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Post by Iago [REBEL] on Apr 25, 2007 20:46:20 GMT -5
Click. Snap. Lights on. Extreme closeup of a chessboard, in what appears to be the early stages of a game. We're focused on the black queen. A well-manicured hand swoops over, hesitates a second, then pick up the queen, and moves her forward. She clicks as she is placed back on the board.
We're in a dark warehouse. From the looks of it, it's storage for some manner of circus or carnival. Amidst the many sinister rows of colourful signs, disassembled rides, clown statues, costume pieces, mirrors, benches, old posters and magic show props, Ringmaster Iago doesn't seem at all out of place. He runs a finger over the giant, leering face of a clown, and looks idly at the dust he's scooped up.
IAGO: You're late, my dear.
We pull back a bit. Miranda, dressed in her usual alluring outfit, though without her bullwhip, steps around a rack full of old hats. Iago doesn't look at her.
MIRANDA: I didn't mean to keep you waiting. Getting all of the animals to bed took longer than usual.
Iago seems amused, but continues idly looking at the dust on his finger.
IAGO:[/i] Caliban.
Miranda nods.
MIRANDA: Caliban.
IAGO: I cannot say that I blame him his ire, my dear. It is very rare for someone to take him so lightly. Three impudent fools in a row... it's a very new experience for him.
Miranda steps closer to Iago, leaning against the leering clown.
MIRANDA: You mean it's a very new experience for you.
Iago's back stiffens. His gaze turns slowly toward her, his eyes burning but his mouth widening into a smile. Miranda can't help but avert her gaze.
IAGO:[/i] I have a lifetime of experience, my sweet, at creating monsters for the enjoyment of a sick public. Caliban is my greatest triumph. It will not do for my masterpiece to be disregarded so lightly.
MIRANDA: So what do we do?
IAGO: We will take some steps. In fact, I have already taken the initiative. There will be a meeting between yourself, and a prospective business partner.
MIRANDA:[/i] Why me?
IAGO:[/i] This will require a "feminine touch."
Miranda seems intrigued.
MIRANDA: A business partner is... very unlike you.
Iago turns back to idly admiring the dust on the leering clown.
IAGO: I am willing to make some sacrifices to earn the outcome I desire. I expect you, too, to do what it takes to help ensure that the entire REBEL Pro roster learns from the folly of one Bruce Richards.
MIRANDA: Of course.
IAGO: Good. My dear, it's time for you and I to begin writing a very special tragedy. I'll fill you in on what you need to know shortly. In the meantime, I have some dealings of my own to take care of.
Miranda nods, rises, and leaves. Iago doesn't watch her go, but his wicked smile returns.
IAGO: I hate happy endings.
Click. A black gloved hand places a white pawn within striking distance of a black rook. The focus shifts from the foreground, to the background, where the black king almost seems to be regarding the white pawn with amused disdain.
It is night-time. Why wouldn't it be. We seem to be outside of a Circle-K. A young man sits outside, listening to an old tape-walkman and loudly drinking a slurpee while flipping through a wrinkled "X-Men" comic book. As we pan closer to him, we can actually hear some Iron Maiden blaring out from the headphones. Someone steps up behind him. Someone in a pair of very well polished shoes, and who has a cane. The young man is rudely bumped with the end of the cane. He spits out some slurpee, getting it on his comic. He looks up, the camera following his gaze.
IAGO: Hello, Warren.
Warren quickly pulls off his headphones.
WARREN: Dude! Bogus! I totally just sprayed slurpee all over my comic! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!
Warren takes a second to turn off his walkman, wipe his comic on his sleeve, and stands up. He looks like he's got something to say to Iago, who just smiles at him in return, eyes twinkling mischievously. Annoyed, Warren just glares at him for a tense moment. Finally...
WARREN: That was totally bogus the other week, dude. Your freak didn't have to put me through a table! That was decidedly unrighteous. I could have been hurt!
Iago's expression doesn't change.
IAGO: This is physical competition, young man! You cannot expect to enter the wrestling ring without incurring a few "scrapes and bruises", hmm?
WARREN: A table, dude, is not going to give me "scrapes and bruises". More like, "broken bones" and... uh... "bruises".
IAGO: Granted. But it was you, not I, that asked for that match. You entered into the arena of a feral man-beast, and thus you are the only one to blame for the consequences.
WARREN: Hey, dude. It's wrestling, okay. Wrestling. There's rules and things to stop people from getting --
IAGO: Hurt? In REBEL Pro Wrestling? You really have entered into the wrong profession.
Warren snorts and waves a hand. Like, whatever, man.
WARREN: Hey... how'd you find me, anyway?
IAGO: It wasn't difficult. I made some enquiries with the REBEL Pro Wrestling crew. I judged that you usually film at your regular "haunt".
WARREN: Huh.
Warren sits back down and opens up the comic again, taking a long, loud slurp from his drink. The message is clear, he's blowing off Iago. The sinister ringmaster is non-plussed. He bumps Warren with the end of his cane again. Warren angrily glares up at him.
WARREN: Dude! Bogus! I'm trying to read here!
Iago leans in a bit, and reads over his shoulder.
