There was a pounding on the door, hopefully it was debt collectors. He liked debt collectors. They were always illegal guys, so they can't press charges when he breaks their arms with their own pipes.
The pounding continued.
"Shut up!" He growled. His head pounded, too much sake last night. He needed to focus.
Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right, oh and there's the floor. The feeling of the tatami floor barely even phased him. The unkempt mop that was his hair did, flopping over his face annoying.
Still that incessant knocking.
"By all that is holy— Shut up! I'm moving dammit!" He pushed himself to his feet now, thoroughly enraged and aching to beat someone's face. Forget breaking his arms, he was mad enough to break all his limbs. Slowly.
"What?" He wrenched the door open, eyes feral and blinking at the sudden light.
"Uh..."
The person at the door wasn't some ugly thirty something year old debt collector. If it was, then at least that thirty something year old debt collector would be in his sightline. No, this person was shorter.
And a woman, a girl really if he had to guess. Aside from the large rack on her being the only womanly attribute she had, he saw that her face and stature made her out to be younger. Short lavender hair and thick glasses that eclipsed here eyes. Maybe she's fifteen? Maybe, big maybe!
If he was younger, and considering he was in his forties now, he'd not mind at all that some schoolgirl was knocking at his door. Then again, if he was younger he'd be clocked over the head by at least three people for having that thought even cross his mind.
"What do you want? If you're a girl scout, I ain't buying cookiez," he growled. He moved to turn and slam the door, but the girl wedged a suitcase before it shut. "What the hell."
"Wait, p-please don't move." He turned to see the girl now had a photo in her hand. Now with her face held higher, he was able to see her eyes. Violet eyes, like an orchid. Like...
Lancelot du Lac's blood went cold.
"You wasteful, good for nothing father!"
"Fuck you!"
"No, fuck you! After everything they gave to you, everytime they stood by you, you just spat in their face! You spat in ALL their faces!"
"You have no right—"
"I have every right to judge you!"
"You are the son! Not the father! What I say and do means you're to support all of it!"
"You are my father! That makes everything you've done even worse! How can I or anyone else ever support what you've done you bastard!"
"To call your own father a bastard, what does that make you?"
"Something far worse for not even trying to stop it..."
"Where are you going? Gallahad? Gallahad! Get back here!"
"I'm not coming back until I've fixed your mistakes father! All your damn mistakes!"
"L-Lancelot, sir?" The girl's voice broke him out of his memories. He stared down at her, wide eyed and breathing deeply. "A-Are you alright?" He didn't make any verbal response, just a stiff nod of his head. Any sort of fatigue he's acquired in the last few days and the hangover he felt from the night prior gone like a cold shower washed over him.
"... Do you have something to tell me girl?" Lancelot finally managed to say. The girl seemed to tense for a moment, before she stood with her back straight and head held high. Perfect posture and rightlyness, like him.
"L-Lancelot du L-Lac, I'm Mashu Kyrelight." His brain scanned through the many many many names of the woman he'd had in the many years of his life. If any was named Kyrelight she... She'll have been one of the many he's drown himself in before Gallahad came. "S-Sir Lancelot... I think I'm your daughter."
It was at this moment the limited physical contents and multiple liquid contents that were in Lancelot's stomach decided to make their intent known. Before he could act, Lancelot felt bile and filth wretch up from his gut through his throat.
"Hragthr!"
"Oh my gosh!"
Right onto her shoes... Great.
Mashu, for her part, didn't freak out as much at Lancelot emptying his stomach on her shoes as the fact after he did so, he began to topple forward and onto her. She scrambled to catch, buckling slightly under his weight before she steadied herself enough to keep him propped up.
"U-Uh, sir Lancelot?"
"HrmMmMm..." It seemed that would not be the last of upheavals. In any event, Mashu decided that being vomited on twice in a row was something that superceded the need for manners and etiquette no matter what Dr. Romani said about keeping to them.
Shedding off her vomit covered shoes, she quickly began carry Lancelot to his haphazardly arranged bathroom. Razors, cologne, and other products seemingly falling off the shelf mirror and into the toilet next to it.
"Hragthr! HRAGTHR!" Lancelot let loose another wave of bile, luckily this time not on Mashu. The girl had been kind enough however to hold the man's absurdly long lavender hair. "Hragthr!"
He must drink a lot... Mashu thought with a grimace. The sounds that Lancelot... Her father... Was making were horrible, strident like a dying cat.
