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| Bottom of the Bottle; An Ad & Lita Joint Production | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 17 2005, 10:21 PM (93 Views) | |
| Lita Maivia | Mar 17 2005, 10:21 PM Post #1 |
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Legend
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Di di deee, we’re walking along, following what seems to be a female figure. Her hair is long, obviously, it needs a huge thing to keep it all tied up to the back of her head. Her petite demeanour makes us believe it could be only one woman, and our suspicions are confirmed her head spins around….. Kennedy: Are you sure this is the way? The camera nods, why do cameramen do that? Dunno, but we follow Kennedy, the rain pitter patters around her, seemingly not gracing her head. It dots across the back of her grey hooded sweat top, and she takes glances at the buildings she passes on the sidewalk. She keeps moving, until stopping at a dark building, and looking it up and down, almost surveying what might be inside. Kennedy: Of course this is the way. Where else would he ever be? Kennedy takes a deep breath, and pushes the door forward. It creaks open, and in she walks, cameraman following. She walks into a damp foyer, yellow stained walls, water marks around the window sill. She takes a couple of steps forward, and makes her way through the confined space, into a larger room. The smokey air immediately fills her virgin lungs, and she lets out a slight cough, politely turning away from any of the inhabitants of this dive, instinctively. The cloud of smoke hangs over the patrons head, like a dark cloud of depression and anguish, as the bar seems rather empty. The proprietor doesn’t seem taken aback by her presence, instead just points to the corner. We all know where this is heading. Kennedy nods, and walks past a few bar stools, and we immediately pick up Silent Rage, leather coat slung over the back of the wooden booth, as he wrestles with something in his hand. He stops torturing himself with the small bottle top for a moment, the agonising pain of not being able to do something so simple. That comes with alcoholism. Without anger, he punches the table lightly, and runs his hand over the top of his head. “Intrepid Kennedy” as she shall be known from now on, walks forward, and sits down opposite him. Kennedy: Need a hand? Rage looks up, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He takes a large intake of nicotine, ooooh, flavour country, and takes it out, laying it down in a nicely placed ash tray. Rage: Here. He hands the small, plastic bottle to Kennedy, who opens it with ease, and hands it back to him. Kennedy: See, you’ve gotta push down and then turn it. It’s to stop KIDS form getting into them not adults. Rage looks up from his drink, and swipes the bottle up from the table, tips it up, and throws a pill back into his mouth. Rage: Small motor skills and I don’t go hand in hand Miss Kennedy. Now, more to the point, what do you want? Kennedy: I’m not sure exactly. I’m not sure why I’m here. Maybe it’s because I have a Tag team Match this week, facing two guys who combined weigh more than four times as much as me. Maybe it’s because I could well be going into this match alone, and IF I do that, I will probably be stopped from doing my job for a long time. I don’t underestimate Jim and Kane, they’re two amazing athletes, but I need some kind of inclination as to whether you’re gonna be there, not be there, be there in spirit, be there in a drunken stupor, whatever. Kennedy’s laying it down for him, she gave him multiple choice for friggs sake, it must be easy! Rage: I don’t fuckin know, do I? I don’t even give a shit. I could care less for Carlos Kane, I’ve fucked him up, I shown him what I was all about… Kennedy: And Jim? Rage remains quiet, and takes a drag of his cigarette once more. The nicotine can be seen almost filling his lungs, filling the void in his soul, as he breathes it all in. Kennedy, not confident about an answer to that question, switches gears. Kennedy: I didn’t know you smoked. I mean, I knew you drank, but smoking, I never saw that, as….you. Rage: I used to smoke, its like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it, how to cope with it. There’s always that bit of satisfaction there. Kennedy nods, very un-interestedly at Rage’s cosmic answer. Rage: Dya wanna drink, I’ll get you a drink. Kennedy: A world of no. Rage: What do chicks drink these days? Tequila? HEY REGGIE, TWO TEQUILA’S OVER HERE! Kennedy: I don’t drink. Rage: Huh, no