Post by Uriel Black on Dec 31, 2018 4:53:59 GMT
We open on Uriel Black standing within a small motel room, sparsely decorated. He looms large in the camera's lens, but a keen observer can see a figure tied to a bed in the background, mostly obscured by the towering Scot's frame. He cracks a calm, almost eerie smile as he looks down the camera lens. "Did that hurt your pride, gentlemen? I know it had to have hurt the rest of you to be bounced around in such a manner. But then, that's the fate of those who attempt to subvert the will of the Lord."
"I know what you're thinking." Uriel shakes his head, chuckling. "But Uriel, you say. God is dead. Rowan killed him. No no...what Rowan did was stop a man. The Lord...the Lord cannot be defeated by such a small, petty thing as one of His petulant children, angry that Daddy didn't like her art project. And yet nobody questioned why the Pack stayed together after she got evicted from her host like...well, a poor Irish orphan. I wonder what the difference is?" Uriel taps his chin dramatically, shrugging. "I guess we'll never know."
"Speaking of the unloved whose fathers never gave them the time of day...Warren, we really must stop meeting like this." Uriel tuts his tongue. "Set a time and date next time. Maybe suggest a place? Dinner and a movie? I mean, I can't very well just keep giving you the treatment for free. You never offer to take me back to your place. That's just rude." He spreads his arms wide. "I have offered you such hospitality. We even kept your dad's room intact for you. I mean, you'll probably have to replace the ceiling mirror, I doubt you're as much of a narcissist as your old man...but who knows?" Uriel glances back. "I suppose I could ask..."
The figure behind Uriel groans slightly, and he shakes his head, smirking. "Nah. Some things need to be a surprise. Leaves the excitement alive." Uriel shakes his head. "Which is something that you seem to have forgotten a long time ago. You couldn't find excitement if I gave you a map, a GPS, and fucking step-by-step directions. I've brought more life to this place than you have in years. And I've brought more joy, too. Find out for yourself. I guess you could...debrief him? Not that you'd fucking know what to do anymore once that happened." Uriel shakes his head. "I am so disappointed in you, Warren. I expected more. And yet, I got less. The Kane legacy."
"On to people who are ruining their family names in a new and completely original way. Jayson Matthews!" Uriel calls out, clapping his hands together. "I see you've reunited Team Daddy Issues. And your first bold move? Get into a fight in catering! My my, no wonder you thought you were the Son of God." He shakes his head. "You make me so sad, Jayson. Not because I expected more, just...by proxy. Someone has to have shame here, and if it won't be you, and it certainly won't be Warren, then I'll just take that burden onto myself. For I so love this world, that I...well, let's be honest. I've done a LOT of things that show I love this world." Uriel winks at the camera. "And I'll do one more when I kick you so hard in the head you'll wake up asking for Johnny Rotten."
"But you're not the new and fresh targets on the block. That'd be the Bourbon Street Saints." Uriel cracks his neck. "Oh boys, you two have a real storm coming. So which one do I start with? The attention-starved pillow princess who's got more abs than sense? Or Nate Harris?" Uriel cracks a grin. "I suspect I've just caused some outrage. To quote Galatians 4:16, have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth? I mean, if we're being honest I was probably your enemy a long time ago...but if we're being honest, then you two have a long conversation ahead of you."
"But we're not being honest. We're pretending that we're relevant anymore." Uriel cracks his neck. "Lads, if all it took to be relevant was running your mouth and spewing opinions, Piers Morgan would rule the world. Nick, Nate, you two gentlemen—and I use that term loosely—have a world-class talent for pissing people off, and an even greater talent for earning the beating that comes with that sort of idiocy." Uriel cracks his neck. "Oddly, this is one beating you didn't earn right away. No no, lads, this comes with interest."
"See, this isn't just about you two being between me and the Pack's third-stringers. This is about half a year's worth of interest on the blasphemy you wreaked on the Age of Gods at Night of the Immortals." Uriel cracks his neck. "You made the Lord and the Archangel Michael look like rank amateurs. That's insulting. And you two just...kept...trotting it out whenever it suits you."
"So this is your beating, overdue and with interest." Uriel cracks his neck. "Once we're done laying you two out like the French Quarter whores you are, you can scrape each other off the mat and pick up the pieces. Maybe you can have that long-overdue heart-to-heart in traction. I hear the best way to bond is over physical therapy."
