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Prue's shop was unassuming, discreet — the kind easily passed by if you didn't know to look for it. The little shack, built of wood in varying shades of pale purple-brown and mossy greens, was shoved into a tight space between two larger buildings and thoroughly unimpressive by comparison. It didn't even have a sign to draw attention to it; this part of town, where the edges of Eve Town met the wilderness beyond, got barely any traffic even on good days, so there would be little point in one.

No sound could be heard from behind the thick door. The windows were dim and the interior was shielded from view by blinds made of thick, dark slats. The only thing to indicate that the ramshackle building was occupied at all was the old lantern hanging above the doorway, inviting customers with its light. The lantern was off this night.

Prue hadn't been in that day. She was running low on several ingredients used in her most in-demand remedies, so she'd taken the opportunity to head into town on a supply run. It was always a gamble, heading into the city center with a bounty over her head. This time, she'd managed to get by with only a few sharp glares and nasty looks — a good day, all things considered. A bag of her spoils weighed heavy on her back as she rounded the corner back to her shop.

She paused on the curb. Perhaps not as good of a day as she'd hoped: someone had left a pile of garbage on her doorstep.

In the dim of the evening, it was hard to tell what it was, exactly; the thing was damp, lumpy, tangled with scraps of seaweed, and smelled very strongly of brine and rot. Prue grimaced as she drew closer. This wouldn't be the first time an unhappy neighbor had tried to drive her off with a bit of petty vandalism, and likely wouldn't be the last. Annoyance pricked her throat at the thought of having to relocate again after so long. She really liked this spot.

As she moved to swat it out of her path with her tail, she just barely caught the sound of the pile taking a ragged breath.

Prue froze in shock. On closer inspection, the heap in her doorway was the curled-up body of an emaciated Vaporeon, its slick skin so mottled with patches of muck and drying blood as to be nearly unrecognizable. Injuries littered its frame, but the worst of the damage seemed to be localized on its back leg; some kind of poultice was spread over a ragged wound, and underneath where the herbal mix had begun to slough off the skin was turning a sickly shade of purple. A clear sign of a growing infection.

On instinct Prue reached for the creature, but flinched back before making contact. What was she expecting to do, treat it herself? She hadn't done any kind of wound care in years. The Vaporeon needed real medical attention, and fast. She knew she had to get it to a clinic, but how far away was the closest? Would the patient last that long without treatment? Would she even be allowed anywhere near the place?

Carefully, reluctantly, Prue pressed a fin to the wound to staunch the bleeding, then slid the flat of her tail under the weak Pokémon's body to help support its weight the best she could. She hunched over it protectively and tried to keep her breathing steady — she was more out of practice than she'd realized. "Can you stand?" she murmured to it. "We need to get you inside. It's not safe for you out here." As she spoke, she mussed with the lock with her free fin and pushed the door to the dark shop open.