Meet Scratches

<Optionally, bar ambiances>

Buh-huhhh?

What do youuuu want? [hic]

L-learn about...meeee?

[Groan; move to try and snap out of it]

Urrgh. Why, did I do something wrong?

Backstory? Nah....don't got no backstory here...

They call me Scratches, yah. Ssss-on account of the scratches. [hic]

Dunno the old name no more. Mighta been Richard. Mighta been Christopher. Who's to say. Everyone just calls me Scratches anyway.

I...don't care what they call me. I'm nobody 'n nothin'. Scratches it is.

{Pause}

[Hic] So what do you want from me exactly? I got garlic harvests on Friday if youre itchin' to buy.

No garlic. Ssss-fair enough, I-spose.

Wait....urgh....wuzzat? You don't want no garlic? Why-ya even here then...

My backstory. Oh yeah...I ain't...I ain't got one of those planted I don't think...

Me? As a person? I ain't no person...

Just [hic] a long remnant of the past.

{Pause}

Riiiiings?

Oh yeah...I got those...

They're silver, I thinks. Need 'em for a reason but I kinda forget why.

I think I bought 'em....I dunno...

Won't you jusssssh...let me alone? I'd like to forget....

I's guess you can ask one more question. Prolly can't answer it, though.

[Frighteningly lucid] How'd I get the scratches.

Hnnnngh....yknow they've been askin' me that for years, right? Don't want nothin' to say about it.

{Pause}

You're still lookin' at [hic] me like I'm gonna crack.

Don't want nothing to do with what happened. It hurts enough, y'know? Oy Bartend...'Nother six if you would.

<Clattering of new bottles being brought over>

Y'think I like being covered in scars like this? They run deep and painful. Every time I move hurts.

<Beer bottle opening, possibly cap hitting bar counter>

Try not to do it more than I need ta. From head to foot these cover my whole being. Nothin' got spared.

{Pause for drink}

[Hic] Yeeeeeep. That's why I hit this place every night. Nature's best, natural painkiller.

'Ssss-true, though...the pills don't work no more. Never liked em much anyways.

{Pause for drink}

I grow food to keep me sane, I thinks. Garlics, Onions, Peppers...that's all my specialty. Dunno why, honestly. Guess I like to eat em. Pickle em, too. Bar lady likes the little onions in brine and some of the old folks pickle cabbages but I don'ts got much to do with them. {"Typo" intentional; say don't-ss}

Hurts like hell to maintain, but I like to think it does me a wee bit o' good on this earth. 

You oughtta know [hic] by now that this place we're in doesn't have the best food options available. Sometimes you gotta take life into your own hands.

[Getting lost in thought; looking at hands] Yep....life into your own hands...

Uhhh....

[Clearly drunk again] Heys...You got a drink too, whenja get thaaaat?

The whole time? Wow...

Fancy drink for the fancy...

[Slurring] Whatever happened to that loud guy who yells all time...?

[Hic] Well, who are you anyway...?

A traveller...writer...

So you ain't stickin 'round here?

If you uh...promise to not tell the others...maybe I'll relent the tale of ol' Scratches. Deal?

Bartenders both know it. The lady one squeezed it out of me years ago.

Rather [hic] not scare the townsfolk.

Riiiight-io....let's see...

It's easier t' remember if I treat it like it happened to someone else.

{Scratches is unintentionally blurring between use of personals (I/me) and treating himself in third person (Scratches/he/him). His lucidity is declining hard here for the sake of trying to remember details}

Scratches was a strappin' young guy in his...uh, youth. Had some muscle. Had some brains. Might've even had looks, too, I reckon. But social life was never the path for ol' Scratches, nosiree. 

Bah. The call of nature was his true home. Spent weeks, months, and even years out in the ol' wilderness. Big woodland area, forest seems too small to put it. But that place was my home...

Ol' Scratches, er, I guess youngins Scratches had a small cabin, if you could call it that. More like a shack, the thing! Mostly a roof over a cot, and a few bags to hold seeds. Didn't need much more'n that.

Had a few gardens for food. Went huntin' and fishin' for the rest. It was a hard life, but one he loved.

There was only one human Scratches ever met with any form of frequency or trust. A spice merchant from the east, who would travel alone on foot through the forest to the next four cities.

We would sometimes chat while he rested. Eventually, we'd come to the small agreement that he could sleep in the hut-o'-Scratches for the low, low price of a couple of spices and a bag of salt. Preservin' meats 'n such. 

Food was righty tasty. Both of us agreed on that, indeedy. Fun to learn about the world outside every few months, and to share a meal with a friend.

Life this way was good for two years. Stable.

Then...

[Hic] Well, at some point, Ol' Scratches started to have the idea that something was watchin' 'em. Followin' him. Just outta view, be it huntin' or home. Eventually, with careful trapping and sneaky maneuvers, Scratches found them their watcher—a wolf lady. Er...kind of a wolf, kind of a human.

