Post by Caleb Lockwood on Mar 19, 2018 2:54:21 GMT
"Unity." Caleb takes a deep breath, looking out over the Phoenix skyline. "None of you will ever understand it, not the way that we've come to. Your egos choke your ability to serve a greater will, the importance of the individual consuming all you are. In your efforts to be unique, you become just...like...everyone...else. The Pack, though...we know the importance of family. We know that glory in the name of the Pack is glory for us all. Glory for our family. We howl with one voice, singing one song, the only song that matters. The song of victory."
He inhales through his nose, taking in the scent of the city with a grin on his face that doesn't seem entirely right. Maybe it's a bit too wide, maybe the teeth we see are a bit too sharp. It passes almost as quickly as it came, though, and Caleb's face falls back into its normal somber expression. "Everyone has a goal they claim, everyone a right they think they've earned to the reward the Roulette holds at its end. For some, it's simply a matter of their gifts being given their due. For some, it's a matter of divine right. And for some, it's the end result of delusions of grandeur."
Caleb pauses, tipping his head to the camera with a two-fingered salute. "James."
He allows himself a brief chuckle before continuing. "But, of course, the one who has been most vocal about his entitlement, as always, is Spike Kane. Because when it's not about Spike Kane, it's wrong. Right? You need to be the center of attention, the biggest story, the main event. This time, it's by putting your Invictus Title up, a sacrifice like so many others on the altar of your own ego. How many more sacrifices will it take, Spike? You've already given your children, a marriage, hell, arguably your own brother in the name of fueling the legend of the Blood God. What else will it take?"
"No," Caleb shakes his head, biting his lower lip. "No, it ends here. You will not be allowed to devastate the world to satiate your own bloated ego any longer. You are no god. I've seen things even you wouldn't believe, Spike. I've seen bodies healed from the most grievous injuries, I have seen minds pulled back from the grip of madness, I've seen miracles. True and beautiful miracles. Are we ideal? Is the Pack perfect? No, never. But none of us are. We simply want to do what's right by our family..."
Caleb closes his eyes, practically hissing the words. "Something you forgot how to do a long time ago."
"This is righteous, Spike." Caleb chuckles to himself again, devoid of warmth. "I don't usually get to say that and mean it, but I do. This is righteous, what we're going to do to you. You've earned every single lash that strikes you, for your hubris and blasphemy. You, a man, tried to play god, and now you're going to understand what it is to neglect your duty, your SACRED DUTY to those most special for the sake of yourself."
He straightens up, joints cracking as his body unfolds from its compact state. "So we're going to make you pay, Spike. Dean and I, we're going to take from you what you've taken from the people you should have been there for all those years. We're going to beat you until you can barely move, we're going to ensure that your Invictus Title goes to someone who can truly appreciate it, instead of hoarding it jealously like a bloodthirsty magpie seeking another pointless boggle for its collection...and when we're done?"
The same animal grin spreads across Caleb's face as before, and he makes direct eye contact with the camera, eyes almost seeming to glint over with a shine as he grins. "Then we give you to the only one who can truly judge you. The sins of the father will be visited upon him by the son, Spike...and you have been a naughty little shit, haven't you?" Caleb grins again, nodding. "See you soon. Sleep tight. Eat well. Stress makes you gamy." He winks at the camera, turning and casually stepping off the building. The camera hurries to follow him, but all it sees is an empty street below. We hold on that shot for a few more seconds before fading to black.
Caleb knelt down next to the shuddering figure, a look of concern on his face. He reached out carefully with one hand, wincing as they flinched away from his touch. Nodding slowly to himself, he sat down, crossing his legs and keeping his voice calm and quiet. "Hey. It's Caleb. What's going on? Nobody's heard from you in days, and we're getting worried."
After a few long moments, the figure replies, a shuddering, stammering voice that sounds as if it's been hollowed out. "I-I'm okay. I promise I'm okay. I've just been...sick. That's all. Sick."
"Sara." The figure turns to face Caleb, revealing the terrified face of Sara Otis. She looks worse than her appearance on Sacrifice months ago, bags under her eyes and sunken cheeks paired with a wide-eyed, fearful expression. Sara forces herself to avoid eye contact with Caleb, hands working in unconscious, nervous patterns. Caleb takes a deep breath, offering his hand to Sara palm-up. "Sara. It's alright. You can talk to me."
She pauses for a moment, frame still trembling, then shakes her head abruptly, scuttering back into the corner. "N-no. He'll know. He'll know and he'll be upset. D-don't want him mad at you. Please. 'm fine."
Caleb pauses, nodding slowly. "...Sara, who'll be mad at me?"
She pauses, jaw trembling. Caleb takes a moment, tilting his head. "...Warren?" he winces, praying he's right. The shake of the head that meets his inquiry seems to take something out of him, and Caleb's eyes narrow again. Sara scrambles back again, and Caleb forces his expression to relax. "Not mad at you, Sara. Not mad. Tell you what. I'll go get you some food. Are you hungry?"
Sara nods slowly, hesitant at first, but quickly speeds up into a more enthusiastic nod. Caleb smiles back at her, warm and compassionate even amidst his dark demeanor. "Okay. I'll go grab something for you to eat, then I'll be back and we can talk. Is that okay?" Sara nods again mutely, and Caleb stands up. "I'll be back quickly. Everything's going to be alright, Sara. I promise." Sara nods at him once more, and Caleb turns, sparing one glance back at her huddled form before leaving the small room.
