Welp, I know at least one person is still reading, so I guess I'll start uploading again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Sofia, this chapter is for you :)

When Tex came to her senses, up and down had switched places. She opened one eye tentatively, and sunlight hit her like a punch to the face. Groaning, she rolled onto her side, her inner compass spinning. She was lying on the ground, she realized. Outside. What on earth was going on?

Her joints creaked as she propped herself up on one elbow. "Oww..." she croaked. "Where...am I..."

Tex's pulse pounded in the back of her skull. She turned her head to survey her surroundings, and the world took a second to catch up. Flecks of light darted to and fro in the corners of her vision as the sky above swam into focus. She was sprawled on the grass beneath an apple tree – Mr. Neutron's apple tree, she realized after a good minute and a half of confusion.

She rubbed her sleep-encrusted eyes, and something cold and slimy dripped onto her cheek. She looked down to find that her sleeves were covered in mud. Tex stared at them dumbly, waiting for something, anything, to make sense. There was mud on her trousers, too, and in her hair – and a long purple stain trailed down her blouse.

"What the hell... Ungh..."

She forced herself to sit up. Her clothing was soaking wet, and so was the ground – it must have rained while she was asleep. Tex fought against nausea and panic as she attempted to piece together the previous night's events. Nothing. A blank.

Calm down, she told herself. What's the last thing you remember?

The party. The poker game. Spilling her guts to the Sheriff. And drinking...lots and lots of drinking...

Tex pitched forward and caught her head in her palm. I was supposed to stay with Libby, she thought. I'm supposed to be at the Juke Joint. Not here. How did I...? She glanced around for clues. Bark littered the ground at the base of the apple tree, and the lowermost branch was snapped clean in half.

I think...I think tried to climb up onto the roof. Fell ass over teakettle, too, from the look of things.

Tex grimaced as a fresh wave of nausea rolled over her. Her mouth felt gummy, like she'd eaten a pail of wallpaper paste. Coffee, she thought. I need coffee.

She staggered to her feet and found herself face-to-face with a fat little squirrel clinging to the underside of the splintered branch. It chittered accusingly, and the sound barreled toward her like a freight train.

"Ugh, stop screaming," she muttered, stalking off toward the house. "Judgmental bastard."

Tex faltered up the porch steps and blundered through the front door. Distracted once again by the overpowering scent of balsam soap, Tex tripped over Goddard, who gave a sharp yelp and sprang to his feet. The outlaw caught herself against the grandfather clock, and it teetered back and forth as the Sheriff's voice echoed from the washroom.

"Goddard?" he called. "Everything all right?"

The lawman stepped into view, clutching a porcelain mug in one hand. He froze when he saw Tex.

She raised her chin and looked at him. He was resting his weight against the door frame, one sleeve rolled up, the other hanging free. He still wore yesterday's trousers, and his nightshirt was done up wrong. The buttons were misaligned, and it hung down farther on one side – rumpled, askew.

"Vortex?" His surprise was evident. "What are you doing here? And...what happened to your clothes?"

Tex glanced down at the mud. "Your guess is as good as mine," she replied, pushing away from the clock. "Just – please. Tell me you have some coffee."

Tex half walked, half stumbled toward him. She took one step too far, and he reached out an arm to steady her – or perhaps to stave her off. She wavered, off balance, in the space that remained between them.

"Today's your lucky day, Vortex," he said, with the hint of a conspiratorial smile. "I've made something better than coffee: a remedy uniquely suited to our current shared affliction."

He lifted the mug to his lips, took a sip, then handed it to her. She looked down into it, bleary-eyed; the liquid inside was blue, and it was bubbling.

"The hell is this?" she asked, squinting at the contents.

"Hangover cure. Something I invented after the...uh, incident last summer at Ike's party."

She gave the brew a skeptical sniff. "Ugh. Smells godawful."

"Tastes godawful too. What matters is that it works."

She looked down at the concoction, then back up at him. There were dark circles under his eyes. "I hope this kills me," she said, and drained the contents.

The flavor was sharp, biting – like unripened apples. It fizzled in her mouth, stinging her tongue, but she wasn't alarmed. Mr. Neutron wouldn't poison her. She offered him the empty mug, and he accepted it in silence. After a pause, he rested his head against the doorjamb, smiling faintly. He reached out to touch her hair, only to stop himself at the last second.

"Your hat is missing," he murmured.

Tex's hands flew to her head. "Shit. You're right."

She began to glance around frantically, as though she'd find it lying on the floor in plain sight. He chuckled, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Did you take it?"

"Me, abscond with your hat? Perish the thought."

"You were wearing it last night."

There was a pause. "So you remember that much."

Drip. Drip. A steady trickle of muddy water was falling from the bottom of Tex's longcoat. The Sheriff looked down at the spreading puddle and sighed.

"Apologies. I shouldn't bandy about while you're standing there looking like a half-drowned rat. Go on, get yourself cleaned up. I just drew water for a bath, but uh...heh, you clearly need it more than I do."

He sidestepped and gestured for her to walk past him into the washroom; she felt his hand on the small of her back as he nudged her over the threshold.

"Come to the pantry when you're done," he said from behind her. "Breakfast will be waiting."

