The term "inebriation" – at least in the United States – is used in a less colloquial sense to describe an ailment impairing someone's perception and/or rationality. It's a lesser-used word for certain, but by no means is it a rare occurrence.

Instances usually come about, as most know, from a few too many alcoholic beverages. At times it can be caused from drug usage too, often with the sour moments that come soon thereafter. Unfortunately, examples aren't very difficult to find. Perhaps a troubled man found himself lost in frustration under the impression that brews aplenty would soothe him. Maybe a clumsy carouser left their glass unsupervised while attending a party and had it spiked.

Regardless of the circumstance, the accompanying results tend to be… let's say, less than savory. The aftermath tends to include a mixture of dizziness, searing headaches, exaggerated muscle aches, and many other impairments. Due to how the affected senses have already been damaged by the initial intoxication, the wrath inebriation sows is much worse in comparison. This is referred to as a hangover.

Ironically, while it's common for substances to be the main cause, it may come as a surprise that someone can become inebriated without the use of substances. The reason this is so can be best understood if taking into account why alcohol, for instance, causes such effects.

After consumption, the contents consumed is taken to the stomach and the "nutrients" is distributed throughout the body through the blood. The concentration of alcohol within the blood can cause negative responses due to the resulting chemical reactions. Although this is a very rudimentary explanation, it gets the message across. In theory, a variety of effects can be created through adding various substances into the veins.

Adrenaline, for another example, is a chemical released by the adrenal glands during a moment the brain deems dangerous or stressful. Consequently, when additional adrenaline lingers in the body for long periods, frighteningly similar symptoms result.

That was a lot to take in, wasn't it?

Despite the long description, the sensation I experienced the following morning felt just as intricate with how many feelings meshed together.

Each heartbeat pulsed through my ligaments and hammered against the skin like drums. The once calm unconscious slowly eased off as though aches were shoving them away with my own muscles.

Maybe my comment from the previous night about my body becoming "too reminiscent of a punching bag" was a bit too on the mark.

Shuffling beneath the covers, I tried to stretch out some, contorting myself in as many ways as possible whilst remaining in the warm embrace of the sheets. With a gentle stir, my eyes cracked open, the soft brilliance tiptoeing around the drawn curtains.

The internal clock in my body begged for me to rise from the indented mattress, contrasting the serene hush. I wished I could be lost within the delicate confines, but my conscience and bladder advised me not to dawdle for long.

Creeks and croaks rumbled from mattress and floorboard alike as the weight of my body pressed against the tiles. As if to voice their opinions, my feet groaned woefully, fatigue and pain crawling through my legs as they touched the cool laminate wood.

The moment a portion of my body began to slough off the edge of the bed, it felt like I was dangling from a cliff. To the annoyance of my body, I forced myself to slink out from beneath the covers. The chilled morning air of the room sailed between the hairs of my legs and arms, the leftover warmth clashing with the room's climate. Chillbumps rose along my arms.

Amidst the night prior, I had left my clothes suspended on hangers after cleaning my face to the best of my ability. Sleeping in filthy garments would only worsen my already constrained hygenuine, not to mention the possibility of further damaging my only clothes. In any case, finding a new outfit other than the tatters strung in the closet was high on the To-Do list.

Seeing as how my clothing options for the night would be awfully limited, I had settled with sporting a dry towel wrapped around my waist to be adequate for the night. Although I very well could have slept in my birthday suit as well as the towel, I had chosen the latter option as Fenway and I had to share a room. Granted, I was unsure whether a pokemon could be left in a pokeball overnight or not, but I was too exhausted to entertain any internal debates. To my relief, the towel had managed to retain heat considerably well and even stayed tied after rising off the mattress.

My movements were still sluggish and meek, but I knew rushing the process would hardly help. Sometimes taking a snail's pace leads to a faster route, I suppose.

As weight began to shift on top of my heels, the wailings of my muscles rose accordingly. The smooth yet dense surface below provided no cushioning to soothe the pains.

Oh, what I would've given for a pair of slippers then.

Sweeping the matter gathered at the corners of my eyes, my feet were once again allowed to sink into the bathroom's rug. Even through the wraps, the clean bristles relieved the pressure from consistent standing. It was a nice change, in contrast to the chill that graced my heels upon first reaching the hardwood.

