Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Oct 12, 2021 21:46:53 GMT -5
After suffering a first-class ass-kicking at the hands of The Massacre and then competing against Syndicate at the last Fallout, the past couple of weeks have been rather uneventful for the bad motherfucker known as Julius Fairweather. With his pride nearly injured as bad as his body, the last thing Julius wanted to do was be seen in public with his arm in a sling. It was much easier to retreat from the world to lick his wounds than to publicly acknowledge that anyone had gotten the better of him.
After failing to reacquire their tag team titles, Julius hadn’t even found the necessary courage to face his tag team partner. While he knew Pyro wouldn’t hold it against him, he simply didn’t want to appear weak in front of a friend or a foe. While giving his body the necessary time to heal, he barely interacted with his mother or personal manservant, Joey Fatone, instead secluding himself in the den that used to belong to Winston Winfield. His only companion over the course of those weeks was the leather-bound journal that Winston had bequeathed to him upon his death.
Day after day and late into the nights that followed, Julius poured through the various riddles, maps, and journal entries within the book, attempting to make sense of it all. While he would often find himself frustrated in trying to decipher these writings, at least it took his mind off the physical damage and embarrassment he’d suffered at the last Fallout. Now, with another episode of the program rapidly approaching, Julius was beginning to buy into the idea that the book could actually lead him to the lost biblical commandments. The only question that remained in his mind was why he should bother seeking them out.
The sound of voices passing outside of the locked den convinced Julius to close the journal and tuck it back in the safe behind Winston’s old desk. His time in seclusion had helped him accept what had happened to him and gave him valuable time to remember that he was still a bad motherfucker. With or without a tag team partner, he still prided himself on being an independent man capable of fighting his own battles. In his mind, Julius still believed that Fallout was his show, and he wasn’t going to let Massacre, Syndicate, or even a little worm like Arik Holt keep him from reminding everyone else of that fact.
By the time he put the journal away and unlocked the door to the den, the voices that had interrupted him were now coming from the lower level. Recognizing them as belonging to his saintly mother and estranged father, Julius put on his most confident face and headed downstairs. As he approached the main entrance to his home, he saw Momma Fairweather and Eustace Carter engaged in a more quiet conversation, and if Julius was being honest with himself, he didn’t like the schoolgirl expression upon his mother’s face.
He took note of the duffle bag over Eustace’s shoulder as he approached them, his eyes locked on the man who had been absent from his life up until recently. Whatever sweet nonsense the pair were sharing, it came to an end as they became aware of Julius’ presence and both of them greeted him with a smile.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: There’s my precious angel! It’s about time you got your nose out of that book and rejoined the real world!
Despite the love and respect he had for his mother, Julius practically ignored her greeting as he kept his eyes locked onto Eustace.
EUSTACE CARTER: I was hoping I’d get to see you again before I left. As much as I’ve enjoyed these past few weeks reconnecting with you and your momma, the chicken farm has been unattended for far too long…
JULIUS: You ain’t reconnected with shit, old man!
While not totally unexpected, Julius’ response brings a shocked expression from his mother and forces the smile on Eustace’s face to fade away.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Luther! Don’t you go talking to your daddy like that!
Still refusing to look his mother in the eyes, Julius stares down his father as if he were looking across the ring at an opponent.
JULIUS: This old motherfucker ain’t no daddy of mine, and it’s about time he got his freeloading ass out of my house!
Somewhat taken aback and unaccustomed to hearing her son talk back to her in such a way, Momma Fairweather looks nervously between the two men before she finally decides it would be best if she let them settle things without her being present.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: I...suppose I should get back upstairs. That Fatone boy still ain’t figured out how to use the dishwasher properly…
She looks back at Eustace, unable to conceal the admiration in her eyes.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: It was real nice spending time with you again after all those years, Eustace. You’ve got my number so we’ll talk once you’re safe at home in Mississippi…
Julius’ parents exchange a friendly kiss on the cheek before Momma Fairweather gives both men another nervous look and then excuses herself from the entrance area. After she leaves, there is a long moment of uncomfortable silence between them, until Eustace readjusts the bag over his shoulder and takes hold of the doorknob.
EUSTACE: Well...Suppose I’ll be seeing you then…
With that, he exits the house to wait for the cab that will take him to the airport. Even once he’s gone, Julius continues to stare at the empty spot his father once occupied, glaring at the closed door with a mix of contempt and regret. Finally, he opens the door for himself and marches onto the sidewalk that leads to the curb, where Eustace is lighting up a half-smoked cigar.
