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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 23, 2018 10:36:57 GMT -8
Another day, another night of alcoholism and mourning. Flynn awoke once again, his arms wrapped around another gravestone. It's become routine at this point, an inebriated lad drinking himself to near death only to find himself mourning at a random gravestone. The death of someone close has affected the poor man, and unfortunately for him he couldn't really figure out whose gravestone was whose, Flynn's illiteracy at its finest. So instead he would just settle with mourning at a gravestone to pretend it belonged to the deceased in question.
The lad was still groggy from the previous night, looking around to retrace what took place during his typical drunken benders. What he found was his hook and chain now hanging atop a large withered tree. His axe firmly lodged within its trunk, and what he presumed was his own blood spattered against the gravestone he woke up upon. Flynn soon checked himself out for more clues of his misadventures. Bloodied fists, his helmet still on his head, several shards of broken glass stabbing through his rucksack, and most disheartening; several dead bees smothered and crushed inside of said rucksack. Out of frustration, the bounty hunter yanked his axe from the tree's foundation. Before swinging wildly at the withered old husk of wood. Bellowing out his frustrations once again.
With one final heave, he then chucked his axe at the branch holding his hook and chains far above him. Though unfortunately for him, he had no skill in the field of throwing around axes. So as expected, the axe bounced right off of the branch. Only to fall down and collide with Flynn's helmet by its blunt end. Flynn was now knocked off of his feet, just sad and dejected as opposed to his usual affable demeanor.
"I. Fookin'. Hate. Trees."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 23, 2018 13:36:05 GMT -8
It could have been the alcohol-induced dehydration, or the tree's reposte in form of a sudden blow to the head, but Flynn would hear a voice: feminine, familiar, one whose tone rose as high as it did sink.
It carried on with the wind.
"What are you doing here?" Asked the voice. It sounded like sunshine, and came as though whispered to Flynn.
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 23, 2018 15:15:21 GMT -8
Flynn's head perked up at the sound a voice. Still inebriated, the man was unable to fully recognized the voice echoing out to him. Flynn pushed himself up, his hand making a gesture to wave off wherever the voice originated from.
"Huh? I ain't doin' shite, was just leavin'..." The bounty hunter let out, still readjusting himself. However, as he began to scan his surroundings to further address the voice, he found himself alone. Out of instinct, the man took up a more defensive stance. He picked up his stance, pointing it in various directions as to not get caught off guard. "Wh-where the fock are ye'!? Show yer'self ya' bloody wench!"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 23, 2018 16:28:33 GMT -8
"Go out there and meet people, friend-y." The voice was amused, and it giggled as the wind brushed through the trees and the grass.
It was Osgood's voice, unmistakably.
"You waste too much of your time with that drink, you know." She whispered.
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 23, 2018 18:49:40 GMT -8
"H-hold up... I know that voice... I know who you- No this cannot be right!" Flynn moved towards wherever he heard the voice that called out to him. Swinging his axe blindly as he struck down shrubbery and withered bark. With every swing the lad grew more and more wracked with despair. Soon he found himself backing up against the tree holding aloft his hook. Out of panic, Flynn began striking at the tree once again in hopes of releasing his other weapon from its grasp.
"You ain't her! She died long ago! An' ye' sure as fookin' 'ell ain't going ta' bastardize who she was with her voice!" With every swing of his axe he would howl out in a maddened mantra, plagued by both desperation and denial. "You ain't her! You ain't her! You ain't her..."
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 23, 2018 19:20:08 GMT -8
Out from behind the tree stepped the owner of the voice itself: a spitting image of Osgood, with eyes blue as day. The light fell on her as though she stood beneath a full, noontime sun, despite the general grey and gloomy cloudcover.
She smiled.
"Calm down, mate!" She held up her bare hands, "What'd that tree do to you?"
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 23, 2018 19:39:22 GMT -8
With one final heave, Flynn heard the chain clanking down to the ground. His vision was too focused on arming himself to notice the figure appearing from behind the withered mass of lumber. Upon retrieving his hook, he began to twirl the chain in preparation. Flynn instinctively turned towards the voice once again to send his hook forth to strike down the sonorous instigator. Only for him to halt his attack, freezing up in both terror and disbelief.
