"Well, I think some of the markets should still be open, especially since the festival's not started yet." Jak answered Abby. There was a pink haired boy who raced past, but Jak didn't really notice. Abby asked if her accent was bad, and Jak smiled a little more. "Your accent wasn't that bad, but it's still identifiable. My name's Jakki, but people usually call be Jak. Come on, we've probably got a lot of ground to cover before the festival. I'd hate to be responsible for you not sleeping in your house." she wondered who was Abby's parents were. That seemed excessive to Jak, not sleeping in a house for not getting the supplies on a list. Maybe Abby was one of those people on television that were entitled brats? No, that was just a stereotype, and their reality television was usually scripted anyway.

Jak started to walk towards the market. She hummed a tune, trying to keep a steady pace, but not leave Abby behind. Thankfully, there weren't many things to see on the route to the market, so Jak could think about the best route, then about how she was going to improve her swing. Maybe she needed to change her routine, spin the other way, tap the plate two times instead of one, or maybe just alter her routine completely. Her pitches were getting worse too, someone almost hit all of her throws in the last game she played in. Normally, no one managed to hit the throws, and if they did, it would be because she was off. Jak was losing her edge. She could not afford to lose her edge. She couldn't fail her father like that.