After ten minutes, so it became simply dry heaving from the man. Strangled coughs and choked breaths as his grip on the porcelain throne of heroes eventually relented and his body grew slack.
He pushed back so he was facing forward, back resting on the edge of the bowl. Mashu finally let go of the man's hair, looking noticeably more cautious than prior.
"I-I don't have a daughter," he started, and immediately wished he hadn't seeing the look of hurt cross the girl's face. He meant to retract or fix his statement, but his tongue was too slow, cut off by Mashu.
"I... He... He said that you'd s-say that, so he had this." Tentatively, she reached into a pocket on the inside of her coat. It was a piece of paper, folded eight times and when it unfolded revealed a graph, or rather two set side by side for comparison.
One side of the graph was labeled "sire". Below sire a name was placed, "L. du Lac". His name, Lancelot du Lac. The other graph held another label reading "offspring". Below offspring the name "M. Kyrelight" was typed. Both graphs were set beside each other. One simple message written at the bottom of percentage reading 99.999999%, Subject: M. Kyrelight has a 99.999999% paternity match with Subject: L. du Lac.
"I hope this is enough." Mashu handed the paper to the man, whon stared at it with wide silent eyes. "W-We can do another if you..."
It was clear that Lancelot wasn't listening. No his mind was on other things, the small things. The small things written in the bio section of M. Kyrelight.
Age: 16 - Older than he thought, but only by a year.
Weight: 46 kg
Height: 158 cm - Short compared to him.
Her place of birth wasn't written on the sheet, nor was there any other information about where Mashu… His daughter had been these last six teen years. It seemed he hadn't thought that information necessary, though knowing him, it would come up later.
"U-Uh, sir Lancelot?" Mashu spoke up, garnering his attention to her. He looked at her, though in her eyes it was difficult to tell where he was looking. Lavender locks had obscured his eyes, so he could be looking anywhere. "A-Are you alright?"
"I-I'm fine." Lancelot's vision grew dark before passing out, slumping forward with a snore. The shock and hangover doubling his body into a small nap. One last thought however hit his mind at the same moment his forehead hit the floor.
Oh my God, I thought about flirting with my DAUGHTER!
Mashu stared at the now unconscious Lancelot… Her father. Sixteen years without one and suddenly she found herself whisked away to Fuyuki City by a strange man on an account that there she would meet her father.
She met… Someone. A man she supposes, his name being Lancelot du Lac, but by no means he didn't seem like a father at all.
Father's are meant to be calm and nuturing, providing guidance and support for their childeren. They were supposed to be clean, noble, and knightly. Father's are... Father's are people who were to supposed to fill an ever present void in Mashu's heart ever since she saw that one boy run and hug the man that he called "father" back at the orphanage. A void that felt conflicted as she saw this man who lay unconscious at the foot of a toilet with his rear facing higher than his face in his current position.
Mashu sighed before she stood up and helping up the still unconscious Lancelot. He was muttering in his sleep now, in a language that she didn't know.
French, she thinks. It's the same language Miss Antoinette and Mister Sanson speak. She recalled about her caretakers at the orphanage. I wonder what they're doing now…
A somber look marred Mashu's face before she shook her head, clearing it away before focusing on Lancelot. She gently laid him in what she hoped was his bed, a simple futon without any sort of blankets or covers.
"Mon roi… Le blâme est le mien… Ce n'est pas sa faute, seulement la mienne… Mon roi! Mon roi! ARTHUR!" Mashu nearly screamed at the sudden shout by the man. He rose up from the futon, raising like he was possessed. His eyes were open but the only light that shone in his eyes was the dull white of his own sclera as he began to shout. "ARTHUR! ARTHUR! AAARTHUUUR!"
Mashu could only hunker down and cover her head as it felt like the very ground shake at the man's bellow. She looked up just as all the madness left his body and Lancelot flopped back down on the futon, boneless and unmoving.
She waited several minutes before tentatively standing, taking one last look at Lancelot's sleeping body before turning her attention to his apartment.
Dirty alone wasn't enough to describe the room. Wine bottles, beer cans, and foreign alcohol containers littered the interior as common as the multitudes of dust. Dirty clothes and gravure magazines likewise covered the floor. Heat rose to her face when she saw the poses and the… Lack of dress the girls on the gravure magazines were in.
Only thing to do then; clean up this mess.