Maka had successfully managed to quietly sneak into the house and get to her room without being noticed. Her father had been enjoying the newest story on the radio with a glass of whiskey in one hand and his feet propped up on the living room table. He was only really half paying attention, his eye lids drooping now and then. She couldn't help but roll her eyes as she closed her bedroom door behind her with as soft a click as she could manage. It was the typical sight to come back to; Spirit had become completely useless since his wife had left him and no one was more aware of it than his daughter.

She grabbed her leather satchel from her closet, going to quickly grab together as many of her clothes as she was sure could fit in it. She was a tiny thing, really, and it made it easier to stuff dresses and jeans and various outfits into the bag than she'd expected it. She didn't own much, but with the couple of books she'd tried to squeeze in amongst the outfits, she still ended up barely being able to latch the bag close and she sighed heavily as she picked it up to try and test its weight. It would definitely cause an ache in her shoulder when she carried it to the grounds, but she was sure it would be worth it in the end. If she got her own trailer like Soul did, maybe she'd never have to carry a bag again. A smile graced her lips as she thought of all the things she might be able to do; maybe she'd learned trapeze and get to be part of the main act. Maybe she could ride an elephant or tame a lion or do a show with white horses and a fabulous dress made of sparkling fabric and sequence. All of it could be a possibility thanks to the help of the strange boy with white hair and a smile like a sharks.

Maka could still hear the advice he'd given her playing in her head like a broken record. She didn't want to discuss her decision with her father. She wanted to leave a note at most and rush out of their without another thought. Her mother had left in a similar fashion, she didn't understand why she couldn't do the same. He should have been expecting it, even, with how his behavior had gone.

"Makaaaaaa?" The long drawl came from the living room, interrupting her thoughts. It was almost like he'd been able to hear her contemplation of sneaking out in the night. She listened as staggered footsteps made their way down the short call, soon followed by a small thud as his body slumped against her door. "Maka, baby, are you in there? Didn't hear you come in. There's some dinner on the counter for you. It's probably still hot and everything!" His words were luckily not slurring together, which meant he wasn't nearly as drunk as he could have been. Maybe he was mostly just tired and the whiskey was making him dizzier than usual because of it.

"I'm fine, Papa," she grumbled, going to stuff her bag under her bed before he could open the door and see her packed. "I had some popcorn at the circus. It was really filling."

As she expected, her knob turned without him asking permission and he pushed the door open, staring at her in a stern way he often did when he was pretending he could still be a decent authority figure. "You need more than just junk food in your diet. You should go eat that meal, it took a lot of effort to make and -"

"Your most recent girlfriend will probably not have her feelings hurt if I don't eat her cold leftovers." There was no way he'd actually cooked. She was convinced he probably didn't even know how. It made her heart drop a bit into her stomach. He couldn't clean, either, and he didn't always have someone around to do it for him. Who was going to take care of him while she was gone? She turned her eyes up to him after a moment, staring at him in thought. He was just a big baby in a lot of ways. Always needing someone around to make sure he didn't drink himself to death, always having to have a person their to keep his house and cook his meals. He was a loser in every meaning of the word and it weighed on her constantly. Maybe it was just his depression from fucking up his own life, or maybe he was just really that immature an adult, but no matter the reason, he was her father and he would suffer if she left him like this.

She couldn't be thinking of him anymore, though. She needed to put herself first. Her dreams, her desires - her own well being. She was his daughter. He was meant to be the caregiver.

"Papa, we need to talk." She went to move past him, taking his hand so she could drag him out of her room and go towards the kitchen. It wasn't the sort of discussion she wanted to feel cornered during, and she maybe she could make him some sort of snack to try and soak up the alcohol in his stomach so he'd at least pay a little more attention. He followed obediently, just seeming to be happy getting to hold her hand given the way he hummed as they walked down the hallway. She was quick to let go of him once she got near the table, motioning for him to have a seat before moving to make some toast. "Are you listening?"

"Mmm, all ears, baby girl," he grumbled sleepily, and she noted the sound of a light thud as he rested his head against the table top.

She wasn't really sure where to start with all this. She didn't want to just blurt out that she was leaving. Spirit was known for being a delicate man and as much as she may have boasted that she hated him or didn't care about his feelings, she didn't like the thought of just breaking his heart and walking out the door. She had to find a way to make this more about improving their relationship. Trying to find herself. Exploring the world. Things he could understand and maybe not take so personally. She was quiet as she focused on preparing the pan, cutting the bread, and buttering each side as she waited for the metal to heat up.

"What are you going to do when I leave for school, Papa? How are you going to take care of yourself?"

He grumbled into the table rather than looking up at her, making his words feel that much more slurred together. "I'mma grown man, honey. Your papa can take care of himself just fine, you'll see."

She rolled her eyes, biting back a few insults towards him that wouldn't help the situation. She placed the piece of bread onto the stove, the sizzling of cooking oils filling the kitchen as the butter began to brown on contact. "You can't even cook for yourself. Forgive me if I'm a little skeptical."

"I've got a few years to learn. You're not ready for college just yet, Maka." He sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself more, and she chose to say nothing once again, instead lifting the toast up to see if it was ready to be flipped. She let it fall back into the pan since it had barely been even a second and sighed.

She waited long enough to speak again that both sides had equally browned and she'd put them on a plate for her father, setting it down in front of him. He didn't even lift his head to nibble at the toast, though she didn't take it too personally. He probably didn't even notice that it was there yet.

"What if I left sooner? What would you do then? Who's going to do your laundry or clean up the house at the end of the day? Who's going to go and fish you out of the bar or talk another angry farmer out of getting you thrown in jail for trampling in their fields and ruining their crop beds? I'm always taking care of you, Papa, and I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. You don't even know how much trouble you are, do you?" She had let her voice get more rushed, more heated with each word, and she stopped to take a breath as she waited for him to respond. There was nothing but silence and she let out a huff of frustration at it. "Papa? Papa, I thought you were listening."

She was given the response of a loud snore.

"... Great."

Shaking her head, Maka went over to his side of the table, slipping one of his arms around him and going to pick him up out of the chair. He grumbled sleepily, waking up enough to at least help her guide him out of the kitchen and back towards his room. She didn't bother undressing him or getting him under the covers, simply letting him fall into his pillows and go right back to sleep. She sighed as she stared at him, going to brush some of the red hair out of his face. He looked a lot less like a pain in the ass when he was sleeping. It almost made her think she might miss him, if the frustration of being ignored hadn't still been so fresh.

She didn't bother to clean up the dishes, instead heading back to her room to finish packing her things. She'd tried to do what Soul asked her. It wasn't her fault it had gone wrong, right? Sure, she could wait and do it again in the morning, but she really could only handle so much talk with him. She filled up her satchel with the rest of her things, mulling over how she wanted to break things to him in her mind the entire time. She would let herself sleep on it. She'd write him a letter in the morning, leave long before he was awake. If she made it to the circus by dawn, she was sure that everyone would be up, but not busy enough yet to be able to brush her off and not talk to her.

A letter would do just fine. Her Papa could deal with a letter. She'd tell him she loved him, that she would write to him, and she'd see him in a year. It wouldn't be so bad. Sure she had a fool proof plan, Maka climbed into her pajamas and crawled under her own covers. She set her alarm, burying her face into the pillow, and let herself fall asleep to dream of large trucks, white horses, and a boy with teeth like a sharks.