Post by Craven on Feb 5, 2015 23:49:40 GMT -6
Warrick Craven and his adopted younger brother, Merlyn “Rocket” Harper, stand just outside the office of the Silver Baron in the Pleasure Dome as the Baron glares down at a customer the two security men have just brought to him.
Craven: This oughtta be almost as enjoyable as what happened when Mr. Davies came by looking for a special treat.
Rocket frowns.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Entertaining?
Craven shrugs.
Craven: Depends on if he decides to just beat the guy’s ass or what.
Rocket glances into the room as the customer remains on his knees, seemingly begging for mercy.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: You think he really will?
Craven shrugs again.
Craven: Depends on how much Oblivion is awake and what kind of mood he’s in.
Rocket nods.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Who was Mr. Davies?
Craven grins.
Craven: An Englishman that happened to walk in for a meeting right after the Baron had gotten exceptionally high.
Rocket frowns.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Why was this entertaining?
Craven snickers as Baron starts messing with the poor bastard kneeling before him.
Craven: Because that guy was dead sober and somehow still ended up arguing with Vega about the names of certain cuts of potato.
Rocket starts to answer but can’t seem to find the words. Craven nods and pats him on the shoulder.
Craven: I’ll just tell ya the story, ok?
Rocket nods.
Craven: Ok…
Several months ago...
Silver Baron stands up from his stash, shaking his head as the drugs start roaring through his system. As he backs up, ready to look for one of the ladies in here to help him relieve some stress, his English high roller, Mr. Davies, walks into the room.
Mr. Davies: Sup, fuckadoodles?
Too high to complain, Baron chuckles.
Silver Baron: Guess!
Mr. Davies shrugs.
Mr. Davies: Chips and dog walks?
Baron grins drunkenly.
Silver Baron: Half true.
The Englishman glances around the room and spots plates that obviously used to contain fried food next to salt.
Mr. Davies: Would that be the chips?
Baron nods as he quickly eats a french fry.
Silver Baron: That's true, yes.
Mr. Davies shakes his head.
Mr. Davies: Find it weird calling them chips, to be honest.
Baron frowns in confusion.
Silver Baron: Why?
Davies shrugs.
Mr. Davies: Chips are something different where I’m from.
Baron waves a second fry in the air.
Silver Baron: Because you call fries chips?
The Englishman shakes his head.
Mr. Davies: They’re not fries, they’re chips.
Baron snickers again.
Silver Baron: I just said that.
Davies nods to the thing Baron is holding.
Mr. Davies: Fries are skinny, chips are not.
Baron shrugs indifferently.
Silver Baron: Chips are either flat, or wavy, same food though.
The Englishman points to a fat steak fry being eaten by one of the girls.
Mr. Davies: Chips!
Baron nods, smiling stupidly due to the drugs really kicking in.
Silver Baron: Hence why I said.
Mr. Davies shakes his head and starts scanning through his phone for pictures of what he is talking about while Silver Baron just stands there basking in his moment of stoned, high glory. After a second, the Englishman looks over to the plate of McDonald’s-style french fries being eaten by one of the working girls and nods to it.
Mr. Davies: And these are fries...
Silver Baron laughs out loud at him, clearly intoxicated now.
Silver Baron: You call fries… “chips.”
Davies shakes his head, starting to become annoyed.
Mr. Davies: No we call chips chips and fries fries.
He points to the fat fries again.
Mr. Davies: This is chips.
Baron just starts laughing.
Mr. Davies: Chips are fat, fries are thin.
Silver Baron nods and hold up a can of Pringles.
Silver Baron: Chips…
The Englishman shakes his head emphatically.
Mr. Davies: No that’s crisps!
Baron fires a Pringle into his mouth and then holds the can aloft as if it’s Excalibur.
Silver Baron: CHIPS MOTHAFUCKA!
Mr. Davies takes a step closer.
Mr. Davies: CRISPS!
Suddenly, the two start bellowing at each other, each taking a step as they get louder and louder with each word spoken.
Silver Baron: CHIPS!
*Step.*
Mr. Davies: CRISPS!
*Step.*
Silver Baron: CHIPS!
*Step.*
Mr. Davies: CRISPS!
