Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. But if I did, I'd make sure to either quell or confirm the rumors going around the internet about the Pokemon Plus/Minus leak.

Rosa's POV:

I don't know what I'm expecting when I head back toward the Pokémon Center with a newly-involved Muse and Armstrong, but it certainly wasn't to encounter a spat between the most mismatched father and daughter duo I will ever met. The encounter does detract from the heavy thoughts and harmonies swirling chaotically through my mind.

I walked along the bridge near the docks when a loud, irritated roar filled the air. At first, I thought it was a Pokémon. Armstrong's facial expression, however, told me different. That was a human. That was certainly a human.

My curiosity morbidly piqued, I wander a little closer—as do some natives of Virbank City—to encounter this argument.

Standing uncertainly the middle of the street leading toward the docks is a pony-tailed man in drab captain's clothing. Opposite him, and with her back to me, is a skinny girl with pure white, frazzled hair dressed in a ragged, striped sweater dress. Clearly she is the aggressor, because her stance is anything but friendly.

"Roxie, don't try to stop me! I'm off to Pokéstar Studios to live up my true potential! My dream is to be a ship captain and a movie star!" he cries, his nervous, breathy voice filled with some hope that this girl will understand him.

"C'mon! Get real! You're a captain already, aren't you? If that ship doesn't move, you're going to cause lots of trouble!" Unlike the man standing opposite of her, her voice is a fierce, booming explosion. I can't help but wonder if she's a musician; very few non-musicians have voices that carry like that.

The man chuckles. It's breathless and quiet; how can this quiet man be the captain of a ship? Aren't they supposed to be a loud, swarthy bunch? "Oh, dear daughter. You split your time between your responsibilities as a Gym Leader and with your band, right? I can do that, too!" he says.

Ah. Roxie. The Gym Leader in this city. About a year and a half ago, there was a massive commotion over Lenora in Nacrene City retiring from her position as a Gym Leader to focus on her museum. The choice to form a Gym in Virbank City with Roxie, an intense, hotheaded girl who moonlighted as a punk band's vocalist and bassist, had been fairly controversial until she proved to be as good, if not better, than Lenora.

I'm startled back to reality by an inhuman scream. "AAAAAAH! You dim-witted...dense...dumb...daft...dippy...dorky...doltish DOOFUS! Doing double duty isn't the problem! You're causing problems for people! Keeping people from getting where they're going because of sheer selfishness is unforgivable! I've HAD it! I'm going to the Gym!" Roxie turns, showing off an A-plus scowl as she storms away. Her father, unsure of how to react, slumps and stumps north.

"Ah, jeez," mutters a petite, black-haired girl near me. "Pop Roxie's lost his mind. Better go help Roxie chill out." She sweeps off after the Gym Leader, and everyone else begins to clear out, too, leaving me alone with Armstrong and Muse in the rain-drenched street.

Muse mewls something. Quite kindly by his standards, Armstrong translates, Is his name actually Pop Roxie?

"I hope not. Who would do that to their child?" I pause. "Well…I do have a friend named Hugh…and Hugh isn't the most popular name."

Neither of my Pokémon comment. I don't suppose they're the best judges of human normalcy in the naming process. Smoothing my hair, I glance in the direction that Roxie and the dark-haired girl went. I don't feel that we're ready to challenge the Gym, but I'd heard rumors that Roxie gave incredible concerts in her basement when she was emotionally…off. "Let's go the Gym. I hear she jams out when she's upset," I say, nudging Muse.

Minutes later, we're standing in front of the Gym. This is a particularly unusual Gym; it's entirely underground. The door sits, almost entirely unnoticeable, between ugly, graffitied warehouses. I ring out my hair and approach this door.

Armstrong makes an audible noise of disgust. What is this ugly place?

"The Gym. Didn't you catch that earlier?" I ask, unable to keep a bit of an amused smirk from touching my features. "If you hadn't noticed, Roxie isn't…conventional. She wouldn't have something pretty and above ground."

Ah. Regardless, what is this ugly place? The unapologetic Riolu asks once more, shaking his head sadly. It is an unfortunate, unhealthy establishment.

