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Vinj likes to watch; [posted on behalf of Dangerous Dan]
Topic Started: Apr 11 2008, 05:40 PM (62 Views)
Lita Maivia
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[OOC: Dan PMed me this from work to clear that using Kennedy was okay but is worried he won't get back to internet access before the deadline so asked me to post it for him. I had no hand in writing this RP. Not sure about Drake. Most of us aren't.]

The camera pans around a small section of the 30,000 square foot facility that is the Mohegan Sun Aren. This particular section is home to FIW's personal cafeteria, fixed with foods to fit the personal tastes and culinary requirements of it's esteemed superstars. And right next to the entrance is Vinj – rifling thorugh a garbage bin. Quiet mutterings can be heard filtering in and out of his breath as he scowls the very air he breathes for it's lack of palatable taste and choice objects are tossed out of the steel trash can to make way for more efficient pilfering…

Vinj: Bloody elements. Why don't they taste as delicious as they look on the periodic table? Oxygen should taste like BLUE dammit!!

Vinj's is suddenly calmed as he spots something deep in the can. He gets down onto his knees and his arm disappears into the trash before his face signals victory with two doe-ish eyes. Vinj gets to his feet and slowly raises a half eaten doughnut to eye level. The blood-red jam oozes from its side like wound. But once again Vinj is angered as he's reminded of his diabetes and slams the doughnut back into the rubbish. Fed up with his 'vulturing' of the trash can, Vinj wanders into the cafeteria, causing the camera to venture in also. Upon entering we begin to see the wider gammet of superstars occupying the make-shift cafeteria, which is fixed with six odd tables (six…odd?) and a large buffet line of cold and warm food stuffs. It's at this point Vinj that something smarks Vinj's attention once more. Looking incredibly guilty, Vinj rushes to the furtherest table to begin his…salivation?

Vinj: Oh…my…Vinj. *drools*

Vinj's eyes roll back into his head as his mouth gawks open at the object of his affection. To gain insight into this mystery…thing, the camera angles behind Vinj to see what it is his facing. To his diagonal right sits a crew of roadies and unmentionables playing poker over brews – to the table in front of him sit McCoy and Silver downing a hardy looking meal of lasagne and salad – and to his far left…Kennedy, sat on her lonesome.

Vinj: That is sooooo hoooot.

Kennedy looks particularly striking today, wearing blue jeans just low enough to taunt others with her sex 'v'( but not so low as to seem unlady like) and a baby tee that stretches up her maple coloured back as she leans forward to bite into her sandwhich. Vinj snaps out of his indecent gawking via his gag reflex which saves him from drowning on the saliva that has backed up against his throat. Vinj quickly swivels around with a fist to his mouth to smuther his spluterings but his efforts to detract attention and Kennedy's, and the rest of the rooms, curious gaze is obviously for naught as Vinj's features stick out about as sorely as the McConnaigh brothers accent. Given a moment to compose himself, Vinj turns back around to find Kennedy getting right back into her sandwhich when Drake falls out of the ether with a bowl of chips in a polystyrene container, and more specifically right in front of Vinj's ether.

Vinj: Move it Baldy McBaldson.

Vinj tries to shoo Drake out of the way and Drake accommodates by turning to the side to take a gander himself.

Drake: Too bad she's not a Reject, eh? She would be hard to "Reject" out of bed eh? Eh?

Drake turns back to Vinj and gives 'the eyebrow', that one most men give when they're insinuating some kind of sexual discourse.

Vinj doesn't respond to Drake, rather, falling longingly onto his arms as they slide across the table. Feeling compelled to fill the void of silence, or maybe it's just Drake being Drake, the former Flycore Champion embellishes some wisdom onto his comrade-in-arms.

Drake: Yeah. It's always the ones you can't have.

What a pearl, Drake. What a pearl.

Vinj: Shutup Drake. You wouldn't understand. You don't know our…history.

Drake: There's a history?

Vinj lets a sigh escape through his nose as he speaks.

Vinj: As long and complex as a Cold Soldier promo.

This reference to the past, and the analogy as well, is lost on Drake who just shrugs and digs away at his bowl of chips.

Vinj: Do you think-

Drake: She's worth it? Somehow I highly doubt it but you
never know I guess.


Vinj: No. *leans back* It has to be.

Drake wipes his hands against each other to remove the chicken salt and potato crumbs off his palms as he speaks.

Drake: Well, the fact of the matter is that we have a tag match coming up, a rather low billing match for men of our caliber but still a solid step in re-establishing the family bond of the Rejects. Either way I need you in peak mental condition.