'Mornings… just as arduous to get through as my old daily routine. Kind of worrying though when I realize I'm thankful that is the aspect of my old life that remained consistent. If that's not telling of something, I don't know what is.'

Taking one last glance back through the doorway, I eased the door back into place with a soft click. I thumbed through the knot of the towel strung around my waist, prying a thumb in and allowing for the garment to flop down to the tops of my feet.

I had honestly expected for more of a struggle with the knot rather than the inherent easiness I was presented with. I motioned to guess in my haze the idea for the knot to be tighter had slipped my sleepy mind. A tad unnerving, considering that it could have very well slipped off at any point in front of Fenway. I should've been more thankful for that aspect as I made to draw back the floral shower curtains.

The moment my digits made contact with the fibers, the curtains had adopted a different texture, almost coarse and bumpy rather than the smooth, somewhat grainy surface it presented. My eyes glanced from the patterns to my hand.

Oh, right. My hand had the different texture.

A lone breathy puff left my nose as I grasped the edge of the flowers and slid them to the left. Extra care was taken to prevent trembling hands from accidentally yanking too hard. As I leaned over the ceramic border of the tub, shaky fingers rapidly tapped against metal fixtures on the wall. They felt along the fixture, maneuvering less than gracefully along until locating the end cap of the handle.

Moving the handle was painless enough, but unsteady fingers made lifting the small stopper above the bath's faucet a challenge. A tiny rinse of relief came over me as the metallic piece raised above the faucet and the muffled churning within the walls subsided.

The spray of water followed soon after.

'I wonder if Pokemarts carry advanced ice packs of some kind? Anything in the ballpark would be wonderful to have at the ready,' I contemplated, sliding a testing arm into the spray. 'Incidents from battles are probably a common occurrence if scuffles are allowed practically everywhere.'

I retrieved my arm from the stream, matted hairs stuck to fair skin from the water running along it. Despite the glued hairs, small, rigid goosebumps had risen, dotting along the soaked appendage. Good enough.

'Especially because I have an irksome feeling I'll be needing a few in the near future.'

Spllp. Spllp.

A moment earlier, my feet made Trench Foot seem like a luxury in comparison. And that was being gracious. I had never had so many blisters on my body in my life! And yet…

After I had stepped onto the cool tub floor, it was all gone. Just soothing relaxation.

A chill enveloped me as I eased into the stream. Even the water pressure was the perfect level; aches seemed to just slough off my body alongside the dirt and soot.

'This is probably the aftershocks of not allowing my body to properly recover. Even though I've already been discharged, allotting more time to rest would be the wisest decision. Instead, I pushed myself for two full days without even getting a proper amount of sleep. Play foolish games, win foolish prizes...'

My fingers wrapped around one of the tiny bottles on the hanging metal basket suspended from the wall, unclasping the lid. A small dollop of white viscous liquid dribbled into my palm, my palms clasping together as I massaged it along.

'I knew rushing in blindly to preserve as much time as possible would be disastrous. But thirty-two days with little to no progress… it's- well, it's too long. What other choices do I have?'

I massaged the shampoo through my scalp, letting my mind focus on the flow of finger through hair and chilled water sliding down the grooves of my back.

Fffssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

"Hmph."

'It'll only take a little bit longer.'

I tilted my head back, allowing for the stream to cascade down my face.

'Let's just enjoy the serenity of this for now. This is a time to rest, after all.'

Fsshhhhh…

Aside from an incident of soap in the eye, the rest of the shower was especially uneventful. The tranquility of the much-needed wash was heavenly to say the least.

By the time I stepped out from the shower, a small glimmer of natural sunlight was peeking from beneath the door. I was certain that I hadn't spent long in the shower, even if I had been lost in my thoughts while bathing. Thankfully, it also meant I had extra time to tidy myself in preparation for Calem's race. Although I didn't have a start time, I motioned to guess that it likely wouldn't happen until a couple hours after sunrise.

