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| Brit Pop; Who knows where? | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 20 2007, 02:39 AM (42 Views) | |
| 100% Jay Bain | Nov 20 2007, 02:39 AM Post #1 |
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We see a broken down hallway, ravaged with time and neglect and only the plaster hangs from these walls, this wrecked surrounding only leads to a wire lift that is sat perfectly still at the centre of the shot. Distant footsteps can be heard echoing somewhere in the building, birds nesting can be heard also flapping and roaming the building, they own this place now. Took it back from a former desolate state and made it their nation. Suddenly the lift grinds into action, slightly lop sided it makes journey up almost screaming in pain after coming out of retirement and constant growls in which could be its final use. The lift can be heard slamming at the destination and the doors a thrown open as the rust puts up the fight to stay sealed, then the doors are dragged closed again and the lift begins to make is decent into shot. We see through the wire doors a pair of man’s legs in jeans, then a red sport leather jacket, then his face; Jay Bain. Bain tries to slide open the wire doors but the seem stuck and show no give at all o Jay steps back and with velocity boots the doors, one side swings open as it hangs on at the other, with that action a cloud of orange dust sprays every which direction and Jay begins to walk through it towards the camera. His face is blank without an expression and his steps are slow, his attention is looking past the camera. He slides his hands against both walls as he walks closer, feeling the cracks, the age and all the stories the walls hold. Now Jay reach stands in front of the camera which is waist height he stops and crouches down to be face to face with the lens he looks directly at it, it feels like he is looking directly at you personally. *In a solemn voice* Jay: Shaun Wilson, you say you are the greatest talent in FIW and that you are part of the most dominant faction, well be prepared to be become the self proclaimed greatest talent in FIW who is on his own with no Friends in the world. * begins to get louder and louder as he gets closer to finishing the sentence* Because this week me and XK will retire The Tanaka Zaibatsu! Suddenly Jay attacks the camera and we are left to the visual and sound of static. |
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| Dai | Nov 21 2007, 06:35 PM Post #2 |
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Captain SPARKLE~!!!
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"Mr. the Crow:" Mr. Bain, it must be so nice to live in your world. A world where you can stand there and make all the inane, unqualified remarks that you should desire. There are some of us however, that hold ourselves to higher standards... The static clears just in time to reveal the speaker at the word 'standards.' After patting the tip of his quiff, apparently satisified that it's all perfectly aligned, he laughs. Not so much the expected cawing of a choking bird, but instead something of a yokel's guffaw. That's right, constant reader, the man standing before you is none other than the Peroxide Outlaw, Mister Blond, and he's readying a cigar to smoke after his perfect impression of the Boss, Daisuke Tanaka. Another man stands next to him, in the similarly smart dress-code of the Tanaka Zaibatsu, although between the braids and the platinum teeth, it doesn't look like he's the boss either. In fact they aren't even the most noticable difference between The Crow and the African-American Whoop-Ass Machine, Shaun Wilson.* Mr. Blond: A'least, tha's what he'd say if he were act'ally here, based on him havin' already slapped tha Revolution round wi' wha' Ah think is tha ver' same line. Ah don' reckon yew were about for tha', so Ah'll jus' recap, an' keep it nahce an' simple. Ya see, Mistah Bain, y'all's expectin' us ta fall a' tha first hurdle, an' while Ah would lurve ta point ta tha number'a hurdles we crossed as Tag Champs already, Ah jus' can't. Orders, ya know? He looks crestfallen for precisely the length of time it takes people to realise he looks crestfallen that he's not allowed to go on about his own achievements. After that, he laughs smoke into the camera. Mr. Blond: Ah'ma gon' havta use another onea his tricks here, an' ask y'all if ya can jus' bear wi' me an' imagine a boy wi' every material thing tha' his li'l mind can imagine. He can go out'n do anythin' he damn well likes. He wants ta go ta uni, he goes an' bahs a whole wing'a some place an' sinks loadsa money inta tha chemical research department;** He wants ta paint, then he goes an' opens a gall'ry, an' if he wants ta go cyclin' then he puts an Ee-Leet team togethah ta take him through Le Tour de France. He motions the camera to come in a little closer, and leans in for a conspiratorial whisper. Mr. Blond: Y'all see how this relates ta me yet? 