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We’re all screwed! Billy Jo’s out sick tonight and I’m the problem. Stupid closet full of stupid clothes that make me look stupid. And here I am sitting square in the middle of it. Useless.
It’s not like it’s easy, trying to find something comfortable to stare at myself in. Having whittled myself down to pants and shirts only does so much. And Roxie needs me tonight. On stage, even. But someone has to fill in tonight, and the show must go on, so why… Why can’t I?
Dark ripped jeans? Those heavy 20-eyes? Maybe…
…no, I don’t like this shirt. It clings to me weird.
The racks seem to go on forever. Nothing fits right. Nothing fits the way I want it to. If clothes are self-expression, how can I be so close and yet still so far away from who I want to be? Whoever the hell that is.
A tanktop that makes me curve in all the worst ways, but it looks just fine on Billy Jo. That skirt Forte likes that I can’t fit in anyways. The racks are a barely-organized mess of purples and greys, sometimes blacks or whites. Usually, it’s comfortable, but today, it’s suffocating.
Roxie calls for me, so muffled by the costume closet that all I can make out is the tone she tends to use when she’s worried. I’m taking too long.
Her voice echoes through the clothes again, and with it comes the sound of parting hangers as she meanders into view. “No, really, what’s holdin’ you up?”
My eyes meet hers and… suddenly, it feels like I’m about to disappoint her. Roxie, my mentor, my big sister from another mister. I can’t.
“I…nothing feels right. Nothing looks right, Rox.” The words come tumbling out of my mouth with hardly a second thought, and my lashes feel damp. My next breath is shakier than I want it to be, and it’s so hard to maintain eye contact.
A pale hand rests itself on my shoulder. “Alright, talk to me. We’ll find you somethin’, you’ve still got a few hours left for makeup and all that.”
The word gets a shudder out of me. “I don’t even know if I could do that.”
Roxie pauses, biting her lip. She seems to deflate a little as her eyes soften, their bright blue feeling closer to a comfy blanket for once. “That bad, huh?”
The best I can muster is a small nod. A real answer feels like the furthest thing from me right now. Farther than the Pokémon League from here, even. No matter where I look or what I try, the words fall apart before I’m even close to a complete sentence. I’ve barely put my mind to trying before my hands slip back into my hoodie pockets.
“Mm… C’mon, let’s sit down.” Roxie makes for the old leather ottoman, patting its pillowed seat. “I’ve got you, gi—”
“Don’t call me that,” I find myself saying, feeling something deep down break quietly. The words have barely left me before I’m already caught in the maelstrom of feelings. “I didn’t, I’m sorry, I—”
She blinks once, twice. And then recognition flickers across her face. “My bad.” Roxie leans back, her spindly fingers gripping the back edges of the seat. “And I mean, you’d have to mean it on some level to say it, right?”
“I…yeah, but… I don’t want to be mean to you. You’re my sis!”
Roxie snickers, eyes aglitter in the many little lights decorating the closet. “Like I don’t watch you and Forte squabble over every little thing. Dork. And I can take it. Promise.”
It’s hard not to suck in a breath to try to argue back, but harder still to commit to following through. That newfound brokenness is as oppressive as the morning smog, the way that it seems to cling to my lungs and bears down on my throat.
“Fine,” I reply softly, the word coming out more as a breath than any distinguishable word.
Slowly but surely, I find myself sitting next to her on the seat. For a moment, I try to meet her gaze again, but trying to do that and answer her at the same time feels impossible. I fixate on her sweater instead.
“...I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything that the band says has looked good on me just doesn’t anymore. Not to me. The tight stuff looks too tight. The more I look like a formless blob, the happier I am, but you don’t look good on stage when your silhouette just…doesn’t exist. How do I fill in for literally anybody when I feel like…this!”
Roxie falls silent, draping an arm over my shoulder in some effort to help while she rummages through her brain. I can’t help but to lean into her, as I always have. She runs as cold as a shower when the water heater’s empty, but damn if she’s not good at being comfy. “Well,” she tries, losing steam about as quickly as she had found it. “...it’s not like not going up is an option. But we’re not out of ‘em. We’ll just jam out something that works back here.”
