Chapter 15 - A Little Backstory

Scala cracked her neck before starting her exposition.

"Before I became Scala, my name was Robin."

"You chose a different name?" Peter asked.

"I sure did. You didn't?"

"Nope. Couldn't figure out what other name to choose."

"Hm. Anyways, I was born in Texas. No brothers or sisters then, just me and my parents. Kids my age were into dolls and teahouses and all that. Nothing wrong with that. I even joined in on a few tea parties myself. But my interests weren't really in that direction. Nah, what I really loved were the Westerns my dad would watch on the TV. Man, those guys looked so cool! Cigars in their mouths, their dirty clothes, the bullets on their bandoliers, and you can't forget the revolvers! They became a shining example of the kind of people I inspired to be. Dad had to stop me from stealing his cigarettes so I could smoke just like my heroes! Told me if I ever smoked them myself, he'd take away my Westerns."

He could only mutter a simple "Huh..."

"Yeah, I was a crazy kid back then. I'd talk in a drawl, just like them. Every Halloween, it'd be the same ol' cowboy outfit. I'd even do finger guns at school, which got me in some real bad trouble. Of course, my obsession waned off a bit as I grew older, but I never fell out of love with those guys, especially since I found another guy who twirled revolvers."

"What guy?"

"He's from a video game. Had a red beret, two revolvers, worked for the Soviet Union..."

"Oh, that guy."

"Yeah. When I graduated high school, I went to work at a bar. People enjoyed the way I talked, I think. I never did get rid of that accent I had. But then one day, someone tried breaking into my family's home. I grabbed my daddy's gun and went to face them. I managed to get him in the leg, but I wasn't so lucky myself. Five shots. I could feel them all in my body. I think the bastard got my lung too, because it got real hard to breathe. Was coughing real bad. The last thing I remember is my momma calling the cops and my pop's face, trying to tell me everything was going to be alright. It was the first time I ever saw him crying. I miss them still. I wonder if they're still doing good. I hope they are."

Peter didn't know what to say to that.

"Well, that's it for me! How about ya?"

"I'm surprised you're so chipper about it."

"I mean, I can't do much about it. I died, and I'm here, so what's the purpose of moping? Besides, I like to think I'm filling my kid self's dream of being a real cowboy."

"I see. Mine's a little more boring. Not a lot to talk about."

"Well, I'm listening. I can't be hogging all the spotlight, ya know?"

"Ok... where to start?" Peter started tapping his fingers together, trying to think something up. "I'm from SoCal. Grew up in a nice home. My parents were fine. They threw me birthday parties while I grew up. It was nice, I guess."

A moment of silence passed.

"Well, maybe not all that nice. I don't know why, but I just started giving up. I did all my work, but nothing more than that. Started avoiding people. Never joined a club. When I graduated, I went to college. Tried my best, but it went nowhere. I ended up dropping out and coming back home. My parents were furious. Demanded to know why I left. I didn't tell them anything. Ended up just moving out. I drove all across the state, not really knowing where I was going. I ended up in NorCal, found a home and started working, but other than that, I stayed in my room as much as possible. Guess I was pretty lucky. Not a lot of people get to do what I did."

"Hmm. Must've been hard on ya."

"It was just my life back then."

Another moment. "So... how'd ya die?"

"I was outside, at a shopping mall. I didn't really know why. I guess I was tired of keeping myself in my room. I didn't buy anything, I just wandered around the mall for a while, window shopping and all that. But then, when I started walking back, the bridge on me just collapsed. It got blown up. I think it did, anyway - I heard the sound of one when it collapsed."

"Someone blew up the bridge you were on? Jesus, and I thought I was unlucky."

He chuckled. "Yeah, that's kinda funny. My luck carried me all the way through life until it tanked. I never did see the explosion though. I just remember falling and getting crushed by the debris. And then..." He paused, deciding to keep his mouth shut about Hemofemina. "I arrived here. Actually, the first person I saw was her." He pointed over to where the Elf had sat.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I fell unconscious, and she was there when I woke up. Pointed me to a nearby village. Saved me from starving to death."

"Hmm. So what do ya wanna do, now that you're here?"

"I'm not sure. But at the very least, I want to do something with my life here. Something I can say I'm proud of. Something I can say I've done, instead of gone through."

"I see." She grabbed her harmonica again. "Well, you're an Outlander. You're a blood mage, at that. I bet you'll do something incredible... uh..." She tapped her harmonica against her stomach, trying to remember something. "Well, damn, I think I forgot your name!"

"I don't think I've actually told you my name."

"Oh, right. Well, what is it? Your name, I mean."

"Peter."

"Hmm. It's about what I'd expect from a man like you."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Only if you decide it is."

"Only if I decide it is, huh..." Peter muttered to himself as he stared at the sky, falling asleep to the tune of Scala's harmonica playing.