'Leet team, ya hear? Hur Hur Hur... They return to their original spacing. Mr. Blond: So anyway, if ahh' li'l boy should go an... Ah dunno, break one'a hi' majah limbs in an undisclosed accident, which may or may not be related ta whatever sport he's chosen ta excel at, poss'bly endin' his career, then y'all'd forgive him if he jus' stayed home and did naff all fer tha rest'a his life? More guffawing from Blondie. He seems more enthused than does his partner, who manages nothing more than a weak smile. Mr. Blond: Naw ahh hi-po-thet-tic-cal brat don' 'zactly like us talkin' 'bout it too much, so wha' not see if ya can put two an' two together, an' yano tha' first hurdle Ah's jus' on 'bout? See if y'all can work out whether we already done cross' it yet. Y'all think jus' cause ya gots a t-shirt wi' a naff slogan an' ya spend all ya money trahn'a imp-ress some chick who jus' ain' nevah gon' be 'tracted to ya, ya's got's enough ta take us on? Tell 'em, Shaun. With that, Blondie claps his hand on Shaun's shoulder, who looks at it. It seems he isn't in cheerful mood. A gleam from his Flycore title drapes across the side of his face. His arms are tightly across his body as he hasn’t once turned to the camera. A slight breath is taken as he raises an eyebrow. Mr. Wilson: Jay, you have finally accomplished your goal. You wanted to piss me off, and you’ve succeeded. You screwed me out of the biggest prize in FIW. And I bet you’re just pleased with yourself. The only thing you’ve done is giving me a reason to hurt you. Oh but don’t think I’m just talking to you. Xtreme Kitten and Phyllis Bathory mainly Phyllis our day will come. And like always I’ll drop you on your skull and you’ll just fade off into obscurity. Shaun grabs his title and tosses it off to the side. A thud is followed as it smacks against a nearby wall. His attention shifted to his title for a moment before looking back at the camera. To say Shaun was upset would be an understatement. He was irrate, but because he doesn’t wanna perpetuate the angry black man. He’ll just keep it at a low tone, without the swearing and other gestures. Mr. Wilson: You’re not gonna make it to Violence Fetish Jay. My mission heading into VF is to injury and maim you. I’m gonna break you Bain, this ain’t about titles. Matter of fact, if you want the title I’ll give it to you. I could care less about this title right now. You have broken the golden rule, and that’s not to threaten family. So go after Dai’s leg, and I’m gonna take you out. Want it with Blondie, I’m gonna break you down. Step up to the plate with me… Let’s just say in a shorter fashion. I’m gonna f**k you up! And it ain’t nothing you and that piss poor excuse for a champ can do about it. So hang out in all the dark places you want. And play camp out with the other *pussies*, come ReVolt someone is getting hurt. So much for the cursing and hand gestures. Shaun gets up and walks off camera, though mumbling can still be heard from the African-American Whoop Ass’s mouth. This leaves Blondie alone for the moment, as we cut to a slightly different angle of Blondie, with a slightly longer cigarillo and with the man him self rubbing between his middle and index fingers of his free hand; He leans in for the fifth take of this particular part of the promo. Mr. Blond: He talks some big shit, don' he? But Ah tell ya, he ain' sayin' nothin' he ain' gon' be backin' up. Standards, ya know? I's wha' seperates tha gen'lemen from tha riff-raff. We ain' gon' stand here and throw 'round massive an' ahdle threats lahke confetti a' Mr. Bain's day dream weddin'. Mah 'Sociate here's said he's gon' fuck someone's shit right up, an' he's gon' hold himself to it. An' mah role is clear: Ah'm gon' help him do it... He's about to walk away, but he takes a step, and stops in a well rehersed Columbo style, "Oh, and one more thing..." bit. Mr. Blond: 'Fore Ah go, they's jus' one li'l thing Ah gotta mention, we asked fer this here match, not 'cause we pissed at XK fer beatin' us. We pissed at Bain, tha' much is true, but we's jus' gotta send on XK wi'... How can Ah put this... Jus' a li'l nudge ta send him on his way ta VF, ya know? Can' be lookin' weak in fronta tha DC naw can we? An' if we can change tha course'a history while we there, then so much tha bettah, ya know? With that, he sends us on our merry way by flicking away his cigarillo, and shoving his middle finger into the camera. Blurrily in the background, he finally manages to catch it the right way round, so he can take a deep, deep drag. One last thing remains, the standard TZ finish to a promo: smokey, off yellow mist in the camera. [size0]* Credit to the man himself for Shaun Wilson's appearance in this. ** In a case of art imitating life, Daisuke read Chemistry. |
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7:36 PM Jul 11