"No no! You aren't her! You aren't real!" Flynn began to back up, twirling his chain once again in anticipation for whatever the twisted mockery of Osgood would throw at him. His mind losing a good sense of his perception as he soon found himself tripping on to his back. The timid bounty hunter began to crawl away from the hallucination, "You are not Osgood! J-just stay back! I swear to God I'll have your head! Just leave me be! Please! I beg of you!"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 23, 2018 20:17:31 GMT -8
Osgood stepped back away from the man, hands held out in some attempt to be soothing. Her sky-blue eyes were wide with alarm,
"Flynn! Flynn! Settle down!" She begged, scooting further away from the man.
"Nothing's going to hurt you!"
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 23, 2018 20:43:12 GMT -8
"No! You're not real! This all just a trick! You aren't her! I saw her die while..." Flynn's frantic crawl soon fell into a halt as despair clutched his mind, "While I laid there watchin'."
The man clutched his helmet as he began to curl up. His voice now choked with sobs and sorrow, "It's me own damned fault! I let ya' fookin' die! I got ahead of me'self! N' there I was, watchin' ya' hang there as the life left your bloody body! Damnation! It's all me fookin' fault..."
Flynn laid there curled up, holding on to his axe and chain tightly. As if trying to find some kind of solace in embracing them. Like a frightened child desperately trying to find safety from his playthings.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 23, 2018 20:57:02 GMT -8
A flicker of sympathy shadowed over Osgood's face, and her sunny self tentatively approached where he lay.
She crouched down next to him.
"What's makin' you think that?" She cocked her head, and shrugged. Her hand reached out, as if to touch him, but then she put it away.
"There wasn't anything you could do." Said Osgood simply, sweetly.
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 23, 2018 21:21:15 GMT -8
"No... I should have thought things through! I should have been there at your side instead of showing off with me fookin' chain. I could 'ave avoided the crossbow, I could 'ave avoided bein' crushed by bloody rubble!" Flynn confessed, curling up even tighter.
"Bloody hell, jus' leave me be! Please! Why are ya' doin' this ta' me!? I'm sorry alright!? I know it's all me fault! I already suffer enough as is! N' now ya' tauntin' me by makin' a mockery of her!?" The man tried to wave her off, scooting bit by bit away from the hallucination.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 23, 2018 22:52:46 GMT -8
Osgood's shoulder's slumped, and she thought on this a moment more with a frown.
She sighed, "...Sorry." And stood, brushing off the front of her unblemished armor.
"It's... still me. I dunno what you're talking about." The guard hooked her thumbs into her belt and began sidling away, "I'll check back on you later, alright?"
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 24, 2018 7:19:11 GMT -8
The man had broken down to choked sobbing and heavy breathing. His mind wracked with the guilt of the deceased. In his mind he began to torment himself with thoughts alone. Assaulting himself with biting words within his subconscious, 'She hates you now, you may as well have been the one who hung her from the wall. Such is the fate of those you endeared.'
"No no..." Flynn tensed up, trying to salvage what little clarity that composed his mind. Deciding now to confront the manifestation of his woes. "'Wot do ye' want? 'Wot do ye' want from a lad in mourning?"
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Post by Vanitypirate on Mar 24, 2018 8:04:28 GMT -8
Osgood's brow knitted and she looked to the sky in thought, quirking a frown.
She shrugged her armored shoulders,
"I thought I could help you out." She explained, letting her hands fall to her sides,
"It isn't really working all that well."
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Post by Boo Ghostie on Mar 24, 2018 8:26:02 GMT -8
Flynn let out a sigh, sitting himself up to face the apparition. His breath quaking as he saw her more pristine condition. A heart-wrenching sight to say the least, looking unto a loved one who should be long deceased. The lad needed to find solace through fermented barley, rummaging through his rucksack to retrieve an iron hip flask. He uncapped the beverage, nearly bringing it up to his face to drink. However with the occurring hallucination, he couldn't bring himself to partake.
"Aye... It ain't... Yer' just pouring salt on the wound, lass." Flynn lightly shook his flask, trying to gauge the amount he had left. "I should have not been so dense! If I had been there you would be here, alive with us! With me! Havin' a merry ol' time at the bloody pub! I could 'ave been your knight in shitty armor, I'unno! Gah! I sound like a fookin' prissy little school boy. Bloody hellfire!"
The man lodged his axe into the blighted soil. Bringing his hands to clutch at his armored forehead. "'Wot the 'ell is wrong wif' me?!"
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