maybe i could stop but i won't;

[obscurissime]

Who: Scratch and Alan Wake (closed).
What: Alan get some unexpected help.
When: Tail-end of September when shit hits the fan.
Where: Milton, likely around Basin Overlook.

Content Warnings: Alan and Scratch NPC murder, violent intentions, etc.



Scratch had been having a great time until that asshole cowboy shot him. In hindsight, he should have been more self-aware in the moment. Of course guns and shit can hurt him here, and he should probably consider himself lucky that it was just a thigh-shot.

Raylan, however, should be counting the days until Scratch finds a way to dissect him.

While his joy has been dampened, he's still doing his part to contribute to the chaos. When in Rome, right? And he realizes he hasn't seen Alan around much since this began. Of course, he's been distracted, but it'd be bad manners not to check in on the moron across the street. Maybe goad him a bit, make Alan really feel some fear, maybe finally put an end to him ...

Except, no. This isn't really the time or the place. Alan's death needs to have some purpose, not just be another death in a string of mayhem. And Alan might still be his way out of here. So annoying. He can still make Alan's time a bit shittier, though.

He slips his knife into his pocket and grabs his trusty axe, then saunters his way across to Alan's cabin.

Comments

[lightschampion]

Alan wasn't naive enough to expect that life would be peaceful here. It wasn't a vacation, it was a fight for survival. Even so, those of them deemed "interlopers" seemed to work together more often than fight over what supplies and resources they could find like rabid dogs. Some kind of peace, if a tad uneasy.

Which is why when everything went to shit, he didn't have much time to prepare.

He only knew so much about how people in this world operated. Didn't fully understand what factions were involved, and truthfully, didn't really care. That could be a later problem once he was situated with enough supplies to feel as if he wasn't going to starve or freeze to death within the month. Later came sooner than he expected.

The writer still barely knows what's going on, but the undeniable fact is that people are dying. Some kind of war had broken loose, and it didn't matter if he considered himself involved in it. Not when bodies and blood littered the snow and flames licked up the sides of buildings uncomfortably close to the cabin he now called home.

His first instinct is to get the hell out of dodge. This isn't his war. He isn't going to risk his life for a fight he's not part of. Better to lay low until it's all blown over. But when he starts packing, his gaze falls under a slightly crumpled newspaper article still sitting on a table. One about Logan Anderson...

Fuck.

It's the guilt, probably, of being a selfish asshole that makes him stay. Makes him try to help the townspeople, get them somewhere safe, or help them take down their attackers. It's been a while since he properly put thought into the safety of anyone but himself and Alice, but he has enough guilt eating at him without adding to it by letting people die when he could try to prevent it.

He runs out of ammo before he realizes it. He'd only taken so much, not wanting to completely squander a precious resource on one fight, but it seems he's underestimated things. And so, he starts making his way back to his cabin, aiming to grab some more.

Exhausted as he is, the roar of battle still around him, he doesn't see or hear the Forest Talker making his way behind him.

[obscurissime]

Alan doesn't see the Forest Talker, but Scratch does. For a second, it's almost like watching something from back home. The Forest Talker seems so much like one of the Taken, singularly focused, clutching an ax in his hands. How many situations like this has he created just to wipe out Alan?

And then there's a spark of anger. This isn't a Taken, this isn't an extension of himself. This is someone else, and they're trying to take away Scratch's joy of ending Alan himself.

Fuck that.

"Hey!" And because he doesn't trust Alan to do anything except stop and look at him, he points. "Behind you!"

Hopefully that will buy him some time to close the distance, his injury keeping him from moving as fast he'd like to.

[lightschampion]

What-- His eyes narrow in on the nearby figure yelling out to him. Wonderful, just what he needed right now. Alan's hand moves to his gun, trying to get across that he's not completely helpless.

Scratch doesn't need to know he's out of bullets.

"Fuck off, I'm not falling for that!" he yells back. Does the Herald really think Alan's going to fall for the oldest trick in the book? Really, he's surprised that Scratch is already at the bottom of the barrel for creativity.

[obscurissime]

Jesus Christ, why is Alan such an idiot -

At least his shouting also caught the attention of the Forest Talker, slowing him down for a moment before he goes back to focusing on his task at hand: murder.

Scratch swears under his breath and pushes through the discomfort in his leg. Once he's sure Alan's not in the way, he throws his own axe, which by sheer luck hits the assailant with the sharp end.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Yeah, Alan, Scratch is berating you for not paying attention to your surroundings. Don't think about it too much. Scratch catches up and frees his axe from the struggling Forest Talker and brings it down on him again.