“With what?! I’ve combed every single rack in this closet and found nothing!” By the time the words have left me, all I can feel is how hot my face is.
She cocks a brow. “Even with Nicky’s clothes?”
There’s a moment’s pause as her words steamroll my train of thought. I find myself folding in on myself, hands drifting back to my pockets again. “Well…no. I didn’t… think I could.”
Roxie flashes me a pointed grin. “Clothes are just clothes! The only thing that keeps ‘em off of you is how well they fit! Nicky’s might be a biiiiit big on ya, but we’ll make it work.”
My gaze finally drifts from the infinite interlocking strands of yarn to the racks again, crawling over her shoulder to the racks behind us. She’s right. I haven’t looked yet. It’s more of the same, but… the frills are traded for more rips and tears, and the lace is gone. Maybe I could manage…
Time seems to fall away as we tear into the racks. She wasn’t wrong when she said Nicky’s clothes were gonna be a bit big on me, but the difference isn’t so large that it feels like I’m wearing a shirt-dress. Shirt after shirt after a tank top tester or two, a pair of jeans just for fun — though that doesn’t exactly end up fitting the way I had thought. His hips are smaller than mine, and they barely make it up my thighs before I have to give up.
That makes something pop in the back of my mind, like the bursting of a valve. But we keep looking. Time’s thin, and only growing thinner. We’ve only got so much of it before we run out, and I have to scurry onstage in whatever I’m in. Despite all the clothes, the only sounds in the room very quickly become footsteps and the sliding of metal clotheshangers on old metal pipe-racks.
A small pile of shirts is growing on the ottoman, things that worked, things that look cool…
…and before I know it, I’m in front of the mirror again, running through combinations as fast as possible. The slight shift in materials all the time is enough to bother me, but not enough to make me stop. Purple tee, ripped grey jeans, canvas shoes. Boring. Torn up white tank, patched up black jeans, laced ankle boots. The holes in the top make me feel ugly again, but I don’t hate the pants...
I can’t stop. The show must go on. She’s accepting challengers tonight, even! This show rides on me at this point, we’re running so tight on time! I can’t make her cancel at the last minute. I can’t.
A sweater that I think is older than me goes on and off in a matter of moments. We try a sleeveless shirt, it… kinda works, but the armpit’s so long that the undergarments are visible. Another tee shirt, one that feels empty and soulless to me, but it’s probably because of how it grips my shoulders.
And then it… happens. A red flannel, open over a loose white tee with a Venipede on its center. Those patched black jeans are back, and so are the tall leather 20-eyes from earlier. Nicky even let me run through his jewelry box, and I found a couple of necklaces that fit. His bracelets were too large for my wrists, but that’s what the long sleeves were for. There’s a couple layers of belts going on, one studded belt in the jean loops to hold it up, and another hung on my hip just for show. It works. More than that, I realize…
I’m suddenly okay with what’s staring me back in the mirror. I don’t feel quite as ugly. Somehow, I can make eye contact with my reflection and feel okay with that. The smog in my chest is the least it’s ever been, and only now that it’s clearing away, I’ve realized it’s hung over my heart for years. I look the closest to whatever me is that I’ve ever looked before. But something’s still…weird. Off.
“Aw hell yeah!” she cheers, picking up on the tugging of my lips. “You look rad!”
“...mostly.”
“What’s up?”
Despite everything we’ve just done, the words feel heavy on my tongue. The difference this time is that they’re easier to say.
“I think…I need a haircut.”
Roxie laughs, at first in disbelief, before settling into something else. Understanding. “So you do. Promise you won’t flinch?”
“If you could take me being angry, I can take… whatever you’re doing.”
She snickers. “No, I mean. I’m gonna do this the fast way. I can’t do nice, but I can get you cut to size.”
“I… yeah. Yeah, I can take it.”
“Gosh, we sound like I’m gonna stab you or something.” Another snicker leaves her as she fishes a pocket knife out of her purse. “I’m not goin’ super short; we leave that for the hairdresser later.”
“I-it works, I just… don’t want us to be late.”
“We won’t be. Sit.”
Following her instructions, I find myself back on the ottoman, staring into the full-length mirror. Roxie walks up behind me, knife still folded up in her fist. She picks up my shaggy black hair into almost-a-ponytail, before she pauses and puts her still very-much-closed pocket knife in her mouth, gathering the rest.