Uriel smirks. "Not that I'm judging. You see, unlike God's least-favorite bearded cyclops and his metrosexual disaster of a running mate, I don't care what you are or who you do. You are all sinners, and you will all be judged. Just...there's a hierarchy here, you know? Priorities. Demon-worshipers first, the obscene and stupid far later. But while we're here, I figure why not pick up the two-for-one? Save us some time."
Uriel takes a few steps back, the camera following him. As he steps to the side, we can see Dean Harper is the figure tied to the bed, eyes lidded with exhaustion. His wrists and ankles bear the marks of rope burns, and his breathing is shallow. "Look what I can do when I'm motivated, boys. Save yourselves the pounding of a lifetime. Don't get between me and what I want." Uriel pauses, smirking. "Or do. Take that pounding. See what happens. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit..." He crosses himself, winking at the camera. "Amen." We fade out on Uriel looming over Dean, a smile on his face.
"Wakey wakey." Uriel slaps Dean in the face, setting down the camera. "You'll need to travel soon."
"Are you sending me back already?" Dean's groggy reply comes. "I thought you had more in you, big boy."
Uriel chuckles, reaching over and beginning to untie Dean's wrists. "Oh, trust me. I'm not done with you. I'm just taking you with me."
"I want to tell you right now." Dean manages to snark, clearly worn-out. "Road head? Not what it's cracked up to be."
Uriel smirks, undoing Dean's other wrist. "Not what I had in mind. Cute that you went there, though." As soon as Dean's wrists are free, Uriel's met with a right hand. He staggers back a bit, rubbing his jaw, and nods before unleashing a massive right that sends Dean thumping back into the mattress. "Bad boy. Did I say you could play like that?" Uriel shakes his head. "Disobedient little shit. I have no idea how Rowan kept you in line."
"She took me for walkies, mostly." Dean replies, wiping the blood from his lip. "And she let me cook."
"So barefoot and in the kitchen?" Uriel cocks his head to the side. "Not my usual kink, but I can work with it." He begins to work on Dean's ankles. "If you try to run, this is only going to get worse."
"What, you'll tie me up in a capsule hotel?" Dean rolls his eyes. "Oh no, the horror. Please, kitten. I've had worse from better."
"Bold of you to assume I'm out of tricks." Uriel smirks, untying one ankle. He pauses, turning to one of the duffel bags strewn about the room, and fishes something out of it, slipping it in his back pocket before turning back to resume untying Dean. "No, this is just the warm-up before our next act."
"Trapeze? Is it the one with the lions? No, let me guess." Dean winks. "Contortions." Uriel shoots him a glare, and Dean shrugs. "You're talking about it like we're a variety show. Swear to God, Ed McMahon shows up, I'm out. I do not consent to that."
"So you've been consenting so far?" Uriel replies automatically, earning his own death glare from Dean. Uriel smirks back at him. "Two can play this game."
"More if you're not a coward."
"I don't know. Are you a coward?"
"Bold, kitten. Bold." Dean pauses as Uriel unties his other ankle, trying to sit up, roll his body towards the door, something. "You know this game can't last forever."
"No, it can't." Uriel reaches out with one arm, scooping Dean up and slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "But that doesn't mean I can't edge your boys until they're ready to burst."
Dean cracks a faint grin. "See, now you're speaking my language."
Uriel steps into the bathroom, opening the shower door with his free hand and setting Dean down. He quickly shifts his grip to Dean's wrist, dragging it up to the metal bar mounted into the wall, and uses his free hand to fish out a pair of handcuffs. Uriel quickly and expertly handcuffs Dean to the bar, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. Dean struggles against the cuffs, wincing slightly. Uriel tuts his tongue. "Don't bother. You won't be able to get out without breaking half the bones in your hand, and I already searched you for anything that could get you free." Uriel pauses, smirking. "Thoroughly."
Dean looks up at Uriel, gritting his teeth. "So what now? Is this when the camera crew comes in and you start filming the sex tape? Because trust me, you're selling me shor—" Dean is cut off as Uriel abruptly reaches into the shower and turns the cold water handle, cranking it wide open as the water begins to crash down on Dean's form.
Dean gasps and splutters, forcing himself to stand, and Uriel cracks a smile as he watches the former World Champion get soaked. "Well well. I knew I'd get you wet. Just took a different turn, now didn't it?" He shakes his head. "Get used to it. You're not sleeping, not until I say so. I have plans for you, Dean...and I'm not going to brook any interruptions. I'll check on you in a bit. In the meantime, keep breathing. Don't slip...and don't drop the soap." Uriel laughs, turning and exiting the bathroom, and slams the door behind him as we fade out on Dean Harper, struggling to free himself from his bonds.
