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| CURRENT
RECORD: 0/0/0 |
DATE
OF RP: 01/18/03 |
ACCOMPLISHMENT: -Null- |
| ~~The
clanging of ceramic and metal can be heard...clinking,
tinkling...through the atmosphere of a quiet restaurant. Asian
waitresses...Japanese...carry plates of small morsels of raw fish to
patrons, scattereed across a room. The camera turns, panning
across the sushi bar, to find Simply Magic sitting at a booth, holding
a bottle of Sampora beer and a pair of chopsticks.
Phil...er...O'Brian sits across from him, also holding
chopsticks. Mike is well-dressed; a black t-shirt with the logo
"I am becoming" scrawled across his chest in spattered white paint, and
wearing a pair of black leather pants and combat boots. He points
at Phil with his chopsticks...conversation not quite in range of the
camera...and we notice Phil sitting across from him,
dressed...well...not quite so well. Slowly we come within range
of hearing distance.~~ O'BRIAN: What do you mean, I "don't have any style"? ~~Mike takes a swig from his bottle, and puts down the chopsticks. He motions at O'Brian's old "Krev MacDougan: ASW Canadian Champion" t-shirt.~~ MAGIC: I'm sorry, O'Brian, but it looks like you were dressed by your mother...you're shirts are all old wrestling shirts...old, old wrestling shirts...and your jeans are rolled up at the cuffs. This isn't the 80's, and there isn't a flood coming...beyond the obvious that is Simply Magical, of course. ~~O'Brian looks down at himself, holding out the shirt and looking at it. It is most definately moth-chewed and speckled with bleach and food stains.~~ O'BRIAN: Maybe the shirts a little old. I'll give you that. But the jeans...rolling the cuffs is the style! MAGIC: Not when the tongues of your Pump high-tops are sticking out. Come on, man...get with the times! O'BRIAN: What're you saying? All the ladies adore me. MAGIC: Adore you? They probably feel sorry for you...maybe they think you ride the short bus. ~~O'Brian releases his shirt and pokes around at his sushi with the chopsticks. Mike leans over and pulls a wad of bills out of his wallet.~~ O'BRIAN: I did ride the short bus... MAGIC: Shut up, O'Brian. The point is you need some new clothes...something that says that you are the manager of the one and only "Simply Magic" Mike Mac-D....know what I mean? We're going to do a little shopping here...see what we can do. ~~Mike peels back five $100-dollar bills and hands them to O'Brian. O'Brian takes them, eyes wide open.~~ O'BRIAN: Do you realize how many clothes I can get for this ammount of money?! ~~Mike closes his wallet, folding it in half. He picks up the check off the table and finishes his beer.~~ O'BRIAN: Where am I going to go with $500?! MAGIC: Certainly not Wal-Mart. Just scout around the city a bit...pick up anything that catches your eyes and is within a decent price range...but whatever you get, make sure you can take it back. I'm not exactly bursting at the seams with cash, but it'll get us started. ~~O'Brian nods his head as he shoves the cash into his pocket.~~ O'BRIAN: What should I get? ~~Mike stands up, check under a credit card. He shrugs.~~ MAGIC: Whatever you want...just look good. If you get something that will not work, we will take it back. Make sure you can take it back, ok? O'BRIAN: Uh-huh. ~~Mike watches O'Brian, a look of annoyance stretching across his face. Mike fiddles with the bills in his pocket, obviously not paying attention to Magic.~~ MAGIC: Alright...I'm going to take one side of the street, you take up the other. The focus of our mission today is to improve your image...when I have a manager with an image, then I have something worthwhile. Image is key when you're starting out, see? It's what sets you apart from the rest...hell, some wrestlers have made it work so well for them they have their own line of clothing. See what I'm getting at? ~~O'Brian plunges both hands into his pants pockets, looking up at Mike and nodding 'yes'.~~ O'BRIAN: My clothes aren't good enough for your image. ~~Mike nods, stepping forward to pay.~~ MAGIC: Your image might have worked when I was in 3rd grade, so, yeah. Don't pick up anything like a suit...that's too much image. We're talking some nice new t-shirts, maybe a button-down shirt if it works, some pants...khakkis, whatever. Just go nuts...we'll work from there. ~~Mike steps to the front of the line, offering his card and the check to the cashier.