I watch her pass it into one hand, pulling the knife from her teeth with her right hand. My heartbeat has crept into my ears. Every pulse of blood, I can feel it with painstaking detail. I barely have enough time to register the fact that she’s opened it before she’s moving to find a spot to cut. Despite my will, my eyes slam shut. I promised I wouldn’t flinch.
And suddenly the weight is gone. I look back into the mirror, and in one hand, she holds almost a foot of my hair, the knife in the other. My breath catches as my eyes settle on me. My hair is shorter, to the point where it looks less like an off-trend pixie cut and more boyish. Pretty far from having just taken a set of electric shears to it, though.
What’s left on my head is… perfect, actually. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so long, let alone so heavy.
“I gotta toss this, but whatcha think?” she asks, meandering to the trashcan in the corner.
I’m free! I don’t know how but I’m free and it’s new and scary and weird and nice and—
“... thank you.”
Roxie beams. “Anytime. Now we’ve got a show to get on the road.”
Compared to the bowels of the costume closet, the stage feels almost like heaven. The strobes are on, the spotlights are bright… and hot. And the crowd is pumped.
And yet the room is deathly silent. It’s that sweet, simmering anticipation no musician or concert junkie can ever get enough of, the last few minutes before the show starts. I know it well, and I’ve already got the jitters in my hands about it. It’s a rush stronger than any drug on the streets, that’s for sure.
“Welcome to Virbank!” Roxie cheers, pumping a fist in the air. “We’ve got some fresh faces tonight… Think that makes you our challengers, yeah?”
A new spotlight turns on, pivoting towards a small bunch of people at the front of the crowd. Most of them are my age. Some brunette kid in a pink visor and a black-haired boy who seems to radiate malice… There’s more, but my attention is drawn away as Roxie speaks again.
“Here’s how this’ll work. I don’t do puzzles. I do honest challenges. I want you and your team’s hearts to sing, and I want you to WANT this win! ‘Cause you can’t win if you don’t have your heart in it!”
She gestures to Nicky, and then to me. “But you have to get through my band before you can get through me! No exceptions!”
One of the challengers rolls their eyes, and their head, for emphasis. The other cracks their knuckles.
“Of course, it’s a show too, so… one at a time!” she clarifies, clearly having caught one of the challengers attempting to climb the gate early.
Nicky drums up a light beat, kicking it up with the bass and a quick snap-two on the snares; something to get the energy in the room moving. Some of the wider crowd sways along, while the challengers bicker amongst themselves to see who goes first. It’s kind of funny, watching them fight like that, stripped down to words without the space to escalate. Clearly some of them want to, threatening with fists.
“If you start a mosh pit, you’re not getting your badge tonight, guys,” Nicky chimes in over his drums. “Pick somebody or I’m pickin’ for you.”
He’s not wrong. The League won’t let us have ‘em on Gym nights. A safety hazard, they call it. But Skyla got away with launching people out of cannons for a good couple years, so I don’t know if that’s because she got in trouble or if somebody in the League offices threw a fit.
Finally, someone caves, shoving another forwards. It’s the brunette, and as she makes her way onstage, I watch her silently lock eyes with Nicky, before her deep blue gaze meanders in my direction. And then she grins this feral sort of grin. “You! You go first.”
I haven’t even gotten to kick the guitar into action yet, but so it goes. Not my first rodeo, anyhow.
From my back pocket, I fetch one of the Gym’s Koffing, throwing her onto the stage. “Y’know what… sure! Meet Koffee!”
With a bright, explosive light, a Koffing materializes from the Poké Ball, normal in every regard except for the brown stain on her side. We never did figure out where it came from or why it’s there, but it doesn’t seem to hurt her any, so she stays.
The stranger smiles, tossing a Poké Ball of her own to reveal a Flaaffy. “Say hi to Meep, then!”
Nicky ramps up his drum groove, and Roxie roars into her own crazy slap bass cycle, spiraling down into a loose soundtrack to our bout. It’s gritty and a little hollow, but man’s made music with less. Not that we need a lot more, between the audience roaring and the sounds of battle that’re gonna come close to drowning them out.