JULIUS: What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?
The old chicken farmer looks up at his son curiously as he puffs on his cigar. Once it’s lit, he pulls it from between his lips and lets out a billowing cloud of smoke.
EUSTACE: I’m going to the motherfucking airport. I thought I’d made that clear…
JULIUS: That ain’t what I’m talking about and you damn well know it! You think you can waltz back into my motherfucker life because that fool Winston thought it was a good idea? Then you spend a month in my house like some motherfucking bum, sitting at the motherfucking dining room table I paid for like you weren’t a ghost for the past twenty five years?
EUSTACE: Luther I…
JULIUS: Then you have the nerve to act all sweet with my momma, as if getting close to her will force me to accept you? Nah, motherfucker. It ain’t that goddamn easy!
Now with a frustrated look of his own, Eustace drops his bag to the sidewalk and measures up to his son.
EUSTACE: Easy? You think this has been easy? You’ve barely said three motherfucking words to me since I’ve been here! You know damn well I didn’t even know you existed until recently, and you’re still holding a grudge against me because I wasn’t there when you were young! I take responsibility for what’s mine, and you can bet your skinny ass I’d have been there if I knew!
Hearing sincerity in his father’s voice for the first time since his visit began, Julius is momentarily taken aback.
EUSTACE: The only reason I convinced my old buddies to protect you from those motherfuckers who were out to get you, was so I could make up for all those years I wasn’t there! I couldn’t protect you when you were little, so I was determined to protect you now! I didn’t take a dime from Winston when he offered to hire us. Things may not have turned out very well, and I’m sorry your friend died, but the only reason I came back was because I care about you! If you weren’t so goddamn stubborn, you might have realized that and given me a chance! Instead you’ve treated me like I’m some kind of criminal, giving me those sideways stares and off-handed comments! Motherfucker, if any other man treated me the way you’ve been treating me, I’d have knocked him on his ass!
The old man sticks the cigar back in his mouth and chews on the end of it, his eyes bugging out as he continues to stare Julius down. There is an uncomfortable silence between the two men as a taxi cab rounds the corner and draws near. The sound of the vehicle’s tires on the pavement and its brakes engaging doesn’t manage to break the stalemate between father and son. Finally, when the cabbie steps out to address them, Eustace breaks his stare.
CABBIE: Is this 1469 Jackson Road?
EUSTACE: Yeah, motherfucker. That’s us.
The old man then picks up his bag, gives Julius another disappointed look, and turns to open the back door of the cab. He tosses his bag inside as the Cabbie returns to the driver’s seat, and then turns back from the door to acknowledge Julius one final time. This time, the silence between them is brief.
JULIUS: If you think this is the part where I give your nasty old ass a hug, you’d be mistaken. Get to steppin’, motherfucker. I don’t need you...I don’t need anybody!
With a nod of his head, Eustace pulls the cigar back from his mouth and forcefully tosses it on the ground. He then takes his seat and slams the car door closed, but seconds later, he rolls down the window.
EUSTACE: You keep telling yourself that, boy. I'm pretty sure that's what made Winston track me down in the first place, and look how that turned out.
Julius cannot find a snappy comeback before the cab begins to pull away from the curb. Still at a loss for words and before Julius can even regret throwing away his chance at reconciliation, the tail lights of the cab disappear around the next corner of the darkened street.
There is no sling on his arm when Julius stands in front of the camera. His cuts and bruises have either healed or faded. If there is any weakness left inside of him, it doesn’t show as he records his promo.
“Seems like Fallout’s bad motherfucker has a lot of business to attend to this week seeing as how my last outing didn’t exactly go as planned. Lazarus and Charon got the drop on my ass, and those boys put a hurting on me the likes of which most folks ain’t used to seeing. Since joining this company, I’ve been beat up, burned, and busted open, but I’ve always been able to give just as good as I got up until now. Some motherfuckers might offer The Massacre their respect at a time like this, but I ain’t most motherfuckers. I ain’t about to forget what happened two weeks ago, and you can both bet your asses that there’s a receipt headed in your general direction. Whether Pyro is a part of it or not, there’s a reckoning coming for you boys, and it’s only a matter of time until Julius motherfucking Fairweather embarrasses you in front of the world.”