[lightschampion]

It's a good thing that Alan dodges in the correct direction and not into the trajectory of the axe. When he hears it make a meaty thunk behind him, he quickly spins, nearly slipping on the snow as he sees a body fall to the ground.

...shit, he was actually right.

"That coming from you?" he all but growls, less disturbed than he frankly ought to be at seeing Scratch hit the man with an axe again.

[obscurissime]

There's a few more unhinged hacks, just to make sure the asshole is good and dead, and when Scratch stands up properly again he runs a hand over his hair to smooth it down. There are no hair products here, and no real way to cut it, and he's on his way to looking more and more like Alan does now, but smoothing down his hair lets him settle himself a bit.

"Hey, I just saved your ass."

Show some gratitude, eesh!

[lightschampion]

It's definitely about to hit the point of overkill, which wouldn't surprise him. Honestly, he's a bit shocked Scratch hasn't taken the time to completely mangle the body. Something's clearly wrong.

"It's me who usually needs the saving from you," he points out. For what it's worth, the man in question hasn't put a knife in his chest yet, which is already a bit suspicious. Not that Alan's complaining about getting to live another day, however.

[obscurissime]

"Next time I'll just let you get taken down by some small-town hick. Jesus."

Not that there's any reason he'd expect Alan to be thankful, the lack of thanks is annoying Scratch enough that he thinks, at least, about putting that axe through Alan next.

"Aren't you supposed to be better at this self-preservation shit?"

[lightschampion]

"I come back when I die in the Dark Place. Not that I like dying, but there's some amount of grace given there. Still getting used to the whole one chance thing I'm suspecting I have here," he explains, even if he feels he doesn't have to.

As he talks, his gaze moves down to Scratch's leg. He'd noticed that he was limping when making his way over to him, and...

"Did you get shot?"

[obscurissime]

It's a good thing looks can't kill, because Alan would wither and shrivel under the unamused gaze that Scratch gives him. It seems like Alan's not the only person that has to get used to the permanency of injury around here.

"Un-fucking-fortunately," he says, huffing out an annoyed breath at the memory.

[lightschampion]

"Tell me who did it so I can buy them a drink," he says simply as he looks closer. It doesn't seem to be anything deadly, judging by the amount it was (or rather, wasn't) bleeding, but he knows that Scratch isn't out of the woods just yet. The potential for infection was one that he severely doubts the entity had ever dealt with before.

Part of Alan wants to just leave it be, hope the bastard gets septic and rots. It'd solve no small number of his own problems. And yet...

"...come on. Follow me, and don't try to finish the job of what that guy tried to do to me," he mutters, turning around and starting to lead him to his nearby cabin.

[obscurissime]

"Ha ha ha."

He rolls eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't roll out of his head, but it's easily replaced by another generally annoyed look. He thinks he did a reasonable job with it. He got the bullet out, he wrapped it up in some cloths. No big deal.

But he has to admit that it's blatant curiosity that makes him decide to actually follow Alan.

"Don't give me a reason to," he mutters back.

[lightschampion]

"Isn't my existence usually enough for you to?"

Let Scratch have the last word? Never.

It's a blessedly short walk back into the cabin, and Alan shuts and locks the door behind them. Not that it's much protection right now from those outside trying to kill them, but every little bit counts. After shrugging his coat off, he starts to dig through some of his small stash of medical supplies, fetching what he thinks might help for now.

"Get a fire going," he calls out behind him. "And...I can't believe I'm saying this sentence, but take off your pants."

[obscurissime]

Scratch flips him off. He's not going to be bossed around by Alan of all people - at least not in regards to the fire. If Alan doesn't like the cold, then Alan can start a fire.

"Not even gonna buy me dinner first, huh?"

He undoes the fly of the stupid denim jeans he's forced to wear around here, starting to shimmy out of them.

[lightschampion]

While he's not sure the first aid kit is meant for a wound like Scratch's, it'll have to do. It's the best Alan has managed to salvage so far from this place. And he's not terribly keen on using said scarce supplies on his worst enemy (well, he's not sure how Scratch ranks against the Dark Presence, it's a bit of a tie), but...

"I'm not the biggest fan of myself as you know, but I'd at least like to think I have better taste than you," he grumbles back. The writer puts the kit on a nearby table before going over to the fireplace, working in a now practiced motion to light it now that he sees Scratch is going to be naturally useless.