I Have a Problem

“Hello, I’m Muckface.”

A round of lowly mumbles made its way around the torchlit wooden chamber where meetings of Problems Privately group session were held, “Hello, Muckface.”

“Uh, well, I ogre,” he gestured at his form, “and I problem.”

The moderator of this session, Bubblegums, a chipmunk in a purple, pointed hat with soft, chestnut-colored fur that sparkled, spun in the seat of her chair among the members and nodded. “This is a safe space, Muckface. You can talk to us.”

Muckface was an unremarkable ogre as far as ogres go. Barely nine feet tall, a mane of wispy black hair stretching from his head to his shoulders, a single fang protruding up from his massive underbite with the mark of his clan— the Headdrinkers—  branded on his forehead— an almost-complete circle with various wavy lines pouring out of the opening.

“Think,” Muckface covered his face with his enormous hands, “Think Muckface racist.”

 Gasps shot from around the circle at the Briarwood Community Centre. Father Gionardo Bertucci, a turtle the size of a horse in a cowboy hat glanced from side to side.

“What makes you say that, Muckface?” Bubblegums asked pointedly.

Muckface took a deep breath and composed himself, “Well, when we out do.."

“When you ‘out do?’’” Bubblegums interjected, inching to the edge of her chair.

“Yeah, when we out do,” Muckface looked around, mostly unaware, “eat baby and big baby.”

The group signed unanimously, relieved by the relatively normal nature of Muckface’s tidbit. Ogres ate humans, that’s just how it was. Children were even easier to nab.

“Late, I be eat….other thing.” Muckface admitted, a swatch of pink appearing beneath his pale-green skin.

“Other things?” Bubblegums asked, growing concerned. “What ‘other things?’”

“Like, I, I don’t. Know.” Muckface shrugged and sheepishly rubbed his neck. “ Maybe I try some.. scat.”

A small commotion broke out amongst the room. Bubblegums quietly ruminated over this information. “Please, everyone, let’s keep it down. It’s Muckface’s time.” Bubblegums began to glow brilliantly as a display of authority, levitating from the chair. The room restored to order. “Muckface, just to be clear, you’re eating scat?”

Muckface slid down in his chair. “Ya. It good. It all where. Scat big, small scat. Scat crunchy and nice smell. Scat give lot energy! Scat friendly. No drama. Scat come right up to Muckface.”

A wave of confusion spread through chamber, the nine members silent as they very badly wanted to meet Muckface in the middle, but this was even worse than the time that Demon Lord admitted he was afraid of the dark.

Bubblegums, tiny head tilted, took a long pause, watching Muckface as the ogre failed to meet eyes the other members in hopes of finding approval. There was none. Muckface was facing shame in a place where he thought for sure it would not follow.

In an attempt to restore some levity to the situation, Bubblegums turned to Muckface and said, “Muckface, even if you are eating,” Bubblegums winced slightly, “scat. It doesn’t mean you are racist. That’s not what racist means.”

Muckface burst out in emotion, “Well then what wrong with Muckface?! Muckface made to feel bad by Fleshwretch and Pussblood. Say Muckface not real ogre. That Muckface fake and dumb. Tiny in skull. But Muckface just different. Try new thing. What wrong with Muckface try new thing?!”

The group fell silent. Bubblegums tried to level with the ogre, “Muckface, you can’t let your flaws define you. I mean, Riolato over there,” Bubblegums gestured at a pale, lanky elf in rune-laden red robes, “a group of low-level adventuring dwarves beat him so severely, then took his belongings, that he refuses to look down anymore. He just won’t. Nothing below three feet or so. That’s why he’s wearing those ridiculous glasses.”

Riolato, with a polite smile and simple wooden-frame glasses, waved. The lens’ were blacked out completely on the bottom half, and there was a contraption that held his head completely still, focused forward, unable to rotate. “Nothing good below here!” He tapped on his glasses.

Bubblegums become more energized, “And Hubert,” she pointed, “Hubert likes to make potions out of his own urine.”

Hubert was a slopping-wet human (apparently) that had deep, dark bags around his eyes and skin you could trace his veins through. His jet black hair fell unevenly over his head, across his eyeline, and an uncomfortable grin never left his face. It was impossible to tell if he was in discomfort or pleasure. He held up his hand and then waved by folding each of fingers down, one by one, nodding slowly, then opened his black leather coat to reveal rows and rows of vials of varying sizes, each filled with their own shade of yellow. “Urine is pure.”