I prop the door open. "I dare you to say that to Roxie's face," I remark before entering the dark, musty atmosphere of the Gym. Heavy bass rattles the cinderblock walls painted black, and I can tell that something worthwhile is going on in the basement.

However, with some shock—and a touch of irritation—I notice none other than Hugh sitting on the stairs, facing away from me. His Servine sits beside him, looking mind-bogglingly exhausted. Our conversation from earlier weaves dissonance in the dark, mellow chords that occupy my thoughts. "Hugh?" I ask, frowning a little.

"Do not take on Roxie right now," is all Hugh mutters before rising to his feet to face me. His features are devoid of any of his earlier frustration. "Someone told her that her dad hadn't yet moved his ship and she completely tore me to bits in our battle before going to yell at him."

I raise my eyebrows. "My, my. Well, she just had a fight with him in the street."

"She might poison you if you try to battle her right now. She stormed back in here and called me a 'pretty little bitch for still being here after I destroyed you'," he says in a not inaccurate impersonation of her strident voice. His voices mellow and he adds, "This was before she went rushing down those stairs and started playing that bass."

Muse tugs at my pant leg before turning to Armstrong and chattering something. He translates, Perhaps we should wait to challenge her, Rosa.

I sigh. "I'm not going to challenge her today. I don't really know why I came here, but if there's bass, I might as well hang out."

"Just watch your back if you're set on doing this," Hugh says. Returning Servine to his Pokeball, he heads toward the door. "And Rosa? You can't avoid a battle the next time we meet up. I swear to Arceus, I will stomp you flat."

I sigh. "Whatever you say, Hugh."

He disappears, and I let loose yet another sigh. "So pushy," I comment to Muse and Armstrong. "Let's go check it out down there. That bass is killer."

Killer? Armstrong asks as I tiredly get onto my feet. I am unfamiliar with this term, much like many others that you use.

I sigh. I feel as though I'm a foreign language instructor to this Pokémon. "Umm…it's…kind of like saying that something is really incredible and leaves you awe-struck."

It appears that I am just stricken by that horrendous noise, Armstrong comments, leaving me to snort in amusement. However, Muse misinterprets my snort as a negative reaction and whacks him a scalchop, growling at him.

"No fighting. He's entitled to his own opinions," I say, avoiding a strange, sticky-looking stain on the stairs. "Let's see if we can't listen in on a concert."

We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I push the door open with my shoulder. Though I'm not a germaphobe, the general state of disrepair has me feeling uncomfortable. I understand that this is a punk rocker's Gym, but…wow. My discomfort is slammed through a wall, however, when the bass tears through me at full force. I can practically feel Armstrong flinch away from the music, so I grab his Pokeball and return him, leaving Muse and I to watch the trio on stage.

Roxie is front and center with her bass, riffing and wailing incomprehensible lyrics into the microphone. Her expression is uninviting and engrossed in her music. Nearby, a spunky-looking Koffing bobs to the beat between Roxie and the petite girl from earlier, whose fingers masterfully coax an impossibly technical melody from a guitar. In the back sits the drummer, a bald boy in his late teens, and he seems to be the only one who notices my presence.

Crashing his sticks down on the hi-hat, he waves at Roxie and the guitarist. They quickly cut their playing and look over at him. "What the hell, Nicky?!" Roxie demands, propping a fist on her hip. "We were just getting warmed up there!"

The drummer, apparently called Nicky, stands up and dusts off his leather jacket. "Well, we've got company, and maybe she wants to challenge you, Roxie."

"Whoa, whoa, not really," I comment, edging forward. "Well, not yet, at least."

"Then get the f*** out," Roxie snaps, tuning her bass half-heartedly. "Don't be a stupid b**** and waste precious space like that."

I push my bangs off my face, and I wonder how grave of an error I just made. "I'm a musician who trains Pokemon, just like you do. And…I just wanted…to hear you guys play," I pause, feeling a weird lump form in my throat as I meet her venom-filled eyes. No one I know yells at people as harshly as this girl does; I'm not used to that manner of treatment. "I'm sorry. I'll go." I nudge Muse with my foot, as she stands dumbstruck next to me, in preparation to leave.