She apparently had taken an interest in Scratches. Wanted to know more about him. His ways. His past. Not one to be rude, they stayed together for a few nights.

But this was no paradise.

The werewolf lady...she...how'd that blasted demon put it. Mated? Imprinted? Onto Scratches. No choice in the matter as 'just a human'.

Moon was coming out more often. Wolf got shakey. Anxious. Paranoid. Most of all though, possessive. Couldn't spend a day outta her sight. Then an hour. Then more than a handful of minutes...with any luck.

Her fears of other humans takin' Ol' Scratches were exceptionally low. Even the merchant wasn't much deemed a threat, though there was a large hostility.

Other wolves, on the other hand...well, now that was a different matter. Needed marked. Signs I was claimed. Big, large scrapes from claws covered my face and neck. Wasn't ideal, and was certainly bloody 'n painful, but not unlivable. Wolf promised Scratches that'd be the end of it.

But...it wasn't. Full moon came round. Was told I had to stay by her at all times to ensure I didn't become food. Who'da thunk it was a lie, right?

Beast came out at night. Gave Scratches a good ol' sniffing, and looked hard at the marks on my face. The wolf, er, the beast part and the human part, were somewhat the same, but...somewhat not.

She knew what Scratches meant to the human part, but found it...oh, it was some big dramatic word to say wrong that I wasn't a wolf either.

I don't know what it takes to make a wolf like that, but scraping and scratching and tearing into every part of his body...it was not the way to do it. The same would repeat the second and third night for the full moon. I dunno how I recovered 'n didn't bleed out. Magic, maybe?

The wounds closed, but [hic] the scars stayed. Mostly made of em now!

[Creaky, off-kilter laugh]

The pain got worse. Not complying to simple demands meant more scars. She was overwhelmingly clingy and pathetically romantic otherwise.

Ol' Scratches had a plan. 

Yessee, the merchant was stopping on his way back soon, and would immediately begin his trek back out because the warm season was ending. He came over like normal, and Scratches put in requests for spices like normal. With one little exception, for an elevated amount of black pepper.

Somethin' to know about them wolves is that they are immune to most spices. Whuzzit called? Cap-say-uh-cin? Cap-sigh-a-cin? [Hic] The stuff that makes things spicy. They eat it right up! But the stuff in black pepper is different. I don't know why it is that way, but it is! The particles are smaller, or somethin'.

Once the merchant returned, we hid the pepper in a hollow tree a bit of the ways away. Then off he went, knowing he should never return because of what Scratches was about to do.

The time was near. Scratches managed to buy some time by setting honey traps under the guise of "needing to be alone to set up hunting traps". Once the wolf-lady returned, she triggered one of the traps and was caught. Then, a large portion of the black pepper bag was released right across her face! With no way to move easily, and a confused sense of smell, Scratches made a break for it! Far, far away. Didn't matter where Scratches went, he just had to make it outta there fast!

<Open a new bottle, take a drink>

Got away and outta the forest, in the end. Stumbled into the farm of some amateur pilot of one of them big ol' air-o-planes. Begged him to fly me anywhere. Took some convincing, but he mighta realized that Scratches was in some danger.

Flew away for a couple hours. No idea where we landed. Didn't even know what part of the country ol' Scratches landed in. But I wandered outward and outward...and eventually made it here to this town! Bartend was nice enough to treat me to a drink...night one. Needed to make my keep eventually. Built me a little shack at the end of the road with trash and broken trees, and no one seemed to much mind. Carved out a farm, and grew what I grew best out in those woods before. Garlic, onions, and shallots! Now me livin's set on growin' the plants and sellin' em off. I think I told ya that much already.

And thems the life of ol' Scratches! Not the most productive of lives, but one I've lived regardless.

I like the quiet now. Close to what I had. The drinks get me back to that place a little bit. Fixed up my shack over time, and it's just like it was back home.

{Pause for listener inquiry}

Well, I did think she'd hunt me down one of these days. Tracking scents and all that. But I figure that takin' that big air-o-plane was enough distance to make it impossible to cover on foot, right? It's been so many years, I'd hope that demon has given up by now. 

I guess I do feel kinda bad, though. She swore up and sideways that our meetin' was the work of fate, err—destiny...err somethin'. Who's am I to go against the law of fate? 

But...I writhe in pain now. Pain I ain't never got if I hadn't met that wolf lady. I try and drink out the memory of it. Maybe's I'll get there someday.

Ough....

{Pause; slouch; sigh}

I reckon thems enough speakin' for awhile, don'tcha think? I've got four bottles left for tonight. I'd like to have 'em in peace if ya don't much mind.

[Oddly sober/direct] Best of luck on your journey, writer.

[Back to drunken self] ...and buy some onions why don'tcha! Best in the county I tell you what! Only ones in the county too! [Sickly cackle]

{Fade out while cackling}

END.