"I know what you're thinking." Uriel shakes his head, chuckling. "But Uriel, you say. God is dead. Rowan killed him. No no...what Rowan did was stop a man. The Lord...the Lord cannot be defeated by such a small, petty thing as one of His petulant children, angry that Daddy didn't like her art project. And yet nobody questioned why the Pack stayed together after she got evicted from her host like...well, a poor Irish orphan. I wonder what the difference is?" Uriel taps his chin dramatically, shrugging. "I guess we'll never know."
"Speaking of the unloved whose fathers never gave them the time of day...Warren, we really must stop meeting like this." Uriel tuts his tongue. "Set a time and date next time. Maybe suggest a place? Dinner and a movie? I mean, I can't very well just keep giving you the treatment for free. You never offer to take me back to your place. That's just rude." He spreads his arms wide. "I have offered you such hospitality. We even kept your dad's room intact for you. I mean, you'll probably have to replace the ceiling mirror, I doubt you're as much of a narcissist as your old man...but who knows?" Uriel glances back. "I suppose I could ask..."
The figure behind Uriel groans slightly, and he shakes his head, smirking. "Nah. Some things need to be a surprise. Leaves the excitement alive." Uriel shakes his head. "Which is something that you seem to have forgotten a long time ago. You couldn't find excitement if I gave you a map, a GPS, and fucking step-by-step directions. I've brought more life to this place than you have in years. And I've brought more joy, too. Find out for yourself. I guess you could...debrief him? Not that you'd fucking know what to do anymore once that happened." Uriel shakes his head. "I am so disappointed in you, Warren. I expected more. And yet, I got less. The Kane legacy."
"On to people who are ruining their family names in a new and completely original way. Jayson Matthews!" Uriel calls out, clapping his hands together. "I see you've reunited Team Daddy Issues. And your first bold move? Get into a fight in catering! My my, no wonder you thought you were the Son of God." He shakes his head. "You make me so sad, Jayson. Not because I expected more, just...by proxy. Someone has to have shame here, and if it won't be you, and it certainly won't be Warren, then I'll just take that burden onto myself. For I so love this world, that I...well, let's be honest. I've done a LOT of things that show I love this world." Uriel winks at the camera. "And I'll do one more when I kick you so hard in the head you'll wake up asking for Johnny Rotten."
"But you're not the new and fresh targets on the block. That'd be the Bourbon Street Saints." Uriel cracks his neck. "Oh boys, you two have a real storm coming. So which one do I start with? The attention-starved pillow princess who's got more abs than sense? Or Nate Harris?" Uriel cracks a grin. "I suspect I've just caused some outrage. To quote Galatians 4:16, have I now become your enemy by telling you the truth? I mean, if we're being honest I was probably your enemy a long time ago...but if we're being honest, then you two have a long conversation ahead of you."
"But we're not being honest. We're pretending that we're relevant anymore." Uriel cracks his neck. "Lads, if all it took to be relevant was running your mouth and spewing opinions, Piers Morgan would rule the world. Nick, Nate, you two gentlemen—and I use that term loosely—have a world-class talent for pissing people off, and an even greater talent for earning the beating that comes with that sort of idiocy." Uriel cracks his neck. "Oddly, this is one beating you didn't earn right away. No no, lads, this comes with interest."
"See, this isn't just about you two being between me and the Pack's third-stringers. This is about half a year's worth of interest on the blasphemy you wreaked on the Age of Gods at Night of the Immortals." Uriel cracks his neck. "You made the Lord and the Archangel Michael look like rank amateurs. That's insulting. And you two just...kept...trotting it out whenever it suits you."
"So this is your beating, overdue and with interest." Uriel cracks his neck. "Once we're done laying you two out like the French Quarter whores you are, you can scrape each other off the mat and pick up the pieces. Maybe you can have that long-overdue heart-to-heart in traction. I hear the best way to bond is over physical therapy."
Uriel smirks. "Not that I'm judging. You see, unlike God's least-favorite bearded cyclops and his metrosexual disaster of a running mate, I don't care what you are or who you do. You are all sinners, and you will all be judged. Just...there's a hierarchy here, you know? Priorities. Demon-worshipers first, the obscene and stupid far later. But while we're here, I figure why not pick up the two-for-one? Save us some time."
