Brock's first clue that something was up should have been the fact that Ash wasn't wearing his hat. Instead, his hair was left free to go whichever way it felt, leaving him looking like he had stuck his hand in an electrical socket. Maybe instead, it should have been the fact that Ash's jacket was wrinkled and slowly sliding off of him, the grey t-shirt below rumpled and pinched together in various spots. Ash's face flushed red and he wore a guilty look, looking everywhere but at Brock. Based on his appearance, Brock would have guessed that Ash had picked out his clothes straight from the dirty pile on his floor, but not even Ash would leave the house looking as disheveled as he currently did.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized. He continued to avoid Brock's eyes, staring at the ground as he twisted his hands. "I was doing stuff..."

"Hi," Misty greeted him, gently waving her hand as she followed Ash through the front door. "I'm stuff."