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| BK and Sam versus the Wolf Man; Horror! Terror! Constipation! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 1 2005, 11:58 AM (42 Views) | |
| Minister Wighty | Feb 1 2005, 11:58 AM Post #1 |
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Opossum Queen of FIW
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We find ourselves in a dimly-lit restaraunt, the camera panning slowly to a large table in the back. At that table are seated two extremely hot people. One is decked out in a midnight blue dress, which sparkles slightly when the light hits it just right. The other's hair is loose about his shoulders, which are encased in smooth golden silk of a stylish poet-style shirt. Bill sets his menu on the table and looks at Sam to see if she's decided. Sam lays hers flat, still open, and points. Sam: I can't decide between the pasta... and the chicken fingers. BK: Pasta. You get fuller. Sam: Good point. Sam closes her menu and lays it alongside Bill's. He takes a sip of his banana daquiri and leans back. BK: Big pay-per-view this month. Has the both of us busy. Sam: Yeah, we've hardly seen each other outside of... sleeping. Bill nods and shrugs. BK: Gotta train. I've been trying to get into better condition. I let myself go there for a while. Not like Brad was a big deal for me to face. And yet he's the idiot with the Dual Crown shot? It's nuts. Sam nods, agreeing. Sam: Well, just don't overwork yourself. Bill waves his hand dismissively. BK: I'll be fine. It's me! He grins, then leans softly on the table. Sam: It might be you, and you might sometimes think you're invincible, but you can still pull a muscle or twist something the wrong way. BK: Seriously. I'll be just fine. Lobo Bobo isn't going to do anything to hurt me anywhere near serious. Bill Kuriyama is a machine, remember? A sex machine... ... gun. Sam: Yeah, I know. You've got poor Toby calling you nothing but "the sex machine gun". BK: Good. Kid finally learned his place. Sam chuckles and leans back, sipping her lemonade. Sam: I got it lucky, in a way. Same old people, same old match. Just a bigger show. BK: Yeah, lucky maybe. But boring. Hell, if I hadn't made my challenge, I doubt I'd even HAVE a match. Everyone's attatching themselves to this new title and I'm sittin' here with no one to compete against. Sam smiles. Sam: I told you, I'd fight you for it. But nooooo... I'm too busy with Torrie and Elrick. BK: Hey, you could've come onstage instead of El Mexicano. Sam: And have two matches in the same show? Nah, that's OK. Bill shrugs. BK: No right to complain, then. Or even joke about it. He smiles and glares at her playfully. Sam wads up her straw paper and throws it at him. Bill closes his eyes and it bounces off his forehead onto the table. He flicks it away, and it hits their approaching waiter in the thigh. Sam snorts a laugh, as does Bill. Waiter: Heh heh. Yeah, that was funny. Have you guys decided? The two order, since I always feel dumb when I type out what people are ordering. Does anyone else get that? I mean, seriously, I type out "I'll have the spaghetti" and all I can think is, "man, spaghetti is so stupid. Who eats that stuff?" or I'll type out something ethnic like miso soup, and I'll think "who am I trying to fool into thinking I know Japanese food? I'm such a tool." ... anyway, the waiter skeedaddles to punch in food orders. Sam: Good thing for the waiter that it wasn't a tomato I threw, like when we were at Quiznos. BK: Heh. Yeah. Good thing for us, actually. He might've spit in our food. Bill Kuriyama doesn't like to eat spit. Sam makes an eewy face and shakes her head. Bill sips his daquiri again. It tastes of the good banana. You can tell it was made with the one that has the Chiquita sticker on it. ... they took the sticker off first, of course. Sam: Sorry about what Dad said. He's a real idiot sometimes. BK: Him and half the population. Don't worry about it. You didn't do anything, you don't need to apologize. Sam: If it makes you feel any better he's not liked my... other... boyfriend. BK: Oh good. I'm just as bad as the lying distrustful asshole. Bill smiles jokingly. BK: I said don't worry about it, and I meant it. I don't really care what he thinks of me, to be honest. I never understood that ritual of having the parents' blessing. What business of theirs is it? It's not like they get goats and stuff anymore. Sam: I'd give the man a goat, if he'd calm down. BK: If I ever have to meet him, I'll be sure to bring one. Sam laughs, 'cuz that's funny. Sam: If we ever get anywhere NEAR Elk City, I'll leave it completely up to you whether you meet them or not. BK: No, don't do that. I didn't give you the choice, and I have a feeling you would have wanted to. Sam makes a confused face. BK: Meet my parents. Sam: Yeah, I am a little curious about the people that made you. BK: Figured you'd be. They're interesting people. You'll meet 'em someday. Just... not on camera. Bill can't help but glance sidelong in our direction. Sam: Sure. I can understand you wanting to keep them off-camera. She kinda smiles. She taps her fingers on the glass. Sam: I've kiiinda been wondering something. BK: Three feet long. Sam sighs and blushes. Sam: Not that. BK: One foot thick? Bill smiles. Sam: You do realize if it was that big, you would tear me in two? BK: What the hell am I going to be doing to you with the wood I built my high school wood shop final out of? Sam glares at him and looks for something to