Now nose to nose, the two men look like they might come to blows. The girls nod to each other and within seconds work to pull the two men apart and spin them around. A few minutes later, neither man is complaining anymore.
Mr. Davies: What were we arguing about?
Silver Baron: Um... I don't know...
Back in the present...
Craven laughs at the thought of that as he and Rocket watch the Baron nod emphatically at the now crying man still on his knees before the Pleasure Dome pimp.
Craven: So then they were both fine for about thirty seconds.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Then what happened?
Craven can’t help but snicker.
Craven: They started arguing all over again.
Rocket shakes his head in disbelief.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: What were they arguing about that time?
Craven starts laughing as Baron continues making the guy on his knees look like he might crap himself.
Craven: Baron called football, soccer.
Rocket looks at his brother.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: It's not called soccer?
Craven shakes his head.
Craven: Outside of North America, it's called football and what we called football is either called "American football" or rubbish depending on the person speaking.
Rocket looks back to Baron glaring down on the man.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: So Baron used the wrong terminology and they're?
Craven nods as Baron starts to beat the guy down.
Craven: Oh... shit…
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Showtime?
Craven shakes his head and starts forward.
Craven: This ain’t no show!
Craven whips the door back as Baron hits the guy a third and then a fourth time, drawing blood.
Craven: Baron!
The Baron nails the guy again and Rocket can’t believe his eyes.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: BARON!
The Baron hits the guy one more time and Craven moves in quickly to stop him from further damage.
Craven: VEGA!!!
Baron suddenly snaps out it and shakes his head.
Silver Baron: Get him the fuck out of my sight, he’s making a mess on my carpet!
Craven nods to Rocket who moves quickly to help the poor bastard out of the office while Craven stays behind for a second.
Craven: Are you ok?
Baron nods.
Silver Baron: Yeah… thanks.
Craven nods.
Craven: Ok…
He turns and walks out the door, hoping this was just an isolated incident. Twenty minutes later, Craven sits down in his car outside in the parking lot while Rocket takes his place in the control center of the Pleasure Dome.
Craven: You back up there, yet?
Rocket’s voice comes back over the radio.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Yeah, everybody else has reported in. Place is rocking, but nothing else to worry about at the moment.
Craven nods.
Craven: Good, keep me posted.
He sets his radio down on the seat, reaches down into pill box and grabs one at random. He fires the pill down and leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a second. As he sits there, he reaches up and turns on his voice recorder.
Craven: It’s always amazing to listen to some people and how they manage to twist and mangle the truth for their own ends. Take Kyle Travis, for example…
He pauses, shaking his head in disbelief.
Craven: The man doesn’t pay attention at all. He doesn’t bother to look at much of anything outside of his own little bubble and then when he finally does notice, he blames everyone else for it saying…
He sits forward, opening his eyes as he takes in the scene before him.
Craven: They just haven’t made the effort to get his attention. It’s like he doesn’t realize that he’s the reason he can’t challenge for championships solely because he just doesn’t want that to be true!
He watches two rich and entitled frat boys get thrown out the door
Craven: In the same way, Sang Real just don’t pay attention either. They’ve had two wins total in this company, neither of them clean and yet they say the other people are just making excuses. You don’t know what fucking excuses are boys, since it’s all you ever do! You’ve been complaining since you got here and now you’re the champs, more or less, because some other douchebags showed up to save you from K.I.S.S. I really can’t stand you two and I really can’t wait to just beat your asses and move on to Kyle Travis because I’m sick of listening to you two losers basically sound like him just with different accents! All Kyle does is complain and all you two do is complain and honestly, I’m fucking tired of listening to all of you when all of you have gotten handed exactly what you wanted. Last week, you two jackasses were handed the title shot you’d been clamboring for and all you did was complain that it took too long. Win more than two fucking matches as a team and maybe you would get shit faster!
He shakes his head and pops another pill.
Craven: God, I’d rather be anally raped by a guy who was gifted with a cock that was literally the size of Vince Jones than have to listen to all of you anymore! Baron and i will see you on Monday and we’re gonna beat your asses until you bleed so much you shut-up whether you want or not and then, I can move on to getting blown off by Kyle Travis some more until he realizes he’s not a main eventer now, he’s not gonna be a main eventer any time soon and the faster he gets used to that, the faster he might actually wake up and realize he hasn’t done a goddamn thing in UWA but fail spectacularly! Fuck you guys and we’ll see you Monday!