Uriel takes a few steps back, the camera following him. As he steps to the side, we can see Dean Harper is the figure tied to the bed, eyes lidded with exhaustion. His wrists and ankles bear the marks of rope burns, and his breathing is shallow. "Look what I can do when I'm motivated, boys. Save yourselves the pounding of a lifetime. Don't get between me and what I want." Uriel pauses, smirking. "Or do. Take that pounding. See what happens. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit..." He crosses himself, winking at the camera. "Amen." We fade out on Uriel looming over Dean, a smile on his face.
"Wakey wakey." Uriel slaps Dean in the face, setting down the camera. "You'll need to travel soon."
"Are you sending me back already?" Dean's groggy reply comes. "I thought you had more in you, big boy."
Uriel chuckles, reaching over and beginning to untie Dean's wrists. "Oh, trust me. I'm not done with you. I'm just taking you with me."
"I want to tell you right now." Dean manages to snark, clearly worn-out. "Road head? Not what it's cracked up to be."
Uriel smirks, undoing Dean's other wrist. "Not what I had in mind. Cute that you went there, though." As soon as Dean's wrists are free, Uriel's met with a right hand. He staggers back a bit, rubbing his jaw, and nods before unleashing a massive right that sends Dean thumping back into the mattress. "Bad boy. Did I say you could play like that?" Uriel shakes his head. "Disobedient little shit. I have no idea how Rowan kept you in line."
"She took me for walkies, mostly." Dean replies, wiping the blood from his lip. "And she let me cook."
"So barefoot and in the kitchen?" Uriel cocks his head to the side. "Not my usual kink, but I can work with it." He begins to work on Dean's ankles. "If you try to run, this is only going to get worse."
"What, you'll tie me up in a capsule hotel?" Dean rolls his eyes. "Oh no, the horror. Please, kitten. I've had worse from better."
"Bold of you to assume I'm out of tricks." Uriel smirks, untying one ankle. He pauses, turning to one of the duffel bags strewn about the room, and fishes something out of it, slipping it in his back pocket before turning back to resume untying Dean. "No, this is just the warm-up before our next act."
"Trapeze? Is it the one with the lions? No, let me guess." Dean winks. "Contortions." Uriel shoots him a glare, and Dean shrugs. "You're talking about it like we're a variety show. Swear to God, Ed McMahon shows up, I'm out. I do not consent to that."
"So you've been consenting so far?" Uriel replies automatically, earning his own death glare from Dean. Uriel smirks back at him. "Two can play this game."
"More if you're not a coward."
"I don't know. Are you a coward?"
"Bold, kitten. Bold." Dean pauses as Uriel unties his other ankle, trying to sit up, roll his body towards the door, something. "You know this game can't last forever."
"No, it can't." Uriel reaches out with one arm, scooping Dean up and slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "But that doesn't mean I can't edge your boys until they're ready to burst."
Dean cracks a faint grin. "See, now you're speaking my language."
Uriel steps into the bathroom, opening the shower door with his free hand and setting Dean down. He quickly shifts his grip to Dean's wrist, dragging it up to the metal bar mounted into the wall, and uses his free hand to fish out a pair of handcuffs. Uriel quickly and expertly handcuffs Dean to the bar, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. Dean struggles against the cuffs, wincing slightly. Uriel tuts his tongue. "Don't bother. You won't be able to get out without breaking half the bones in your hand, and I already searched you for anything that could get you free." Uriel pauses, smirking. "Thoroughly."
Dean looks up at Uriel, gritting his teeth. "So what now? Is this when the camera crew comes in and you start filming the sex tape? Because trust me, you're selling me shor—" Dean is cut off as Uriel abruptly reaches into the shower and turns the cold water handle, cranking it wide open as the water begins to crash down on Dean's form.
Dean gasps and splutters, forcing himself to stand, and Uriel cracks a smile as he watches the former World Champion get soaked. "Well well. I knew I'd get you wet. Just took a different turn, now didn't it?" He shakes his head. "Get used to it. You're not sleeping, not until I say so. I have plans for you, Dean...and I'm not going to brook any interruptions. I'll check on you in a bit. In the meantime, keep breathing. Don't slip...and don't drop the soap." Uriel laughs, turning and exiting the bathroom, and slams the door behind him as we fade out on Dean Harper, struggling to free himself from his bonds.