throw, but just gives up. BK: Seriously, though. What had you been wondering? She points to his right arm. Sam: The tattoo. What's up with that? You never did answer my question. Bill shrugs. BK: It looks cool. Sam: Yeah... it does. But there has to be some kind of story behind it. Bill sighs. BK: More crap I really don't want to talk about... but all right, what the hell. See, I rolled with Shanghai East for a while. Did some stuff. Stuff I shouldn't have. Long story short, I needed to get some incriminating tattoos off my arm when I left, and this covered it up the best. Sam: Thank you. Bill nods in response. BK: The artwork is inspired by Geiger. Had a fella named Guy Aitchison do me up when I was in Chicago once. I thought the mishmash of cyberflesh was a little bare, so I had the flames done at the top. Bill shrugs and sips his drink. BK: And that's all she wrote. Sam: I've always wanted to get a tattoo, but I could never decide on what and where, and I thought it should be something I'm sure I wanted. BK: Yeah, that's important. Never tattoo a temporary condition anywhere. "I love so and so"... or, well, gang logos. Sam nods and the food does arrive. They commence eating, exchange the "how's your food" pleasantries, and so on. We'll get that out of the way in this sentence, 'cuz it's boring and the same thing every time. Sam: So... what's your favorite color? Bill stops his fork enroute to his mouth, closes it, and raises an eyebrow. BK: B... l... a... c... k... ? Sam: Are you not sure? BK: No, I'm sure. That's just... an odd question. Sam: Well it broke the silence, didn't it? BK: Well, so does a burp, but you didn't go for that. Sam: I don't have to burp right now. I'm not drinking soda. BK: Fair enough. Sam: I actually really like purple. But y'know, it's like pink. Kinda bad for the witchy thing. BK: How so? Sam: Well, traditionally, witches wear black, pointy hats, and fly around on a broom. Obviously no one expects me to fly down the hall on a broom, so wearing black fulfulls one of the stereotypes for them. Actually, purple IS a better witchy color, but no one else knows that. BK: Ah. So... I should be eating watermelons and fried chicken while doing karate? Or is it eating sushi while stealing TVs? Sam: No offense, don't think I'm being like my father... but people can SEE you're half black and half japanese. If I walk down the street in normal clothes, no one can tell I'm a witch. BK: And that's baaaad... why? Sam: When I'm on the street it's not a big deal, I don't need to be noticed that way. When I'm in the arena, when I'm FIW's witch-bitch, it helps if I dress the part a little bit. BK: OK, that's fair. Sorry. People who exploit who they are for attention tend to piss me off. You kinda tripped that trigger for a second. Sam nods. Sam: No problem. I can understand it. BK: So, how'd you get into witchery anyhow? Sam: The lights. When I'm angry or really excited or anything, they go out or flicker. I've been doing that my entire life. I was doing that when I was a baby and hungry. I always thought it was kind of a fluke. A weird thing. I just ended up buying a lot of lightbulbs. She stops to take a drink before continuing. Sam: My freshman english class in college. The teacher seemed to be kinda interested in my, right from the start. I thought that was kind of weird. He ended up being a cool guy, who was actually a witch. He filled me in and sorta tutored me over the next few years. BK: Mmm. Cool. She nods. Sam: Yeah, he taught me how to light the candles and all sorts of neat little tricks. Scared him a couple of times, 'cuz apparently I was a lot more powerful than he expected. Bill smiles the "I have no experience with whatever you're talking about, but OK" smile. Sam: We sorta lost contact after I dropped out. I took it from there, found the whole voodoo thing. That seemed like fun. BK: So... are you voodoo...ish? Sam: Vaudun. And... no. Not really. Just a really good witch. BK: Ah so. Sam: Dunno what to say, huh? BK: Eh, it's a bit out of my field, really. Not much of a theologean. But it's a big part of your life, so I thought I'd ask. Sam: That's sweet of you! Bill shrugs. BK: Eh... thanks. Sam smiles at him. Sam: So, what do you have planned for tomorrow? BK: Gonna spar with someone. Maybe one of them high flyin' guys around here. Or two. Or five. They don't have contracts, they can't be THAT good. Sam grins at him and stares for a while until Bill... BK: Heeey. You jump around like an idiot! --er. It's Sam's turn to glare playfully. BK: We could do that. You need to train too, of course... eh, who am I kidding. Your match may as well BE training. Sam nods. Sam: I can jump around a little more than usual, if you like. BK: Yeah. Speak Mexicanese, too. And try to hit me with your chest. 'Course, that'll be softer than Lobo's... but y'know, I'm not gonna complain. Sam grabs her own boobs, squeezes them, and looks amusedly thinky. Sam: Yeah, they're not hard at all. The waiter coughs and deposits the bill on the table. Sam turns a lovely shade of burgundy and Bill just laughs. BK: Is this you or me? She thinks, this time not about her own boobies. Sam: My turn. Bill nods. BK: Right, then. Well, shall we? Sam: Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Least back at the hotel I can grab my boobs in private. Bill nods and gets up, Sam following suit. The two take off like a really slow airplane that has to stop and pay a bill, and the scene fades. |
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