Post by Caleb Lockwood on Jun 25, 2018 2:13:59 GMT
"Are you worried?"
Caleb rolled over, looking at Sara. She was standing next to the bed, looking out into the night. Moonlight spilled across her face, catching in worried eyes. Sara looked down at him, biting her lower lip in a display of vulnerability that belied the woman she had become. "About who we might lose."
Caleb sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am. I had...a bit of a fight with Dean about it earlier." He swung his legs across the bed and forced himself to stand. An unfamiliar weight seemed to accompany his every movement, as if Caleb was walking underwater. "Believe me, I have had nothing else on my mind then the idea that one of my brothers or sisters could be...gone. Like that. And it might not even be because we failed." He took a deep breath, exhaling through gritted teeth with a weariness beyond his years. "It's nerve-wracking."
Sara sat back down, folding her hands together. She bit her lip again, an awkward silence having just enough time to begin to settle before she broke it. "I know you all. You're going to do everything you can to win. That's who you three are. You fight for us. For what's important."
"We do, when we can." Caleb nodded, taking a deep breath. "That's all we have. The fight and each other. I just..." His breath caught in his throat, and he paused, clutching it for a moment. Sara's expression flashed to worry, but he put up a hand to forestall any concern, head down as he coughed. Finally, he managed to swallow, taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, Caleb's voice was far from his usual composure, shot through with choked grief. "I can't. I can't lose you. Any of you. Not Dean, not Brooklyn, not Rowan, not anyone." He looked up at Sara again, tears beading in his eyes. "I can't take it. Not again."
"Again?" Sara tilted her head to the side, pulling her feet up onto the bed. "I suppose you haven't really talked about who you were before...before this. I mean, the world saw some of it..."
"The world saw a sliver of my life." Caleb shook his head. "They saw a piece of who I became, none of how I got there." He reached over, hand fumbling in Sara's direction. She took it in her own, wrapping her fingers around his hand as it trembled with old pains. "I've lost everything more times than any person should ever have to endure. I will not lose anyone else. Not like this."
He hung his head again, and Sara reached around his shoulders, her arm resting across him in a gesture that's half comfort, half protection. She gently stroked his cheek with her thumb, taking a deep breath. "It still really hurts, then?" she prodded gently, voice soothing and calm. "I mean, it sounds like you haven't really talked to anyone about it in a long time..."
"I told someone once." Caleb croaked out. "I lost her too. I'm afraid that if I tell anyone else..." he trailed off, unable to continue the thought.
Sara nodded, squeezing his shoulder gently. "You're afraid you'll lose them too?" Caleb nodded mutely, biting his lower lip. Sara smiled at him, pulling herself closer and nuzzling into the base of his neck. "Well, don't be afraid. I trust you, I trust Warren, and Dean..." she paused for a half-second, barely noticeable unless one were to look for it. "...Dean knows what to do. He'll be able to make the right call."
Caleb nodded mutely once more, forcing words back up. “I know he will. I’m just concerned that being able to make the right call isn’t always enough. Twelve people is a lot of mayhem. If I lose track of Dean or Warren, I…I can’t stop thinking that if I lose track of them, it might be the last time.” He took a deep breath before looking up again. “…sorry, I’m not good at talking about these things.”
“It comes with practice.” Sara admitted with a smile. “We can stop if you like.”
“No, no.” Caleb shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I can do this…and I think I should start by talking about my dad a little…”
We fade out before Caleb can say any more, leaving his words lost…for now.
The House of Howlett sent its latest champion against the Pack…and once again, the House has crumbled, leaving nothing but disappointment in its wake. Ethan King fought savagely, far more than I would have ever expected for someone of his blood. I guess he remembered what it was to be a warrior-king after all…but I’ve made a living out of upending the status quo. He was no different.
The Apocalypse Match is upon us. Four factions…somehow? I could understand three. The Pack and the Age of Gods have been locked in a struggle for months now.
Speaking of…hello, Spike. How’s the neck?
