Post by Caleb Lockwood on Mar 26, 2018 4:53:35 GMT
The camera flicks on at the foot of a simple Old West-style coffin, Caleb sitting at its head. He leans back, head touching the dirt as moonlight shines down into the open grave. "We all end up here someday, don't we? Sometimes the container's nicer, but in the end, death catches up to everyone. Pauper or prince, all the money in the world can only forestall the inevitable. In the Roulette, we're all equal. One of thirty spots on the wheel, clutching on white-knuckle and praying our number is the lucky one. Right?"
Caleb shakes his head, a small trickle of dirt falling from behind him down onto the lip of the coffin. "You wish it were that way. You wish it were so, because then the Pack would be nothing more than three individuals. We'd only be as dangerous as any of you, not the force that will shape the Roulette's face. We are that inevitability, that sure ending that will bring all of you low. Fight all you want, but you will lose."
He looks down at his hands, the palms raw and red from exertion, and smiles. "I dug this grave I sit in with my own two hands. I interred myself, and all it would take is one false movement for a mountain of dirt to come hurtling down on me and seal my fate. I did it to remind myself that when I say nobody escapes, I mean nobody. Even we will eventually succumb...but when Death comes for us, we will greet him as an old friend, not with fear. I'll hold on as tight as I can, but when my time comes...I'll know. How about the rest of you? How hard will you fight? What will it take for you to let go and accept when your time has come?"
Caleb reaches down, picking up a knife from within the coffin. He turns it over in his hands, fascinated with the reflections it casts off from its surface. "Everyone who curses us, calls us demons...they forget what demons are. Fallen angels. Rejected by a callous, uncaring God, banished from Paradise for daring to think differently. They found companionship in each other, and they lashed back out at those who deemed them lesser. We were all something different once. Perhaps even something good. In your hate, we have found the bonds that bring us together as family, and as you seek to tear us apart, we will stand together, firmer than ever."
He sets the knife down again, flexing his hands as his face pulls in a twisted combination of grin and wince. "We come for the one who calls himself God. We come for he who would take on the mantle of the Lord, to serve as the hounds of Hell. Not to serve him, of course. We will not bend the knee to a false tyrant like him, now or ever. No, we come to tear the gates of his kingdom down. We come to destroy His works, to ensure that His name crosses no tongue that still moves. You are not worthy of worship. As you seek to purge those who you deem guilty, we deem you guilty in turn."
Caleb stands up in the grave, cracking his knuckles. "Each of you who sits in judgment will be torn from your thrones, cast down and destroyed for daring to judge us. No matter what it takes, we will have our revenge upon the world that cast us out. You did this to us, and now we bring your works home to you. Reap what you have sown, for it is a bitter harvest...and when God lays at our feet, when we have killed God, we will show the world a better way." Caleb grins, looking up to the night sky with a twinkle in his eyes. "I guess I've been waiting for a while now...at High Stakes, the wait ends...and a new day dawns."
Caleb hammers the sides of the grave with his fists, grinning, and a trickle of dirt spills from both edges of the grave down onto him. He hits it again, and again, growling, and with one final strike twin torrents of dirt rain down on Caleb and the camera, burying both as we smash to black.
Caleb walked among the gravestones, footfalls oddly silent as he traced a route known only to himself. The evening air was cool, but not so cold that he wore anything more than normal. He had endured nights far worse than this, after all.
Caleb vaulted over one of the stones, feet landing with a whisper-quiet tap. Who had he jumped there? Someone's father, mother, brother, daughter? Did it matter? They were all equal in death, so they said. Caleb shook his head, snorting to himself. Even this expression of disdain seemed quieted in the chill of the evening. Something seemed to be swallowing all of the noise he made. Caleb was fine with that. The less noise he made, the less chance some obnoxious rent-a-cop would stumble on him and demand to know what he was doing here. He hadn't taken the Friendship Smuggler, after all.
His feet worked through the path as if on autopilot. They had made the trip hundreds of times before, after all. It shouldn't be that hard. Just down that hill, through that gate, behind that mausoleum...and there we were. The Catholics had their flaws, but the occasional token gesture to the homeless was a benefit. Besides, the archbishop had fallen all over himself to have a headline in the paper about providing for a poor homeless child's grief.
