This Is What I'm Good At {Adopted By @CommanderALFA}

Who's Vorg?

Glad to know he knows how to blink...

I scanned the area. There were chains hanging on the ceiling, and a large steel shelf was on the side of the room, boxes stacked on each shelf. Behind the man in front of me, was a little ammo cache.

I decided to play more of the tricks up my sleeve. "Hey, so...I suppose now isn't a very good time to ask, but...where's the bathroom?"

Both Jack and Merida groaned. "Gods, Hic, really?" Jack said, while Merida said, "Wha' in th' 'ell. Are ya daft?"

The guy in front of us rolled his eyes. "Yer not goin' to the fuckin' bathroom 'ere, boy," he said. "Don' think I don' know wha' yer tryin'."

Okay, so he's smarter than he looks apparently.

"What's your name?" I tried, tilting my head. He squinted his eyes at me suspiciously, and I continued, "Hey, if you know what I'm up to, why would I try anything? I just wanna know your name."

He sighed, closing his eyes, before opening them back up and looking directly at me out of the three of us. "Name's Vorg. Now woul' ya shut up?"

This time I squinted, at the same time tilting my head. "'Vorg'? That name sounds...familiar..." I said. I swear I could recall the name 'Vorg' from when I was younger; those names aren't very common. I don't remember when, but...I could.

I recalled one memory, but it was very vague now. It was in the town park.

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Flashback; 12 years ago

I was around six back then, and my dad took me there for our usual stroll. I wanted to get ice cream, and my dad gave me money to buy some while he sat at a picnic table to watch me.

Back then, he wasn't mayor yet, and we did everything together...

I'd bought the ice cream and began walking back, stopping every now and then to let skaters and bicyclers pass before continuing, when my foot snagged on a small root from a nearby tree, and I tripped, falling to the ground and dropping the ice cream. I saw my dad grip the table as he pushed himself up to walk the rather far distance over to me.

A skateboarder rolled by and stopped beside me, kneeling down to help me up. "Aye lad." He had a Scottish accent like my dad's, though not quite as thick, and looked around 17 years of age. "Ya alrigh'?" he asked, lifting me up by my arm. I nodded, looking at him, then at the ice cream I'd dropped on the ground.

Sad. It was Cookies&Cream too.

He clicked his tongue at the spilled ice cream. "Aw, tha's a shame. Tell ya what, 'ow 'bout I buy ya a new one?" His smile was genuine, despite the fact that he looked rugged with a long scar at the side of his face.

He noticed me staring at it, chuckled, and said, "Ah, that? I fell down an' scraped up ma' face when I wen' skateboardin' once. Bu' le' me tell ya somethin': If ya get knocke' down, whethe' by bullies or misfortune, it hur's mo'e when ya don' ge' up."

He pat my arm and stood up, before walking over to the ice cream stand and getting me the same Cookies&Cream.

My dad came up while the guy was at the stand. "Oh boy-o, are ya alrigh'?" he asked. I nodded, and my dad looked up as the guy came back, a brand new cone of ice cream in hand.

"Aye, wha's yer name, son?" Dad asked. The guy bent down to hand me the ice cream, before standing to face my dad. Now that I could see better, he was around two feet shorter than my dad.