But three...three I get. The forces of the status quo were going to inject themselves somehow. They need to maintain the illusion of control over this company. But Infamously...Infa...no. I refuse to dignify you by naming you. Steve. Rob. Malo. What in the hell are you doing here? What are you doing besides stirring the pot like a group of overgrown entitled brats? Not that you transcend that label, mind, I just want to know.
You're here to fill space, to make noise where there was none. That's all you are. Vacuous wastes of oxygen, dollars, and talent, here to leech off of others in a desperate attempt to stay relevant. You will not profit off the chaos you have created, gentlemen. You will become victims of it. You will pull yourselves down and become devoured by the maelstrom you've whipped up. Your own desire for recognition will tear you apart. Ironic, isn't it? In seeking your own preservation, you've created the forces of your own destruction.
Speaking of preservation...the Status Quo. Your portmanteaus are just ridiculous. The men of management and the man of tradition, the Strong Style Champion. Hello, Bob. Don't think we've forgotten you. You took that belt from Dean. You took something he prized very much away, and while he's found something new he hasn't forgotten. I haven't forgotten. You've earned retribution for that, Bob, and for thinking that you can stand against the Pack united. None have done so and triumphed yet. What makes you think you three, united by obligation and nothing stronger than pen strokes on a contract, can do so?
Cable. Roberto. Apparently you two have become fused at the hip. It's funny. This time last year, Roberto was sending hitmen after you, Cable. Now you're friends? Now you're co-conspirators, running the empire from the top down? Cable, how the mighty have fallen. Instead of changing the machine, you've just become another piece in it. You're nothing more than a fraud, a hollow echo of the man you were supposed to be. In short? You. Sold. Out. You're only a revolutionary in how quickly you abandoned your ideals. And Roberto. You see your empire turning to dust before you, and all you can do is grasp at the ashes in a desperate attempt to keep something under your control. These forces are beyond you. Step back and watch your works fall apart, Ozymandias. Despair. And remember...these monsters are of your own making.
Angel. I know you're nothing as intimidating as the name you carry. I've been on the doorstep too many times to forget what Heaven was like. I've clawed at the gates, seen glimpses into Paradise, to the seat at which so many kneel, and you've got none of that about you. What are you really? A disgruntled child playing a Lucifer tribute act? Sorry, I've come too close to the real deal there to be impressed either. Make no mistake, God had His chance and He failed. We're here to undo His errors. He abandoned us a long time ago, and I am all too happy to return the favor. You can carry His name all you like, but at the end of the day, you are Angel Blake. Man. Mortal. Fallible. Beatable. We're here to rule, to fix all that which went wrong before. Pray that we succeed, because I have seen the throne of God, and it was EMPTY.
Spike, I missed you. I missed kicking the hell out of you. I know Dean missed his Pet. And now that you have that big gold bullseye around your waist, you had best believe that you're going to be back to being Public Enemy Number One. Who else will crawl out of the woodwork to challenge you? Maybe Ethan King decides he wants an easier target and goes after your World Title. I mean, he beat you once before. How hard can it be? Maybe Andrew Jacobsen gets off his ass and comes for your blood. You've made a lot of enemies. Hell, maybe Mike Laszlo finally rediscovers his mojo and comes for the World Title again.
...no, let's not kid ourselves. The point is, Spike, you have no shortage of enemies and, after Bloody Assizes, you're going to be facing a shortage of allies. Jayson. Dean's told me about his plans. To be honest, I'd be flattered if I were you. I haven't seen this kind of red carpet treatment for anyone since I came here. He wants you, Jayson. We want you. We have such sights to show you. You haven't really found the answers you wanted, have you? We can show you truth. Not necessarily a kind truth, but the truth is rarely kind. Don't worry. You'll be perfectly fine with us. Matter of fact, I'm going to say this preemptively...welcome to the family.
You invoked the Apocalypse as if it would frighten us. You thought we would shy away, that we could be conquered. The Apocalypse is our home turf. This couldn't be more perfect if we wrote it ourselves. And at the end of it all, when you lay battered, broken, humbled...realize that you made a fatal mistake. You are lone wolves, grouped together out of selfish ego. And when the shadows fall and the fell wind blows, the lone wolf dies...