Caleb knelt down at the gravestone. It was small, tucked away in a corner, but it was still there. The name Thomas Lockwood stood out as clearly as the day it was carved into the granite, and Caleb reached out, tracing the letters with an almost childlike reverence. He smiled softly, his voice quiet in the night. "Hi, Dad."
Caleb hung his head, taking a deep breath, and continued to speak to the grave. "I know...I know I'm not the man you wanted me to be. I know I've let you down some. But...I'm trying. That's the big lesson you taught me, right? Never give up, always fight for the ones you love?" Caleb let the question hang in the air for an uncomfortable second before speaking again. "I...I don't know if love is the right word, Dad, but I have a family again. A real family. And they're taking care of me." He chuckled to himself. "How the hell did that work out? I guess you gave me one more chance, Dad. I promise I won't waste this one."
He paused again, resting a hand atop the headstone. "...I miss you. Sometimes I wonder who I would have been with you here. I know I wouldn't be where I am now. I just..." Caleb closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I wish I could make sure I was the last. The last one who ever had to bury their parent like this. I wish you were here, Dad. I wish I could ask your advice, I wish I could hear you telling me everything would be okay, I wish you could just hold me in your arms and I could pretend everything was fine."
The tears began to roll down his cheeks, and Caleb was barely keeping himself from complete sobbing at this point. "I wish, Dad. I wish so much." He sniffled, opening his now-bloodshot eyes. "But you're gone. All I have is this piece of stone and my memories...I'm gonna go fight for them, Dad. I'm gonna go hurt a lot of people to keep them safe. I know you might not approve, but I need to." He forced a smile on his face. "I need to, Dad. I miss you. Maybe some day I'll see you again. I promise to visit next time I have a chance."
Caleb looked down again. "I should be going. They're going to notice I'm here...or that I'm gone." He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on the headstone, and drew back again. "I love you, Dad." Caleb closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, and stood up. As he did, a breeze rolled through the cemetery, ruffling Caleb's hair. As it passed, a strange warmth settled on Caleb's shoulders, like the comforting touch of a loved one. Caleb abruptly jerked around, looking for its source. As soon as it came, though, it was gone, leaving Caleb standing alone behind the mausoleum. After a second, he sighed, nodding, and turned, walking back the way he had come. The moonlight shone down on the headstone, tracing the words for a moment before a cloud passed before it and plunged the cemetery into darkness once more.
Caleb shakes his head, a small trickle of dirt falling from behind him down onto the lip of the coffin. "You wish it were that way. You wish it were so, because then the Pack would be nothing more than three individuals. We'd only be as dangerous as any of you, not the force that will shape the Roulette's face. We are that inevitability, that sure ending that will bring all of you low. Fight all you want, but you will lose."
He looks down at his hands, the palms raw and red from exertion, and smiles. "I dug this grave I sit in with my own two hands. I interred myself, and all it would take is one false movement for a mountain of dirt to come hurtling down on me and seal my fate. I did it to remind myself that when I say nobody escapes, I mean nobody. Even we will eventually succumb...but when Death comes for us, we will greet him as an old friend, not with fear. I'll hold on as tight as I can, but when my time comes...I'll know. How about the rest of you? How hard will you fight? What will it take for you to let go and accept when your time has come?"
Caleb reaches down, picking up a knife from within the coffin. He turns it over in his hands, fascinated with the reflections it casts off from its surface. "Everyone who curses us, calls us demons...they forget what demons are. Fallen angels. Rejected by a callous, uncaring God, banished from Paradise for daring to think differently. They found companionship in each other, and they lashed back out at those who deemed them lesser. We were all something different once. Perhaps even something good. In your hate, we have found the bonds that bring us together as family, and as you seek to tear us apart, we will stand together, firmer than ever."
He sets the knife down again, flexing his hands as his face pulls in a twisted combination of grin and wince. "We come for the one who calls himself God. We come for he who would take on the mantle of the Lord, to serve as the hounds of Hell. Not to serve him, of course. We will not bend the knee to a false tyrant like him, now or ever. No, we come to tear the gates of his kingdom down. We come to destroy His works, to ensure that His name crosses no tongue that still moves. You are not worthy of worship. As you seek to purge those who you deem guilty, we deem you guilty in turn."
