The Revolution just might be televised.
Jan 21, 2017 21:39:53 GMT -5
Marcus Welsh, PerZag, and 2 more like this
Post by Rebel on Jan 21, 2017 21:39:53 GMT -5
The scene opens on the grounds of a large stately home, the camera sweeps across the lush, green gardens, to a fountain decorated with fish spraying water in various directions, a few people dressed in a uniform of black trousers and a red waistcoat mill around carrying trays of drinks, the camera pans farther right where we find a fairly dull garden party in full swing. Stuffy looking middle aged men and women converse quietly amongst their small groups, taking the odd swig of Champagne from fluted glasses. The centrepiece of the party is a statue, draped in cloth, after a few moments, a man with slick black hair makes his way to a podium in front of the statue, his microphone feeds back slightly before he clears his throat.
Dull Man: Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to this auspicious moment in the history of this honourable order. The revelation of a great likeness of our founder member and spiritual mentor, the great Randolph Charleston.
The small group slowly applauds the name, neither excited, nor bored, simply doing as asked, the man turns toward the covered statue and raises his arms in the air, microphone now in his hand.
Dull Man: Indeed this is a special day, one of great import to this, the honourable order of the Viper, one that speaks to our great gains in driving the undesirable from our gates, our ascension out of the mire of regularity, away from the world of regulations imposed on a mindless mass. This great man made this possible, so it is only right we do him such a great honour here today...
He pauses for effect, licking his lips.
Dull Man: I give you our founder, the incomparable Randolph Charleston.
The cloth over the statue is drawn back, as this occurs, the camera moves to the dull man, who recoils in shock, the audience breathe a stunned sigh. The shot zooms out now to show what they can see. A statue indeed of a man, the man this suspicious crowd worship, however, it has had words chipped into it, painted a deep crimson, it simply says.
Dull Man: Ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to this auspicious moment in the history of this honourable order. The revelation of a great likeness of our founder member and spiritual mentor, the great Randolph Charleston.
The small group slowly applauds the name, neither excited, nor bored, simply doing as asked, the man turns toward the covered statue and raises his arms in the air, microphone now in his hand.
Dull Man: Indeed this is a special day, one of great import to this, the honourable order of the Viper, one that speaks to our great gains in driving the undesirable from our gates, our ascension out of the mire of regularity, away from the world of regulations imposed on a mindless mass. This great man made this possible, so it is only right we do him such a great honour here today...
He pauses for effect, licking his lips.
Dull Man: I give you our founder, the incomparable Randolph Charleston.
The cloth over the statue is drawn back, as this occurs, the camera moves to the dull man, who recoils in shock, the audience breathe a stunned sigh. The shot zooms out now to show what they can see. A statue indeed of a man, the man this suspicious crowd worship, however, it has had words chipped into it, painted a deep crimson, it simply says.
Your Time Is Over
As the crowd begin to mutter and complain, the sound of a motorcycle engine revving becomes clearer and clearer, coming closer, they all turn, in horror to look into the gardens. In the garden a man dressed in jeans an a leather jacket, riding a Harley, rides onto the grass, throwing up blobs of muck everywhere. He spins the bike on the grass a few times, scything a large muddy range of circles across the grass. After a few moments, he stops, turns the engine off and springs from the saddle, a huge grin spreads across his face. He walks towards the dull guy at the podium, stopping to collect, and promptly drink a glass of champagne, which he spits on the ground in distaste. He reaches the podium, still smiling, and sweeps the microphone into his hands.
Rebel: Randy Charleston was it? Never had the displeasure of meeting the man, but i'm sure if he's half as stuck up as you people, that's no bad thing. I feel I must protest your celebration of hate, celebration that you once more cast downward your fellow man because they didn't have the jolly good fortune to be born with a silver spoon firmly planted up their ass...wait, mouth, mouth, and a STICK up their ass. Well who really knows with you people, I suppose it could be either, yeah I see you there smiling.
A woman in a navy dress is blushing as she turns away to pick up her coat and starts to walk off.
Rebel: I feel like the world has made it easy for people like you to tell them how to think, what to wear, whose album to buy, which movie they should engorge on popcorn to. All in the pursuit of complacency so that social parasites like yourselves can thrive, if there's one thing I cannot stand it's the thought that a group of bigshots like yourselves are looking to squash the world underfoot and scrape the entrails off your boots, and the world happily does whatever you ask. However, I digress, I didn't really come here to talk to you people, you're beneath contempt, but I heard about your party and felt I could kill two birds with one stone, destroy your precious moment, and introduce myself to a fanbase and establishment which hasn't, until now, had the pleasure of my company.
He places the microphone back into the clip on the podium and grasps both sides, leaning slightly forwards.
Rebel: My name is Rebel, and I join OCW at its glorious relaunch, a new name to those of you who grasp tightly to the rich history of this great federation. However I have spent many years honing my skills all around the world, in companies near and far, the names of which are a mere footnote in the long history of wrestling, nevertheless, I threw myself, body and soul, into ensuring each of those organisations were remembered for great matches, and even greater title reigns in my hands. I come then to OCW with a promise, a promise that I give to you the fans, soon hopefully to be MY fans, a promise that I bring this wealth of experience for the good of this once great company which will return to, and exceed, its former greatness.