I hear the thud of feet hitting a tile floor. "Wait." I turn and see Nicky jogging over to me. He stops a few feet from me, and I can't help but be impressed by his height. He has to be at a foot taller than me with a remarkably kind face. A gentle giant, I suppose. "What kind of musician are you?"

Muse tugs on my jeans, as if to tell me to swallow the tears prickling in my throat and answer him. Scratching at my neck, I look away from his kind features and respond, "I sing, and I play the bass and piano."

"Sweet," he says, and I catch his smile out of the corner of my eye. "Any specific kind of music?"

"Not country," is all I can respond with, and he laughs. It's a low laugh that originates in his belly like an opera singer's voice. Someone else laughs, and I assume that it's the guitarist. Roxie still seems too pissed to do anything but lash out.

To my surprise, he draws closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Come on. You and your Dewott can come up on stage and chill with us. I doubt we'll get much else done now."

"Wott, dew," Muse chirrups, surprised by the turn of events.

"Not YOUR decision to make!" Roxie harps. With a loud growl, she turns and heads backstage. The Koffing follows her, glancing at me with almost apologetic eyes.

The guitarist rolls her eyes as a door slammed—presumably Roxie heading elsewhere. "Damn it. That was totally uncalled for," she says, dropping into the stool behind Nicky's drum set. "I'm real sorry about how she treated you. Pop really has her in a tizzy."

"I'm sorry for ruining your practice," I say as Nicky begins to lead me up toward the stage.

"Eh, don't be. Roxie wasn't treating the rest of us that well, either," the guitarist retorts, shooting a self-depreciating smile. "What's your name?"

I swallow hard, again. Tears are still threatening to overflow. "Rosa. This is Muse," I add, introducing my Dewott proudly. "What's yours?"

"Billy Jo, short for Wilma Josephine. Do I look like a Wilma to you?" she asks wryly as I clamber onto the stage.

I chuckle, adjusting my ponytail. It's still dripping wet; serves me right for spending all day out in the rain. "I don't suppose."

She smirks and flips Nicky's drumsticks around. With pure insolence seeping from her lips, she retorts, "Anyone who lives in this city should know that naming their daughter Wilma won't really work out for too long. No one around here acts like a Wilma."

"How about my parents naming me Nikolai? We moved to this city for my dad's job and all, so I don't get to talk about how ironic that is, but it's such a strange name for a Unovan guy, right?" Nicky rolls his eyes. "It's almost disgusting. Do I look like some northern Sinnoh boy or something? Because that's where this name is popular?"

"I don't know; what's your natural hair color, anyway? Maybe then we'd be able to tell, huh?" Billy Jo asks with yet another smirk. Then, turning her attention to me, she raises her eyebrows. "Well? Do you have a painful full name to tell us about?"

"Rosa is short for Rosaria," I reply.

Billy Jo nods approvingly. "Gorgeous name. Why go by Rosa?"

I sigh. Lowering myself to floor, I sit cross-legged, my hands gripping my ankles like vices to ease the tension my first name brings. "My dad picked it out. It was too difficult for me to say when I was little, so everyone started called me Rosa for short, with the hopes I'd be able to pronounce my own name when I was older. But…then a few years ago, he started becoming very strange. He released many of his Pokémon, and…well. He joined Team Plasma. My mom divorced him and neither of us can bring ourselves to start calling me Rosaria."

They both stare at me, seemingly shocked by how open I was. With a shrug, I pet Muse's soaked head. "Yeah. My dad is…kind of a dick."

"Huge dick," Nicky mutters, and it earns a chuckle from everyone present.

Billy Jo looks at me with a sympathetic look. "That takes some guts, admitting that to total strangers."

I have no idea why I told you two these things. "Seems like you two would understand it best," I respond, quickly making up a reason.

For a while, we sit in silence. Billy Jo fiddles with Nicky's drumsticks, clearly deep in thought about something. After a moment, she asks, "What town are you from around here?"

"Aspertia City."

Nicky laughs. "Clean place, huh?"