.
Craven: This oughtta be almost as enjoyable as what happened when Mr. Davies came by looking for a special treat.
Rocket frowns.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Entertaining?
Craven shrugs.
Craven: Depends on if he decides to just beat the guy’s ass or what.
Rocket glances into the room as the customer remains on his knees, seemingly begging for mercy.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: You think he really will?
Craven shrugs again.
Craven: Depends on how much Oblivion is awake and what kind of mood he’s in.
Rocket nods.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Who was Mr. Davies?
Craven grins.
Craven: An Englishman that happened to walk in for a meeting right after the Baron had gotten exceptionally high.
Rocket frowns.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Why was this entertaining?
Craven snickers as Baron starts messing with the poor bastard kneeling before him.
Craven: Because that guy was dead sober and somehow still ended up arguing with Vega about the names of certain cuts of potato.
Rocket starts to answer but can’t seem to find the words. Craven nods and pats him on the shoulder.
Craven: I’ll just tell ya the story, ok?
Rocket nods.
Craven: Ok…
Several months ago...
Silver Baron stands up from his stash, shaking his head as the drugs start roaring through his system. As he backs up, ready to look for one of the ladies in here to help him relieve some stress, his English high roller, Mr. Davies, walks into the room.
Mr. Davies: Sup, fuckadoodles?
Too high to complain, Baron chuckles.
Silver Baron: Guess!
Mr. Davies shrugs.
Mr. Davies: Chips and dog walks?
Baron grins drunkenly.
Silver Baron: Half true.
The Englishman glances around the room and spots plates that obviously used to contain fried food next to salt.
Mr. Davies: Would that be the chips?
Baron nods as he quickly eats a french fry.
Silver Baron: That's true, yes.
Mr. Davies shakes his head.
Mr. Davies: Find it weird calling them chips, to be honest.
Baron frowns in confusion.
Silver Baron: Why?
Davies shrugs.
Mr. Davies: Chips are something different where I’m from.
Baron waves a second fry in the air.
Silver Baron: Because you call fries chips?
The Englishman shakes his head.
Mr. Davies: They’re not fries, they’re chips.
Baron snickers again.
Silver Baron: I just said that.
Davies nods to the thing Baron is holding.
Mr. Davies: Fries are skinny, chips are not.
Baron shrugs indifferently.
Silver Baron: Chips are either flat, or wavy, same food though.
The Englishman points to a fat steak fry being eaten by one of the girls.
Mr. Davies: Chips!
Baron nods, smiling stupidly due to the drugs really kicking in.
Silver Baron: Hence why I said.
Mr. Davies shakes his head and starts scanning through his phone for pictures of what he is talking about while Silver Baron just stands there basking in his moment of stoned, high glory. After a second, the Englishman looks over to the plate of McDonald’s-style french fries being eaten by one of the working girls and nods to it.
Mr. Davies: And these are fries...
Silver Baron laughs out loud at him, clearly intoxicated now.
Silver Baron: You call fries… “chips.”
Davies shakes his head, starting to become annoyed.
Mr. Davies: No we call chips chips and fries fries.
He points to the fat fries again.
Mr. Davies: This is chips.
Baron just starts laughing.
Mr. Davies: Chips are fat, fries are thin.
Silver Baron nods and hold up a can of Pringles.
Silver Baron: Chips…
The Englishman shakes his head emphatically.
Mr. Davies: No that’s crisps!
Baron fires a Pringle into his mouth and then holds the can aloft as if it’s Excalibur.
Silver Baron: CHIPS MOTHAFUCKA!
Mr. Davies takes a step closer.
Mr. Davies: CRISPS!
Suddenly, the two start bellowing at each other, each taking a step as they get louder and louder with each word spoken.
Silver Baron: CHIPS!
*Step.*
Mr. Davies: CRISPS!
*Step.*
Silver Baron: CHIPS!
*Step.*
Mr. Davies: CRISPS!
Now nose to nose, the two men look like they might come to blows. The girls nod to each other and within seconds work to pull the two men apart and spin them around. A few minutes later, neither man is complaining anymore.
Mr. Davies: What were we arguing about?
Silver Baron: Um... I don't know...