As I finished tucking in my towel strung around my waist, soft scratches began to claw against the door of the bathroom. I quickly stuffed the remaining tail of my wrapping in and turned the doorknob, allowing for the bathroom lights to spill into the room.

As expected, there sat Fenway, red eyes peering up into mine expectantly. Her fur was slightly matted on the left side, telling of her recent awakening. Despite the fur, her body told a different story, as she sat at attention without an ounce of grogginess in her eyes. If I had to summarize her appearance, it would best equate to "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed", at least in a more literal form.

"Something the matter?"

A small whimper was caught in the fox pokemon's throat as she rose. Fenway lightly tip-toed away from me, beelining for the front door. She then proceeded to pace around on the mat back and forth, as though anxious.

'She wants to go outside? What could she- oh.' I thought, pinching the bridge of my nose with a sigh.

Clicking my tongue, I stepped back onto the chilly hardwood, wincing slightly at the stings coming from the balls of my feet. After a short, deep breath I continued past Fenway and cracked the door open just enough for the pokemon to slip through. Fenway stared at the opening for a moment before turning back to me, once again gazing at me expectantly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this not…? Am I misinterpreting you?"

The fennekin flicked her tail once in my direction, glanced out the door, and then back to me.

"I'm sorry to say that that's not cluing me in much." I shook my head, brows furrowing.

Fenway let out a puff from her nostrils and trot behind my legs, nudging me with her head.

"You wish I'd accompany you? Is that it?"

A short yip was the response. I nodded in defeat.

'I suppose... yep, I should've seen this coming. I don't necessarily have any clean clothes to use at the moment, and I haven't washed my old pair yet. Stepping out now would… oh, why am I even debating? That's a ridiculous idea, especially if I'm going to abide by Looker's request to keep my head down.'

My head hung and an amused snort left my nostrils. As I lowered my head, my eyes landed on my feet.

'Ah. I haven't reapplied the bandages yet.'

I latched onto the doorknob once again, this time craning it a little more open, then motioning outside.

"Listen, I can't take you outside if that's what you're asking. At least, I can't go with you. You can scratch on the door once you come back or grab my attention by some other means and I'll let you in. It's the best I can do for now." I explained, stepping off to the side.

The pokemon said nothing, staring me down intently. I could feel the cool morning breeze fly through the ajar entrance the longer she sat, uncertain. After what seemed like a many minutes, Fenway finally bound off outside, taking a hard right the moment she sailed through the doorway.

With a calm sigh I pushed the door shut with a muffled 'click' of the lock following close by. I made sure to swipe my satchel on the trip back to the bathroom, unlatching the top strap as I sat on the lid of the closed toilet.

'She'll be fine.' I reassured myself. 'She's more hardy than I am.'

I popped the lid off a jar of petroleum jelly, digging out a glob of the applicant from the container and spread it as evenly as I could along the bottom of my foot. It took a great amount of strength to keep from convulsing at the sharp stabs each time I touched the raw areas, evidently agitated from standing in the shower.

Although awfully painful, I was able to finish applying the cream to the bases. I proceeded to wipe off my hands on the hand towel by the sink, placing the roll of moleskin and gauze on the sink counter. A steady, deep breath blew from my mouth, relief wafting over my person as the pulsing pressure began to ebb off slightly. It would take weeks for an injury like that to heal completely. Even then, the recovery would only be able to take place if I were able to avoid impeding the process. If recent events were anything to go off of, blisters and raw skin were here to stay.

I tapped the area a few times to test the wraps. My foot quivered a few times at the exaggerated sensation, but the pain had been considerably reduced. Wearily, I set my feet down on the carpet. The moleskin obstructed me from feeling much else than jelly and fabric pressing against me, but the aching was manageable.

Next came treating the lengthy flogging mark lining my back.

I'll admit; thinking of how to nurse the injury with the resources I had stumped me, at least for a short time. I had no means of finding a cool compress and having a warm one would be hard to make even with Fenway's assistance. It was no longer bleeding, but the hardened shell could easily rupture. Eventually I would need stitches as the skin had been parted along the outer layer of the wound, likely from the initial strike. Observing it in the mirror made my stomach curdle.

Thinking back, I never realized just how bad I'd been hurt.

