The room was darkly lit, but there was a small streak of light streaming in from the gap between the blinds and the window. Pikachu was alone. Finally.
The light was enough to illuminate his drink. It was pale pink. It was probably pink lemonade-based, but it was definitely alcoholic. His drink had been served to him after he had requested to be served 'one of the finest drinks the place had'. It was indeed very pleasant.
Pikachu was sitting in the side-room of a bar. He wasn't sure why there was a side room, but there was, and he could finally get some peace and quiet from his bothersome roommates, who had undoubtedly followed him here, and were having a good time in the room next door.
Pikachu had started drinking after Mario's death. The plumber had been his close friend, but had prematurely lost his life in a Minion-related accident. Link promised that they could revive him, that he just needed to go to Hyrule and retrieve a fairy, that it would take no more than 15 minutes, but Pikachu didn't listen to him. Pikachu wanted to be left alone to his drink.
Mario's brother Luigi had lived with him, and due to the unfortunate incident, had needed to move in with Pikachu, which the Pokemon resented. He already had to put up with sharing an apartment with Leafeon. Neither caused much problems, but Pikachu hated them anyways. everything was problematic in his eyes.
The Minions were the root of all evil. They pillaged lands, stole goods from homes, raped people, kicked puppies, looked the wrong way at elderly women on the bus, snuck into your home and changed the time your alarm went off so that you'd wake up late, and now they had turned to murder. Pikachu couldn't bear the sight of one of the annoying yellow Tic-Tacs. There were very few existing people who could count as 'pure evil'. Voldemort? Nah. Darth Vader? Nope. Satan himself? Of course not. Jon Arbuckle? Possibly. But Minions... Minions were undeniable the most hate-filled, disgusting, badly-designed, foul, bloodthirsty beings the world had ever seen. And they were out to maim and kill.
Pikachu was dreaming about sexy women when light filtered into the room, and he hissed like a cat who'd just been told that Donald Trump existed. The light had come from when Peridot from Steven Universe had swung open the door. She squinted beneath her visor, then suddenly caught sight of the Pokemon and smiled. "Ah! Hey, get in here ya clod. Someone wants you."
Pikachu hated society and everything, but slowly made his way to the door, cursing like a drunken sailor. Peridot looked uncomfortable as she stepped out the way, the smile dropping off her face like how most songs of high quality drop off the Top 40 after a few weeks.
He glanced around the main room of the bar. Everyone was there, having a good time. Jacksfilms was in the corner, dabbing, fidget spinning and crying simultaneously. Guzma was in the corner talking to Barry B Benson and a random Portuguese teenager. Sia was on the fucking chandelier. Pablo from Backyardigans was downing an entire plate of shots by himself. Pepe the frog was spewing white-supremacy propoganda from his table. And Leafeon, obviously the one who had asked Peridot to retrieve Pikachu, hurried over, looking nervous. And from the look on the dog/fox/cat/plant thing's face, Pikachu knew he was about to hear some of the worse news he's heard in a long time.