Posted by: Cloak« on: Yesterday at 11:05:36 PM »
"But you're not a tiger!!!" he snarled. The rest of his pack was evidently forgotten to him now, though Ian Fefnir seemed to realize what Cloak's plan was. But he was browbeaten enough to know not to contradict their father, Abraham. Especially when he was in one of his rages. Such an ironfisted control he had over his pack, over his family.
Cloak had noticed this, but he was waiting. He was waiting to see . . . to be sure . . . until then, he was quite confident that he could handle this ruthless brute. Authoritarians are never loved, but feared. How anyone could enjoy such a role, Cloak would never know. He would never understand the need to have every little thing under your control -- it was a patent impossibility for every little thing to be under someone's control. It would just serve to make someone neurotic or paranoid or both. Why would anyone choose such a life, such a role?
He lunged at Cloak again. Why did he do this repeatedly? Cloak had demonstrated a number of times that this didn't work. Was he just that obtuse or simply obstinate? Cloak was finding it rather difficult to tell now. All his attacks were rather quixotic and impulsive, and so sadly predictable. Cloak wondered idly if the RAFians would have been this patient with this waiting to see if --
He swiped right, Cloak dodged left easily. He then swiped left and Cloak dodged right. It was really simple, paint-by-the-numbers type of fight. However, it would seem as if only Cloak himself was privy to this. Cloak quickly deduced that this guy didn't fight a lot. He clearly wasn't as trained a fighter as he believed he was. If anything, he was a berserker, someone who fights without any forethought or strategy, but just brute strength and nothing else.
"Fight back!" he roared, frustrated.
"And if I should refuse?" Cloak said. And, of course, the alpha, Abraham, had no answer. It was becoming increasingly clear that he could not touch the stranger, but his ego wouldn't allow him to end this battle or tell his children to help him. He wanted to do this, and he wanted the glory all to himself.
He never thought of the one weakness he and his children had. How this whole thing was pointless from the start. No, his enormous ego reigned supreme and his children were too afraid to disobey, or disappoint, or anger their father. His punishments . . . well, they're best not elaborated on in detail.
Cloak had no idea of their human identities, but he knew why the pack refused to go against their leader. It didn't take a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon to deduce that they were afraid and intimidated by him. Cloak could understand that -- he had dealt with that himself. He knew what prisons one's own mind could conjure up, which is why he held absolutely no enmity towards Shanker for fleeing. He thought he understood the emotions.
"Coward!!" the alpha werewolf snarled. "Fight me, like a man!!"
"I am no more a human than you are right now," Cloak said, wondering idly if this man was a Bern Bridges listener. He didn't know why that thought struck him at this particular moment, but it did. Perhaps it was because he was finding this battle rather lackluster. Garrotik, he wasn't.
"Stop talking in riddles!!" he roared.
"I wasn't," Cloak said, truthfully. Funny how obsessive this man could be. He was now obsessed with this fight, seemingly forgetting the entire reason he came here. All he thought about right now was winning this fight, and wiping what he imagined to be a smug smirk from Cloak's face, despite the face Cloak wasn't smiling at all. He was quite literally taking zero enjoyment from this fight.
"What are you waiting for?!"
Cloak ****ed his head, and gave him an incredulous look. "How haven't you figured it out by now?"