"Come on, it's gotta be here somewhere," I muttered, pulling loose clothes and old pictures out from under Marnie's bed.

Almost two months had passed since I first got to Spikemuth, and every single day I spent hours rooting through the apartment looking for Meowsie's luxury ball whenever I wasn't repairing the odd building or cleaning up the place I lived in now.

She had been accompanying Marnie everywhere lately, sometimes even standing in as a possible opponent for challengers. I didn't even want to think about how much fun Meowsie was having fighting for the little girl, so I channeled those nerves into energy for finding her luxury ball.

The cleanup of Spikemuth had gone surprisingly well, all things considered; everyone was ready and willing to help repair the town with anything they had handy. The first thing I did was build a warehouse for Dark type uniforms given out to challengers if they beat Marnie.

I was not going to let clothes given out to people sit on an unsanitary floor for weeks beforehand. That, and the fact that those uniforms were one of the few things I could wear when my own clothes were dirty just served to emphasize the fact that Spikemuth needed somewhere to store them.

After the warehouse was built, I commissioned a few Team Yell members to start making jackets and other clothes for visitors, while I sought out the attention of some fabric suppliers. After I "borrowed" some of their merchandise, I gave it to the tailors. I did give those fabric salesmen a great deal; it was their fault they didn't take it.

The next six weeks consisted of repairs and cleaning. Fixing the broken neon lights. Taking down old posters of Chairman Rose's face (which, strangely, had many holes in them, like somebody had used it as a dartboard). Making sure the Linoone beneath the apartment complexes had their daily feeding. Clearing all the broken glass from the streets, and finding places for the homeless people to live.

Last week was finally getting to tackle the inside of the Team Yell clubhouse. Honestly, the interior design turned out way better than I expected it to. There was a cheap stage set up in the back for those karaoke sing-offs, amps and technology hidden behind a black sheet hung from the ceiling. One of the grunts even found an old pinball machine in some junk outside, which immediately lit up with the sound of plinking pinballs and shouts of victory whenever someone beat somebody else's high score.

The other half of the clubhouse was reserved for that recording studio Marnie insisted on putting in. It was a spur of the moment idea on my part, but everyone else really wanted to make it happen. So, in short, Marnie raided Piers' room for his old instruments and amps, I found a desk to keep his song lyrics in, a few other grunts went dumpster diving for some soundproof material, and Toxie and Toxtricity provided good testers for how soundproof it really was.

Once Toxie's shredding guitar solo was muffled from the outside, I counted it as good enough; we could afford more expensive materials for a proper noise-cancelling recording booth later.

Once Piers found out about his missing instruments and songs (he had to at some point, otherwise over half the stuff in his room would have randomly grown legs and walked off), he marched over to the clubhouse. Marnie told me his reaction was like seeing a little kid on Christmas morning; one of the grunts said he might've cried.

Now, I had a few days off because Marnie was training for the Finals matches coming up on Wyndon, so I spent the extra time just looking around the apartment. I'd spent my time going through and organizing everything inside, so the place looked less like a landfill and more like a place human beings inhabited, but no matter where I looked or how many times I turned the place upside-down, I couldn't find Meowsie's luxury ball.

I was sorting through some of Piers' old photos under his bed (either there were many instances where Linoone stole Piers' dinner, or little toddler Marnie really liked taking pictures of her brother's suffering), when there was a knock on the front door.

I froze momentarily, waiting until the trudging footsteps of Piers' feet passed his room by. He was helping Marnie talk strategy in her bedroom across from me, and didn't know I was in here, so there would definitely be some questions asked if he caught me halfway wriggled under his bed messing with old photographs.

"Yea?" came the roughened voice of Piers I'd learned to grow used to.
"Is there a Mr. Piers Erembour home?" came the dry reply, muffled by the door standing between the two. It was a man, and he sounded tired and slightly peeved. "Yeah, that's me," Piers responded.
"May I come in?"

As the door front creaked open and the voices were no longer muffled, I crawled over to Piers' door frame, cracked open the door and started to eavesdrop on the conversation.

"My name is Ford," the man introduced himself. "I'm a childcare agent working for GCPS; Galarian Child Protective Services. I was called to Spikemuth because of an anonymous report of a minor living in your home. Is this true?"
"Well, sure," Piers said, and I could almost picture him running a calloused hand through his mane of black and white hair. "I mean, I got my little sis in the back room--"

"Of course, you have a little sister," Ford laughed dryly, and I could hear the strain in his voice trying to be casual. "Well, Mr. Piers, I was told by the anonymous informant that there were signs of a troubled family life between you and your sister. Now, seeing as she's a minor and Spikemuth isn't exactly a utopia--"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Piers growled, voice taking on a dangerous tone as I crawled out of his room and into the hallway. I found that whenever sensitive subjects were talked about around him, he tended to become like the many Zigzagoon around Spikemuth; prickly, hissing and unwilling to talk rationally. With that thinking in mind, I realized his hair might not be that strange in context to his personality.

"Piers, I'll stop beating around the bush and get to the point; GCPS protocol requires evidence of residence, the licence to care for a minor, and a full house inspection conducted by one of our staff."
"That's bloody insane," Piers yelled, jumping off the couch. "All of a sudden the way I raise my sister needs me t' jump through bloody hoops to keep 'er with me?!"

"I'd watch your tone, Mr. Piers," Ford said coolly, collecting his papers and rising off the couch. "After all, everything goes on my inspection records; and nothing I write down goes unnoticed. I'm the best of the best, and I don't want runts like you getting in the way of my perfect record."

"If ya came here just to give me a bollockin', then I'll show you th' door," Piers said flatly, walking over and forcefully shoving it open. "Well, it seems the gracious welcome has worn out," Ford said sarcastically, before standing and walking out the door.

Now that I got a better look at him, I saw he was shaped like a wide pear, balanced on stubby little legs with balding silver hair and a shiny scalp that was so greasy with hair oil that kept his remaining hair flat against his head, that the bald part of his skull was practically reflective. His suit was a little tight around the belly, and his brown jacket was clearly old and moth-eaten in places. Professional, indeed.

"I will be back in one month's time," Ford warned as he walked out the door. "I advise you to clean up your act a bit." Piers shut the door in his face before he could say more. Growling and muttering to himself, he paced around the kitchen. "I need a cigarette," he mumbled after a few minutes, before grabbing something off the counter and heading outside. I wrinkled my nose at the thought; a disgusting habit, and I was glad I never picked it up.

"Wassup?" Meowsie grinned, sliding next to me as I sat back on my ankles.
"Everything," I sighed, flicking wisps of hair out of my face. I watched through the window as Piers exhaled a huge cloud of smoke. "A childcare agent came by the apartment while you were with Marnie. He wants to take her away from here."

"WHAT?!" Meowsie shrieked, before lowering her voice. "But why?"
"That's what I'd like to know," I grumbled, slumping against the wall. "Speaking of which, where is Marnie?"

"Asleep," Meowsie said, hopping onto my lap and curling up. "Poor girl's exhausted from this whole Finals thing; the Gym Challenge can take a lot out of you."
"No kidding," I chuckled, rubbing Meowsie behind the ears the way I knew she liked. Purring, she settled down and just sat with me while I thought.

"Hey, Meowsie?" I asked after a while.
"What?" she asked groggily.
"Did you ever see anything about Piers having a girlfriend?"