You had to get out. You couldn’t stand it anymore. Every day, the same damn thing. Walking around the stony floors, hearing your footsteps echo off the stony walls, watching the light shine through cracks in the stony ceiling… it’s enough to drive a man crazy. Not that you need any help in that department. They didn’t shove you into the ranks of the Asylum and leave you there for nothing. Nope, you’re a bona fide addict. Or… you’re trying to be. Kind of hard when the stupid DARKNESS has swallowed everything. Not that you’re bitter or anything. Nope, not bitter at all.

As you step outside the cavern you can’t help but feel like the day is mocking you. Your body is just starting to adjust to the limited amount of locoweed and this rebirth into the mainland is like reliving your detoxification all over again. The sun makes you squint and gives you a headache. The cool autumn breeze makes you shiver. The transition from rock to grass makes you slip. Even the cold sweats are there, as you look around nervously in anticipation of some wraith coming to attack you. But, just like with detox, all symptoms fade in time, and eventually you are left in the autumn air to just be Oxy.

Still, as well as your body is adjusting- to detox and the autumn weather- your brain is not. The plants aren’t just some play toy for you. They’re not simply there so you have an excuse to be an asshole. You’re definitely a jerk without them. No, without the plants, you’re something far worse- a man with memories he doesn’t want. They plague you day and night, hidden images you never wanted to return. They make you cringe, moan and groan. And you try so hard to fight them off, but your companion, seemingly hell bent on making your life even more miserable, often repeats the memories she has seen in your mind, bringing them back full force.

For the most part, in punishment, you keep the boggart shoved in your shoulder bag, flap shut tight, a little monster hidden away in the darkness. You’re still convinced there’s nothing good about her except for that she irritates Ampere. But is it really worth it? You’re beginning to think not but it doesn’t matter what you think. Even if you open your bag to let the boggart float about, she won’t go away. You’ve told her to leave, even; that her purpose is fulfilled. But you sense a determination within her- something you don’t understand. Whatever it is, she won’t go. Stupid thing.

A battle cry breaking the silence of the autumn air catches your attention and you suddenly forget your worries. Like Pavlov’s dogs, you are trained. The battle cry is your dinner bell; the familiar itch to destroy is your saliva. You pick up a trot, head towards the origin of the sound, and when you see her all you can do is bark out a nasty noise that almost resembles a word. “YOU!” Elsa might simply take it as some weird form of recognition, but it goes so much deeper than that. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before. The gentlest prod from your companion’s mind sends you whirling back down memory lane, even as your hooves begin to churn into a canter.

In your head, you see Kellian, a familiar face so long gone you thought she would never return. But there she is anyways, a perfect replica of Elsa, save the little snowflake marking. A cremello quarter horse with big wings, just a little big shorter than you, and accents all along her body, although Kellian’s were green instead of blue. Close enough. She was supposed to be a friend. She was supposed to be there for you and… Some friend she turned out to be.

Then there is poor Elsa, caught in the crossfire of your hate-fueled memories. This is why you need the drugs, to bury away these painful thoughts that resurface every chance they get. With no regard for your safety, you crash toward her, aiming for her left side, if she doesn’t move. You don’t even plan, you simply run. Screw the wings, screw her hooves, you are an avalanche of hate on this sunny day, intent on smothering the mare in her beloved snow. For good measure, when you think you’re close, you reach to the left with an open mouth, trying to bite her neck, or anything else within reach. Your addled mind has begun to mingle Elsa and Kellian into one, to forget there is a larger war effort going on, that you should not mangle the poor girl or yourself to death. You want revenge. Let her suffer.

Words: 798
Post: 1/3
OOC: Now you wait for somebody to roll dice for us in our rolling thread (I made it for us). You’ll base your response on how much damage is dealt to Elsa.