My debut comes then at a perfect time, and unlike these reprehensible "human beings", I know you all look forward to what I can bring to the table. There are great wrestlers here, sure some of them are a little unsavoury, sure, some of them probably smell like the inside of a sock unchanged for a decade, but they still manage to ply their trade for this great institution, something which cannot go unrewarded, but the rewards these men face are not pleasant, they will face a resurgent force, a man with little to lose and much to gain, a man who plans to revolutionise this company, who plans to take it by the scruff of the neck and claim its richest prizes, put simply, a man, who goes by the name of Rebel.
He starts to laugh at this point, shaking his head, he sighs mirthfully and leans an elbow on the podium.
Rebel: Or at least that's what I might say if I was one of these schmoes. Lets be real here folks, I'm here to kick ass and chew...no wait. To say my prayers and take my... no, no, not it either. Aw hell, I'm here to win, I'm here to have fun doing it, and I'm here to make sure you guys have fun watching me do it. There are a few boys in the back I'll look forward to clashing with, and some who'll probably wish they hadn't stepped foot in the ring with me by the time the matches are said and done. All in all though I'm going to bring a new gloss to that great ring, to turn this playground, into my playground, so get off my lawn! No, that's not right, what a terrible catchphrase that would be, your name would be like Abner the Grumpy Bastard...that's just, not going to work. Hell, I've said all I really need to say, i'll catch you all at Massacre on the 30th, maybe we can catch a few beers after. THE REBEL HAS SPOKEN.
He raises his left hand in a fist and reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a small remote, he winks, and presses the single red button, the statue disappears in a huge explosion as Rebel walks to his bike, hops on, and takes off. The party guests are distraught, some in tears, others with looks of sheer terror on their faces, the scene fades out.
Rebel: Randy Charleston was it? Never had the displeasure of meeting the man, but i'm sure if he's half as stuck up as you people, that's no bad thing. I feel I must protest your celebration of hate, celebration that you once more cast downward your fellow man because they didn't have the jolly good fortune to be born with a silver spoon firmly planted up their ass...wait, mouth, mouth, and a STICK up their ass. Well who really knows with you people, I suppose it could be either, yeah I see you there smiling.
A woman in a navy dress is blushing as she turns away to pick up her coat and starts to walk off.
Rebel: I feel like the world has made it easy for people like you to tell them how to think, what to wear, whose album to buy, which movie they should engorge on popcorn to. All in the pursuit of complacency so that social parasites like yourselves can thrive, if there's one thing I cannot stand it's the thought that a group of bigshots like yourselves are looking to squash the world underfoot and scrape the entrails off your boots, and the world happily does whatever you ask. However, I digress, I didn't really come here to talk to you people, you're beneath contempt, but I heard about your party and felt I could kill two birds with one stone, destroy your precious moment, and introduce myself to a fanbase and establishment which hasn't, until now, had the pleasure of my company.
He places the microphone back into the clip on the podium and grasps both sides, leaning slightly forwards.
Rebel: My name is Rebel, and I join OCW at its glorious relaunch, a new name to those of you who grasp tightly to the rich history of this great federation. However I have spent many years honing my skills all around the world, in companies near and far, the names of which are a mere footnote in the long history of wrestling, nevertheless, I threw myself, body and soul, into ensuring each of those organisations were remembered for great matches, and even greater title reigns in my hands. I come then to OCW with a promise, a promise that I give to you the fans, soon hopefully to be MY fans, a promise that I bring this wealth of experience for the good of this once great company which will return to, and exceed, its former greatness.
My debut comes then at a perfect time, and unlike these reprehensible "human beings", I know you all look forward to what I can bring to the table. There are great wrestlers here, sure some of them are a little unsavoury, sure, some of them probably smell like the inside of a sock unchanged for a decade, but they still manage to ply their trade for this great institution, something which cannot go unrewarded, but the rewards these men face are not pleasant, they will face a resurgent force, a man with little to lose and much to gain, a man who plans to revolutionise this company, who plans to take it by the scruff of the neck and claim its richest prizes, put simply, a man, who goes by the name of Rebel.
He starts to laugh at this point, shaking his head, he sighs mirthfully and leans an elbow on the podium.
Rebel: Or at least that's what I might say if I was one of these schmoes. Lets be real here folks, I'm here to kick ass and chew...no wait. To say my prayers and take my... no, no, not it either. Aw hell, I'm here to win, I'm here to have fun doing it, and I'm here to make sure you guys have fun watching me do it. There are a few boys in the back I'll look forward to clashing with, and some who'll probably wish they hadn't stepped foot in the ring with me by the time the matches are said and done. All in all though I'm going to bring a new gloss to that great ring, to turn this playground, into my playground, so get off my lawn! No, that's not right, what a terrible catchphrase that would be, your name would be like Abner the Grumpy Bastard...that's just, not going to work. Hell, I've said all I really need to say, i'll catch you all at Massacre on the 30th, maybe we can catch a few beers after. THE REBEL HAS SPOKEN.
He raises his left hand in a fist and reaches into his breast pocket, pulling out a small remote, he winks, and presses the single red button, the statue disappears in a huge explosion as Rebel walks to his bike, hops on, and takes off. The party guests are distraught, some in tears, others with looks of sheer terror on their faces, the scene fades out.
