March of the Ancients
Usually seen smirking, his wavy hair tied back with what is probably a shoelace, Sabin saunters through unlife.
When hes feeling bored, aggravated, vulnerable or is being talked down to in a situation where he can’t properly lash out, Sabin toys with a military “dog tag”, although it hangs informally on a leather thong rather than a longer ball chain and is only half of the issued set.
1/10/13 & 1/18/13
I didn’t know him then, yet at the same time I did. His name was Stephen Cooper. He had one of those “normal” lives, in no way was he special, except maybe to himself. Parents, a sister, a girlfriend, an imperfect motorcycle he fiddled with incessantly. He had a job like a regular jackoff, listened to the likes of Creedence Clearwater Revival and Blue Oyster Cult and tried in vain to play guitar.
Lucky for me, tho not for him, he was drafted, trained and was sent to Vietnam late in life. Most nites there he was serving punishments, getting himself in trouble for that insufferable smirk or his inability to listen to anyone he couldn’t respect. Of course, some smaller, weaker, sexually awkward guy in his squad looked up to, no, actually admired, rather he — he was in love with that cocky bastard. Sabin saw him as the brother he never had, someone to protect, to have adventures with and loved him back. Aint that cute? Don’t it just break your heart? My skin crawls thinking of such a bond!
Greater stories to turn to are of Sabin, then Stephen’s joining the kindred. Of that simple rebel sneaking off base overseas by himself for a drink, pissing off a vampire, fighting that creature of legend in a foreign alley… of waking up in that same alley, running from the brutal sunlight for dear life. Killing people mercilessly, animalistic and not even remembering. Spending the day in a shed… Oh, but the idiot chose to sneak back to base and see the Army nurse, to talk about his new found physical issues. The confusion bordering on fear in the cool headed woman’s expression when she noticed no pulse or heartbeat. Not human. Not anymore.
He broke out through a window that nite and fled that place, unable to flee himself but determined to start this life alone and to learn. Another Brujah, one of his new blood found him. A woman, a redhead strong willed, fiery in temper, influential to a degree and who would later betray our foolish hero. Betray him for leaving her, for disobeying her orders. She couldn’t get her way without him. The plan to use him to take down another kindred and earn a place at the Prince’s table failed.
Before all that tho, she’d let him return home, just to check up on his family from the shadows. How thoughtful of the bitch. The war was over now, and that needy human one day came by Sabin’s old house, looking for him. Of course Sabin just had to go to him. Had to keep him close. Had to give William the blood, turning him somewhere between human and us. But once Sabin disobeyed, the Russian killed that human. To teach a lesson, an attempt to get him under her heel, unrealizing he never had been her pet. Again, he ran, alongside a Malkavian who showed him the way out, who too escaped that power play. The Malk who was strong when Sabin felt so weak, hurt, lonely and desperate.
But Sabin didn’t want to know it. Hated and didn’t understand it. He stayed with that vampire, feeling a shadow play across his mind. Alone. Ignoring where and when, falling into the open arms of darkness.
Because there, if only briefly, there was comfort. There was peace in escape. No thought. No feeling. An old, dear friend. The comforting cat twining around his legs with soft fur and a knowing meow.
“You need me,” The darkness reminded him. “I protect you from yourself,” The darkness soothed him.
And Sabin felt strong in his escape from the moment, felt the power of his darkness as it seemed to rush down his spine. And then… then I was there. Putting an end to the weakness and feelings of loss, grabbing him by the back of the neck and forcing his actions. Pathetically in need of such survival, in need of strength! Of my strength! He would be dead without me, and is indebted to me! I keep us alive! I fight for us! His way is wrong, he must give up that naiveté and relinquish control. The false control I allow. —————————————————
7/18/13 Sabin’s speech to the anarchs in Bayport.
I will not run. I will turn my back on the one in my head who isn’t me but isn’t himself either! I will brood and fume and break stuff! William is gone. Fuck caring for someone. I’ve ripped off that dog tag and thrown it into some corner of the streets as I stalked alone one night. Stalked, daring someone to confront me but wanting to be left alone. Or wanting to hit something. Someone!! Alone. Broc is gone. Fuck having a partner. Men who were, on surface level, my friends, my brothers, those who ran with me, laughed with me, drank with me and listened to my stories are gone. It is not my fault.
Attacked! Not given enough information! Controlled! Confused! Magicked! And worst of all sent no back up. THEY sit there! Them “in power” sit there in safe castles built on using others, looking down on us as we die! As we are left unprotected to fight their “outlaw “ and their “crazies” in the Sabbat.
“You were not asked to fight” a Ventrue said to me when I gave a short report. But I was forced! Me and Robert and the boys and my dog! Gone. Someone is gonna rue. How do we do this? I’m no leader, I can’t do speeches like others. Sure I can shoot off a few “man that’s fucked up isn’t it” and shout about how the Cams, the system, the RULES are in need of change! How do we do it? Seriously. Talk to me guys.
Speaking of talks… non violently I want to seek out Tyrius Keldon. I want to talk. Harold talked with him before. I want to kill him, yes. But I am just as blind and stupid for the need of revenge on my friends if us fighting him was possible self defence. I want answers! Keldon knows something. Something more than the “leaders” of the kindred in this city do. He knows about crazy shit with cups and subways. I gotta know. And I gotta respect that he fights for himself. . Keldon can have my number if he doesn’t trust this wouldn’t be a trap.
AND CELL PHONES!! Walkies! Fancy head sets! Something always switched to ON! So we can talk over shit as its going down and have each other’s backs! They want us dead by not giving us technology! I won’t give them the satisfaction of my death! No, not this time! I won’t go out, not for them! Cams say war vs the Sabbat? How bout they man the front lines! We need new “government” before we weed out the “crazies”. We are not their fodder, not their dogs to be ripped apart! Lets re-take this. SOMEHOW! We few are what’s left! We few who know what’s right! We unhappy few…