“Now Syndicate is another story altogether. You and I have had some damn good fights up until now, and I kind of doubt we’ve had our last one. The last point may have gone to you, but ain’t neither one of us declared checkmate just yet. Until the day comes when we settle our business once and for all, enjoy having one up the Bad Motherfucker. We’ve both got other issues that demand our attention, but I’m a patient man. We’ll see each other again soon enough, and when that day comes, you can bet your ass that I’ll be ready to take everything you’ve got and give it back twice as good. If there’s any doubt in your mind, just take a look back at Night of Honor and I’m sure the memories will come flooding in.”
“As for this week, everybody’s favorite Make-a-Wish motherfucker, Arik Holt, has got me and Pyro together again. By now, everyone knows that when you combine Fire and Ice, the outcome ain’t very nice. This week, Crash Rodriguez and Thorberg Aaronsson get to find that out firsthand. Old Thorberg has already had a taste of what Fire and Ice can do, so I hope he takes the time to let Crash know just what he’s in for this Thursday. As an added bonus, this match is all about being bald and free, which means Thorberg and myself are off limits when it comes to being pinned. The bad news is, one of you motherfuckers would still have to pin Pyro to win this one, and trust me when I say there ain’t nothing easy about that.”
“Hell, Pyro’s the reason I ain’t got no hair to begin with, and bald motherfuckers worldwide should be grateful because I make this shit look good. Before I embraced this look, people had to look at gnarly motherfuckers like Thorberg as an example of male pattern baldness. Needless to say, he’s not a very good example of ‘bald is beautiful’. I do this shit by choice, and to say that I’m bringing sexy back would be an understatement. I’ve taken the pressure of representing bald people off the backs of ugly motherfuckers like Thorberg, and next I’m gonna knock his ass out so he won’t have to worry about representing conscious folks either.”
“As for Crash, that poor little bastard may as well paint a target on his forehead. I may enjoy knocking Thorberg off his feet, but when it comes to winning the match, Crash is my only avenue. So while I won’t be ignoring the ugly motherfucker in his corner, you can bet that most of my attention will be on putting Crash down for the count. Having the bad motherfucker focusing his frustrations on one man should be enough to cause Crash some concern. If he ain’t locking his ass up behind closed doors and shaving his head in a desperate attempt to avoid my attention, then he’s even stupider than I thought.”
“All the shit I’ve been through lately is coming to a head, from Massacre and Syndicate to troubles in my personal life. It’s just a damn shame that a pair of unsuspecting motherfuckers like Crash and Thorberg are the unlucky ones Arik decided to put in my path. The kitchen has been prepped, the grill is all warmed up, and this Thursday I’ll be dishing out Royales with Cheese to every motherfucker who steps up to the counter whether they’ve got a full head of hair or not. My winning streak may have come to an end, but I’ve still got Jason Long in my sights, and you can bet your asses that I’m looking to get back on track.”
“Last week, Pyro had some business to take care of, but I'm sure he'll be right back where he belongs this week. With him watching my back, you'd better believe the shit that went down last time ain't gonna happen again. Hell, even if he misses his plane and I'm in that ring alone, you'd better believe that Julius Fairweather doesn't need anyone by his side to open up a tall can of whoop ass and spray that shit all over the place. So whether you’re a pair of scarred up masochists, an L.A. Outlaw, a modern day Viking with too many consonants in his name, or a South of the Border sadist with a beautiful head of hair, you’d better believe that Julius Fairweather is coming to town with violent tendencies on his mind. There’s a whole lot of fire, ice, and bad attitude coming to Fallout this Thursday, so until then, be cool or be gone.”
Julius cannot deny that it felt good to speak his mind and get his promo out of the way. No matter the indignities he suffered before, there was still no one capable of taking the harsh edge out of voice. With his head held high, he returns to Winston's den and the book that was safely tucked away behind the old desk. Not in the mood for a lecture from his momma, Julius drops back down into one of the room's easy chairs and begins to search for the page where he'd left off. That's when he spots three simple words that give him pause; three words that threaten to ruin his confident mood and force him to question his own actions.