Sure, I felt awful. By all means, it was the worst position I'd ever been in in my life.

But putting all that aside, I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the extent of what I'd been through. If I had never been thrown into the dire circumstances I was being faced with, I doubt I would've stayed on my feet after the first Spearow hit my shoulder.

I took a few deep breaths and withdrew a tiny needle and string from a side pouch. Without painkillers or muscle patches, the idea of sewing my own skin together irked me more than anything. My only saving grace would be the bottle of rubbing alcohol I'd lathered onto a washcloth.

…and the second washcloth stuffed into my mouth.

'Alright Norman, you know what you need to do. Not too bad.' soothed my brain.

I spread the washcloth out in my palm. The slightly soggy backside of the cloth felt irksome against my skin.

'You'll be alright. Just calm down, and it'll be finished soon.'

A weary lump settled in my throat. The cloth hovered above my left shoulder-blade, gently caressing the area around the suture site. Muffled grunts slipped out the moment the adhesive was dabbled along the wound, an acid sting sensation eating away at the confidence I'd built. My teeth burrowed deep into the cloth.

I tried my best to keep my breathing steady and my heartrate down, even though I wasn't necessarily in a position to fully control it. My hands teetered along the edges and shook, reluctance seeping through. Thankfully, through all the stinging and brief pauses I was able to pull through and cleanse the area.

'There we go. First step done and out of the way. Whew…'

I glanced over to the needle and thread on the counter.

'I hope Alexa's hands are as steady with a needle as they are a camera.'

I didn't waste much time wrapping my torso in a long band of white. The stinging had been partially soothed, but I didn't expect for a simple roll of bandaging to be a miracle cure in the first place.

Tying a knot at the intersection along the spine, I thumbed around for the Pokegear. Light green pixels glimmered, patiently awaiting input from the bottom keypad. My thumb made to bring up the contact list, but stopped just an inch short.

'Right. I never did get her contact yet. Calem probably has hers by now- but I don't have his either. Urgh. Whatever, I'd still rather not watch the race with an open wound still on my back.'

Back to it, then.

Peeling back the curtains of the shower, I reached for the soap bottle, popping the lid with my thumb. With a new soap-lathered washcloth resting beneath the spout, I flicked on the sink and allowed for water to soak into the fibers. As the rag moistened at the hands of the stream, I sauntered back into the room.

Surprisingly, the wrappings seemed to act as slippers against the laminate, but I could still feel the cool surface slither through. Hopefully it wouldn't encourage my feet to sweat even more when I set off for Lumiose.

After the brief closet visit, I set the raggedy pile of clothes on the toilet lid. It was more of a clump rather than a pile, but I saw no reason in folding them if I was simply going to wear them again after finishing. Unfortunately, my progress could only go as fast as the cotton would allow. With all of the damage done to the fabrics though, I doubted I'd be close to finishing any time soon.

Throughout the washing, I took special notice of each cut and scrape, mentally noting the positions of as many nicks as I could. As I continued to scrub, however, it began abundantly apparent that I may as well scour the clothes as I went along, mainly due in part to how I began to lose count before I had even finished the top half of the dress shirt. Ironically, I could still vividly recall how I had gained the cuts for the most part. Unfortunately, the memories were closely intertwined with the much more vivid pain from being thrashed.

…maybe I should just let my mind wander for the time being.

For what felt like hours I kept sliding the cloth along ridges and viciously fighting dusty brown stains. Time seemed to string along as I toiled, and eventually I lost track all together. Sometime amidst the scrubbing, a separate, muffled scratching noise wormed through the other sounds.

At first, I dismissed the sound. It didn't concern me much, and my mind had settled into a working trance after washing for so long. When I heard the scratching a second time, I began to gently slide the cloth along the seams, occasionally pausing to observe the holes and tears. The sound didn't seem to return after a few minutes, once again dismissed from my thoughts. Aside from focusing on my work, a curious part of me still wondered what caused the scratching.

Before I could let the mild interest slip my mind, the clamor rose once again, this time more prominent than the last. By then I could distinctly make out that my labors weren't the source; I had stopped scrubbing the moment my ears picked up the noise. My eyes scanned around the room, but ultimately found nothing that may rouse suspicion.

