#fearchar arc

Sweat makes Lionel's shirt cling uncomfortably to his skin as he dashes down the steps of the tenement he and his parents live in. Most everyone who doesn't have to be outside has already gone in to escape the sweltering heat, but he's stuck out here until his mother, Eliza, passes out. It's barely noon, but she's already been at her gin.

"Come back at dinner time," she had told him, words slurring but tone carrying a sharp, warning edge, and Lionel had scampered away before she could decide to use a more physical encouragement.

But he really only needs to stay gone for an hour or two. By then she'll have passed out on the couch, so as long as he's quiet coming in and doesn't wake her early, it'll be fine. Until then, it won't be terrible; he has the sandwich he managed to make before she decided he was too noisy, and there's a park nearby with a water fountain. He can find a patch of shade there.

He's a block away when hears a soft whimper in an alley and pauses. It stinks even just standing at the entrance from the piles of trash, two days away from collection and rotting fast from the heat. Going in would be stupid; he's seen a lot of guys get beat up for interrupting something they shouldn't. He should just keep going.

But he doesn't see anyone, and the whimper comes again, soft and inhuman, accompanied by a quiet scrape. Probably a Pokémon, he decides, listening closely. There's no talking, no yelling, no smacks of flesh hitting flesh, none of the indicators he's learned to recognize as warnings to stay away.

It's probably stuck. Probably only take a minute to let it loose, and then Lionel can be on his way again. Besides, no one deserves to be stuck in a garbage heap, so he darts in before he can change his mind, holding his breath to try to avoid the stink.

Halfway down the alley, Lionel finds the source: A tiny scrap of grey fur struggling its way out of a burlap sack. Another scrap lies unmoving next to it.

It takes a moment for him to identify it--a Poochyena, eyes still closed against the world.

He picks it up uncertainly, cradling it against his chest. He already knows he can't take it home--his family can't afford another mouth--but he can't leave it here, either.