shit, I know princess, they’re both for me, that was my attempt at humour. ”Reggie” hops over, feeding Rage’s addiction with gleeful joy. Cheers Reg. Rage chugs down one shot, scrunches his face up in a “OOohhh that burns” kinda way. Rinse and Repeat. Kennedy: You obviously don’t like what you’re drinking, why do you do it? Rage: Eases the pain babe, eases the pain. Kennedy rolls her eyes, kinda looking away from Rage, as he pops open the pill bottle, and downs another small vowel. Kenendy: And why the hell are you drinking and taking pain killers? Are you stupid? Rage: Look, I don’t give a fuck what you do in your spare time, you probably snort half a gram of coke before each match to flip around so fuckin much, why do you give a fuck what I do to myself? The space between the two “superstars” goes silent. Only smoke fills the air, and Kennedy kinda looks around the corner towards the door, and shuffles in her seat slightly. Kenendy: I don’t know, OK. I don’t know why I’m here, I just thought…. Rage: Whatever you thought, you thought fuckin wrong. She begins to lose patience with his “total bastard asshole cunt” attitude. She stands, and turns away from him, but getting straight to the point, turns back around….. Kennedy: Look, are you gonna be there Tuesday or not? Rage: I’ll fuckin be there Miss Disney. Miss Wholesome Family Entertainment. Why the fuck do you care? Rage stands, holding his drink in his left hand, down by his side. For your own selfish reasons, that’s why you care. Fuckin bitch, get the fuck outta here, you haven’t a clue of the word I live in, it’s not all happy endings and smiles for me. Kennedy, surprisingly, has no reaction to that. Not being called a bitch. Not being told to get the fuck outta there. She just crosses her arms and stares at him for a moment. Rage looks over at her from the corner of his eyes, his disgust for Miss Squeaky Clean (or is it jealousy? hehehe) evident in them. Kennedy: Boo-fuckin-hoo. I'm so sure I had planned to lose Chris. Or planned to have a damn knife to my throat. Or planned to be tagged with a damn alcoholic pill-popper! Rage takes a step towards Kennedy, a sloooooooow step. She looks around, Reggie is gone, probably changing the barrels or something, and Rage places his glass, slowly down on the table. Rage moves in towards Kennedy, who tries to remain cool and collected but it's very obvious it's a front as she begins to slightly tremble. Rage: *whispering* I. Don't. Give. A Shit! Kennedy jumps slightly at the last part, yelled in her face. Rage, surprisingly, reclaims his seat and retrieves his drink. Rage: REGGIE! HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO MAKE MONEY IF I DON'T HAVE A DAMN DRINK?! Kennedy glances around, moreso pissed off than the scared she was a minute ago. She eventually nods her head, for whatever reason Kennedy: Okay. You don't give a shit, huh? Well, let me ask you something. Your son is calling Jim dad because you don't give a shit. Okay? When are you gonna start giving a shit? When your wife starts calling him daddy?! Rage's eyes remain on his empty tequila glass, mostly likely wishing it was filled to the brim. It takes Kennedy a second to realize that Rage's hand is squeezing tightly, testing the glass's strength. Rage wins as the glass shatters into a thousand pieces! The busting of the glass seems to set Rage off! He lunges from his seat, grabbing Kennedy by the arms and SLAMMING her against the wall! His nose is almost touching Kennedy's as he glares into her eyes, angrily sucking air through his clenched teeth. Kennedy stares at him a moment, showing zero amount of fear in perhaps the most shocking moment of the night. Kennedy: You're not gonna do anything. Because you don't give a shit. Kennedy easily breaks Rage's hold on her. She moves away from him, making her exit. But she stops before getting too far. She turns to face him, placing her hands on her hips. Kennedy: I'm gonna make this real simple. If you decide you want to give a shit about what Jim is doing to your family... come find me before our match. But if you wanna stay here and drink away what little bit you haven't let anyone take from you... don't bother showing up at all on Tuesday. Because I can do a hell of a lot better on my own than I could with... whatever you are anymore. With that, Kennedy turns and makes her exit. Rage has no reaction whatsoever, dropping back into his seat. He looks down at his hand, with small cuts all over, producing minimal blood. Rage: REGGIE! WHERE'S MY DAMN TEQUILA?! |
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