"In comparison to here, yeah. It really doesn't inspire a whole counterculture like this place has, though," I reply. Muse looks at me curiously, apparently confused by words I've used. "Are you confused about the word counter culture?" When she nods, I quickly explain, "It's kind of like a movement or lifestyle that goes against the norm of everything else around."

"Your Pokémon worries about word meanings?" Nicky asks incredulously.

I scratch under Muse's chin, feeling the vibrations of what could be likened to a pleased purr. After a moment, I respond, "Yeah. My Riolu does, too."

"But…what's it like, living in a city where you don't have to worry about getting mugged or cornered in some back alley?" Billy Jo questions.

For a while, I answer their strings of questions about Aspertia City, my life, and music in general. It's difficult for me to believe my life is so interesting. This city, though it is a veritable slum, holds more interest to me than Aspertia ever could have before I became Trainer. They seem particularly amazed by the idea that schooling is mandatory in that city until the age of sixteen with the exception of Trainer's leave—there are very few educational standards in Virbank City, an industrial, rainy dwelling. Generally, once someone reaches fifteen or sixteen in this city, they start working in shipping or leave. Their amazement with life in Aspertia City only broadens…until we get to Hugh and my social life. When I mention that Hugh had been in here earlier battling, both Nicky and Billy Jo raise their eyebrows.

"That guy is your friend?" Nicky asks incredulously.

I throw my hands up as I shrug in a universal "Arceus knows!" expression. "He thinks we're rivals."

"He was a very brutal, concise battler, that one. But when Roxie's pissed and you have a type disadvantage…well, quite frankly you're screwed," Billy Jo responds. She finally sets down Nicky's drumsticks and plops onto the floor next to me, smoothing her scrappy black dress. "Plus, he came in looking kind of flustered."

Flustered. If that's how she wanted to describe Hugh being irritated with me. I reply, "That's Hugh in a nutshell. He's either completely calm or really…agitated."

"Nah, I mean flustered. Like he'd talked to a girl who gave him the brush-off."

I can only shrug. It wouldn't have been me; we're only friends (rivals, according to him). Glancing around stage, I notice a scrappy, well-loved electric bass propped up against one of the amplifier. Nicky follows my gaze. "Oh, that's our backup bass. Roxie only uses it when she's broken too many strings that she can't replace on her usual, which doesn't happen a lot anymore now that she has Gym Leader money," he explains.

I can't help but ask, "Can I play it?" In truth, my one at home is probably older and worse-off than that one. Mom bought it for my fourteenth birthday, telling me to "expand a little from the classical instruments". Though its sound and compatibility with amps are phenomenal, its appearance is anything but; it is an ugly khaki color and stuck all over with Sigilyph Stickers; it's previous owner needed a lesson or two in class.

As far as learning how to play that ugly piece of crap went, it hadn't been a big leap from upright bass to electric, but I found myself preferring the audacity and the feel of the electric one to the subtler, woodsier sound of the upright.

I remember I've asked a question, and as I burst from my reverie, Nicky says, "Feel free."

Muse watches me with an odd expression as I all but scramble to grab the gray bass. I unhook it from the amplifier and bring it over to where I was sitting. "Dew," Dewott whispers as I plop down cross-legged next to her.

"This is a bass," I explain. "I have one of these in my room at home, but this one is a lot less ugly."

She pokes at the strings and startles at the wobbling, metallic sounds she plucks from them. I chuckle and murmur, "It's all good. It's supposed to do that."

"It's supposed to be louder than that," Billy Jo comments with a snort.

Feeling particularly silly, I flip my hair over my shoulder melodramatically. "As if I'd risk my lovely feminine form dragging a heavy amp over here with me!"

Everyone chuckles, including Muse. I tune the bass as they laugh, leaning over the instrument and plucking at strings. With some fine-tuning, the E, the A, the D, and the G begin to sound more musical. "This one isn't half-bad," I praise as I settle for a slightly-flat G—if I twist the tuning key any further, the ancient string might just snap. "Just some old strings, I think."

"Yeah, that bass isn't a young'un like Billy Jo over there," Nicky comments snidely. "She might look seventeen, but she just turned fifteen."

"Oh go jump in a river, Nikolai," she retorts, tossing a drumstick at him.

