Post by Static on Nov 12, 2005 14:10:43 GMT -5
Saturday, November 12, 2005
6:21am
Leduc, AB, Canada
Get out.
(Fade up. It's still pitch black outside, as Static and "the Mayor" Bill Fleming had left it in the hotel. The two have stopped at a hole-in-the-wall diner on the outskirts of Edmonton, known only by the large white sign that reads "DINER" in red letters, and "LEDUC, AB," underneath. Static's opened the trunk to let Fleming out.)
FLEMING: Aw, nuts. I thought you said we were getting drive-through... hey, did you read this article in Time? The CIA's running secret prisons for terror suspects in Europe and Asia!
STATIC: After the night you've had, how can you possibly have the energy to be babbling like this?
FLEMING: Hey now, remember. I used to be an interviewer. I am hungry, though, thanks for stopping.
STATIC: It's no Marco's Famous, but it'll do. C'mon, let's go.
(They walk inside. Keeping up with the sign on the outside, this is indeed a hole-in-the-wall diner. Two customers are already inside, both looking like truckers, or Mark Millar aged several years. The sole waitress appears to be fifty-something, the cigarette that she's chomping on isn't helping her out in the "age guessing game." She waltzes past the two with a steaming hot coffee pot, asking them to take a seat. Static nods to Fleming, who's staring off into the distance. Static then pokes Fleming, chiding him to "siddown, willya?!" Fleming shakes his head and slides into a booth, followed by Static. After a second, the waitress stops by.)
WAITRESS: Mornin', boys. What can I get for you? Right now, we've got a special, six bucks for hash browns, two eggs, toast, and coffee.
FLEMING: (giggling at the wart on her cheek) Hehe, yeah. That sounds good. Over easy, please, jam for the toast, cream for the coffee.
WAITRESS: (looking miffed, then taken aback by Static's mask) Sure. And for you?
STATIC: (kicks Fleming under the table... "Owww...") Forgive my friend, he's had a rough night. He's also an imbecile. I'll have an omelette, ham and cheese, with french fries, and a Coke.
WAITRESS: Certainly. Be ready in a minute.
STATIC: Of course. (the waitress leaves.) Well, well. He had some fun with yo, alright. How's the neck?
FLEMING: Ugh. That demon. It's fine. Here I am, about to interview Lobo to see what's going through his head for the match on Monday. We set up a time and a place and everything. I get there, two seconds later, he's driving off! Then Ravager sees me, oh man. Throws me in that (BLEEP) trunk, left me there for ages while he beat up poor little Joey Malone. Takes me to that shoddy motel, ties me up, hangs me from the ceiling. My brain could've exploded, Static!
STATIC: (obviously disinterested in the Mayor's tale) Yeah... hmm. Say, were you privy to any of the details regarding Lobo and Ravager's conversation?
FLEMING: Actually, yeah. Ravager told Lobo that if he screwed him out of the belt, Lobo would never win another match in this town again. But that's not the bad part.
STATIC: Uh-huh. Pray tell, what's that?
FLEMING: Lobo's already saying that he's going to screw you out of your shot.
STATIC: Great. Thaaat's great. You know, it wasn't enough that they made Lobo a special guest referee when he probably can't count to three, Lobo couldn't even pull off the whole "suspense" bit, you know? I mean, I'm supposed to come THISCLOSE to winning before he reveals his true colors and hits me with a chair or something, you know? Think of the ratings, man!
FLEMING: I don't think that you're really taking that threat as seriously as you should. I mean, regardless of how smart he is, he's still going to be the one running the show on Monday... and, well...
STATIC: Well, what?
FLEMING: Well... you already did have a shot, and you lost it. Another loss, and...
(As Static's expression goes from confused to shellshocked to anger in about two seconds, the waitress arrives just in time with the food. A starving Bill Fleming immediately goes to town on his hash browns, whereas Static methodically sprinkles salt on his fries and waits for her to leave. When she does, there's a moment of silence between Static and Fleming.)
STATIC: Look, Fleming. I maintained my number one contender status at Action, I laid waste to Ravager. Remember that chair shot in the crowd? Kapow! Everyone knew it was over, right then!
FLEMING: (looking up, with a mouthful of hash browns and egg) I fought dat he ficked that chaow in your f...
STATIC: ... and then the Beast, with that picture-perfect moonsault on Axe's mug. 1-2-3. That victory was in YOUR name, the Mayor! Remember that?
FLEMING: Yefhh, Schtatic.
STATIC: You can only go so far with the same schtick, Fleming. Remember that. Ravager, he's still threatening you, and he's still beating up rookies, and threatening that meathead Lobo. And y'know, if Lobo wants to sway things Ravager's way, it's his business. But my goal's going to be to beat Ravager into submission so badly that Lobo HAS to call it my way. Regardless, I've got a phone call to make. Finish up.