The latch clicked shut, and Tex shivered. It was a cool morning, and the steam from the washtub had fogged up the windows. There was no lock, so she jammed her boots up against the base of the door. She removed her overcoat and let it sag to the ground, then yanked off her shirt and tossed it aside. The sodden garments squelched beneath her feet as she turned this way and that, searching for a place to stow her gunbelt. Ducking under the hairbrush-and-crank contraption, she drew closer to the looking glass. The washbasin there was empty, so she unhooked her belt and bandolier and stowed them inside, then placed both pistols on top. She glanced up. The mirror had begun to mist over, but a clear patch remained at face height. Tex stared into it. She saw grime. Stringy, sodden, tangled hair. And those mad eyes of hers – greener than a serpent's scales, more impenetrable than an uncut gem. She turned away.

Tex headed toward the tub, stumbling and hopping as she peeled off her water-logged pants. They landed with a splat beside her blouse and coat, and Tex climbed into the bath, hissing softly as the heat from the water hit her sore legs. After a moment her skin adjusted, and she lowered herself in.

"Ahh..." she breathed, settling her shoulders against the back of the tub. She closed her eyes, and the tension in her neck eased. For a long while she was content to lie there in silence, listening to the water lapping against the sides.

Gradually, the throbbing in her head lessened, and Tex half-opened her eyes. She noticed a pair of shelves to her left; the top rack was stacked with tools and curios, most of which were beyond her capacity to identify. The bottom rack held towels, sponges, and various cleaning supplies. As she reached for the soap, Tex noticed a set of freshly laundered beige pants and an indigo shirt. Mr. Neutron must have laid them out for himself while he was preparing the bath.

The Sheriff, she thought. The drinking game. Their wager. Now that her mind was clearer, the memories resurfaced, and brought with them the obvious question: where was the Ace of Spades?

Tex couldn't recall taking it. Then again, she'd apparently made a drunken pilgrimage from the Juke Joint to the Sheriff's lawn, and she couldn't remember that either. Had she ridden Humphrey back? Where was he? And where was her hat?

The outlaw groaned and slid further down into the tub, until her mouth disappeared beneath the surface and her grumbling turned into a series of angry bubbles. With no answers in sight, she lathered up some suds and got to work scrubbing herself. The scent revitalized her, and layer by layer the dirt sloughed off, until the water ran dark with the stain.

Tex wasn't one to tarry, so at the first signs of pruning skin, she hauled herself to her feet, wrung out her hair, and wrapped her body in a towel. Shivering, she stepped out of the washtub and tiptoed across the floor, dodging muddy puddles with each step. She crouched beside her discarded garments and rummaged through the pockets one by one, looking for the Ace. Her search turned up nothing. Just to be thorough, she opened the hidden compartment in her longcoat and felt around inside – and in an instant, all thoughts vanished except one.

Her homicide-for-hire contract was gone.

She brought the jacket to face level and peered into the compartment. Empty. She turned the sleeves inside out, then shook the coat, but nothing fell from it. She checked and re-checked the surrounding floor space, but all she found was spattered mud. Tex sat back on her heels. She tried to think, tried to put together the pieces, but no matter how hard she wracked her brain, the void in her memories remained.

For a moment, panic nearly overwhelmed her, and it took all her powers of self-control to direct her thoughts down a more judicious road. Maybe you stowed it in Humphrey's saddle bag and then forgot about it, she told herself. Maybe you put it in your hat. All you have to do is figure out a way to retrace your steps. Keep calm, and a solution will present itself.

The fear receded, and Tex glanced around the room. In her fugue, she'd made an absolute mess of the place, and she'd neglected to bring along a change of clothes. Her spare gear was still in Humphrey's saddle bag...wherever that was. Yesterday's outfit was slimy and stank of booze and muck. Disgusted with it and with herself, she pitched the whole thing, coat and all, into the tub to soak. She wiped her boots clean, mopped up the floor, and then tossed the towel in with the rest.

Shivering harder, she turned back toward the set of shelves, and her gaze fell upon the Sheriff's shirt and pants. Tex was a tall woman. They would probably fit.

Why not? She asked herself, and grabbed the ensemble.

Five minutes later, Tex stood in front of the mirror, lacing her boots and buckling her gunbelt. She stopped when she caught sight of her reflection. Her face was obscured by the mist-blurred glass, and if it weren't for her long hair, she might've mistaken herself for the Sheriff. His clothing was one size too large, but she was accustomed to wearing men's garments. She cinched her belt tighter to rein in the extra fabric.

A jar of toothpaste labeled Crème Dentifrice rested on one corner of the basin, and Tex helped herself. As she slathered the mixture onto her teeth, she hunted around for a comb. Unable to find one, she sighed, reached toward the ceiling, and yanked one of the brushes off the crank contraption. Problem solved.

Tex emerged from the washroom a new woman: cleaned, groomed, and miraculously hangover-free. The smell of bacon, fire potatoes, and scrambled eggs drew her to the kitchen. The Sheriff was nowhere to be seen, but he'd set a place for her at the table, and she eagerly hurried over – only to stop dead in her tracks when she saw what awaited her.

There, on the center of the plate, propped up against a stack of bacon, was the Ace of Spades.

Tex heard the creak of floorboards, and she whirled to find the Sheriff standing in the doorway, looking indecently smug.

"Breakfast is served," he said with a wry grin. "Bon appétit."

...it's been ages since my last update, I know. Illness hasn't killed me yet, so I'm still determined to finish this damn thing someday lol

HISTORICAL SHIT AND BULLSHIT SHIT

- During the 1850s, a new toothpaste in a jar called a Crème Dentifrice was put on the market. Colgate introduced its toothpaste in a tube (similar to modern-day toothpaste tubes) in the 1890s. Until after 1945, all toothpastes contained soap. Yum.

- The Sheriff never patented his miracle hangover cure, because he knew that kind of technology was too dangerous for the common man to handle