Plucking at the A-string and frowning at its excessive buzz, I absent-mindedly ask, "Is Nicky secretly thirteen, then?"

"He's nineteen." The strident voice of Roxie makes me jump out of my skin. She reappears on stage, eyeing the bass and me with an unreadable expression. Cringing at my expression and Muse's raised hackles, she sighs before adding, "Can you play it?"

I nod. Propping it against my thigh, I position myself comfortably and begin noodling. I search for a riff I'd invented only two weeks prior, but this bass is unfamiliar to me, not unlike when I'd first undertaken the role of a Pokémon Trainer. After thirty seconds, I've found the starting three notes. From there, I work quickly, recapturing the harmonies stolen from my memory by the events of the past few days. Settling myself into the riff, I let it float from my fingers, quiet and unamplified, before falling into a bass line from a popular rock song.

Muse watches my fingers, transfixed. My music astounds her; she can't believe that anyone can organize pitches and rhythms in such a way. I smile at her and let loose, drifting through various riffs, bass lines, and even a few melodies.

"Wow." I look up to see Roxie gazing at me with a note of respect in her eyes. "You're…not totally awful."

Behind her, Billy Jo mouths, That is a compliment.

I stand and give her a nod. "Thank you."

I go to return the bass when Roxie's voice makes me halt. "It's late. Come get dinner with us. I promise I won't bite this time." I turn to see her standing there, watching me with sharp blue eyes. "Honestly. I chilled out. Pop got me all worked up. Shouldn't have taken it out on you."

There is no response that I can think of to that. My bass-playing apparently wooed her over? She gestures to her bandmates. "C'mon. Fergus's diner's got a special on seafood tonight."

"I could always go for Magikarp," Nicky retorts.

I'm about to tell them that I don't eat meat, but I suppose it doesn't matter. I don't quite want to break this fragile peace I've forged with Roxie.

Muse falls into step with me as the group heads toward the backdoor. "Wott, dew," she says. Except I feel as though, this time, I'm almost hearing intelligible words in the sounds she makes, and I definitely pick up the gist: "Don't piss her off again."

I laugh nervously as we enter the rain once more. My hair had just started to dry, too. "Wouldn't dream of it."

A/N: Hello and welcome to "Wow, you guys once again had to wait ages and ages for an update...AGAIN". I officially suck.

So, wow, when I set out with this, I expected to have at least 10 chapters done by the end of 2013, but you can see I kind of flopped on that one. For those of you who aren't reading anything else I'm writing, I'll just tell you I got Pokemon X and a 3DS over Christmas, and so my writing kind of went BONK. Likewise, I also have been practicing a solo, because I'm soloing on Mozart's Missa Brevis, an organ mass, along with a few other things. At this time next week, though, I'll have sung that, but new stressers will have emerged, including two auditions and COLLEGE APPLICATIONS and standardized testing and finals. *nervous chuckling* If I were a drinker, these are the times I'd consider hitting the bottle. ((God alcohol is disgusting. Blehh. Tastes so rotten and chemical-y. Sorry. Carry on))

Also, I'll be publishing a Colosseumshipping one-shot eventually (which is the thieving protag and his psychic ginger companion from Pokemon Colosseum). And aside from the Snow Too Peaceful, which is a sequel, I have a brand-new Soulsilvershipping fic that I'll start publishing probably by the weekend. I'm actually very motivated on it, but let's see how long that lasts.

Now, SiG-related stuff...

I've always loved Virbank Gym. It's a grand old place. My friends always talk shit about it because it's underground, but all I can think of is punk and grunge-not soft grunge, like real grunge in which people wore flannel and didn't wash their hair for weeks and wrote killer music with killer bass-when I see those cool, underground stages. My heart just kind of bloomed when I went to that Gym.

Armstrong learning language is about my favorite thing to write in this story. I love the little dumb butt so much. Oh Lordy. I have a Lucario named Armstrong currently and I wish I could teach him slang and some interesting Spanish words.

I hope you all are taking advantage of the new year to be impossibly awesome-I mean, you already are, guys, but wow. Be awesome-r.

Leave a review if you will! I do write this to entertain my fellow Sequelshippers/music lovers out there!