(As Fleming continues chowing down, Static makes his way to the payphone. To be continued.)
6:21am
Leduc, AB, Canada
Get out.
(Fade up. It's still pitch black outside, as Static and "the Mayor" Bill Fleming had left it in the hotel. The two have stopped at a hole-in-the-wall diner on the outskirts of Edmonton, known only by the large white sign that reads "DINER" in red letters, and "LEDUC, AB," underneath. Static's opened the trunk to let Fleming out.)
FLEMING: Aw, nuts. I thought you said we were getting drive-through... hey, did you read this article in Time? The CIA's running secret prisons for terror suspects in Europe and Asia!
STATIC: After the night you've had, how can you possibly have the energy to be babbling like this?
FLEMING: Hey now, remember. I used to be an interviewer. I am hungry, though, thanks for stopping.
STATIC: It's no Marco's Famous, but it'll do. C'mon, let's go.
(They walk inside. Keeping up with the sign on the outside, this is indeed a hole-in-the-wall diner. Two customers are already inside, both looking like truckers, or Mark Millar aged several years. The sole waitress appears to be fifty-something, the cigarette that she's chomping on isn't helping her out in the "age guessing game." She waltzes past the two with a steaming hot coffee pot, asking them to take a seat. Static nods to Fleming, who's staring off into the distance. Static then pokes Fleming, chiding him to "siddown, willya?!" Fleming shakes his head and slides into a booth, followed by Static. After a second, the waitress stops by.)
WAITRESS: Mornin', boys. What can I get for you? Right now, we've got a special, six bucks for hash browns, two eggs, toast, and coffee.
FLEMING: (giggling at the wart on her cheek) Hehe, yeah. That sounds good. Over easy, please, jam for the toast, cream for the coffee.
WAITRESS: (looking miffed, then taken aback by Static's mask) Sure. And for you?
STATIC: (kicks Fleming under the table... "Owww...") Forgive my friend, he's had a rough night. He's also an imbecile. I'll have an omelette, ham and cheese, with french fries, and a Coke.
WAITRESS: Certainly. Be ready in a minute.
STATIC: Of course. (the waitress leaves.) Well, well. He had some fun with yo, alright. How's the neck?
FLEMING: Ugh. That demon. It's fine. Here I am, about to interview Lobo to see what's going through his head for the match on Monday. We set up a time and a place and everything. I get there, two seconds later, he's driving off! Then Ravager sees me, oh man. Throws me in that (BLEEP) trunk, left me there for ages while he beat up poor little Joey Malone. Takes me to that shoddy motel, ties me up, hangs me from the ceiling. My brain could've exploded, Static!
STATIC: (obviously disinterested in the Mayor's tale) Yeah... hmm. Say, were you privy to any of the details regarding Lobo and Ravager's conversation?
FLEMING: Actually, yeah. Ravager told Lobo that if he screwed him out of the belt, Lobo would never win another match in this town again. But that's not the bad part.
STATIC: Uh-huh. Pray tell, what's that?
FLEMING: Lobo's already saying that he's going to screw you out of your shot.
STATIC: Great. Thaaat's great. You know, it wasn't enough that they made Lobo a special guest referee when he probably can't count to three, Lobo couldn't even pull off the whole "suspense" bit, you know? I mean, I'm supposed to come THISCLOSE to winning before he reveals his true colors and hits me with a chair or something, you know? Think of the ratings, man!
FLEMING: I don't think that you're really taking that threat as seriously as you should. I mean, regardless of how smart he is, he's still going to be the one running the show on Monday... and, well...
STATIC: Well, what?
FLEMING: Well... you already did have a shot, and you lost it. Another loss, and...
(As Static's expression goes from confused to shellshocked to anger in about two seconds, the waitress arrives just in time with the food. A starving Bill Fleming immediately goes to town on his hash browns, whereas Static methodically sprinkles salt on his fries and waits for her to leave. When she does, there's a moment of silence between Static and Fleming.)
STATIC: Look, Fleming. I maintained my number one contender status at Action, I laid waste to Ravager. Remember that chair shot in the crowd? Kapow! Everyone knew it was over, right then!
FLEMING: (looking up, with a mouthful of hash browns and egg) I fought dat he ficked that chaow in your f...
STATIC: ... and then the Beast, with that picture-perfect moonsault on Axe's mug. 1-2-3. That victory was in YOUR name, the Mayor! Remember that?
FLEMING: Yefhh, Schtatic.
STATIC: You can only go so far with the same schtick, Fleming. Remember that. Ravager, he's still threatening you, and he's still beating up rookies, and threatening that meathead Lobo. And y'know, if Lobo wants to sway things Ravager's way, it's his business. But my goal's going to be to beat Ravager into submission so badly that Lobo HAS to call it my way. Regardless, I've got a phone call to make. Finish up.
(As Fleming continues chowing down, Static makes his way to the payphone. To be continued.)