umbrella on one shoulder, gazes at the Great Ball. It is manufactured by Silph Co., if that means anything to you.

It must be a legitimate device to catch Pokémon; the Unovan branch of Silph Co. makes everything aside from the Pokeballs around here, which a more local manufacturer produces to keep the costs down. Digging around in my bag, I dredge out a Pokeball. "Let's make a trade."

We swap the balls. Nodding to me, he smiles and rushes down to a dock, leaving me wondering what in Arceus's name just happened. After a moment, I merely sigh and turn to my Pokémon. "Well, that was weird," I declare.

Muse chuckles. "Wott," she says in agreement. Armstrong merely sniffs and masterfully snaps his umbrella to his shoulders.

"Anyway, so my plan was to go to the Virbank Complex, I think," I say. "It's this lonely industrial place that inspired a lot of music about twenty years ago or so…and not to mention that you two can get some battling experience there. Lots of Trainers and Pokémon around."

Their eyes light up, and so I decide that it's a good direction to head in. I know that it's at the most southern part of town, and judging by the very wan sun slanting through the clouds over the ocean, all I have to do is head straight through the pathways and bridges of this city. As we walk, doing our best to look tough, I still get catcalls and lewd looks from men walking the streets and sitting on stoops. "Real mature," I mutter to myself, tossing my hair as if their attention didn't matter.

Between catcalls, though, I notice many people sitting in doorways, windows, and alleys, and they play music. What else is there to do in this chilly, unfriendly city? When it rains all the time, it simply doesn't make sense to take up a hobby that needs time outside. Even on a day like today, thought, there are still people out, and some of these people are the ones making music. At one dingy, colorless house, a middle-aged woman with choppy blonde hair pounds away at an upright piano. An attractive, redheaded boy wearing a white hoodie and a black beanie hums to himself and strums blues riffs on an acoustic guitar in a doorway. I want to stop and listen to him, but his friends, much gruffer-looking boys with harsh voices, begin to accost me with their words. "No thanks," I say in an equally harsh voice, and coupled with the look on Armstrong's face, they don't bother me.

"How do you manage to be scary even with that umbrella? You look pretty darned cute to me," I mention to Armstrong.

He snorts with derision. I would like to believe that they noticed the sharp tip on this umbrella. Also, when one has red eyes, it is easy to be intimidating.

My thoughts flash to Hugh. His dark, wine-colored eyes are certainly frightening. When I first ran into him two years ago at school, I thought for certain that he was a bully. Really he proved to be quite the ambitious, almost comically serious dork in the end. Perhaps Armstrong would prove to be that way, too, someday.

Passing by more musicians, my thoughts flicker back and forth between my Pokémon, music, and Hugh, like tiny grace notes stringing their way through a complicated violin solo. Armstrong glances over at me. Your aura is humming, he says.

"Humming?"

Yes, humming. Are you perhaps thinking about music?

I nod. "I'm always thinking about music. Considering that you're the one with the umbrella, though…"

Muse snorts. I think she understands that I'm suggesting that he burst into a musical number in the rain, but the reference goes straight over Armstrong's head. He merely shrugs. The rest of the walk to the Virbank Complex is quiet. I end up having to carry Muse, who has tuckered herself out leaping into every puddle between here and the Pokémon Center. She jabbers and points here and there, and I wish I could understand her language…or at least that Armstrong would be kind enough to translate.

The Virbank Complex looms gray and wan against the rain. It's an industrial monster, overtaking the horizon and stinking up the rainy air with fumes and unnatural heat, even at this distance. Muse chatters something, and Armstrong translates, Muse says that this place is absolutely gorgeous, although the sarcasm seemed a bit on the…heavy side.

"Yeah, it won't win any awards for beauty, will it?" I toss my hair over one shoulder, the wet ropes of it draping down my front. "It'll be a good place to train, though."

Upon entering the complex, I notice here that, in spite of the rain and grayness, there's grass here. It surrounds the ugly buildings in clumps of vibrant green. I notice Pokémon like Magnemite, Patrat, and Elekid darting about, with equally as many gritty, grimy Trainers about looking for a battle. "Osh!" Muse cries excitedly, pointing to the nearest one, an industrial worker with a tired expression and three days' growth of beard.

We battle this man. He relishes the chance to battle; his work is tiring, and even though Armstrong and Muse callously squash his duo of Magnemite, it's obvious that this is probably the highlight of his day by the light that has entered his eyes.

However, my day is made directly after the battle.

"Wott, osh?" As the man pays us for our win, I turn to see Muse standing with a dazed expression. She touches her head, frowning a little, and then she snaps into attention, a wily grin spreading across her features. "Wott!" Her figure begins to glow.

I watch in shock as her form elongates and strengthens, becoming taller than Armstrong. The light dies, and I find myself gazing upon the evolved form of an Oshawott—Dewott. Studying her longer limbs, her liquid eyes catch mine. "Dew?" she questions, her voice deeper.