“Koffee, Poison Gas!”
Koffee inhales deeply as her cheeks puff up. She lets out a wheezing hack or three as a cloud the size of a yoga ball spills forth from her mouth. It meanders towards Meep, who gets a little distracted by the sudden groove in the room.
Meep inhales it, hook, line and sinker. Her little face is suddenly overwhelmed with the telltale signs of nausea, a distinct purple discoloration creeping across it.
“That was mean!” her Trainer hollers. “Meep, ThunderShock!”
The sick little lamb trembles and cries out, her blue tail blinking as her wool lights up… and then a burst of electricity ripples through the air directly into Koffee. There’s a burst of thunder as the blast makes contact, bright light flashing across the room. Koffee recoils as she always does, but shakes it off quickly. A small wave of relief runs over me. We’re safe. For now.
“Now, Venoshock!”
Koffee hacks up a viscous purple goop, soaking it into the Flaaffy. Even with the noxious liquid dripping off of her fluffy form, she still stands. To her credit, she’s pretty bold, and I’ve gotta give her that. Even when she winces as the poison exacts its toll, she doesn’t dare go down.
“C’mon, Meep… Another ThunderShock should do it!”
Koffee is a lot less prepared for this one. I’m in the same boat myself, too caught up in my own mental math and the groove Roxie and Nicky have going to recognize the way Meep conks her square in the head. The sound and smell of crackling electricity is enough to catch my attention, and I’m just barely able to catch her hanging on by a thread.
“Okay… Sludge!”
She puffs her cheeks again, somehow bigger this time, before hacking out the oversized-germ equivalent of a hairball. It’s kind of pitiful, watching it drench the pink sheep in such a way that she can’t help but to keel over.
Roxie emphasizes my small victory with a nasty ascending riff while our challenger withdraws her friend. Somewhere in there is a loud cymbal crash, mixed in with the roar of the crowd.
The girl scowls, sending out her next Pokémon in a huff. The snooty Grass-type materializes with a proud cry, running a small lap around their Trainer’s feet as they wait for a command. “Finish her, Servine! Quick Attack!”
I barely even have the time to try to find an option for Koffee before she’s being rammed by an anti-air snake-with-legs. Servine does just enough to bring her down, which is unfortunate… but getting my butt whooped is kind of my job right now.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to make it easy for this girl, though. Roxie and Nicky rip into another riff, accented with some cymbal crashes to keep it moving. I’m still fishing out my ace in the hole: my Venipede. She’s been with me ever since Roxie took me under her wing, and so she’s got a special place in my heart. And my team.
“Let ‘er rip, Venipede!”
Our challenger smiles softly to herself, turning the words over in her head before she finally speaks up. “You take a while to name your little guys too, huh?”
If catching me off guard is what she wants, well. It works. It’s enough to even make me forget we’re on stage with an audience for a moment. “I-uh… Yeah, actually. Koffee’s the Gym’s Pokémon. Venipede…I haven’t found her name yet. Maybe she’ll find it first.”
The girl’s smile only widens. “Maybe she will! You’re up, by the way.”
Oh. Right. Not to mention Nicky’s threatening to nudge me on further, the way he’s rap-tap-tapping on his tom toms.
“Uh… Yeah.” I take a moment to clear my throat before issuing orders. “Venipede, avenge our friend with Poison Tail!”
Venipede wastes no time rushing Servine right back, quick to jump and curl just enough to nail them in the side. My little bug lets out a vindictive cheer, almost like she’s savoring in the schadenfreude. I can almost hear her in my head. Or maybe it’s me in my head, relishing in the sweet revenge.
“Yeah, well, take a Vine Whip, wouldja?!”
Servine pursues her relentlessly, feet moving in time to the drum fill with a pair of vines slipping free from what appears to be their collar. The extra damage she’s squeezing out of her snake isn’t going to be enough to even leave much of a scratch on Venipede’s exoskeleton; I know that much in the smart part of my brain. Emotionally, though, it’s still harrowing to watch her run as fast as her stubby little legs will carry her.
The vines finally connect, knocking her onto her side with a resounding CLACK! Venipede struggles for a moment before righting herself.
“Don’t let up, hit it with another Poison Tail!”
