The Result of Failure [Sam/Invite]

Frankly, Alexander didn't need Sam's callous words. Grunting away a frustrated sigh, the Father arose once again, just barely glaring at Sam. It was too late in the day -- or rather, the night -- for this, as well. One step. Two steps. Stepping, wholly and evidently between the nearest gravestones, Alexander approached his associate. The crease of his lip appeared strained. The dastard's excuses kept coming, meanwhile. It was often Sam's go-to, after all. The fine-tuned words, the confession of his sins. Something like that made it difficult to blame him immediately. Unfortunately, Alexander wasn't in the mood.

The Associate's sudden toss of a dagger prompted for the Father's proximate foot to dive backwards. The hell was -- that syringe. Its contents were very familiar. Alexander's simmering offense towards Sam eased itself within the mild confusion. Why did Sam have that? Was that... the superhuman enhancer fluid that the lab had? That gunk extracted from Garland? An urge to throw his head back and scream was overwhelming, albeit just for a moment. How did Sam get that?! The splattered serum, miraculously, began to reinvigorate its minuscule, immediate vicinity. The Father's associate then soon spoke. The culprit was he, and the perpetrators against playing God were he and Naomi. Alexander almost felt disgusted.

However, the implausible theory and/or fairy tale plot revealed itself more and more. Not only could the recently deceased be revived, but the Black Lotus and DNA samples were necessary for this crackpot idea to come to fruition. Without a word, Alexander turned upon his heel. A few steps were taken in the opposite direction of Sam. A sinking sensation rattled the Father's abdominal core. His brow furrowed with an unreasonable intensity. Alexander had been suggested -- and therefore heard -- massively stupid shit before. Unfortunately, this bullshit Sam spoke of already took a dump over the cake. A large one.

The Black Lotus, another seemingly worldwide antagonistic organization, was an inconsistently dangerous thorn in the House's side for months. Their interactions with the Hope House were often unconventional, hostile; albeit often suppressed by the Captains Arved and Virginia. Regardless, an obnoxious THUNK interrupted Alexander's fluctuating grief. Glancing over his shoulder: a crate. This better not be some tone souring joke. Brazenly forcing the fastenings apart atop the crate's skyward face, its contents were no jape. Staring at the "gifted" artifact, the Father retorted with words dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh good, there's no seaweed -- or something equally worthless -- in here."

Alexander's tone of voice shifted swiftly, following that comment.

"At least I can see this being useful."

The emitter module jammed onto the frame wasn't pretty, but it'd sure commit to something destructive. Shoving a hand into his vest, even Alexander's disrupted analysis skills could tell that this thing was a beast. A .600 caliber wasn't just powerful, it was outright destructive. Sam definitely intended to give Alexander an option to legitimately blow up his brains, rather than just blast 'em. That recoil is guaranteed to be nasty, too. Nonetheless, prodding the crate's outer face with a Hoi Poi Capsule, the container and contents vanished in a whining smoke. A deep inhale, then an equal exhale took Alexander a moment to pass. Their previous topic wasn't fully addressed just yet. They needed to go over that for a few moments. The Father concealed his palms within his pockets as he spoke.

"You've got some real fuckin' balls trying to tell me you can play God, Sam. I appreciate you preserving what's left of our dead. I can also appreciate that you're doing what you think is best to benefit the House. But, that doesn't excuse you of the plop of cow shit you just told me. No one is God, there's no such nonsensical bullshit that brings people back to life, and you shouldn't be giving any of us any false hope."

Alexander sealed his eyelids. Taking in another intake of breath, another moment or so would pass before the Father breathily added on to his previous speech.

"...But, if you're so intent on going on and on about all this: prove it to me. Prove that this shit isn't just crazy talk before I report it back to anyone else."

May as well catch the liar red-handed, right? At least, that'd surely be the most likely scenario. Entirely unbelieving of his associate's claims, the Father didn't feel it right to leave him completely shut down. Unfortunately, it still incited less-than-bright emotions. Good thing the Hope House didn't try to glorify death.