...but the Pack survives.
Caleb rolled over, looking at Sara. She was standing next to the bed, looking out into the night. Moonlight spilled across her face, catching in worried eyes. Sara looked down at him, biting her lower lip in a display of vulnerability that belied the woman she had become. "About who we might lose."
Caleb sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am. I had...a bit of a fight with Dean about it earlier." He swung his legs across the bed and forced himself to stand. An unfamiliar weight seemed to accompany his every movement, as if Caleb was walking underwater. "Believe me, I have had nothing else on my mind then the idea that one of my brothers or sisters could be...gone. Like that. And it might not even be because we failed." He took a deep breath, exhaling through gritted teeth with a weariness beyond his years. "It's nerve-wracking."
Sara sat back down, folding her hands together. She bit her lip again, an awkward silence having just enough time to begin to settle before she broke it. "I know you all. You're going to do everything you can to win. That's who you three are. You fight for us. For what's important."
"We do, when we can." Caleb nodded, taking a deep breath. "That's all we have. The fight and each other. I just..." His breath caught in his throat, and he paused, clutching it for a moment. Sara's expression flashed to worry, but he put up a hand to forestall any concern, head down as he coughed. Finally, he managed to swallow, taking a deep breath. When he spoke again, Caleb's voice was far from his usual composure, shot through with choked grief. "I can't. I can't lose you. Any of you. Not Dean, not Brooklyn, not Rowan, not anyone." He looked up at Sara again, tears beading in his eyes. "I can't take it. Not again."
"Again?" Sara tilted her head to the side, pulling her feet up onto the bed. "I suppose you haven't really talked about who you were before...before this. I mean, the world saw some of it..."
"The world saw a sliver of my life." Caleb shook his head. "They saw a piece of who I became, none of how I got there." He reached over, hand fumbling in Sara's direction. She took it in her own, wrapping her fingers around his hand as it trembled with old pains. "I've lost everything more times than any person should ever have to endure. I will not lose anyone else. Not like this."
He hung his head again, and Sara reached around his shoulders, her arm resting across him in a gesture that's half comfort, half protection. She gently stroked his cheek with her thumb, taking a deep breath. "It still really hurts, then?" she prodded gently, voice soothing and calm. "I mean, it sounds like you haven't really talked to anyone about it in a long time..."
"I told someone once." Caleb croaked out. "I lost her too. I'm afraid that if I tell anyone else..." he trailed off, unable to continue the thought.
Sara nodded, squeezing his shoulder gently. "You're afraid you'll lose them too?" Caleb nodded mutely, biting his lower lip. Sara smiled at him, pulling herself closer and nuzzling into the base of his neck. "Well, don't be afraid. I trust you, I trust Warren, and Dean..." she paused for a half-second, barely noticeable unless one were to look for it. "...Dean knows what to do. He'll be able to make the right call."
Caleb nodded mutely once more, forcing words back up. “I know he will. I’m just concerned that being able to make the right call isn’t always enough. Twelve people is a lot of mayhem. If I lose track of Dean or Warren, I…I can’t stop thinking that if I lose track of them, it might be the last time.” He took a deep breath before looking up again. “…sorry, I’m not good at talking about these things.”
“It comes with practice.” Sara admitted with a smile. “We can stop if you like.”
“No, no.” Caleb shook his head, taking a deep breath. “I can do this…and I think I should start by talking about my dad a little…”
We fade out before Caleb can say any more, leaving his words lost…for now.
The House of Howlett sent its latest champion against the Pack…and once again, the House has crumbled, leaving nothing but disappointment in its wake. Ethan King fought savagely, far more than I would have ever expected for someone of his blood. I guess he remembered what it was to be a warrior-king after all…but I’ve made a living out of upending the status quo. He was no different.
The Apocalypse Match is upon us. Four factions…somehow? I could understand three. The Pack and the Age of Gods have been locked in a struggle for months now.
Speaking of…hello, Spike. How’s the neck?