"Honor Thy Father"
With a scowl, he immediately closes the book before tossing it across the room. It bounces off the closed door with a light thud before landing on the hardwood floor, and whether it's because of shame, guilt, or sheer defiance, Julius refuses to look at it. As he stares in the opposite direction and rubs the short beard on his chin, he cannot help but wonder if the search for the lost commandments could offer the kind of answers he's been too stubborn to see...
After failing to reacquire their tag team titles, Julius hadn’t even found the necessary courage to face his tag team partner. While he knew Pyro wouldn’t hold it against him, he simply didn’t want to appear weak in front of a friend or a foe. While giving his body the necessary time to heal, he barely interacted with his mother or personal manservant, Joey Fatone, instead secluding himself in the den that used to belong to Winston Winfield. His only companion over the course of those weeks was the leather-bound journal that Winston had bequeathed to him upon his death.
Day after day and late into the nights that followed, Julius poured through the various riddles, maps, and journal entries within the book, attempting to make sense of it all. While he would often find himself frustrated in trying to decipher these writings, at least it took his mind off the physical damage and embarrassment he’d suffered at the last Fallout. Now, with another episode of the program rapidly approaching, Julius was beginning to buy into the idea that the book could actually lead him to the lost biblical commandments. The only question that remained in his mind was why he should bother seeking them out.
The sound of voices passing outside of the locked den convinced Julius to close the journal and tuck it back in the safe behind Winston’s old desk. His time in seclusion had helped him accept what had happened to him and gave him valuable time to remember that he was still a bad motherfucker. With or without a tag team partner, he still prided himself on being an independent man capable of fighting his own battles. In his mind, Julius still believed that Fallout was his show, and he wasn’t going to let Massacre, Syndicate, or even a little worm like Arik Holt keep him from reminding everyone else of that fact.
By the time he put the journal away and unlocked the door to the den, the voices that had interrupted him were now coming from the lower level. Recognizing them as belonging to his saintly mother and estranged father, Julius put on his most confident face and headed downstairs. As he approached the main entrance to his home, he saw Momma Fairweather and Eustace Carter engaged in a more quiet conversation, and if Julius was being honest with himself, he didn’t like the schoolgirl expression upon his mother’s face.
He took note of the duffle bag over Eustace’s shoulder as he approached them, his eyes locked on the man who had been absent from his life up until recently. Whatever sweet nonsense the pair were sharing, it came to an end as they became aware of Julius’ presence and both of them greeted him with a smile.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: There’s my precious angel! It’s about time you got your nose out of that book and rejoined the real world!
Despite the love and respect he had for his mother, Julius practically ignored her greeting as he kept his eyes locked onto Eustace.
EUSTACE CARTER: I was hoping I’d get to see you again before I left. As much as I’ve enjoyed these past few weeks reconnecting with you and your momma, the chicken farm has been unattended for far too long…
JULIUS: You ain’t reconnected with shit, old man!
While not totally unexpected, Julius’ response brings a shocked expression from his mother and forces the smile on Eustace’s face to fade away.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: Luther! Don’t you go talking to your daddy like that!
Still refusing to look his mother in the eyes, Julius stares down his father as if he were looking across the ring at an opponent.
JULIUS: This old motherfucker ain’t no daddy of mine, and it’s about time he got his freeloading ass out of my house!
Somewhat taken aback and unaccustomed to hearing her son talk back to her in such a way, Momma Fairweather looks nervously between the two men before she finally decides it would be best if she let them settle things without her being present.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: I...suppose I should get back upstairs. That Fatone boy still ain’t figured out how to use the dishwasher properly…
She looks back at Eustace, unable to conceal the admiration in her eyes.
MOMMA FAIRWEATHER: It was real nice spending time with you again after all those years, Eustace. You’ve got my number so we’ll talk once you’re safe at home in Mississippi…
Julius’ parents exchange a friendly kiss on the cheek before Momma Fairweather gives both men another nervous look and then excuses herself from the entrance area. After she leaves, there is a long moment of uncomfortable silence between them, until Eustace readjusts the bag over his shoulder and takes hold of the doorknob.
EUSTACE: Well...Suppose I’ll be seeing you then…
With that, he exits the house to wait for the cab that will take him to the airport. Even once he’s gone, Julius continues to stare at the empty spot his father once occupied, glaring at the closed door with a mix of contempt and regret. Finally, he opens the door for himself and marches onto the sidewalk that leads to the curb, where Eustace is lighting up a half-smoked cigar.
JULIUS: What in the fuck do you think you’re doing?
