Post by The Mouth on Jan 6, 2013 18:03:31 GMT -8
Not just the name of a wonderful album by Fleetwood Mac.
So, here is the deal.
The other night I described that mortals have but two responses to a crisis: Fight of Flight. That pump of adrenaline courses through their systems and they get all jittery and then they explode in throwing punches or beating feet.
Conversly Licks like us still have that response. But we don't have that adrenaline rush for the most part. It might feel the same, but it really isn't. It's the Beast. That roiling feral monster that creeps into us all - I've felt it, you've felt it. God help you if you get in the habit of grabbing that tiger by the tail.
But because the Beast is a feral creature it has a third response: Submission.
Yeah, I know. Fucking get the leather and latex out of your brains. I mean full on Wolf Pack submission. Vampires, if you observe, tend to cluster in small groups around those who have the best means of providing for the group. Providing can be a lot of things; vitae, leadership, brains, ideas - Leaders provide for the needs of the group.
I will be the first to bluntly admit I follow Richter because he has the plan, the juice, and the means to get shit done. He doesn't have to terrify me to get me to do what he wants. But I tend to have a tendency to expose my belly to him when he's around - Pure pack submission. The Gangrel is Seattle go to degrees even further than that in some sort of proto-Sabbat nucleus.
The Sabbat loves this process. They love their feral pack structures; it keeps their social fabric pretty tight and they encourage the dominance games such an outlook encourages. They believe it culls their weaker members and promotes the stronger ones.
I guess.
Every Kindred interaction works on this basis: The Strong will dominate the Weak in any interaction. Mortals can delude themselves to a certain degree on that matter but the Beast won't let us - Survival instincts will kick in hardcore.
Why do I bring this up?
Well, a lot of rumors going around about ancient evils waking up. In asking around I learned that the Sabbat believe that Ancients will one day rise up and consume us all which is why instead of locating the Ancients and Nuking them from Orbit they spend all fucking night beating on the Camarilla.
The Camarilla for it's end says 'Ha, silly Kindred. Fairytales and poppycock, used to scare little neonates.'
I then notice the elders giving each other the Look and getting a little tight in the sphincters.
A guy I know even posits that the ancients have some process regarding the Jyhad that even in their resting they can guide the actions of their childer in subtle and broad ways. I call this the Reuben Sandwich after his example...
Said Ancient someday gets a passing craving for a Reuben Sandwich.
Shortly afterwords a coterie of Neonates notices that a local kosher cattle farm looks like a decent source of blood. A different Kindred looks around and figures out that he wants to invest in a deli and have it create the best corned beef in the country to gain influence among the Jewish community of New York and New Jersey.
A Sabbat pack in Germany has a brief and violent fight with a rival pack over the premium pickled cabbage production in their small corner of the world.
Rye futures suddenly get important to a Ventrue working the markets in Chicago...
And so. Until a century later the Ancient comes forth and on it's door step is the most fuck amazing Reuben Sandwich.
FYI, according this cosmology, the sammich is a metaphor for us.
Now we have conjecture and facts and everything else. The rumor is that an Ancient will rise. That Ancient will be near. That running is going to be tricky. Fighting impossible; nearest thing to god doncha know.
So, submit.
I took about two picoseconds to consider that option and said 'Nah'.
The Ancient slept when mankind's peak technology was still animal powered farm machinery, in many cases man powered farm machinery (Slaves. Look up 'Horse Collar' and why it ended slavery in food production Free Pawns and Black Rage. Cotton Gins were doing it to the South and Egypt in a generation or two anyway, if industrialization didn't do it first), and today we have tiny engines with mucho horses inside them.
I know of chemicals that will melt fucking anything.
I know of devices that will generate sun like temperatures.
And we have other things. Things to offer the fight to the Ancients.
Not just bunker talk kiddies. And not just talk about how some conspiracy minded sons of bitches convinced me this shit is real.
But, being an optimist, I think we have time. And I say we, because hell, if the Ancient never come then we can still collect some nifty fucking toys. Come and see me if you are interested.
Oh yeah. This shit - It is scary. Is any action really my own? And I then apply some logic, some science, and verify against independent facts like gravity. The one doubt I can come up with is that I've really always wanted to have a hot fusion cycle to poke. So maybe I'm talking myself into this corner.
