Hangover.

I'm personally convinced they'll play that damn theme music of that damn Tournament in the three-hundred and two trillion, eight-hundred and seventy-five billion, one-hundred and six million, five-hundred ninety-two thousand two-hundred and fifty-third circle of hell.
That's now my religion.
But they'll also play it in the damn alarm clock of my damn room!

The disturbingly obnoxious soundtrack bounced around like a wrecking ball in my skull. Luckily the fourth time I smacked that damn clock with the full **** of my fury it fell silent. Whether that cured it permanently or not, we can only hope.
Twisting and kicking in my sheets with a resounding groan, I climbed out of bed only to tumble down immediately with a resounding thunk.

Damnit! My aim was way off, so my foot missed the floor.
Not that it mattered. My head was thumping just as relentlessly either way.

I crawled to my knees, grabbing hold of my nightstand in order to climb it and regain footing. Holding on to it like a life-preserver in stormy water, I stared at the damn alarm clock that sent me out into this most cruel and unforgiving world.
That's when I noticed what time it was.

Day 3 of The 129th Rasheul Great **** Tournament
8:30 AM

...Shit.
I was too busy partying it up with Katey last night, I never got to prepare for my match! Guess I didn't really plan on returning to the Tournament... But come on! Why out of all nights to get blackout drunk did it have to be that night? I was gonna be up against Estelle Bright. The Estelle Bright! My first opponent with some actual fangs!
Gah! Why didn't Katey keep me from making that mistake?

Wait... Didn't she? My memories came flushing back. We had left the club shortly after our heart-to-heart. I guess I was an itty bit too tipsy at that point, so she offered to have me stay in her room.
But no. I insisted that I had to fix something up for my upcoming match. I had something up my head. Something so utterly brilliant it would turn mountains out of molehills, send throes of ecstasy throughout the crowd and make all the prissy pimpernelles in the audience drop their monocles in their glasses of cognac.
Or so I said.

So... Did I actually prepare something for today's match? I couldn't remember what happened once I entered my room. Everything beyond that point is just fuzzy. My eyes glanced towards the desk, where a vanilla envelope sat that I didn't recognize.

...Shit.
I had neither the time nor the brain-functioning to come up with anything else. Looks like that day I'd be using one of Drunk Allison's brilliant inventions.

It's not that Drunk Allison's never made anything that worked. Hell, I'd be the first to admit her problem-solving skills far outshined my own! See, the 'solving' part isn't the problem for her. It's the 'problem' part that's the problem. She's got some wacky ideas about what exactly is or isn't a problem. And her fixes all reflect that.
Like that time when she drew out those blueprints for a stealth jet.
It was upside down.

Apparently she thought the plane wouldn't have time to turn if it reached the other side of the planet too fast. And so she designed it the other way for that eventuality.
Turns out there wasn't anything wrong with that jet. A bit awkward to sit down in, but it worked exceptionally well!
The only downside was that I had to claim the blueprints when they were found among the scattered clothes in the mens' locker room of the lacrosse team the next morning.

Who knows what a mind that brilliant yet detached from reality could cook up in response to a challenge as dynamic as Estelle Bright?
...The answer was waiting on the desk.

There I stood, frozen with anticipation. I stared at the envelope from the other side of the room like how Pandora must have stared at her box.

Sooner or later, that box had to be opened.
But first I had to be ready.

I stumbled into the bathroom, desperately rummaging through the medicine cabinet for anything I could use. Most bottles were tossed in the sink or on the floor. Anything deemed remotely useful I opened to palm its content.
Once the cabinet was empty, I crushed the pills in my fist. I dumped the powder in a glass of water. Just a splash of ethanol followed, and I stirred the mix with a long spoon.
Returning to the bedroom, I chugged my little cocktail in one gulp.
Imagine drinking the content of a car battery while it electrocutes you. That's the taste of my home remedy for hangovers! My head lit up and danced. It was like a discoteque inside! Pleasant sensations waltzed with the unpleasant ones. Only the thumping from earlier was left out. My body shook for a moment, and a shrill laughter escaped my lips like smoke would the maws of a dragon.
Once again I was wandering the world of the living!

I fixed my gaze on the desk, my hangover but a distant memory.
In my groggy state, the prospect of facing Estelle Bright had persistently nudged the corners of my mind. Once I regained lucidity, the realization struck me like a train.
She was a hero in her world.
I was a cooky teenager in mine.
Her massive presence peered into the depths of my heart. And all I could do was smile.

I walked briskly towards the desk, putting my glass on the nightstand as I passed it. I grabbed the envelope with a confident grin. I could feel the thin sheets inside shift as I moved it.
"All right, Drunk Allison," I said to myself with a chuckle, "Gimme your worst."
I ripped the envelope open.

And all the misfortunes of the world escaped.