#finktm

[letsdothisko-blog]

“Fink, what do you think you’re doing?” He’s a lot more tolerant of Fink’s mischief than he is of other minions, that much is obvious. However the poor man hasn’t had his coffee and he’s not in the best of moods. Hopefully she can explain herself without him having to send her to her room. The last thing he needs is another tantrum.

@finktm

[greencapitation-blog]

@finktm continuing from  here ----- A swirl of emotions overtook Fern as the monologuing voice zoned in on his insecurities. Anger, distress, and honestly, a bit of fear. Was that voice him? Or was some fear feaster messing with his now grassy brain again? It didn’t sound like the fear feaster. And didn’t that guy get cut up by him.The blade of grass. Whatever? All he could recall was that he killed it somehow, but not when or where. Another thing to chalk up to his fuzzy half-memories. But this voice. It sounded like…Him. At least, a portion of him. A portion of him that always seemed to be there when he spoke or thought. A portion that contributed to every sound he made. Ughhhh. Thinking about that kind of junk made him feel like breaking things.

So, Fern grew the rest of his helmet back on. And took a defensive stance, hoping to catch the voice in the act. And with it, its head. He tried blocking out the stinging words, but even that didn’t help.  He couldn’t identify the source of it. The voice sounded like it was in his head, doing all the nasty work of making him feel awful for him. He wanted to lash out, to slice the source paper-thin, or at least say SOMETHING that could make it stop. But he couldn’t even begin to muster up his self confident persona, and any words he could come up with got stuck in his metaphorical throat, disappearing just before Fern could vocalize a single one.  The voice was right. Even as a knight, he still sucked at everything. Couldn’t even defend himself from some stupid words. 

The more layers of personal existential pain the voice coated him with, the more distressed Fern became. The very grass he was composed of beginning to grow heavier from his back, making a sound similar to the hissing of a snake as it rustled, defying the laws of physics to stand up like the hair on a cornered animal. Similar to those allusions, this was also a defensive mechanism. He couldn’t fight the voices in his head, but he could do his best to wall it off. He just wanted whatever it was to shut up and leave him alone. All it did was remind him just how miserable he was with his existence. He didn’t need any help with that.

Suddenly, he felt something make impact with his shoulder. The source now whispering to him from that position.  The vines and grass extending from his back almost flexed, the ones closest to the voice now feeling the body of it, as Fern seemed to snap out of his self-pitying state. At least enough to slowly turn his head towards the being that had made the mistake of letting him know where it was.   His vines circled around Fink, tightening around her waist, possibly tighter than necessary, but beyond enough to be able to lift her up and dangle her upside down in front of his face.  Fern was visibly glaring at her, an expression the 5 holes in the middle of his helmet managed to replicate perfectly despite not being an actual face. Yeah. He hadn’t taken kindly to that “scare”.