"Tenth street, house number thirty-two," Jotou kept repeating to herself. She would have had to wipe the blood off of her fist from punching his nose broken.
If the blood had not already been cauterized by the electricity surging over her that is. She wriggled her fingers as she walked, following street signs posted at corners.
Was that the first 'person' she actually fought? 'I guess it was… I'm just lucky they were drunk.' Her fist did not even feel bruised. The layer of spark had lightly protected her hands.
'And luckily, I have an affinity to defend myself with… I would've been…' Jotou's eyes were haunted by the thought. '…not in a great place if they won that fight…'
This was the last turn she had to make, down the road that led to John; where Ana used to live. Try as she might, Jotou could not recognize a single detail; Anastasia Princely was truly, nowhere in her head.
She peered down, a sword that she knew had a chip in it; just another blade she took from the guild. 'I can't even use it properly. Anyone can swing a damn sword.
Hell, I can't even fight… That's all I've been doing… Swinging a sword, using my magic as a crutch. If I actually had to fight something, or someone, how competent would I be?'
"The entire building huh?" Jotou looked up at the house, clumped up next to others. Four floors high and apparently it entirely belonged to John.
The more she glanced up, the more it made her feel the swollen pain to the sides of her head. Jotou flinched her eyes close to the sting, then looked again to the door.
She went up the small steps; the windows were shut, purple curtains drawn closed. Three knocks at the door, "Mr Princely? Are you in there? It's, uh, Jotou," she went silent.
Hearing no response, her gaze fell to the ground. "I've come to talk. I know I'm not Ana and you may still think I'm some walking corpse… But I need to-"
Jotou looked up, stopping her sorrowed voice to notice the knob being turned. Opening the door, John Princely stood. "Uh, h-hi," she greeted.
John squinted to the hooded figure, "Anastasia? You're back? Where have you been? You've had me -HiCcUp- worried sick." Stood, was an overstatement.
His drunken stare and the smell of alcohol told Jotou much about his state… "Hi… dad… Sorry I took so long, work had me going for days."
Sunken were his eyes, facing his 'daughter'. "Come in then. What happened to your key?" he ushered her inside.
"I, must've left it at the Ordinate," Jotou replied walking in. 'I know this is wrong, but if I bring up the truth… I'm not getting any answers if he gets into his depressed state again.'
The entrance led into a small alcove where shoes were kept. Socks were thrown onto it, uncared for and clearly unwashed for days if not weeks.
Jotou looked down—the floors were carpeted going in. She took off her boots, placing them next to… hers? To one side were a few shoes that were worse for wear.
However, another side were shoes that were the same size as the pair she wore. Some glittery, some heeled, but mostly black office shoes. Her brown, armoured and enchanted boots she kept next to those.
The legging-tights she wore wrapped around her feet comfortably, making them look like socks. She wriggled her toes before walking forward.
She squinted into the small living room. In fact, everything was hard to see after the doors shut. All the lamps off, covering up the mess the house truly was, as she stepped onto a shirt on the floor.
The sofas were littered with clothes, finished bottles tipped over on the shelves and tables. The modest kitchen, which was separate to the room, reeked of garbage and failed recipes till the entrance.
Jotou held her nose, "Mr- I mean, dad, you need to clean up this place. You can't live like this," she told as he went to sit down.
"Eh," he shooed flies away, "It's not that bad, I'll clean it in the morning. It's not like you spend time down here anyway," he said, tilting his head back to sleep.
"Morning huh?" Jotou muttered to herself.
"I already told you before, take your hood off when you're inside," he drunkenly slurred.
"Before? Why do I wear a hood dad?" Jotou asked like she knew the answer. 'Exactly, why did Ana wear a hood? Kor maybe gave me answers, but I want a second source.'
"Huh?" John opened his eyes, "To hide your identity; just like your mother. Ah that woman…" he reminisced, smiling. "Safe to say, your beauty never came from my side," he joked.
"Still, your mom told you to wear a hood like her so that you don't attract attention. She also wears one whenever she goes out; you're nobles. Targets are always going to be on your backs… By either the Princelys or even strangers.
Because your mother chose to live in Kria with me…" his voice shook. "The same reason we told you not to have any friends… I'm sorry my dear… I'm sorry we made you feel so isolated…" sobbing midway through the sentence, he stopped.
"Dad, pull yourself together," Jotou took her hood off, "I, forgive you. It's okay. But, did I really have, nobody…?" carefully, she strung her words.
"Not a soul," he replied, reaching for a half-filled bottle of presumably beer.
'Did Ana not tell him about Kor? I guess she wouldn't… If my parents told me not to have friends and I did anyway, I wouldn't tell them. But pairing it with Kor's story; Ana really didn't have anyone else.'
"Dad? What, happened to mom?" she gulped.
"Crash!" The bottle fell from his grip onto the table as his hands started shaking, "What? She's, she's at work… Wait, why isn't she home? Where's Layla? Where's your mother?" he turned, eyes widened.
"Uh, No! She's fine, she's fine, just at work."
John breathed normally, leaning back in his seat gently with a haunted look on him. His eyes relaxed, "Oh. Okay… Wake me when she gets home, alright dear? Dad's feeling a bit, sleepy…" he fell asleep midway through the sentence.
"Sure thing dad…" Jotou pouted. "Guess I'll just have to find out on my own," she whispered, taking a glance into the mess—a staircase on the left end.
She stepped over the clothes and dishes. "Where to start?" she checked around the table, piled up with newspapers, "Nothing. Just Kria Daily."
She went into the kitchen, to see dishes in the sink, a small icebox. "Is that? Oh eww," Jotou's face scrunched at the vomit lingering on the sink and some to the sides of it.
There was what looked to be a bathroom- "Nope, not even gonna go in there," she turned around and out of the scene. The clutter mixing with stench, stuffed up her nose.
Jotou passed by a shelf with a table beneath—small medicine bottles lied open, emptied of meds. She picked it up, reading the prescription, "Memory Loss Treatment… He has dementia…?" she peered over.
Jotou put it back down, shaking her head as flies landed on him. A note written in pretty handwriting was underneath, crumpled.
"Dad, don't forget your pills! Dr Marvesly has already been paid for next month so remember to get them from him if they run out. -Ana," Jotou read.
She sighed, "I'm sure your daughter's really proud of you," she looked around the room, "Even if you forgot, this note would've reminded you. If only you read it; or didn't crumple it."
"Parents," she uttered, "All the rules, none of the responsibility. Hypocrites," she frowned before she went up the stairs. The way up was scattered with junk, from trash to cloth.
A red bicycle was slanted against the edge of a door; the first thing she noticed before the putrid stench of, whatever had died within this filth and clutter.
A cockroach- "Ew," Jotou lifted up a leg as it scurried by. The arrangement was similar to Hotaru's home; two doors, one for the bathroom and one bedroom.
Only this house was much smaller—the hallway to the next set of stairs narrow. "Spark," she casted, giving a mild glow in the dark with her hands.
She opened the first door, …the smell only worsened. "Uagh!" Jotou sounded, taking a quick look in. A large bed for two, closets opened with shirts and trousers all over the place. She shut the door immediately after.
"I don't spend time down here…" Jotou repeated what John said, looking up, "Yeah John, I wonder why she didn't. I bet this mess isn't something recent; it's just worsened."
She did not care to check the bathroom, going straight up to the next floor. The air felt a little less cluttered. While objects were still scattered, it was not a hassle to move through.
There were terrible drawings taped onto the door, looked to be drawn by a child, "Bingo," she approached. She held the knob… Taking a deep breath, only getting a slight hint of the smells below, she opened it.