JoJo's Bizzare Ships

Which Flower Do You Pick First?

"JoJo..."

"Don't call me that." It was a deep hoarse growl, voice edged with disuse. There was no anger. Nothing. Holly broke down into tears. This had to be what - the fifth time he had spoken all week? She moved away from the door stiffling her sobs with her hand.

"Jotaro...please..."she shook. "Please come back to me."

Without bothering with drying off the teenager rose from the tub. He drained the water, ignoring the crimson stains that bit into the side of the white marble. He wrapped a towel  around his waist, walking out he listened to the way his mother's sibs echoed. Holly had cried more in the past month than he had even known her to. Jotaro sighed deeply, a trickle of concern filtered through him only to be caught in the jaws of the darkness that had made its home inside the man's body.

He barely registered sinking into his nature's. His room, mostly likely reeked. He has been smoking inside throwing the cigarettes about. A part of him hopes one of them could set it on fire whole he slept, and then, he's burn away. Beer cans and other liquor bottles, stolen with the misuse of his Stand, were littered about. His once neatly kept collection of books and manages, they were out across the floor.

Pens marks were scribbled in all of them anything that reminded him of the redhead. Of the trip had been curled. Highlighted. His longing for the past had become an unhealthy obsession. He no longer lived in the present.

Jotaro Kujo, had died.
Right along the side Noriaki Kakyoin.

╙ ↘ ◈ ╰☆╮ ◈ ↙╜

The woman gagged at the stench, she had wanted to clean the boy's room agaes ago - but usally, the door was barred shut with a heavy dresser. He was determined to remain in his spiral of self destruction. It wounded Holly's should everytime she tried to speak with him. She stepped into the bedroom, tossing the cans, glasses and bottles onto the trash bag she carries either her. Her blue gaze swept around the mess. Holly's heart sank. The blonde had been calling her father consantly, but he was little help. He knew no better than she did on how to help.

The woman manged to clean the floor of all its empty beverage holders and burnt out ciggerates within the hour. She glanced over at his book shelf. Sinking somehow deeper into despair and worry, she walked over picking them up gently. An open manga caught her eyes and she swallowed. Every character's hair was colored crudely in red-marker. Eyes colored in voilet. Sighibg she closed the abused books setting them onto shelves. She noticed in some of the novels, seemingly random words were highlighted or circled.

Red.Purple.Smile.Curl.Death.Blood.
Lose.Stunning.Trapped.Savoir. Otherworldly.Elegant.Edge.Silk.

The further she went through the books, the less and less connected the woods seemed. The woman bit into her lip trying to stop the tears that came so easily these days from spilling over. Was her son going mad? His handwriting was not-that of a sane mind on his homework, barely legible. A far cry from his usual almost printed looking text that lacked personality.  Holly set the books onto the shelves, organizing them by subject and series.

Out of one, stacks of papers fell from it - and she realized it was a flase book. The blonde scooped the pages up. She stared.

A teenager boy with vibrant colored red hair stared back at her drawn with such realism it made the mother shiver. Half the pages had him on them. In the same pose. Same expression on his face. There was something highly unnvering about how perfect each copy of the other was. Insanity. Wasn't the definition of it, doing the same thing over and over again - expecting different results? What was Jotaro doing drawing the same thing, a hundred times over? Why this boy?