The corner with all really neat toys that go boom.
So, here is the deal.
The other night I described that mortals have but two responses to a crisis: Fight of Flight. That pump of adrenaline courses through their systems and they get all jittery and then they explode in throwing punches or beating feet.
Conversly Licks like us still have that response. But we don't have that adrenaline rush for the most part. It might feel the same, but it really isn't. It's the Beast. That roiling feral monster that creeps into us all - I've felt it, you've felt it. God help you if you get in the habit of grabbing that tiger by the tail.
But because the Beast is a feral creature it has a third response: Submission.
Yeah, I know. Fucking get the leather and latex out of your brains. I mean full on Wolf Pack submission. Vampires, if you observe, tend to cluster in small groups around those who have the best means of providing for the group. Providing can be a lot of things; vitae, leadership, brains, ideas - Leaders provide for the needs of the group.
I will be the first to bluntly admit I follow Richter because he has the plan, the juice, and the means to get shit done. He doesn't have to terrify me to get me to do what he wants. But I tend to have a tendency to expose my belly to him when he's around - Pure pack submission. The Gangrel is Seattle go to degrees even further than that in some sort of proto-Sabbat nucleus.
The Sabbat loves this process. They love their feral pack structures; it keeps their social fabric pretty tight and they encourage the dominance games such an outlook encourages. They believe it culls their weaker members and promotes the stronger ones.
I guess.
Every Kindred interaction works on this basis: The Strong will dominate the Weak in any interaction. Mortals can delude themselves to a certain degree on that matter but the Beast won't let us - Survival instincts will kick in hardcore.
Why do I bring this up?
Well, a lot of rumors going around about ancient evils waking up. In asking around I learned that the Sabbat believe that Ancients will one day rise up and consume us all which is why instead of locating the Ancients and Nuking them from Orbit they spend all fucking night beating on the Camarilla.
The Camarilla for it's end says 'Ha, silly Kindred. Fairytales and poppycock, used to scare little neonates.'
I then notice the elders giving each other the Look and getting a little tight in the sphincters.
A guy I know even posits that the ancients have some process regarding the Jyhad that even in their resting they can guide the actions of their childer in subtle and broad ways. I call this the Reuben Sandwich after his example...
Said Ancient someday gets a passing craving for a Reuben Sandwich.
Shortly afterwords a coterie of Neonates notices that a local kosher cattle farm looks like a decent source of blood. A different Kindred looks around and figures out that he wants to invest in a deli and have it create the best corned beef in the country to gain influence among the Jewish community of New York and New Jersey.
A Sabbat pack in Germany has a brief and violent fight with a rival pack over the premium pickled cabbage production in their small corner of the world.
Rye futures suddenly get important to a Ventrue working the markets in Chicago...
And so. Until a century later the Ancient comes forth and on it's door step is the most fuck amazing Reuben Sandwich.
FYI, according this cosmology, the sammich is a metaphor for us.
Now we have conjecture and facts and everything else. The rumor is that an Ancient will rise. That Ancient will be near. That running is going to be tricky. Fighting impossible; nearest thing to god doncha know.
So, submit.
I took about two picoseconds to consider that option and said 'Nah'.
The Ancient slept when mankind's peak technology was still animal powered farm machinery, in many cases man powered farm machinery (Slaves. Look up 'Horse Collar' and why it ended slavery in food production Free Pawns and Black Rage. Cotton Gins were doing it to the South and Egypt in a generation or two anyway, if industrialization didn't do it first), and today we have tiny engines with mucho horses inside them.
I know of chemicals that will melt fucking anything.
I know of devices that will generate sun like temperatures.
And we have other things. Things to offer the fight to the Ancients.
Not just bunker talk kiddies. And not just talk about how some conspiracy minded sons of bitches convinced me this shit is real.
But, being an optimist, I think we have time. And I say we, because hell, if the Ancient never come then we can still collect some nifty fucking toys. Come and see me if you are interested.
Oh yeah. This shit - It is scary. Is any action really my own? And I then apply some logic, some science, and verify against independent facts like gravity. The one doubt I can come up with is that I've really always wanted to have a hot fusion cycle to poke. So maybe I'm talking myself into this corner.
The corner with all really neat toys that go boom.