The next morning, as soon as Schiller sat up in bed, he groggily shouted, "Pikachu! Pikachu! Are you practicing that damn electric guitar again?! Stop it!"
Pikachu, holding an apple that was half-eaten, hopped onto Schiller's bedside table and looked at him. "What are you talking about? Ever since I got blasted three meters away by a guitar string last time, I haven't practiced any instruments."
"What is that earth-shattering noise?? Is it my rock-and-roll dream??!" Schiller squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his head. "God, I thought you'd crawled into my brain. Otherwise, why does my head hurt so much? Gray Mist! Gray Mist! What are you doing?"
Gray Mist sent back a string of incoherent babbling. From his muddled explanation, he seemed to have only just woken from a hangover as well. Controlling himself was difficult enough; he had already done his utmost and could not help his master deal with the aftereffects of a hangover.
Schiller struggled to sit upright, planted both hands on the soft quilt, then raised one hand and rubbed his eyes hard. "I knew it. Drinking isn't a good habit..."
Pikachu took a loud crunch from his apple and spoke while stuffing his cheeks and chewing furiously. "When you came back last night, it was almost three in the morning. You turned into a cloud of mist and floated in the middle of the room. I asked why you weren't hurrying to bed, and you said you were planning to sleep right there..."
"You slept, all right, but halfway through, you floated up to the ceiling. Gray Mist seeped through it and made the floor upstairs smoke. The patient nearly went insane from fright..."
"The supervisor brought the nurses upstairs to disinfect the place. If I hadn't pulled you back fast enough, you'd