IAGO: An interesting choice. The X-Men. A group of nature's freaks, fighting each other to earn acceptance.
WARREN: What? No! Dude, look, they're totally gnarly mutants...
IAGO: Freaks.
WARREN: ... who fight evil mutants...
IAGO: Fighting each other.
WARREN: ... and defend humanity!
IAGO: To earn acceptance. Yes, yes, we're splitting hairs.
Warren glares up at Iago.
WARREN: Look, if you're totally trying to get on my nerves...
IAGO: Far from it. I merely wish to retain your attention. You see, it seems I have a problem, and you, young man, are part of the solution.
WARREN: Well, too bad, because I'm not giving you any help.
IAGO: That's ideal, actually. No help.
Iago leans in just a little closer. His expression simultaneously doesn't change, and gets much, much darker.
IAGO: For either myself, or Caliban, or Bruce "the Beast" Richards.
WARREN: Who?
Iago actually laughs at that. For a moment, just a short burst.
WARREN: No sweat, dude. I plan to totally be all Fox News. "Fair-and-balanced"... NOT!
Warren laughs at his little joke. Iago's smile widens.
IAGO: Warren, let me just say that the relaxed rules of the REBEL ring make it... and unpredictable environment. I deal in monsters. I create them. I feed them. I allow them to thrive. And monsters can be very difficult to control. It would be a shame for something untoward to occur to a guest official. At least, an official who is being perfectly neutral.
WARREN: [/b]Whoa... Is that a threat? I mean... is that even legal?
IAGO: It is merely food for thought.
Warren stands abruptly, and tosses the X-Men comic at Iago. Iago catches it absently, still smiling, as Warren steps close.
WARREN: Tuesday night, I get to call the shots. And if I don't like having a totally mental dude like you around the ring, I get to kick you out.
Warren smugly sips his drink.
IAGO: Very good then. It seems we have an understand of sorts. You remain neutral, and I shall do nothing that might merit my being ejected from ringside.
WARREN: [/b]Good. I... wait, what? Did we just agree to that?
IAGO: Yes. Yes we did.
WARREN: Well. Good then. Keep your nose clean. Awesome. To the max.
Warren turns to leave, smirks and turns back.
WARREN: One last thing. Asphinctersayswhat?
IAGO: Mackerel.
WARREN: What? D'oh!
Warren turns on his heel, pulls up his headphones, hits play, and storms away. Iago watches him leave, then looks down at the X-Men comic. The camera pulls in so that we can see over his shoulder, showing a full page image of Dr. Hank McCoy. The Beast. Iago laughs.
Click. The white pawn has been cornered, neutralizing it for now, but primed for a later capture. The manicured hand gestures. It's white's turn.
Lights down.
- Warren used with generous permission.
We're in a dark warehouse. From the looks of it, it's storage for some manner of circus or carnival. Amidst the many sinister rows of colourful signs, disassembled rides, clown statues, costume pieces, mirrors, benches, old posters and magic show props, Ringmaster Iago doesn't seem at all out of place. He runs a finger over the giant, leering face of a clown, and looks idly at the dust he's scooped up.
IAGO: You're late, my dear.
We pull back a bit. Miranda, dressed in her usual alluring outfit, though without her bullwhip, steps around a rack full of old hats. Iago doesn't look at her.
MIRANDA: I didn't mean to keep you waiting. Getting all of the animals to bed took longer than usual.
Iago seems amused, but continues idly looking at the dust on his finger.
IAGO:[/i] Caliban.
Miranda nods.
MIRANDA: Caliban.
IAGO: I cannot say that I blame him his ire, my dear. It is very rare for someone to take him so lightly. Three impudent fools in a row... it's a very new experience for him.
Miranda steps closer to Iago, leaning against the leering clown.
MIRANDA: You mean it's a very new experience for you.
Iago's back stiffens. His gaze turns slowly toward her, his eyes burning but his mouth widening into a smile. Miranda can't help but avert her gaze.
IAGO:[/i] I have a lifetime of experience, my sweet, at creating monsters for the enjoyment of a sick public. Caliban is my greatest triumph. It will not do for my masterpiece to be disregarded so lightly.
MIRANDA: So what do we do?
IAGO: We will take some steps. In fact, I have already taken the initiative. There will be a meeting between yourself, and a prospective business partner.
MIRANDA:[/i] Why me?
IAGO:[/i] This will require a "feminine touch."
Miranda seems intrigued.
MIRANDA: A business partner is... very unlike you.
Iago turns back to idly admiring the dust on the leering clown.
IAGO: I am willing to make some sacrifices to earn the outcome I desire. I expect you, too, to do what it takes to help ensure that the entire REBEL Pro roster learns from the folly of one Bruce Richards.
MIRANDA: Of course.
IAGO: Good. My dear, it's time for you and I to begin writing a very special tragedy. I'll fill you in on what you need to know shortly. In the meantime, I have some dealings of my own to take care of.
Miranda nods, rises, and leaves. Iago doesn't watch her go, but his wicked smile returns.
IAGO: I hate happy endings.