Venipede races after Servine, somehow even faster than before. This time, she’s got the game of Purrloin-and-Patrat flipped on its head. Servine can barely careen out of the way before she’s right behind them again, finally rocketing up into the air for another blow.
Servine’s hit, and hard. The little green snake struggles for a moment before collapsing in the wake of the pain.
Roxie barely finishes her next roaring arpeggio before the room goes quiet. Our battle’s backing track doesn’t so much as fade away as it does fall apart. I catch myself turning wildly to look around the room in a wordless panic, worried it’s the fire alarm or something beeping across the dance floor. And then the glow catches my eyes.
Venipede is covered in a shimmering, rippling light so bright that it obscures her form. She lengthens, curling in on herself like a wheel. And yet she seems to rise still, stopping only when she’s roughly the size of a construction truck’s tire. Her antennae and hind feelers lengthen, and seem to harden judging by the way she rests on them. When the light clears, she’s purple now, and has a single large eye on at least one side of her middle. Like Rox’s… wait a minute.
“WHIRLIPEDE?!”
My disbelief echoes across the entire room, our crowd having fallen silent in respect to the natural majesty of Evolution. The adrenaline of feeling things isn’t done with me yet, ‘cause there’s already tears in my eyes. And yet I’m still beholden to this battle we haven’t finished.
The silence is broken by a shrill roar, the distinct, grating cry of a Whirlipede. She rocks on her newfound ‘treads,’ large horns clacking against the floor.
Roxie and Nicky pick up the music again, reminding our challenger of her place in the line, and me of the fact that we still somehow have one.
“One more from me, alright? Just a bit more, Lills!” the girl calls, sending out her Herdier.
Lills lets out an eager bark, tail wagging in anticipation. She’s a pretty standard-looking pooch, but there’s a cut to her jib that makes her seem like she’s one above the rest. I always like finding the well-trained ones.
“Bite that bug for me!”
My freshly-evolved Whirlipede is hounded down in a matter of seconds, rushed by a very determined dog. Unsurprisingly, the teeth find their mark. She seems to wince as she recovers; it’s weird getting used to reading her far more limited body language on the fly.
“Uh…yeah. Bug Bite, Whirlipede!”
She rushes the Herdier with what I can only assume is a renewed sense of duty, charging forth with nary a second thought. The lack of a visible mouth makes the biting part of the move difficult, but watching her follow through, the glow of her hardened…antennae? Feelers? I can’t tell which is which by this point, but the source of the damage is clear as she rams Lills.
Lills flies back several feet, but it seems the coarse, defensive coat she has is enough to help keep her on her paws. Unfortunately for us, that means we have to attempt to survive another round.
“Now, Take Down!” her Trainer calls. Despite everything, she’s keeping her cool a lot better than I am…
Our opponent thunders across the stage with a mighty bark, her paws thudding across the floor with surprising force for a little guy of her size. Whirlipede does her damndest to dodge, starting a roll to get out of the way—
POW!!
Before I even have time to react, she’s helpless on the ground. A shaky sigh leaves me, but I still can’t help but to smile, even as I pull Whirlipede back into her Poké Ball. It doesn’t matter that we lost in the end. We’re growing.
Roxie leads the couple of them into a grand finale, roaring in with a proper resolution to the chords she’s been dragging around and slamming on the stage for the last couple of minutes. Nicky follows her lead with a last measure and a half’s worth of solo, killing their jam on a crash. She turns her sharp grin to our challenger, the spotlight following her gaze. “Congrats on round one, to our challenger! And a big round of applause to our guitarist for tonight on Whirlipede’s evolution…”
Another spotlight slides my way, following her open hand. Wait, me? She… Oh.
Time seems to slow down as the realization strikes. A name. I need a name. Something better than the one I was wearing before. I don’t want to depart from our ‘theme;’ as much as I’m not fond of our mother much anymore, I still don’t want to look out of place listed out next to my siblings.
Our older brother’s always one to keep the tempo, and it’s not like Forte’s ever gonna stop being quite so loud. And I’m no less of a musician than I’ve been since I got here, so…
“...uh. Piano,” I decide, to match my sister with. Somehow, an even larger smile tugs at my lips. “And thanks for the battle.”