"Oswalds's Obsession"
by General Havok
Oswald pranced and floated around his parlour, admiring himself in the mirror whenever he could. The perfectly embroidered dress trailed on the floor as he flounced around the dimly lit closet he liked to think was his. He sighed, and as he did so, the seams creaked under immense stress from his tubby belly; their splitting was imminent. Oswald put on his gruffest voice and took up a manly stance (despite still wearing the dress).
"Fairest Gonerill, woulds't thou give me the pleasure of your company this fine eve?" Oswald hurriedly ran over to the other side of the room, the dress trailing and straining under the pressure of his obese little body.
"It would be an honour my beloved Oswald," said he in a most effeminate voice, which he had practised every night, and liked to think he had gotten down to a fine art.
Oswald sighed again, and upon hearing a peep of a ripping sound, he heaved in his chest and stomach, holding his breath; his face turning a deep shade of scarlet, due firstly to the lack of air, and secondly of the embarrassment that the dress didn't fit. He fumbled for the fasteners with his chunky fingers at the back of the garment and undid the hooks; he then let out his breath and wheezed considerably as he did so. Carefully he slipped out of the dress, and laid it neatly out on his bed. He ran his fat hands with perfectly manicured nails down the seams, checking for damage, and found none.
"Oh dearest Gonerill," exhaled Oswald as he slumped and fell back onto his bed. He lay staring at the ceiling with a pathetic seeking in his eyes. He heard a knock at his door, and with a thud he sprang to his feet. He hurriedly pulled on his robes and went to the door, not before the caller knocked once more.
"I'm just coming!" He called still stuck in the effeminate voice, he coughed and repeated in a more rugged manner, and opened the door.
Cordelia stood in the corridor before him, looking perfect as usual. Oswald resented Cordelia with a passion. She was the cause of much of Gonerill's stress and fury, and when Gonerill came to him with her feelings of despair towards her sister, he would wait on her with baited breath, ready at her disposal whenever she needed him, although it didn't take a sibling tiff for him to want for her.
Cordelia shook a puzzled expression from her face at the realisation of the voice she had first heard, and swiftly replaced it with the disgruntled one she had had prior to her initial response from Oswald.
"Gonerill wants you. She say's she won't talk to me directly and wants you to be the go-between." Cordelia's hands rested firmly on her hips, and had all the airs of a little madam.
"As my lady wishes," was Oswald's reply, which was said shakily as he was desperately suppressing the excitement that had built in him.
Cordelia turned and stormed back along the hallway, and despite her having a fragile little body, the stomping reverberated throughout the whole hall ridiculously loudly. For Oswald, this was a sign that something was seriously wrong.
He turned back into his room, and leaned against the door, his hands clasped at his heart. "She wants me," he whispered. He waltzed away from the door and he picked up the dress, dancing with it, until he closed his eyes, tripped over the corner of the bed and flew straight into the full-length mirror he had been previously admiring himself in, letting out a girlish wail. He stumbled to his feet, and expected the dress once more, and with much despair, he noticed a minor tear in the front panel of the bodice. A lump developed in his throat, brought on not only be the guilt that it was his dress in the first place, and then by the fact that it was Gonerill's and how he could have been to so careless as to ruin what was a most sacred garment (in his eyes). Tears began to stream down his plump cheeks and through his curly beard, and her held the dress to his chest.
"Fairest Gonerill, a mark on thy dress is like a mark on thyself. How could I be so inhuman and careless." As he sobbed, her laid down the dress on the bed again, and caressed it. Upon reaching the hole he had made, he closed his eyes, broke down and sobbed.
"No! I must be strong; I must regain my composure! My Gonerill is in trouble and I must go forth and save my beloved!" At this, he stood and heaved up his chest, in a weak attempt to look manly and heroic. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, gave a sniff and headed for the door.
Oswald reached the banqueting hall where he could hear the screaming and wailing that came from within and that he had been hearing since he left his room, causing him to waddle in a most unattractive manner, which did not hasten his progress, only his heavy, garish breath.
"Hold on my Gonerill, Oswald is here."
Oswald entered the room and stood aghast at what was before him. Cordelia had Gonerill by the hair and was tugging and pulling at her usually perfect locks. Gonerill was reconciling by clawing away at Cordelia's dress, which now looked like rags in comparison to what she was wearing when she arrived at Oswald's room shortly before.
"You freak of nature, I didn't take it!"
"Well, I spoke to Regan and she didn't take it, and I don't imagine Daddy would have now would you?" Gonerill's blatant sarcasm obviously wasn't taken kindly to
as she let out a squeal, caused by a swift sharp boot to the shin from Cordelia.
"Oswald, come here!"
Oswald stood mesmerised, having become engrossed by the two extremely attractive women, one of which being the woman he obsessed over, grappling at each other.
"Oswald!" Gonerill screamed, as Cordelia's grip tightened on her ruffled black mane. Upon hearing his name, he snapped out of his fixated gaze, and came to attention.
"Yes milady?"
"Tell Cordelia she's an odour from the lower belly of hell!" To this Cordelia scoffed and tugged at Gonerill, which was immediately reciprocated by the tearing of another seam in Cordelia's gown.
"Oh yeah! Well, tell Gonerill that she's got a nose like a plague boil and that I hope her festering skin decays and rots to the viscous jelly which she already contains in that skull she calls a brain!"
Gonerill and Cordelia scuffled around, and eventually after much swaying about and bashing into walls, they fell to the floor, and began wrestling it out.
"Just come clean Cordelia, and tell me what I already know!"
"I wouldn't want your stinking dress in the first place, and even if I did take it, you think I'd be stupid enough to take it and get caught?!"
"Dress milady?" By now Oswald's face had once again turned deep scarlet with the realisation of what was going on.
"Yes Oswald, my dress is missing. The one Eddie gave me! My beloved Edmund!"
In the brief moments that Gonerill's grip slackened, Cordelia escaped and jumped to her feet, holding her attack stance, with wide and aware eyes, ready to pounce again if need be.
"That bastard Edmund," muttered Oswald under his breath, as he clenched and unclenched his plump fists.
Gonerill pulled herself up from the floor and rearranged herself in a meagre attempt to replenish her composure.
"Oswald, did you perchance see the fiend of which we speak of?"
Gonerill towered above Oswald's stout little figure, and her strong visage looked straight into the beady eyes of Oswald's face.
"N-n-n-o milady, I would be sure to enlighten thee if I had come across it." His body trembled as her glare hardened and perspiration began to bead on his brow.
"Are you sure?"
"Y-y-y-e-n-n-o…" Oswald broke down and clung to Gonerill's waist, wailing like a pathetic child, whilst Gonerill screamed with disgust and attempted to prise him off her. All the while, Cordelia stood back with a look of utter smug contentedness.
"I took the dress," he sobbed as Gonerill persistently bashed and battered at his podgy body.
"Get off me, you vile pest!" At this Oswald loosened his grip and Gonerill, filled with rage and fury, shoved at him, sending him on his back. "Bring forth the stocks!"