Caleb stands up in the grave, cracking his knuckles. "Each of you who sits in judgment will be torn from your thrones, cast down and destroyed for daring to judge us. No matter what it takes, we will have our revenge upon the world that cast us out. You did this to us, and now we bring your works home to you. Reap what you have sown, for it is a bitter harvest...and when God lays at our feet, when we have killed God, we will show the world a better way." Caleb grins, looking up to the night sky with a twinkle in his eyes. "I guess I've been waiting for a while now...at High Stakes, the wait ends...and a new day dawns."
Caleb hammers the sides of the grave with his fists, grinning, and a trickle of dirt spills from both edges of the grave down onto him. He hits it again, and again, growling, and with one final strike twin torrents of dirt rain down on Caleb and the camera, burying both as we smash to black.
Caleb walked among the gravestones, footfalls oddly silent as he traced a route known only to himself. The evening air was cool, but not so cold that he wore anything more than normal. He had endured nights far worse than this, after all.
Caleb vaulted over one of the stones, feet landing with a whisper-quiet tap. Who had he jumped there? Someone's father, mother, brother, daughter? Did it matter? They were all equal in death, so they said. Caleb shook his head, snorting to himself. Even this expression of disdain seemed quieted in the chill of the evening. Something seemed to be swallowing all of the noise he made. Caleb was fine with that. The less noise he made, the less chance some obnoxious rent-a-cop would stumble on him and demand to know what he was doing here. He hadn't taken the Friendship Smuggler, after all.
His feet worked through the path as if on autopilot. They had made the trip hundreds of times before, after all. It shouldn't be that hard. Just down that hill, through that gate, behind that mausoleum...and there we were. The Catholics had their flaws, but the occasional token gesture to the homeless was a benefit. Besides, the archbishop had fallen all over himself to have a headline in the paper about providing for a poor homeless child's grief.
Caleb knelt down at the gravestone. It was small, tucked away in a corner, but it was still there. The name Thomas Lockwood stood out as clearly as the day it was carved into the granite, and Caleb reached out, tracing the letters with an almost childlike reverence. He smiled softly, his voice quiet in the night. "Hi, Dad."
Caleb hung his head, taking a deep breath, and continued to speak to the grave. "I know...I know I'm not the man you wanted me to be. I know I've let you down some. But...I'm trying. That's the big lesson you taught me, right? Never give up, always fight for the ones you love?" Caleb let the question hang in the air for an uncomfortable second before speaking again. "I...I don't know if love is the right word, Dad, but I have a family again. A real family. And they're taking care of me." He chuckled to himself. "How the hell did that work out? I guess you gave me one more chance, Dad. I promise I won't waste this one."
He paused again, resting a hand atop the headstone. "...I miss you. Sometimes I wonder who I would have been with you here. I know I wouldn't be where I am now. I just..." Caleb closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I wish I could make sure I was the last. The last one who ever had to bury their parent like this. I wish you were here, Dad. I wish I could ask your advice, I wish I could hear you telling me everything would be okay, I wish you could just hold me in your arms and I could pretend everything was fine."
The tears began to roll down his cheeks, and Caleb was barely keeping himself from complete sobbing at this point. "I wish, Dad. I wish so much." He sniffled, opening his now-bloodshot eyes. "But you're gone. All I have is this piece of stone and my memories...I'm gonna go fight for them, Dad. I'm gonna go hurt a lot of people to keep them safe. I know you might not approve, but I need to." He forced a smile on his face. "I need to, Dad. I miss you. Maybe some day I'll see you again. I promise to visit next time I have a chance."
Caleb looked down again. "I should be going. They're going to notice I'm here...or that I'm gone." He leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on the headstone, and drew back again. "I love you, Dad." Caleb closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, and stood up. As he did, a breeze rolled through the cemetery, ruffling Caleb's hair. As it passed, a strange warmth settled on Caleb's shoulders, like the comforting touch of a loved one. Caleb abruptly jerked around, looking for its source. As soon as it came, though, it was gone, leaving Caleb standing alone behind the mausoleum. After a second, he sighed, nodding, and turned, walking back the way he had come. The moonlight shone down on the headstone, tracing the words for a moment before a cloud passed before it and plunged the cemetery into darkness once more.
Well howdy there pardner.