Back in the present...
Craven laughs at the thought of that as he and Rocket watch the Baron nod emphatically at the now crying man still on his knees before the Pleasure Dome pimp.
Craven: So then they were both fine for about thirty seconds.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Then what happened?
Craven can’t help but snicker.
Craven: They started arguing all over again.
Rocket shakes his head in disbelief.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: What were they arguing about that time?
Craven starts laughing as Baron continues making the guy on his knees look like he might crap himself.
Craven: Baron called football, soccer.
Rocket looks at his brother.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: It's not called soccer?
Craven shakes his head.
Craven: Outside of North America, it's called football and what we called football is either called "American football" or rubbish depending on the person speaking.
Rocket looks back to Baron glaring down on the man.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: So Baron used the wrong terminology and they're?
Craven nods as Baron starts to beat the guy down.
Craven: Oh... shit…
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Showtime?
Craven shakes his head and starts forward.
Craven: This ain’t no show!
Craven whips the door back as Baron hits the guy a third and then a fourth time, drawing blood.
Craven: Baron!
The Baron nails the guy again and Rocket can’t believe his eyes.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: BARON!
The Baron hits the guy one more time and Craven moves in quickly to stop him from further damage.
Craven: VEGA!!!
Baron suddenly snaps out it and shakes his head.
Silver Baron: Get him the fuck out of my sight, he’s making a mess on my carpet!
Craven nods to Rocket who moves quickly to help the poor bastard out of the office while Craven stays behind for a second.
Craven: Are you ok?
Baron nods.
Silver Baron: Yeah… thanks.
Craven nods.
Craven: Ok…
He turns and walks out the door, hoping this was just an isolated incident. Twenty minutes later, Craven sits down in his car outside in the parking lot while Rocket takes his place in the control center of the Pleasure Dome.
Craven: You back up there, yet?
Rocket’s voice comes back over the radio.
Merlyn "Rocket" Harper: Yeah, everybody else has reported in. Place is rocking, but nothing else to worry about at the moment.
Craven nods.
Craven: Good, keep me posted.
He sets his radio down on the seat, reaches down into pill box and grabs one at random. He fires the pill down and leans his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes for a second. As he sits there, he reaches up and turns on his voice recorder.
Craven: It’s always amazing to listen to some people and how they manage to twist and mangle the truth for their own ends. Take Kyle Travis, for example…
He pauses, shaking his head in disbelief.
Craven: The man doesn’t pay attention at all. He doesn’t bother to look at much of anything outside of his own little bubble and then when he finally does notice, he blames everyone else for it saying…
He sits forward, opening his eyes as he takes in the scene before him.
Craven: They just haven’t made the effort to get his attention. It’s like he doesn’t realize that he’s the reason he can’t challenge for championships solely because he just doesn’t want that to be true!
He watches two rich and entitled frat boys get thrown out the door
Craven: In the same way, Sang Real just don’t pay attention either. They’ve had two wins total in this company, neither of them clean and yet they say the other people are just making excuses. You don’t know what fucking excuses are boys, since it’s all you ever do! You’ve been complaining since you got here and now you’re the champs, more or less, because some other douchebags showed up to save you from K.I.S.S. I really can’t stand you two and I really can’t wait to just beat your asses and move on to Kyle Travis because I’m sick of listening to you two losers basically sound like him just with different accents! All Kyle does is complain and all you two do is complain and honestly, I’m fucking tired of listening to all of you when all of you have gotten handed exactly what you wanted. Last week, you two jackasses were handed the title shot you’d been clamboring for and all you did was complain that it took too long. Win more than two fucking matches as a team and maybe you would get shit faster!
He shakes his head and pops another pill.
Craven: God, I’d rather be anally raped by a guy who was gifted with a cock that was literally the size of Vince Jones than have to listen to all of you anymore! Baron and i will see you on Monday and we’re gonna beat your asses until you bleed so much you shut-up whether you want or not and then, I can move on to getting blown off by Kyle Travis some more until he realizes he’s not a main eventer now, he’s not gonna be a main eventer any time soon and the faster he gets used to that, the faster he might actually wake up and realize he hasn’t done a goddamn thing in UWA but fail spectacularly! Fuck you guys and we’ll see you Monday!
.
