Post by Nightmare on Jan 6, 2006 18:03:19 GMT -5
[fade up]
[the camera faces the left side of Apocalypse sitting at a bar. to his right are a bunch of pretty girls waving and blowing kisses to a smiling madman. Blake walks up just as our host finishes a large mug of what looks to be a strong drink]
Blake> Here you are. Where the f*ck were you?
Apocalypse> Here.
Blake> What are you drinkin'?
[Apocalypse hesitates]
Apocalypse> Rickards.
[Blake snickers, Apocalypse glares behind dark lenses]
Blake> (to the bartender) Get this man a real drink!
Bartender> You gonna pay for it?
Blake> (hesitantly) Yea. Why ...? (glaring at a smiling Apocalypse)
Bartender> Because that bastard owes me three hundred dollars.
Blake> (looking at Apocalypse) How many drinks?
Bartender> Almost fifty.
Blake> Then how is it three benjamins?
[the bartender smirks. Blake leans in and whispers something oblivious to us into the bartender's ear. Apocalypse smiles as Blake very quietly slips something into the bartender's pocket]
Bartender> Fifty drinks. Six bucks a pop. Do the math.
[Apocalypse turns to meet the girls at the far end of the counter, but is unsuccessful as Blake pulls him closer]
Blake> Fifty drinks?! Fifty? How the hell do you manage to stay sobre?
[Apocalypse merely smiles. not a smile we recognize, it's more of a weak smile]
[the bartender hands them two large mugs, winking]
Apocalypse> What's in it?
[Blake looks at the bartender, smiling]
Bartender> Vodka, Bailey's, and (winks to Blake) other stuff.
[Apocalypse eyes both drinks carefully, searching for differences. apparently he finds one, and smiles]
[Blake walks over to talk to the ladies. Apocalypse looks at the bartender, sees his back turned, and switches the drinks]
Blake> Sorry, ladies, no action tonight.
[Apocalypse smirks]
Apocalypse> No, Action! is on Thursday nights.
Blake> Is that what this is about?
[Apocalypse takes a large gulp of Blake's drink. Blake smiles obliviously]
Apocalypse> Good sh*t.
Blake> What's the problem?
[Apocalypse leans back in his chair]
Apocalypse> Have you seen the card for Action!?
Blake> Of course, I am your manager, damn it.
Apocalypse> I don't understand how I make a challenge to Travelli, and we get put in a triple threat. Pisses me off. What has Travelli done to deserve a title shot so damn early?
[Blake shrugs]
Blake> What have you?
[Apocalypse sneers, coldly at Blake, who obliviously takes a considerably large gulp of his drink]
Blake> Tastes ... funny ...
[he colapses to the floor followed by the maniacle laughter of Apocalypse. Our host stands and poors the contents of his mug down his throat. being so far from him, more of the drink lands on his chest and forehead]
Apocalypse> (to the bartender) Sorry about the mess.
[he throws a roll of twenties to the bartender who counts it and approves, not that he would have any time to object, considering Apocalypse has already left, with Blake on his back]
[fade out]
[the camera faces the left side of Apocalypse sitting at a bar. to his right are a bunch of pretty girls waving and blowing kisses to a smiling madman. Blake walks up just as our host finishes a large mug of what looks to be a strong drink]
Blake> Here you are. Where the f*ck were you?
Apocalypse> Here.
Blake> What are you drinkin'?
[Apocalypse hesitates]
Apocalypse> Rickards.
[Blake snickers, Apocalypse glares behind dark lenses]
Blake> (to the bartender) Get this man a real drink!
Bartender> You gonna pay for it?
Blake> (hesitantly) Yea. Why ...? (glaring at a smiling Apocalypse)
Bartender> Because that bastard owes me three hundred dollars.
Blake> (looking at Apocalypse) How many drinks?
Bartender> Almost fifty.
Blake> Then how is it three benjamins?
[the bartender smirks. Blake leans in and whispers something oblivious to us into the bartender's ear. Apocalypse smiles as Blake very quietly slips something into the bartender's pocket]
Bartender> Fifty drinks. Six bucks a pop. Do the math.
[Apocalypse turns to meet the girls at the far end of the counter, but is unsuccessful as Blake pulls him closer]
Blake> Fifty drinks?! Fifty? How the hell do you manage to stay sobre?
[Apocalypse merely smiles. not a smile we recognize, it's more of a weak smile]
[the bartender hands them two large mugs, winking]
Apocalypse> What's in it?
[Blake looks at the bartender, smiling]
Bartender> Vodka, Bailey's, and (winks to Blake) other stuff.
[Apocalypse eyes both drinks carefully, searching for differences. apparently he finds one, and smiles]
[Blake walks over to talk to the ladies. Apocalypse looks at the bartender, sees his back turned, and switches the drinks]
Blake> Sorry, ladies, no action tonight.
[Apocalypse smirks]
Apocalypse> No, Action! is on Thursday nights.
Blake> Is that what this is about?
[Apocalypse takes a large gulp of Blake's drink. Blake smiles obliviously]
Apocalypse> Good sh*t.
Blake> What's the problem?
[Apocalypse leans back in his chair]
Apocalypse> Have you seen the card for Action!?
Blake> Of course, I am your manager, damn it.
Apocalypse> I don't understand how I make a challenge to Travelli, and we get put in a triple threat. Pisses me off. What has Travelli done to deserve a title shot so damn early?
[Blake shrugs]
Blake> What have you?
[Apocalypse sneers, coldly at Blake, who obliviously takes a considerably large gulp of his drink]
Blake> Tastes ... funny ...
[he colapses to the floor followed by the maniacle laughter of Apocalypse. Our host stands and poors the contents of his mug down his throat. being so far from him, more of the drink lands on his chest and forehead]
Apocalypse> (to the bartender) Sorry about the mess.
[he throws a roll of twenties to the bartender who counts it and approves, not that he would have any time to object, considering Apocalypse has already left, with Blake on his back]
[fade out]