Drake suddenly realizes the folly of his proposition but continues nonetheless.

Drake: Mm. So anyways, I'm gonna do you a favor.

Drake deliberately plants himself in front of Vinj's gaze, causing much flailing of Vinj's limbs.

Vinj: HEY! Get lost. I'll…umm…VINJ you to death.

Vinj flicks out his, you guessed it, 'flick' knife and makes a stabbing motion in the air.

Vinj: You ever killed a man Drake?

Slightly unnerved by Vinj's knife display, Drake shifts back out of the way.

Drake: No. Can't say I have. At least that is the official story I
am presenting in case that FBI agent from Houston happens to be watching. So in short, "no".


Vinj stops his flamboyant knife-weilding and "Vinj's" it into the table.

Vinj: Well...I haven't but...I COULD...ya know...if I wanted to.

Drake: Well lets hope you can pull off some of that killer
instinct against the McConnaigh's this week. K?


Vinj: Pffft. Those guys. Seem to be pretty keen to point out the fact that you're no Hercules despite your accomplishments, but ready to talk themselves up in spite of any accomplishments. As if that's not the pot calling the kettle Vinj. I mean, black.

Drake: Yeah, racist bastards.

Vinj: I KNOW. And then there's all this business of vulturing. VULTURING. Me, Drake. A vulture. One of those ugly big birds with the long necks. How insulting. I mean, really. REEEALLY? I'm…I'm quite hurt, actually.

Vinj turns to the camera with watery eyes and an apple in his throat.

Vinj: Does this make you feel better, McConnaigh? Is this better? TASTE THE SADNESS!!

Vinj presses his eyeball and cheek up against the camera, fogging it up with his breath and salty residue excreting form his eyes.

Vinj: TASTE IT!!!

Vinj now rests his head towards the camera to address…well, someone, directly.

Vinj: You think calling people names makes you a big man, Owen? You happy? You BULLY. See how easy it is to toss the label around? Yeah. How does it taste to be out-thinked by the Vinj? I hope your taste buds leave you for a man with better taste…you arse. How has my behaviour changed, exactly? I'm pretty sure my random acts of violence have been the only consistent part of my repertoire.

The difference now is that suddenly Vinj is no longer wondering the grounds of neutrality, and there happens to be an opposing ethos on the other side. See, the fact is, and the fact that few seemed to've realised thus far, is that we are ALL rejects. Everyone has experienced rejection – admittedly, this is not the greatest piece of enlightment to ever fill a cochlear, but nevertheless a simple reality some people seem to forget. It just so happens that some experience rejection more than others, and when said persons try to dig themselves out of the grave, the people looking in start to complain about the dirt hitting them in the face.

Hell, if people really wanted to destroy the Rejects – if they thought that we were the real threat to FIW's existence they'd try to rid us at any and every opportunity. That means backstage. Frontstage. Bloody…sidestage. But you know what? They can't. They're not organised enough, not motivated enough, and
wouldn't be strong enough if they ever got over the first two hurdles.

Looking very satisfied with himself, Vinj resumes his previous position – anchored to his chair and fixated on his former love. Seeing little need for any further questioning, Drake gets up to leave with chips in hand.

Drake: Well. *chomps* Sounds like everything's in order.

Vinj: Yeah-yeah. Vinj is brilliant. Awesome. Shush. Watching now.

Drake makes a step forward to leave and then swivels back around.

Drake: Look, if you really think you've got a shot at her, well
even if you haven't-


Startled by the mention of female pronouns, Vinj turns to Drake.

Vinj: Her? Whose "her"?

Drake: Uhh, Kennedy?

Vinj: Kennedy? Woah-woah-woah. You think I've been staring at Kennedy?

Drake: Well what else-

Vinj doesn't respond, too occupied with his infactuation with whatever it is that's in Kennedy's direction.

Drake: You've got to be kidding…

Drake digs in his pocket and jingles some loose change on to the table.

Drake: Buy yourself a freaking sandwhich.

Vinj notes the coinage on the table but ignores it.

Vinj: No-no. I'm right. I just like to, umm *coughs* watch

Looking very concerned and slightly amused, Drake presses Vinj for answers, pointing with a chip to accentuate his query.

Drake: What in the name of Drew Barrymore was that?

Vinj: Nothing-nothing. Just uhhh, *clears throat*. Like to watch. You can leave now.

Drake puts up his hands in surrender of Vinj's vinsanity (Dangerous Dan suddenly feels dirty) and backs away. As does the camera.

Fade
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Dangerous Dan
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*Finn - meant to reference rather than Owen. Thanks for posting, Lits.

*Drake - edited his character.
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