~~ O'BRIAN: How about I buy a nice motorcycle jacket? MAGIC: If you can make it work, then we can try that...but think more manager-like. I mean, you aren't exactly built to be a manly-man...know what I'm saying? ~~The cashier hands Mike the card back and offers a slip for him to sign.~~ O'BRIAN What if I went out and got a kilt? Maybe something really wild...like a fishnet shirt! MAGIC: Uh...maybe we should stick to the basics. I mean, the image does indeed make the man, but you're going to have to back up anything you say or do...or, in this case, wear. If you want to pull off motorcycle-riding bad-ass, you might first want to be a motor-cycle riding bad-ass. O'BRIAN: So what style can I pull off? ~~Mike pushes the slip to the cashier, who gives him a reciept. Mike turns around and surveys O'Brian, from dog-tongued shoes to spiky red hair.~~ MAGIC: Maybe with some neon-green pants and some vents shaved into the side of your head, we could make you something between Vanilla Ice and M.C. Hammer. You're not as smooth as either, but it'll be a start. O'BRIAN: Seriously?! MAGIC: No. O'BRIAN: Oh. ~~Mike and O'Brian make their way out of the sushi bar. As they step out, Mike slips on his 3/4 trench, and O'Brian slips on the James Dean jacket. Mike looks at the coat and nods.~~ MAGIC: Keep the coat...that looks pretty slick. O'BRIAN: Alright...but what else am I going to wear? MAGIC: Jesus...I don't know. Do I look like a fashion designer? Just pick up some clothes that don't reek of hair metal and bermuda shorts. I'm sure you can handle that, can't you? O'BRIAN: Yes. MAGIC: Good. Meet me back at my appartment when you're done. I'm going to make a few purchases myself...for damage control. Have fun and good luck. ~~O'Brian nods to Mike, and they both turn up different sides of the street. We fade to black, under the freezing cold and flurry of horns that is just past Saturday rush-hour in Downtown Pittsburgh.~~  ~~We fade back in to a shot of an appartment...sparse, but loaded with plants and bamboo this and that. A large cushy leather couch is set on one of the walls, with a decent-sized tv on the opposite wall. A glass coffee table sits in front of the couch, holding a display of different odds and ends; a marbled chess set, various bits and pieces of odd pottery, and carved knick-knacks. On the wall opposite from the door, in front of a large bay window, sits a set of turntables and a large shelf full of records. Sprawled out on a chair that matches the couch, Magic sits, legs spread out, wearing sweatpants and a sleeveless t-shirt with KMD's Gym logo spread across the front. He's flicking through channels, pausing for no more than a second at each station. A clock on the wall behind him chimes.~~ MAGIC: Damn it, O'Brian...where the hell are you? It's already 10...6 hours should have been enough time... ~~Mike turns the tv off, tossing the remote at the couch. He sprawls out even more on the chair, kicking the foot rest up and lounging. He looks at the camera.~~ MAGIC: I may as well make the best of this time...I'm starting in a new fed a relatively new wrestler, with a manager that is relatively a moron. All the same, I got my contract no problem...ASW was more than happy to pick me up...and, I mean, who wouldn't? I have the face and the skills of a champion...someone that the world can really follow behind. I even got my first match assigned to me...no problems at all. In just a few short days, I'll be heading off to my first match in- ~~Mike leans over to a nearby endtable and picks up a sheet of paper...a flyer sent to him along with an envelope with some other information. He looks it over, and then frowns.~~ MAGIC: ...Anchorage, Alaska. What the hell? I go from bingo halls to Alaska? The last thing I need right now is to go somewhere where it is probably even colder than where I'm at now. Son of a [CENSORED]. ~~He tosses the flyer back onto the coffee table and sits up in the chair, addressing the camera.