As Caleb turns down the hall, his eyes harden again, his demeanor shifting from the warm and open one he had worn with Sara to a colder, predatorial gait. He lopes down the hall, corner of his lip curling in a half-snarl as we fade to black.
He inhales through his nose, taking in the scent of the city with a grin on his face that doesn't seem entirely right. Maybe it's a bit too wide, maybe the teeth we see are a bit too sharp. It passes almost as quickly as it came, though, and Caleb's face falls back into its normal somber expression. "Everyone has a goal they claim, everyone a right they think they've earned to the reward the Roulette holds at its end. For some, it's simply a matter of their gifts being given their due. For some, it's a matter of divine right. And for some, it's the end result of delusions of grandeur."
Caleb pauses, tipping his head to the camera with a two-fingered salute. "James."
He allows himself a brief chuckle before continuing. "But, of course, the one who has been most vocal about his entitlement, as always, is Spike Kane. Because when it's not about Spike Kane, it's wrong. Right? You need to be the center of attention, the biggest story, the main event. This time, it's by putting your Invictus Title up, a sacrifice like so many others on the altar of your own ego. How many more sacrifices will it take, Spike? You've already given your children, a marriage, hell, arguably your own brother in the name of fueling the legend of the Blood God. What else will it take?"
"No," Caleb shakes his head, biting his lower lip. "No, it ends here. You will not be allowed to devastate the world to satiate your own bloated ego any longer. You are no god. I've seen things even you wouldn't believe, Spike. I've seen bodies healed from the most grievous injuries, I have seen minds pulled back from the grip of madness, I've seen miracles. True and beautiful miracles. Are we ideal? Is the Pack perfect? No, never. But none of us are. We simply want to do what's right by our family..."
Caleb closes his eyes, practically hissing the words. "Something you forgot how to do a long time ago."
"This is righteous, Spike." Caleb chuckles to himself again, devoid of warmth. "I don't usually get to say that and mean it, but I do. This is righteous, what we're going to do to you. You've earned every single lash that strikes you, for your hubris and blasphemy. You, a man, tried to play god, and now you're going to understand what it is to neglect your duty, your SACRED DUTY to those most special for the sake of yourself."
He straightens up, joints cracking as his body unfolds from its compact state. "So we're going to make you pay, Spike. Dean and I, we're going to take from you what you've taken from the people you should have been there for all those years. We're going to beat you until you can barely move, we're going to ensure that your Invictus Title goes to someone who can truly appreciate it, instead of hoarding it jealously like a bloodthirsty magpie seeking another pointless boggle for its collection...and when we're done?"
The same animal grin spreads across Caleb's face as before, and he makes direct eye contact with the camera, eyes almost seeming to glint over with a shine as he grins. "Then we give you to the only one who can truly judge you. The sins of the father will be visited upon him by the son, Spike...and you have been a naughty little shit, haven't you?" Caleb grins again, nodding. "See you soon. Sleep tight. Eat well. Stress makes you gamy." He winks at the camera, turning and casually stepping off the building. The camera hurries to follow him, but all it sees is an empty street below. We hold on that shot for a few more seconds before fading to black.
Caleb knelt down next to the shuddering figure, a look of concern on his face. He reached out carefully with one hand, wincing as they flinched away from his touch. Nodding slowly to himself, he sat down, crossing his legs and keeping his voice calm and quiet. "Hey. It's Caleb. What's going on? Nobody's heard from you in days, and we're getting worried."
After a few long moments, the figure replies, a shuddering, stammering voice that sounds as if it's been hollowed out. "I-I'm okay. I promise I'm okay. I've just been...sick. That's all. Sick."
"Sara." The figure turns to face Caleb, revealing the terrified face of Sara Otis. She looks worse than her appearance on Sacrifice months ago, bags under her eyes and sunken cheeks paired with a wide-eyed, fearful expression. Sara forces herself to avoid eye contact with Caleb, hands working in unconscious, nervous patterns. Caleb takes a deep breath, offering his hand to Sara palm-up. "Sara. It's alright. You can talk to me."
She pauses for a moment, frame still trembling, then shakes her head abruptly, scuttering back into the corner. "N-no. He'll know. He'll know and he'll be upset. D-don't want him mad at you. Please. 'm fine."
Caleb pauses, nodding slowly. "...Sara, who'll be mad at me?"
She pauses, jaw trembling. Caleb takes a moment, tilting his head. "...Warren?" he winces, praying he's right. The shake of the head that meets his inquiry seems to take something out of him, and Caleb's eyes narrow again. Sara scrambles back again, and Caleb forces his expression to relax. "Not mad at you, Sara. Not mad. Tell you what. I'll go get you some food. Are you hungry?"
Sara nods slowly, hesitant at first, but quickly speeds up into a more enthusiastic nod. Caleb smiles back at her, warm and compassionate even amidst his dark demeanor. "Okay. I'll go grab something for you to eat, then I'll be back and we can talk. Is that okay?" Sara nods again mutely, and Caleb stands up. "I'll be back quickly. Everything's going to be alright, Sara. I promise." Sara nods at him once more, and Caleb turns, sparing one glance back at her huddled form before leaving the small room.
As Caleb turns down the hall, his eyes harden again, his demeanor shifting from the warm and open one he had worn with Sara to a colder, predatorial gait. He lopes down the hall, corner of his lip curling in a half-snarl as we fade to black.
Well howdy there pardner.