'Hm. Odd.'

I placed the thoroughly-soaked IPA shirt on the rim of the sink, drying my arms on the hand towel hung from the wall. With a swift readjustment of my towel, I slinked across to the front door. The scratching became more prominent the closer I came. A quick peek through the door's eye-hole presented an empty doorstep, at least from eye level.

After jiggling with the lock for a moment the door creaked open. I peered my head around the corner and watched as Fenway slowly tapped back inside, poised as ever. A small glint around her mouth caught my eye as she passed by, but I couldn't find it again after that.

'Huh, must've found something that suited her fancy. Maybe she kept a few habits like scavenging since her time in the wild?' wondered my mind. 'That'll need to be observed in the future, just in case; don't want to wake up to a dead bird or something outside my doorstep while traveling.'

The door swung shut once more, the soft click trailing behind me into the bathroom. Only a few seconds passed before the sounds of wet cloth on fabric filled my ears. I was left to my own devices once again, attention sunk into my work.

Without any distractions aside from the occasional faint pitter-patter against laminated wood, time seemed to become a melting pot. In an effort to keep itself occupied, a cornucopia of thoughts and archived memories resurfaced. My mind felt like a mirror of the running faucet in front of me.

How did this tear get there?

When did this all happen?

Will I catch some sort of illness from food or water since my body isn't acclimated to the bacterias of the region?

What should the next journal entry be?

The longer I toiled, the more my brain tended to wander into more foreign territories.

Are the Pokemon movies real in this world as well?

How long have I truly been away from home?

What am I going to do with Fenway?

Crrrt.

Oh. I must've let my hand slip.

Blinking a few times, I stared down at the shirt below me. The washcloth had been threaded beneath a particularly nasty rip, and I could tell a few of the tears along the borders were new. An exasperated sigh left my lips.

Withdrawing my hand from the section, I set the washcloth onto the bath faucet, letting the extra suds and water drip into the tub. A flick of the sink handle later and I was drying my arms on the hand towel for the second time. I did my best to straighten out the shirt and pants, holding them above the bathtub to let any stray droplets sort themselves.

A quick trip to the closet rewarded me with three hangers, one for the shirt, a second for the pants, and a third for the socks. With each article fastened onto their respective hangers, I drew the shower curtains back, placing each hook an equal distance from each other on the pole. Hanging the socks was a tricky task, but eventually I was able to position them to be stable enough on their own.

I chose not to wash the other clothing articles, the reason falling into one of two categories: they were still fairly clean or washing the garment would do more damage than had already been done.

As I finished securing the final hanger, I nudged the door open with an elbow. With a creak of the hinges, a fuzzy yellow head popped through, crimson eyes peering up curiously. I squat down to her level.

"Mind doing me a favor?" I asked, wiping a speck of matter from my eye.

An enthusiastic yip told me all I needed to.

"Wonderful. Well, this may feel a bit weird at first," I admitted, wrapping my hands beneath her forelegs. "But try to blow a steady stream of heat from your mouth. Keep the flames to a minimum."

Fenway let out a startled yelp as her paws left the ground, legs squirming. With a swift shift of my grip, my hands nestled around the pits of her legs and I drew the vixen close to my chest. The kicks bounced off my ribs, eventually dying down as Fenway began to place her trust in me.

"Better. Feel free to- uh, go ahead…. whenever you're ready." I motioned.

Without missing a beat, the tiny fox pokemon drew back her lips and opened her mouth. The coarse hairs between my fingers began to adopt a weak warmth. The feeling seemed to bloom from Fenway's chest, blossoming throughout her body as the air appeared to shift and warp in front of her mouth. A breadth of heat spewed forth from the fennec soon after, the fabric pushing back slightly as moisture left the clothing.

Frankly, I didn't expect that using Fenway as a hair-dryer would work as well as it did. It only took a few minutes for the fibers to dry back out. My arms felt tired nonetheless from keeping Fenway aloft, but I didn't mind the mild aches all too much.

Fenway didn't seem to mind the experience all that much either, looking to be pretty content after I told her "That's enough. We're done."