My face splits into a broad grin. I race forward and scoop her into my arms. She weighs so much more than she used to, but now she can embrace me back with her limbs. Armstrong heaves a sigh at our display of affection, propping his umbrella moodily onto one shoulder.

"Well, congrats!" The worker captures my attention. He can't be any older than twenty-two or twenty-three, if his boyish looks are anything to go by. Reaching out his hand, he says, "Give me five. It's not every day that one of your beloved Pokémon evolves."

With my free hand, I high-five him. I suppose not all of the men in this town are awful and scary.

Soon, with Muse testing her new form, we sweep through the Trainers in the area. Armstrong seems jealous of his ally's newfound power and form, and he works hard to keep up with her newer, more coordinated style. "You evolve with high friendship, you know," I warn him in a bored voice after he single-handedly defeats a trio of agitated Pidove. "If it were by level, surely you would've evolved by now."

Rude, is all Armstrong says as he slumps to the ground, exhausted. I dredge a Potion from my bag and spray him with it in an attempt to revitalize him somewhat. Nearby, Muse has picked a fight with a duo of Magnemite. She slices them both with her scalchops for a quick defeat. Sometime soon we will be visiting the Gym in this town, because, in the short time we've been here, they're already outstripping their opponents.

We battle nearly everyone in the complex, and eventually we emerge on the side overlooking the sea. A few others rest here. Here the mechanical noises are muted; Muse, Armstrong and I watch the rain batter the sea. "No wonder people wrote grunge here, huh? It's raining and dreary all the time, but I guess it's kind of beautiful in a way," I say to no one in particular.

I do not know what grunge is, Armstrong comments, and Muse nods in agreement.

Before I can start digging in my bag for my MP3 player, a familiar voice greets me. "You look like a drowned Patrat." I look up and see none other than Hugh leaning against the railing nearby. He raises his eyebrows at my expression of shock. "You think I wouldn't recognize you in that getup?" he asks, a note of humor filling his voice.

"It's called blending in. As a female, I need to look like no one can take advantage of me," I respond, feeling mildly tetchy.

He whistles, and a Pidove circling nearby flits to his shoulder. I raise my eyebrows. He caught another Pokémon? Hugh meets my questioning look with a very serious one. "You're not the only one who gets to expand their team, y'know." He also releases his Snivy—well, okay, he isn't a Snivy anymore. A Servine leans coolly against the railing beside Hugh. "We'll beat you," Hugh vows.

I shrug and walk over to the railing to stand beside him. "We're not battling today."

Hugh's eyes tell me that he thinks I'm insane. He incredulously asks, "How do you reject a battle? The unspoken rule of Trainers is that you battle another Trainer upon meeting."

"Look, I know we're 'rivals'," I reply, petting his new Pidove's head with faint relish. He's a very cute little one, probably no more than a few months old. "But we were friends first. That comes first to me, regardless of how badly you want to thrash my team."

He regards me with an unreadable look before sighing and scratching at his jaw. Without an ounce of restraint, he mutters, "Damn it, Rosa. You're…incredibly unconventional, you know that?"

It took him all of this time to realize such a thing? Armstrong comments, making me snort.

Regaining composure, I nudge Hugh's shoulder. "I'm well-aware. You're kind of weird yourself, you know."

"Thanks a ton," he says, rolling his eyes. "Yet you're the one who didn't start talking at all in class until I insulted jazz in science. And suddenly the silent exchange student who'd jumped a whole grade level was talking at all of us."

I chuckle, thinking back to that day. The first month that I was in Aspertia City, I'd hardly talked to anyone. After taking aptitude tests (due to a lack of a unified curriculum across Unova schools), I was the equivalent of an Aspertia City freshman while, back in my old town, I'd been just a little above average as a middle school student. In freshman biology, Hugh and his friends sat there. They were sort of trouble students; the group was incredibly sharp, but they spent a lot of their time making the teacher wish that corporal punishment was legal in the region.

Anyway, Hugh made the mistake of rudely comparing something to jazz in a negative way. I can't remember what. But I wasn't about to let that slide, and I called him on it. Somehow, that massive argument turned into him dragging me home for dinner and getting absorbed into his friend group like a Muk swallows up debris it oozes over.

I find myself smiling at Hugh. "Well, you're also the one who decided to drag a girl to your house for dinner after she verbally abused you for insulting jazz."

"Okay, fine, I guess I'm the weird one," he says, visibly startled by the fact that I've given him a full smile.

Standing side by side, the breeze weaves its threads around us. My hair, dripping with rain, isn't even stirred by its presence; it's simply too heavy. Suddenly, Hugh cocks his head, looking at Armstrong oddly. "Why does he have an umbrella?"

"He hates the rain," I remark. "So he's using my umbrella. And also…well…he also uses it as a weapon if he sees hit. He just about hit a homerun with a Magnemite earlier."

"You seem pretty close with them already," Hugh remarks as Muse leans into my side, chuckling.

I shrug. "I don't know why. I mean, you remember how my mom's Liepard treated me."

