friendofcasper (friendofcasper) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-12-22 20:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | flynn russo, marsh grey |
What Do You Want?
Who: Marsh/Flynn
What: Not Closure
Where: Searchlight, Marsh's Trailer
When: December 21st
Ratings/Warnings: Medium-High, Some Violence, Mention of Self-Harm, Firearms
Disappointment was a feeling Marsh was familiar with but it was usually disappointment in himself, not others. It seemed irrational when he thought about it but something about Nobu hiding that ultimate truth about himself just made Marsh want to run away as fast as he could. He couldn’t understand his thoughts, he had no idea what his true motivations were and Marsh was beginning to question if he was just meant to be alone.
A knock at his trailer door pulled him from his thoughts. Rudy perked up and began to wine at the door, his fluffy tail wagging in anticipation. The needle on the record had been skipping on the silence at the end of the record and Marsh pulled it off before making his way to the door.
As he opened it, surprise came to his face. “Flynn, how’s it going kid?” Something about the expression on his face hit Marsh in the gut.
It had taken Flynn three days to get a name. The spirit had been intense, almost manic, gesticulating wildly, limbs weaving through solid objects throughout the trailer without realizing it. Through the word salad he finally caught something he recognized, though it left him just as confused as ever, and mentally and physically drained.
“Marsh.” His neck bobbed up and down as he swallowed, then glanced into the dark of the trailer behind the other man’s shoulder. “Are you alone?” Flynn blinked once, twice, shook his head. “I mean, is this a bad time?” His words sounded oddly fragmented in his own ears, and he could feel a muscle in his jaw twitch.
The communication had never felt like this for him before. It was like a radio had been turned up, static clearing.
Slowly closing the door behind Flynn he noticed immediately something strange about his behavior. “Just me and Rudy.” He sat down in his chair, signaling Flynn toward the couch. Clearly something was happening, whether it had something to do with his ability or even perhaps a psychotic break. He wouldn’t know anything until he talked to Flynn more.
“It’s not a bad time Flynn, mind telling me exactly what’s going on?” There was something on his mind and Marsh didn’t want to stall getting to the issue that was making him behave this way.
Flynn hovered above the couch, debating whether to sit or not, if the strangely kinetic yet exhausted energy running through his body would even allow him to. “It’s Lawrence,” he answered, meeting Marsh’s curious gaze. One hand rubbed at the stubble around his jaw before he finally took a seat.
“It took him three days of following me non-stop to tell him he knew you,” Flynn explained slowly. “It’s never been like this before.”
He felt frozen in place, a name he hadn’t heard uttered since their last session together. He could feel himself snap back into that office, watch as he tried to decipher the thoughts in the other man’s head and watched in horror as he unearthed Marsh’s 45 from his desk drawer. Marsh grabbed his head in pain and tried desperately to be back in the now instead of reliving the most painful moment of his life.
Finally he saw the world change back around him, Flynn looking scared as hell. “Flynn, what are you talking about?” He could feel the tears forming in his ducts, the absolute overwhelming sting that came along with it.
“Lawrence who?”
“You’re going to act like you don’t know the name?” Flynn’s voice was harsh, bordering on angry, and his expression instantly changed to one of dismay and confusion. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, sitting up straight as if some electric current had run through him. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Look, I...he told me to find you, and I did, but now I don’t know if it was such a good idea.” He glanced nervously around Marsh’s living space.
Marsh had been afraid of this, ever since the first time the kid had told him about his abilities. Lawrence Beals, the blade stuck right in his belly he could never seem to get rid of.
“Flynn, I think it’s best right now that you SIT DOWN for a minute so we can try and figure this out together.” He didn’t mean to sound harsh but he could tell the young man had no idea what to do and was letting his anxiety about it run its course.
“ ‘Fore I came to Searchiight I was a clinical psychologist. Lawrence was my patient. He was… very disturbed. He had a comorbidity of paranoid schizophrenia and obsessive-compulsive disorder.” Marsh sighed and put his forehead into his palms as he tried to stomach his way through the recollection.
“He was doing well, until one session we touched on his family trauma. He maneuvered the gun out of my desk drawer and when I tried to stop him he shot me and then himself.” He looked back up at Flynn again, pained to even continue.
“Tell me what I can do Flynn, what do you want me to do?”