The old chicken farmer looks up at his son curiously as he puffs on his cigar. Once it’s lit, he pulls it from between his lips and lets out a billowing cloud of smoke.
EUSTACE: I’m going to the motherfucking airport. I thought I’d made that clear…
JULIUS: That ain’t what I’m talking about and you damn well know it! You think you can waltz back into my motherfucker life because that fool Winston thought it was a good idea? Then you spend a month in my house like some motherfucking bum, sitting at the motherfucking dining room table I paid for like you weren’t a ghost for the past twenty five years?
EUSTACE: Luther I…
JULIUS: Then you have the nerve to act all sweet with my momma, as if getting close to her will force me to accept you? Nah, motherfucker. It ain’t that goddamn easy!
Now with a frustrated look of his own, Eustace drops his bag to the sidewalk and measures up to his son.
EUSTACE: Easy? You think this has been easy? You’ve barely said three motherfucking words to me since I’ve been here! You know damn well I didn’t even know you existed until recently, and you’re still holding a grudge against me because I wasn’t there when you were young! I take responsibility for what’s mine, and you can bet your skinny ass I’d have been there if I knew!
Hearing sincerity in his father’s voice for the first time since his visit began, Julius is momentarily taken aback.
EUSTACE: The only reason I convinced my old buddies to protect you from those motherfuckers who were out to get you, was so I could make up for all those years I wasn’t there! I couldn’t protect you when you were little, so I was determined to protect you now! I didn’t take a dime from Winston when he offered to hire us. Things may not have turned out very well, and I’m sorry your friend died, but the only reason I came back was because I care about you! If you weren’t so goddamn stubborn, you might have realized that and given me a chance! Instead you’ve treated me like I’m some kind of criminal, giving me those sideways stares and off-handed comments! Motherfucker, if any other man treated me the way you’ve been treating me, I’d have knocked him on his ass!
The old man sticks the cigar back in his mouth and chews on the end of it, his eyes bugging out as he continues to stare Julius down. There is an uncomfortable silence between the two men as a taxi cab rounds the corner and draws near. The sound of the vehicle’s tires on the pavement and its brakes engaging doesn’t manage to break the stalemate between father and son. Finally, when the cabbie steps out to address them, Eustace breaks his stare.
CABBIE: Is this 1469 Jackson Road?
EUSTACE: Yeah, motherfucker. That’s us.
The old man then picks up his bag, gives Julius another disappointed look, and turns to open the back door of the cab. He tosses his bag inside as the Cabbie returns to the driver’s seat, and then turns back from the door to acknowledge Julius one final time. This time, the silence between them is brief.
JULIUS: If you think this is the part where I give your nasty old ass a hug, you’d be mistaken. Get to steppin’, motherfucker. I don’t need you...I don’t need anybody!
With a nod of his head, Eustace pulls the cigar back from his mouth and forcefully tosses it on the ground. He then takes his seat and slams the car door closed, but seconds later, he rolls down the window.
EUSTACE: You keep telling yourself that, boy. I'm pretty sure that's what made Winston track me down in the first place, and look how that turned out.
Julius cannot find a snappy comeback before the cab begins to pull away from the curb. Still at a loss for words and before Julius can even regret throwing away his chance at reconciliation, the tail lights of the cab disappear around the next corner of the darkened street.
There is no sling on his arm when Julius stands in front of the camera. His cuts and bruises have either healed or faded. If there is any weakness left inside of him, it doesn’t show as he records his promo.
“Seems like Fallout’s bad motherfucker has a lot of business to attend to this week seeing as how my last outing didn’t exactly go as planned. Lazarus and Charon got the drop on my ass, and those boys put a hurting on me the likes of which most folks ain’t used to seeing. Since joining this company, I’ve been beat up, burned, and busted open, but I’ve always been able to give just as good as I got up until now. Some motherfuckers might offer The Massacre their respect at a time like this, but I ain’t most motherfuckers. I ain’t about to forget what happened two weeks ago, and you can both bet your asses that there’s a receipt headed in your general direction. Whether Pyro is a part of it or not, there’s a reckoning coming for you boys, and it’s only a matter of time until Julius motherfucking Fairweather embarrasses you in front of the world.”