But three...three I get. The forces of the status quo were going to inject themselves somehow. They need to maintain the illusion of control over this company. But Infamously...Infa...no. I refuse to dignify you by naming you. Steve. Rob. Malo. What in the hell are you doing here? What are you doing besides stirring the pot like a group of overgrown entitled brats? Not that you transcend that label, mind, I just want to know.
You're here to fill space, to make noise where there was none. That's all you are. Vacuous wastes of oxygen, dollars, and talent, here to leech off of others in a desperate attempt to stay relevant. You will not profit off the chaos you have created, gentlemen. You will become victims of it. You will pull yourselves down and become devoured by the maelstrom you've whipped up. Your own desire for recognition will tear you apart. Ironic, isn't it? In seeking your own preservation, you've created the forces of your own destruction.
Speaking of preservation...the Status Quo. Your portmanteaus are just ridiculous. The men of management and the man of tradition, the Strong Style Champion. Hello, Bob. Don't think we've forgotten you. You took that belt from Dean. You took something he prized very much away, and while he's found something new he hasn't forgotten. I haven't forgotten. You've earned retribution for that, Bob, and for thinking that you can stand against the Pack united. None have done so and triumphed yet. What makes you think you three, united by obligation and nothing stronger than pen strokes on a contract, can do so?
Cable. Roberto. Apparently you two have become fused at the hip. It's funny. This time last year, Roberto was sending hitmen after you, Cable. Now you're friends? Now you're co-conspirators, running the empire from the top down? Cable, how the mighty have fallen. Instead of changing the machine, you've just become another piece in it. You're nothing more than a fraud, a hollow echo of the man you were supposed to be. In short? You. Sold. Out. You're only a revolutionary in how quickly you abandoned your ideals. And Roberto. You see your empire turning to dust before you, and all you can do is grasp at the ashes in a desperate attempt to keep something under your control. These forces are beyond you. Step back and watch your works fall apart, Ozymandias. Despair. And remember...these monsters are of your own making.
Angel. I know you're nothing as intimidating as the name you carry. I've been on the doorstep too many times to forget what Heaven was like. I've clawed at the gates, seen glimpses into Paradise, to the seat at which so many kneel, and you've got none of that about you. What are you really? A disgruntled child playing a Lucifer tribute act? Sorry, I've come too close to the real deal there to be impressed either. Make no mistake, God had His chance and He failed. We're here to undo His errors. He abandoned us a long time ago, and I am all too happy to return the favor. You can carry His name all you like, but at the end of the day, you are Angel Blake. Man. Mortal. Fallible. Beatable. We're here to rule, to fix all that which went wrong before. Pray that we succeed, because I have seen the throne of God, and it was EMPTY.
Spike, I missed you. I missed kicking the hell out of you. I know Dean missed his Pet. And now that you have that big gold bullseye around your waist, you had best believe that you're going to be back to being Public Enemy Number One. Who else will crawl out of the woodwork to challenge you? Maybe Ethan King decides he wants an easier target and goes after your World Title. I mean, he beat you once before. How hard can it be? Maybe Andrew Jacobsen gets off his ass and comes for your blood. You've made a lot of enemies. Hell, maybe Mike Laszlo finally rediscovers his mojo and comes for the World Title again.
...no, let's not kid ourselves. The point is, Spike, you have no shortage of enemies and, after Bloody Assizes, you're going to be facing a shortage of allies. Jayson. Dean's told me about his plans. To be honest, I'd be flattered if I were you. I haven't seen this kind of red carpet treatment for anyone since I came here. He wants you, Jayson. We want you. We have such sights to show you. You haven't really found the answers you wanted, have you? We can show you truth. Not necessarily a kind truth, but the truth is rarely kind. Don't worry. You'll be perfectly fine with us. Matter of fact, I'm going to say this preemptively...welcome to the family.
You invoked the Apocalypse as if it would frighten us. You thought we would shy away, that we could be conquered. The Apocalypse is our home turf. This couldn't be more perfect if we wrote it ourselves. And at the end of it all, when you lay battered, broken, humbled...realize that you made a fatal mistake. You are lone wolves, grouped together out of selfish ego. And when the shadows fall and the fell wind blows, the lone wolf dies...
...but the Pack survives.
Well howdy there pardner.