"Didn't you say your dad's Pokémon were always really good to you, though?" he comments. "Haven't you ever thought that your mom was maybe just a little more, eh, totalitarian or something with her Pokémon? They probably saw you as some stupid little runt who didn't follow orders like they did. Plus, she had an Emboar and all that. They're kind of assholes and brutal and all that."

He leans back against the rail, regarding the way I indignantly bristled. "I'm not saying she was a bad Trainer. I'm saying she had tough Pokémon and he was tough with them. I mean, aside from that Audino."

I gaze at the wall opposite us, where a Growlithe sleeps under the stairwell crawling up the side to escape the precipitation. Back when Dad was still my favorite human being to walk the face of the planet, I asked him so many questions about how he'd trained. "Love and compassion always," he'd always said. "They're good friends and partners. They are happy with us and happy without us, and you always have to remember that." Obviously he couldn't take his own advice, joining Team Plasma and forcibly "freeing" other people's Pokémon, but the words of the kind man who rocked me to sleep every night until I was five to "protect me from nightmares" have filled my head for years. Yet, it's Mom, who raised me so diligently and kindly when he rotted to the core, that I've never asked about her years as a Trainer.

I simply comment, "I've never thought to ask her, and she's also never told me." The Growlithe lolls about as burning steam escapes a vent, enjoying the heat. If I was a more vocal person, I'd probably squeal at how adorable he is. Growlithe notices the attention that I'm giving him, and he watches me with piercingly dark, wary eyes. Like Pidove, he seems incredibly young and naïve, not unlike me.

Hugh sighs. "If you want the damned Growlithe, catch the damned Growlithe."

"He seems leery of me. I doubt he'd appreciate our company," I remark.

"That's not really how it works."

"In my mind, that is exactly how it works. I don't want to take a Pokémon along with me who wants his freedom. If there is a friendly Pokémon who wants to come with us, then cool," I say, "but I don't want to force it."

Hugh groans. "You're so weird." Nudging the utterly relaxed Servine, he gives me an oddly dark look. "I'm going to get going."

I wave at him. "Bye, bye. Have fun. See you later."

A muscle twinges in Hugh's jaw. Pointing at me, he says in heavy tones, "You won't get far as a Trainer if all you do is consider everyone else's feelings." Then, he sweeps away into the misty downpour.

My, my. You certainly managed to grind his gears, Armstrong comments. Muse chatters something at him, and he adds, She referred to him as a "dickwad". What is a "dickwad"?

I snort, even though an iron weight seems to be compressing my stomach. "We'll get you up to speed on this stuff," I say, taking off after Hugh.

Thank goodness. There are so many words and colloquialisms I do not understand, Armstrong comments, ranting about everything he's heard in the past few days. I don't mind. It takes my mind off of the melancholy chords stringing their way through my mind, making me feel sick.

Just who am I? I think. I'm entirely abnormal. I don't fit into anything at all. So the question remains…what am I going to be?

A/N: Hello there, and welcome to, "It's so painfully close to Christmas, and it's really lame of me but all I want is some time off and do the writing thing." Whoo boy. I've had no time in the past three weeks. ;_; So I apologize (again) for the lack of quality. This is kind of just a buffer chapter, really.

Armstrong's language is slowly going to decay over the story, I promise you that much. Rosa doesn't swear a lot, but Muse, on the other hand...hyuck-hyuck-hyuck...*wonders if it's possible for Rosa to begin understanding Muse and not just her Riolu*

So, Unova is a very American region, so I'm incorporating a lot of "American" things into it. For example, jazz, the blues, grunge, rap, and country are all American styles of music, and they will all show up at one point or another in this story. Rosa just loves music and the history of music. I've kind of equated Virbank City into the slummy lovechild of Seattle and Detroit, and Seattle is often considered the home of grunge, although Kurt Cobain, whose name is synonymous with grunge, was kind of born in Aberdeen, so...*shrugs*

I can't wait to get Roxie into the story. God, I love her. She and (my version of) Rosa are total opposites in everything but their love of music, and I can't wait to write about their encounters. Plus, her dad. And his failed attempt at film. and BRYCEN MAN. Oh God. I'm so excited; you have no idea.

My friend still wants me to write that Alexandrianshipping fic (Jasmine x Volkner) that I've had on the backburner for like five months, and I'd like to as well, but there is simply no time and I've already started digging myself a hole by working on two fics at once so hehehe. So, for those of you who don't know or don't usually read author's notes, I started publishing a mini sequel to my first story that I published on here, and I think I should probably stop self-promoting my stories. I doubt it'll be any longer than ten chapters or so. Working on those two on-and-off has slowed down my ability to produce updates quickly. However, I'm hoping to get my third chapter of that story out by the end of this week and the seventh chapter of this one during the first week of winter break.

Thanks for putting up with the long time it takes for me to update right now. You're all marvelous.

Leave a review if you wish! I mean, you don't have to, but it'd be cool if you did...