“Now Syndicate is another story altogether. You and I have had some damn good fights up until now, and I kind of doubt we’ve had our last one. The last point may have gone to you, but ain’t neither one of us declared checkmate just yet. Until the day comes when we settle our business once and for all, enjoy having one up the Bad Motherfucker. We’ve both got other issues that demand our attention, but I’m a patient man. We’ll see each other again soon enough, and when that day comes, you can bet your ass that I’ll be ready to take everything you’ve got and give it back twice as good. If there’s any doubt in your mind, just take a look back at Night of Honor and I’m sure the memories will come flooding in.”
“As for this week, everybody’s favorite Make-a-Wish motherfucker, Arik Holt, has got me and Pyro together again. By now, everyone knows that when you combine Fire and Ice, the outcome ain’t very nice. This week, Crash Rodriguez and Thorberg Aaronsson get to find that out firsthand. Old Thorberg has already had a taste of what Fire and Ice can do, so I hope he takes the time to let Crash know just what he’s in for this Thursday. As an added bonus, this match is all about being bald and free, which means Thorberg and myself are off limits when it comes to being pinned. The bad news is, one of you motherfuckers would still have to pin Pyro to win this one, and trust me when I say there ain’t nothing easy about that.”
“Hell, Pyro’s the reason I ain’t got no hair to begin with, and bald motherfuckers worldwide should be grateful because I make this shit look good. Before I embraced this look, people had to look at gnarly motherfuckers like Thorberg as an example of male pattern baldness. Needless to say, he’s not a very good example of ‘bald is beautiful’. I do this shit by choice, and to say that I’m bringing sexy back would be an understatement. I’ve taken the pressure of representing bald people off the backs of ugly motherfuckers like Thorberg, and next I’m gonna knock his ass out so he won’t have to worry about representing conscious folks either.”
“As for Crash, that poor little bastard may as well paint a target on his forehead. I may enjoy knocking Thorberg off his feet, but when it comes to winning the match, Crash is my only avenue. So while I won’t be ignoring the ugly motherfucker in his corner, you can bet that most of my attention will be on putting Crash down for the count. Having the bad motherfucker focusing his frustrations on one man should be enough to cause Crash some concern. If he ain’t locking his ass up behind closed doors and shaving his head in a desperate attempt to avoid my attention, then he’s even stupider than I thought.”
“All the shit I’ve been through lately is coming to a head, from Massacre and Syndicate to troubles in my personal life. It’s just a damn shame that a pair of unsuspecting motherfuckers like Crash and Thorberg are the unlucky ones Arik decided to put in my path. The kitchen has been prepped, the grill is all warmed up, and this Thursday I’ll be dishing out Royales with Cheese to every motherfucker who steps up to the counter whether they’ve got a full head of hair or not. My winning streak may have come to an end, but I’ve still got Jason Long in my sights, and you can bet your asses that I’m looking to get back on track.”
“Last week, Pyro had some business to take care of, but I'm sure he'll be right back where he belongs this week. With him watching my back, you'd better believe the shit that went down last time ain't gonna happen again. Hell, even if he misses his plane and I'm in that ring alone, you'd better believe that Julius Fairweather doesn't need anyone by his side to open up a tall can of whoop ass and spray that shit all over the place. So whether you’re a pair of scarred up masochists, an L.A. Outlaw, a modern day Viking with too many consonants in his name, or a South of the Border sadist with a beautiful head of hair, you’d better believe that Julius Fairweather is coming to town with violent tendencies on his mind. There’s a whole lot of fire, ice, and bad attitude coming to Fallout this Thursday, so until then, be cool or be gone.”
Julius cannot deny that it felt good to speak his mind and get his promo out of the way. No matter the indignities he suffered before, there was still no one capable of taking the harsh edge out of voice. With his head held high, he returns to Winston's den and the book that was safely tucked away behind the old desk. Not in the mood for a lecture from his momma, Julius drops back down into one of the room's easy chairs and begins to search for the page where he'd left off. That's when he spots three simple words that give him pause; three words that threaten to ruin his confident mood and force him to question his own actions.
"Honor Thy Father"
With a scowl, he immediately closes the book before tossing it across the room. It bounces off the closed door with a light thud before landing on the hardwood floor, and whether it's because of shame, guilt, or sheer defiance, Julius refuses to look at it. As he stares in the opposite direction and rubs the short beard on his chin, he cannot help but wonder if the search for the lost commandments could offer the kind of answers he's been too stubborn to see...