Click. A black gloved hand places a white pawn within striking distance of a black rook. The focus shifts from the foreground, to the background, where the black king almost seems to be regarding the white pawn with amused disdain.
It is night-time. Why wouldn't it be. We seem to be outside of a Circle-K. A young man sits outside, listening to an old tape-walkman and loudly drinking a slurpee while flipping through a wrinkled "X-Men" comic book. As we pan closer to him, we can actually hear some Iron Maiden blaring out from the headphones. Someone steps up behind him. Someone in a pair of very well polished shoes, and who has a cane. The young man is rudely bumped with the end of the cane. He spits out some slurpee, getting it on his comic. He looks up, the camera following his gaze.
IAGO: Hello, Warren.
Warren quickly pulls off his headphones.
WARREN: Dude! Bogus! I totally just sprayed slurpee all over my comic! You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!
Warren takes a second to turn off his walkman, wipe his comic on his sleeve, and stands up. He looks like he's got something to say to Iago, who just smiles at him in return, eyes twinkling mischievously. Annoyed, Warren just glares at him for a tense moment. Finally...
WARREN: That was totally bogus the other week, dude. Your freak didn't have to put me through a table! That was decidedly unrighteous. I could have been hurt!
Iago's expression doesn't change.
IAGO: This is physical competition, young man! You cannot expect to enter the wrestling ring without incurring a few "scrapes and bruises", hmm?
WARREN: A table, dude, is not going to give me "scrapes and bruises". More like, "broken bones" and... uh... "bruises".
IAGO: Granted. But it was you, not I, that asked for that match. You entered into the arena of a feral man-beast, and thus you are the only one to blame for the consequences.
WARREN: Hey, dude. It's wrestling, okay. Wrestling. There's rules and things to stop people from getting --
IAGO: Hurt? In REBEL Pro Wrestling? You really have entered into the wrong profession.
Warren snorts and waves a hand. Like, whatever, man.
WARREN: Hey... how'd you find me, anyway?
IAGO: It wasn't difficult. I made some enquiries with the REBEL Pro Wrestling crew. I judged that you usually film at your regular "haunt".
WARREN: Huh.
Warren sits back down and opens up the comic again, taking a long, loud slurp from his drink. The message is clear, he's blowing off Iago. The sinister ringmaster is non-plussed. He bumps Warren with the end of his cane again. Warren angrily glares up at him.
WARREN: Dude! Bogus! I'm trying to read here!
Iago leans in a bit, and reads over his shoulder.
IAGO: An interesting choice. The X-Men. A group of nature's freaks, fighting each other to earn acceptance.
WARREN: What? No! Dude, look, they're totally gnarly mutants...
IAGO: Freaks.
WARREN: ... who fight evil mutants...
IAGO: Fighting each other.
WARREN: ... and defend humanity!
IAGO: To earn acceptance. Yes, yes, we're splitting hairs.
Warren glares up at Iago.
WARREN: Look, if you're totally trying to get on my nerves...
IAGO: Far from it. I merely wish to retain your attention. You see, it seems I have a problem, and you, young man, are part of the solution.
WARREN: Well, too bad, because I'm not giving you any help.
IAGO: That's ideal, actually. No help.
Iago leans in just a little closer. His expression simultaneously doesn't change, and gets much, much darker.
IAGO: For either myself, or Caliban, or Bruce "the Beast" Richards.
WARREN: Who?
Iago actually laughs at that. For a moment, just a short burst.
WARREN: No sweat, dude. I plan to totally be all Fox News. "Fair-and-balanced"... NOT!
Warren laughs at his little joke. Iago's smile widens.
IAGO: Warren, let me just say that the relaxed rules of the REBEL ring make it... and unpredictable environment. I deal in monsters. I create them. I feed them. I allow them to thrive. And monsters can be very difficult to control. It would be a shame for something untoward to occur to a guest official. At least, an official who is being perfectly neutral.
WARREN: [/b]Whoa... Is that a threat? I mean... is that even legal?
IAGO: It is merely food for thought.
Warren stands abruptly, and tosses the X-Men comic at Iago. Iago catches it absently, still smiling, as Warren steps close.
WARREN: Tuesday night, I get to call the shots. And if I don't like having a totally mental dude like you around the ring, I get to kick you out.
Warren smugly sips his drink.
IAGO: Very good then. It seems we have an understand of sorts. You remain neutral, and I shall do nothing that might merit my being ejected from ringside.
WARREN: [/b]Good. I... wait, what? Did we just agree to that?
IAGO: Yes. Yes we did.
WARREN: Well. Good then. Keep your nose clean. Awesome. To the max.
Warren turns to leave, smirks and turns back.
WARREN: One last thing. Asphinctersayswhat?
IAGO: Mackerel.
WARREN: What? D'oh!
Warren turns on his heel, pulls up his headphones, hits play, and storms away. Iago watches him leave, then looks down at the X-Men comic. The camera pulls in so that we can see over his shoulder, showing a full page image of Dr. Hank McCoy. The Beast. Iago laughs.
Click. The white pawn has been cornered, neutralizing it for now, but primed for a later capture. The manicured hand gestures. It's white's turn.
Lights down.
- Warren used with generous permission.