(OOC: Changed forum locations since CD seemed like a better place for this post

Spoiler Warning: This post references the results of the 10/28 Shove-It)

October 29th, 2021 7:52 AM Romania

The townspeople were easier-going on the drive through town. There was less muttering and whispering. Less fear.

Like a burden… a looming shadow... had lifted and their lives would be a hair easier now that this horrible presence had been lifted.

…

...Fucking assholes.

...

The limo once again drove up the narrow, winding road to the dilapidated shack at the top of the hill.

“Isn’t it weird that the only thing separating a limousine from a hearse is the presence of a dead body?”

“Hmm?” NK says, glancing away from the window for the first time this drive.

“A hearse is just a limo that has a dead body in it.”

“Hmm. Yes, Mark Flynn. Interesting.” NK replied, in a way that made it seem like it wasn’t that interesting. His gaze went right back to outside the window.

The limo stopped just outside of the barely-standing shed that Talbot had called his home.

The wind and creaking wood that made the shed moan like a wounded animal was absent. The life that this building had, eerie as it was when Flynn and NK first came upon it, had gone out.

And was no more.

Kato, as always in the driver’s seat, offered to help carry at least one side of the casket but his commander had insisted on bearing the load himself.

It went unsaid but was clear that, despite his disinterest, Mark Flynn would carry the other side.

The trunk popped easily. NK held onto the back of the trunk a few moments staring down at its contents.

The casket was plain. Thin but durable pine wood. And Talbot in his true form, was so small and malnourished, he barely weighed more than the empty casket itself.

…

Still, Flynn and NK hefted the casket with some coordination and lugged it around the shed to the backyard.

As the two made it around the side of the shed, coffin between them, Flynn rubbed the underside of his chin with his free hand.

“We didn’t stick to the isolation plan.”

This time, NK didn’t respond.

“Betsy and Ly are probably going to challenge for a tag title shot since they got the better of us. We would have won if we stuck to the plan. We let ourselves get split off into one-on-one pairings.”

…

“We made the same mistake against the Bastards. We’re developing bad habits.”

...

“Isolation is how we beat Dolly & LSM.”

…

“Gotta get back to our roots.”

…

The awkward silence went prodded, but remained unbroken as the pair rounded the side of the shack and made it to the back.

A small garden of small turnips, mis-shapen radishes. Cabbage with drooping, unhealthy leaves, sitting in poorly set rows… Barely clinging to life before their caretaker died.

Talbot seemed an unskilled but passionate farmer. A farmer out of necessity, of course, one out of ostracization.

But, it seemed somewhere along the line, he’d started to take some pride in his work. The fence posts around his root vegetables were uneven and poorly rooted, but clearly took an amount of time to set into the earth.

He had managed to gather an amount of soil into broken pots to set up a few flowering shrubs… Pots partially chipped and cracked, just like the collection of mugs he had offered Flynn and NK when they first entered his home. But, still, an amount of life had sprouted in his makeshift nursery.

Thanks to Talbot’s work, the ground was surprisingly soft. He must have tilled the soil regularly. Which made digging a hole using Talbot’s spade, sitting against his back door, less difficult than either man originally anticipated.

The two set the coffin down just beyond where the plants grew.

Before Flynn could offer to split the digging work, NK had already walked to the backdoor, grabbed the shovel and began to dig…

…

“We didn’t have the right team chemistry, either. We could have used more warm-up. More practice. We would have had them easily if we could have worked more with Lar-…”

NK twists his face upwards, stopping mid-dig to look Flynn in the eyes.

Flynn takes pause. He considers how to present his thought carefully.

“...We had a real chance late in the match. We had Drac in a bad way when you were knocked out. If we had paired together instead of… our partner dragging him off to fight one-on-one.”

Flynn scratches his head, frustrated.

“It all goes back to the isolation play. The plan fell apart.”

Flynn gets a little fiery, thinking about the way things played out.

“The plan was rock-solid and we just didn’t execute. It’s so easy spur-of-the-moment to go with the flow and try to work off-the-cuff, but the plan was good!”

…

“You know?”

…

Flynn looks over at NK, who has turned back to the task at hand, digging.

…

After a few short minutes, the hole is deep enough for the job. NK stands at the bottom of the hole about six feet deep.

Flynn leans forward to offer a hand. NK takes it wordlessly and they work jointly to raise the Korean out of the hole.

The two then split back to their sides of the coffin and carry it over the makeshift grave plot.

They both bend at the knee, then squat into a crawl to ease the casket as gently into the plot as possible.

It does make a gentle thud on the way to terra firma, but the sound is muffled by the softness of the earth.

With the casket placed, Flynn looks over at NK, who walks to the foot of the grave. He stands back and reaches into a pocket hidden in his right sleeve. His bubble level.

He squats down and measures the level of the grave’s edge… The bubble slowly swivels back and forth. Before coming to rest dead-center.

“...Hmm. Acceptable.”

He silently weaves the level back into his sleeve and stands straight-up, looking down at the grave.

Flynn awkwardly shuffles over and stands beside his partner.

He stares down where NK is looking, right at the casket. Mostly because it feels like the thing they’re doing right now.

…

…

“Uh… Looks great. Very... Respectful.”

“Thank you, Mark Flynn.”

…

…

“Should we… go now?”

“I’ve read in Central Command’s documentation on American funerals that it is customary after the burial for those present to say a few words about the deceased.”

Flynn… chews his bottom lip.

“...Yeah. People... tend to do that.”

…

…

…

“So... do you... want us to do that?”

“Yes.”

“...Great, fine.”

…

...

“Would you like to say anything, Mark Flynn?”

Flynn… sighs. Not out of exasperation, but of discomfort and obligation.