Flynn took a deep, steadying breath. “I am sitting down,” he pointed out, and he sounded a lot more like himself when he said it, though his hands were still trembling. And he was able to listen to Marsh’s explanation and actually process the words.
“I got a very jumbled up version of that story from Lawrence, with some...embellishments.” Flynn swallowed. “Usually, I can figure out what they want, or they just flat out tell me.” He thought of Rose, her directive of finding her son and delivering a sweet, simple message. He looked back on that now with a sense of nostalgia.
“There isn’t anything you can do,” Flynn added, his gaze dropping.
Marsh could feel himself slip away into oblivion. He’d moved to Searchlight to get away from the misfortunes of his former life but he should have known they’d come to track him down anyway. Marsh was supposed to be supportive and understanding but he couldn’t get himself out of this hole. He stood up angrily and paced around his trailer.
“Well then what in goddamn hell do you want from me Flynn? I can’t help you if you don't tell me what to do.” He knew he was lashing out, that Flynn was just as scared and confused as he was but he felt as if his whole body was floating above him watching this all go down horribly. He no longer had control over himself.
Thank God Rudy had been whimpering in the corner when he felt himself flip over his dining table. Two legs of the table broke in half.
“Jesus fuck!”
Flynn jumped to his feet instinctively, avoiding the table being thrown his way. His heart resumed its mad, frantic pace from earlier as he stared at Marsh. He knew it was a heavy subject, could tell that immediately from the way Lawrence’s spirit had acted around him. But he was also just as confused. “I don’t know,” he said. “Do you think I asked for this, either? I thought maybe just talking to you might make him happy, give him peace or whatever. I don’t know how to handle this situation.”
He tried to calm down, but it was like the confusion had left an opening for Lawrence’s influence to slip through. Without meaning to, Flynn’s expression changed, and he took a step toward the other man. “You can read minds, but you didn’t know enough to think that maybe keeping a loaded gun in your office, the same office where you treat paranoid schizophrenics, was a bad idea?”
Instantly, Flynn froze up, but he couldn’t take back the words that had escaped his mouth. “Marsh,” he said, his throat dry, the name coming out raspy. “I’m sorry, I…”
Whatever fog he’d been swimming in had been pierced by that astute observation. “You don’t think I know that?! I have replayed that day in my head endlessly for the last two years and unless you got a time machine somewhere, ain’t never gonna be able to fix that.” His volume had increased and he wanted nothing more than to cause more damage but his bank account wasn’t equipped to replace everything he owned so he restrained himself.
He was trained in dealing with outbursts like his but in the moment he couldn’t recall a single one. He took a deep breath before finding himself sitting on the couch. When he spoke, his voice was shaky.
“I can’t, Flynn. I can’t see him.”
“You won’t see him,” Flynn answered quietly, still standing and watching Marsh, though his tone and body language was now drained, exhausted, instead of keyed up and angry. “That’s my privilege. You won’t hear him, either.” He paused before adding, “I don’t know who needs the closure more, him or you.” He felt a wave of sadness sweep over him. He couldn’t tell if it was his own, or Lawrence’s.
Lawrence had been a good kid, not unlike Flynn himself. Marsh had even given himself a pat on the back for the progress they had made but his behaviors had slipped for the couple of months leading up to his death and Marsh had a sneaking suspicion he’d been off his meds. “You know what it’s like to hear the thoughts of a paranoid schizophrenic? It’s like two buzzsaws grinding up against each other, you can’t piece two things together when it’s just so noisy.” He stood up from the couch and sighed, making his way over to his front door to open it.
“I think you should leave Flynn.” He appeared calm but his anger and fear was bubbling up beneath the surface and he didn’t want to take it out on Flynn.
“He’s not going to go away.” Flynn swallowed, not making a move toward the door at first. He couldn’t spend any more time with Lawrence around. He’d go crazy. He had no idea what kind of long-term effects could happen from being around the ghost. It wasn’t like he could Google it. But he couldn’t stay if Marsh didn’t want him to. “I’ll leave. But please...try to figure something out. I can’t be stuck with this.” With that, he turned and walked out of the trailer.
He slammed the door behind Flynn and walked into the kitchen to pour a shot of bourbon into a glass. He drank it down and saw his phone on the counter. Picking it up he pulled up his text messages with Shelly and began to type.
Changed my mind about poker. You free?