Muckface sniffled, adjusting in his chair as it creaked. “But, why do feel so bad? Wrong. Like inside stone. Muckface just try to be self. Some day feel like no wake up. No more Muckface. No more I. Not worth time.”

When it seemed like all hope was lost for Muckface, like he’d be destined to sink further into shame, came a blazing beacon of hope. Brad, the human. Brad found himself sat directly across from Muckface, desperately trying to make himself disappear, afraid of drawing the wrath of the ogre who feasted on his kind; even in light of the neutrality agreements of the Problems Privately Accords that were accepted unilaterally throughout the entire plane of Windswere. It was Brad. Brad the humble farmhand. Brad. All five feet six inches. Brad. Acne-scarred and visibly uncomfortable in his own skin. Our hero raised his finger and scooted forward, clearing his throat, “Um, Muckface,” the entire room shot to find this high-pitched noise emanating from somewhere in the circle, "does scat… say anything? Make any sounds?”

Muckface’s posture straightened, his face brightening. He leapt from his chair and wobbled into the center of the circle, his shadow falling over Brad in his entirety. “Ya! Scat do! Scat say so much to Muckface!”

Bubblegums, riding the line between growing increasingly concerned with the information that scat spoke to Muckface and intrigued by Brad’s interjection, needed more information. “What does scat say to you, Muckface?”

Muckface froze, all eyes upon him, as all ogres do when tasked with thinking harder than usual. The memories were flooding his mind as he determined how to accurately replicate the sounds. Hubert rocked quietly to himself, nodding, thumbing the grooves along one of his piss-jars as he waited with bated breath, a slick layer of moisture smothering him.

“Well, it like…” the ogre pawed at his own throat, eyes lost in the distance, “It hard explain. But. Kind like…” Muckface lowered himself to the ground on his hands and knees, an enormous figure of muscle and flesh and hair and scars that filled up nearly the entire area of the inside of the circle. He bobbed his head up and down as if preparing to either vomit or speak. Some of the members scooted backwards in their chairs, unsure of what to expect, afraid this may be some sort of mating ritual. But then, in the absolute silence of the moment, as the torches illuminating the room seemed to freeze and heartbeats slowed to molasses, it happened.

Muckface let out the gentlest, sweetest, tiniest little “meow” as he looked Brad—dear Brad— deep within his eyes, their souls on full display to one another. Then, Muckface turned to Riolato, his face somewhere between a grimace and a smile, and let out another. “Mrrrow.” Muckface spun on all fours around the room, teeing-up perfectly replicated cat sounds to each member of the group with the utmost determination and passion. As the ogre ended on Bubblegums, he stood again, but this time, taller.

Bubblegums, aghast and, ultimately, relieved, tried to open her mouth but could not find the words immediately. After a brief moment of collecting her thoughts while the rest of the members waited, she nodded quietly to herself. “Muckface, thank you.”

The ogre genuinely smiled, “Welcome.”

The small chipmunk wizard turned to Brad next, “And thank you, Brad.”

Brad seemed to mumble something like “Yacm…” or “Napbam…”

“Muckface, you’ve simply misunderstood. Or, perhaps, we’ve misunderstood. What you are eating is not scat. It is cats. Cats. Just cats. No ssssscat.” Bubblegums drew-out the “s” to emphasize the mistake.

“Cat?” Muckface tilted his head, “cat better than scat though?”

“Yes,” Bubblegums sighed, delighted, “cat better than scat. Much better.”

Joy washed over Muckface entirely, he grinned widely as a film of tears began to fill his eyes. “Muckface so happy,” his voice trembled, “Muckface sorry for wrong. Muckface know better now and,” he stopped, “is okay to keep eat cat?”

“I think so, Muckface. Some might say it’s even better than your usual diet.” Bubblegums looked squarely at Brad, who was gripping his sides in anxiety, forcing a smile.

Muckface burst out in relief as each member— including Brad— came to comfort the hulking figure as he wept openly in his chair. After a few minutes of exultation and relief, the group returned to their seats and they continued on with their session.

“Brad, I believe you’re next.” Bubblegums gestured to the human.

“Oh, um, okay.” He brushed his blonde hair out of his eyes, “well, my name is Brad, and I also have a problem.”

Echoes of “Hi Brad” as the familiar responses swept through the circle.

Brad appeared slightly more confident in his issue as he got to follow one of the worst misunderstandings. How much worse could it get? “This should be an easy one,” he joked, chuckling nervously, “but, uh, yeah. I can’t stop eating other people’s shit.”