“...Yeah, fine. Okay, sure. Yeah.”

Flynn, because he’s seen other people do it, takes one step forward. One closer to the grave.

“See. Lawrence Talbot was a… He was a…”

Flynn looks around the field. He sees the wilted barren landscape that lay just a few yards south of Talbot’s garden. The gnarled and twisted weeds, the dry and lifeless stumps of wood. Out in the distance, the waves of the Romanian coast, brutally and mercilessly slamming against the cliffside. Then, Flynn glanced back at the house at what little life Talbot had cultivated back on his land.

And suddenly, what little Talbot had done seemed miraculous.

Flynn chewed on his tongue a moment longer.

“...Larry was… Probably a bad wrestler.”

Flynn lets out a short laugh, then sucks air on the bitterness of that comment.

“Like most of us are starting out.”

“His record was 0-1.”

“He didn’t have many allies, and the ones that he did have either let him down or died. Or both.”

“Life hadn’t dealt Larry an easy hand. A fuckin’ werewolf curse, a pacifist and a fuckin’ vegan when he wasn’t covered in fur.”

Flynn chuckles, thinking about this bizarre combination of traits.

“I can say, I’ve met a lot of quirky oddballs in my career. And I’ve never met anyone like Larry.”

Flynn nods, acknowledging the truth of his own statement, dry-swallowing that fact before it could hang in his throat.

“And I can’t imagine I ever will again. And that’s… tragic.”

Flynn nods again somberly before exhaling deeply, relieved that he’s sort of accidentally elegantly found an exit to this eulogy.

He takes a step backwards beside NK.

…

…

…

Flynn looks over at NK, who hasn’t looked away from Talbot’s casket.

“Uh, was that… fine?”

”Quite sufficient.”

Flynn nods, relieved.

…

…

Flynn looks awkwardly pained, not exactly sure how to end this exercise. Maybe reflecting the offer back?

...

“Do you want to… take a turn now?”

NK nods.

He takes a step forward.

And salutes towards the grave.

He holds the salute.

Then, he walks over to the shovel and resumes refilling the plot.

Flynn squints.

“Uh… NK?”

NK looks over again, accommodatingly.

“Did you want to… say anything?”

NK looks astonished, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Oh! Um. I suppose I could, Mark Flynn.”

He sets the shovel down for a second and then stands up straight and looks down at the coffin.

NK ponders this challenge. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves his notebook, shuffling through pages.

“Is there a list of things one should say in this circumstance?”

Flynn clicks his tongue, helpless as to what anyone is supposed to do during shit like this.

“Uh. I think you just say what’s on your mind. Maybe a fun story about the… the deceased.”

NK smiles, recognizing the challenge all-at-once.

“Aha! An anecdote!”

“...Sure, yeah.”

NK clears his throat, immediately prepared to recite, his notebook still in-hand.

“Lawrence Talbot once devoured an entire holy wizard in four seconds flat! As we rode his shoulders like a stallion!”

Flynn cackles, delighted.

“Hell yeah he did!”

“Lawrence Talbot also seemed committed to teamwork! When I… uh.. Stumbled and tripped mid easily lifting a catatonic Mark Flynn, Lawrence Talbot carried the weight in my temporary, non-permanent inability! Which is exactly the vision of our Glorious Leader. Working together to aid those in moments of weaknesses to carry the larger goals of the nation.”

Flynn bites his tongue, but shrugs.

“I dunno about the vision of True Korea crap, but… Yeah, he could sure lift the fuck out of stuff.”

“...Lawrence Talbot didn’t deserve to die.”

“Hear, hear.”

“But he said he wanted to die.”

“...Yeah.”

“But I don’t know if he did want to die.”

...

...Flynn walks over and rests a hand on NK’s shoulder… comfortingly? Trying to be comforting?...Other people do this to be comforting?

“...He was pretty adamant, bud. He had asked for it right at the end.”

“Yes, he did.”

…

“...Anything else?”

…

“I don’t think so.”

…

“Okay, let’s… let’s wrap this up, then.”

Flynn grabs the shovel from beneath NK and starts to dig earth back onto the plot…

NK stares down at the grave a few moments longer, still holding his notebook in his grip.

“Mark Flynn.”

Flynn looks up, but is eager to stop being part of this funeral so he doesn’t stop digging.

““Yeah, NK?”

“Did Lawrence Talbot let us down?”

...

Flynn stops digging.

“Uh… No. I’d say no. He was a rookie. He did all right for his first go-around. The stakes were high, but he did pretty good. He came out swinging and gave as good as he got.”

NK nods, satisfied by that answer.

Flynn sighs in relief, then goes back to digging, very nearly done.

“And did we let Lawrence Talbot down?”

KERACK!

…

Suddenly, the wooden handle of the spade snaps at the head… The metal comes to sit on top of the earth as the wood length rests in Flynn’s hands.

Flynn squints at NK, hanging on how to process that question.

Flynn stares NK dead in the eye. What the fuck does that mean? Is it an accusation? A snide comment? An attempt to share guilt?

As Flynn peers into NK’s soul, he sees in NK, a genuine curiosity.

Flynn sighs and throws away the stick.

“...I dunno, man. We tried to do right by Larry.”

Flynn scratches the back of his head.

“We did the best we could. Left it in the ring. Sometimes that’s all you can do and you just come up short.”

NK nods, accepting this answer before jotting down that answer in his notebook.

NK then leans down and pushes a mound of dirt onto the last gap in Talbot’s plot…

Before standing up, dusting his knees, and walking back towards the limo.

Flynn is all-too-eager to join him in leaving.

“Mark Flynn?”

“Yeah, NK?”

“I don’t think I care for Romania.”

“...Yeah.”

“Fuck this place.”