I knelt down slowly, painfully careful to keep my back as straight as possible. This became an uncomfortable squat as I placed Fenway onto the ground, the fennec kicking slightly as she neared the carpeted floor.

The tiny fox pokemon shook herself from snout to tail and observed me curiously once again. I was beginning to notice it was a habit of hers to stare expectantly at me. It seemed like it was what she was doing each time she saw me doing a new activity.

Guess everything has their own little habits one way or another.

With a quick whip of the clothes, I stepped over Fenway through the door. Needle in hand and seated at the egg-shell white desk beside the bed, I ran a string of thread through the first hole along the hem of the corduroy pant leg.

I'll admit, sewing truly is as difficult as most make it out to be. The number of times I accidentally nicked a finger made me think that they were just temporary pincushions. The only thread available was the medical threads from the first aid kit for wounds but at this point I hardly cared. I didn't intend on using the outfit again after today.

At least, I wasn't too intent on wearing patchwork out in public.

Aside from the obvious protruding threads and occasional knot tied on the wrong side, the repairs seemed to come along well. Of course, the repairs were agonizingly visible no matter how you looked at them, it didn't look half bad. Perhaps I'd even have a shred of dignity left after the day was done.

…that was, until I landed on the socks.

Or what was left of them.

I knew I'd placed an enormous load of stress on my feet with the clearly unfit loafers, but I never imagined I'd completely blown out the heels. Hell, the entire top left section of my right sock had been completely torn off.

'...how did I not notice this last night?'

Yet another wrench thrown into the plans.

I rubbed my eye and let out a grunt of irritation. 'I may as well be in debt by the time this trip is over, what with how much supplies I'm burning through. I dread the idea of even considering how much it'll cost to resupply. Urgh.'

I withdrew the gauze pads once again, setting it beside a roll of moleskin and tape. As it turned out, my work was yet to be done. Especially with the staggering amount of wrapping (and consequently, rewrapping) that painted the future of the next few hours.

'Think on the bright side. Not much further left. Maybe I won't have much difficulty wrapping presents anymore.'

I really needed to leave that motel.

Eventually I did end up finishing my impromptu footwear, albeit at the cost of what bandages I had left. Removing all the layers would be something else, but at the moment my main concern was ensuring nothing else became of my brutalized feet. Taking a few steps caused a minor amount of discomfort, but nothing extraordinary.

I nodded in the face of my work, content. An oddly warm feeling fizzed along the bottom of my stomach, although I couldn't put a name to it. It was fleeting, but it still left me curious in the back of my mind.

The moment lasted for a short while, soon after I promptly retrieved the hung clothes and other folded outfit pieces. With one final trip to the bathroom, I lifted the satchel over my head and fastened the leather strap to my person.

Fenway sprang to my feet the instant I whistled for her, skidding to a halt with ears and tail at attention. At the press of the pokeball's button, the tiny fox pokemon had vanished into thin air, the ball safely secured to my suspender node.

A muffled 'chnk' closely trailed the unlatching of a door lock.

My hand reached for the knob. As flesh touched metal, my hand curled in slightly and hesitated.

I raised my eyebrows and blinked a few times, wiping what little particles of dreariness away from my features. Two fingers began to massage the bridge of my nose as I let out a gruff sigh.

"Time to get back to it, I suppose."

With a calm reaffirmation, the knob turned, and I was met with the open arms of brilliant sunshine.

I had work to do.


After all this time, I decided that mini chapters would be acceptable because if I released the entire chapter on it's own, then it would likely be around five times the length, and I'm already exceptionally discontent with the upload rate I've been going at. For now, this should be alright until I finish the next chapter.

As for why this took so long, let me just say that when you've been working on the same piece for months and re-read sections without an editor to revise anything, I get the overwhelming urge to correct quite a bit.

Which I did.

I did it a lot.

Thankfully, I should be done reworking earlier chapters for now (aside from chapters 3 and above, that dialogue is bound to be reworked.)

Thank you for your patience with this series as I celebrate (admittedly a few days late) the 1 year anniversary of Fires, Foxes, and Misfortune. This series has meant a lot to me, and it means even more that people still enjoy it. Truly.

Until next time, homies.