~~ MAGIC: No matter...the greatest journeys start with the first step, dad always said...and if that means that I have to step on a plane to Alaska for that first step, so be it. I'm willing to go anywhere and do anything for this business, and my new employers will soon learn this...and, hopefully, take advantage of it. This is a new dawn in the ASW...this is the dawn that is going to be "Simply Magic". First step is to step right over Joseph Storm. Can't say I've ever seen or heard of you, but I'm confident that we will have an excellent match...with all the talk thats going on, its looking like our match is to be the premier match on this card...the match that will raise the roof. I'm confident in my skills and talent...are you confident enough in yourself, Joseph Storm? ~~Mike puts the foot stool back down and rises out of the chair. He gives the camera a million-dollar grin (and, as any loyal KMD fan would know, this is the same smile that won Krev all of his acclaim in the ring...a somewhat sick but entirely confident grin), and looks at the camera, bicep muscles bulging and flexing.~~ MAGIC: I don't think that you are...you, nor anyone, is ready for what is coming at them. Simply Magic is busting out onto the scene, and he's going to make an impression unlike anything any of you have ever seen...yeah, I have a huge ego, but it's an ego that is well-deserved, as you shall all find out on Wednesday. Because, on Wednesday, what its going to come down to is this: We're going to go toe-to-toe, but in the end it won't be enough, because with one foul swoop, I'll be laying out your ass on the mat...Wham. Bam. Allakazam! You'll be hit by the most violent Hurricanrana you've ever faced...and then, as I climb my way to the top rope, fans cheering and applauding the magnificence that is Simply Magic, you'll hear the air sirens, you'll hear the whistle as I drop down on you, all 235 lbs of lean Pittsburgh muscle...and, at the very last second...and I want you to remember that second...you'll know what it is like to know the difference between life with Bombs Away! and life without Bombs Away! This is what we like to call a 'learning experience', boys and girls...brought to you exclusively by "Simply Magic" Mike Mac-D. ~~Theres a short tapping knock at the door. Mike looks up from his pose, breaking his sadistic gaze from the camera.~~ MAGIC: About damn time. ~~Mike opens the door to reveal O'Brian standing there, in baggy...I mean, really, really baggy...jeans, a wife-beater, and a visor. Mike cocks an eyebrow at O'Brian.~~ O'BRIAN: What up, yo? MAGIC: What the hell are you doing? Change those clothes before you get yourself shot! ~~O'Brian steps around Mike, sort of strutting like his left leg fell asleep and his right leg is too long for his body. Mike continues to stare at O'Brian.~~ O'BRIAN: You frontin', homes? Can I get some chronic and some juice for my dead homies? ~~O'Brian plops himself down on Mike's couch. The half-dozen or so gold chains around his neck rattle loudly.~~ MAGIC: No. No...NO! Where did you get that stuff? And where is your coat? Aren't you cold? O'BRIAN: It's cool, yo. MAGIC: Stop talking like that. O'BRIAN: Why, yo? ~~Mike lets a look of disbelief / anger linger across his face. He sits down in the chair.~~ MAGIC: Because you're pasty white. And Irish. You are a pasty white Irishman. You are NOT pretty fly for a white guy, nor are you ghetto-tastic, DJ Jazzy Leprechaun...who the hell sold you that stuff? Do you still have the receipts? O'BRIAN: Uh...some guy off the street. He said that he gets this stuff in all the time...it's the highest quality for a low, low price. ~~Mike rubs his temples and shaking his head.~~ O'BRIAN: What, yo? MAGIC: My money is most definately gone. First things first...if you talk like that again, I will personally cut off your tongue. You sound like an idiot. O'BRIAN: You dissin my lingo, homes? MAGIC: No, but when you talk like that, it sounds like you are. O'BRIAN: Huh? MAGIC: Nevermind. ~~Mike leans back in the chair, looking at O'Brian and shaking his head.~~ O'BRIAN: So I shouldn't talk like that...what now? MAGIC: No and plan B. O'BRIAN: Plan B? MAGIC: Plan B. That is where I went out and bought things so that you didn't make a mistake trying to walk through a black neighborhood looking like that. Where the bloody piss is your coat? O'BRIAN: Home. I was freezing my nuts off like this...what'da I get? MAGIC: Black...lots of black. No fishnets, but lots of black...we're going to make you look smooth, but that won't be enough. O'BRIAN: No? MAGIC: No. We're going to have to make you act smooth...and by the looks of it, this is going to take an act of God... ~~Mike tosses O'Brian a bag of clothes as we fade to black.~~ |
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