Fine Dining Etiquette
thWAcK!
There is more screaming now. Screaming intertwined with begging. Orders; someone issuing a command, quickly, simply and adroitly someone is issuing a command.
MARCH you little shit, get moving, NOW!
Silence for a few seconds.
No sounds except for the heavy breathing of some unknown individual. It could well be the man who spoke, but you doubt that. The breathing is haggard, strained, and sounds desperate. Like a pair of lungs straining for every molecule of oxygen it can suck and then transport throughout a body badly in need of sustenance.
clink, CLANK!
A door unlocks and light splashes onto our eyes like the coming of the first waves of high tide crashing into a child's sandcastle. At first the light shines bright with a lens flare effect but quickly we adjust and we are able to witness what is going on around us for the first time. As suspected a large door's lock had been undone. The door swings open and you note it is comprised of stainless steel making it quite a formidable obstacle to anyone trying to gain entrance or escape from whatever room it happens to provide entry to. Beyond that door lies a somewhat familiar if not disfigured person of interest. It's "Sam". He's not looking good.
GET DOWN THERE!
"...what? NO!"
Beaten and bruised Sam is pretty banged up, his clothes a little worse for wear as well. His legs are chained and locked at the ankles but his hands are free. Several Minions clad in their regular black leather trench coats and masks resembling black motorcycle masks flank him on all sides. You note that the walls nearest to you within the room where the camera is present are comprised of rock. He's being forced to go into the Consulate cellar, of his own volition. They want him to make it his choice; even though they're the ones making it for him. They just know that through all the pain that will be to come that he wont remember that part, just that he walked here of his own accord. Not dragged, not tossed, and not even as a result of a modest shove down the circular staircase now descending before him towards what many have found to be the end of their lives.
ting! ting! ting!
The camera angle changes. Now we are met with a profile image Sam being bullied into the Consulate cellar but these images quickly blur and the background comes into focus. Several rooms down a hallway lined with flags bearing all 3 primary colors we see a couple eating dinner. The camera leaves Sam and his Minion captors behind. As our field of view enters the room to which these two are dining we take note of our surroundings. The room is Spartan in its choice of furniture; with only a large dining table is the two simplified wooden chairs occupied by Doc Placebo and Erica on either side of the table. The walls are the true focus of the room. They showcase several impressionistic oil paintings of Andorra, the Doctor's birthplace and the nation and the source of his diplomatic immunity.
Raising his glass the Doctor looks at the feast assembled before them. Its a vast array of seafood.
Doc Placebo, "A toast."
An Erica dressed in her signature short white dress and a pair of conservative black high heels raises her glass lackadaisically, her eyes narrow as she looks towards Placebo.
Erica, "Hmm... and to what are we toasting?"
The Andorran national pauses for a moment reflecting. With his free hand he removes a small fuzzy thing from his dark gray suit which annoyingly floats and lands back onto his matching tailored pants. Placebo ignores this and his idle hand finds its way to sampling the leather strap of his UWA European Championship, a title he retired in 2005.
Doc Placebo, "To impending success."
Erica, "A bit preemptive isn't it?"
Doc Placebo, "I don't think so. Tomorrow UWA will see two of it's greatest square off in a foreign ring."
Erica, "And?"
A series of smacks and thuds catch Erica's attention and her eyes dart towards the Minions assailing Sam still trying to "convince" him to go into the cellar where only torture awaits. Her eyes return to meet Placebo's gaze who seems slightly distracted as well.
Doc Placebo, "AND... UWA will realize why its next show is it's last. They'll finally see there are no more stars left in UWA horizon. The last ones have long since gone supernova and become nothing more than a charred husk."
Erica, "Rilo."
Doc Placebo, "Exactly."
Erica, "And those who could still shine are denied membership like Trinatas... like when his application was totally ignored!"
More fists, boot clad feet, and elbows plummet down upon Sam and Erica's ears nearly twitch at the sound of each crushing blow and his wailing response. She licks her lips, still looking at the Doctor.
Doc Placebo, "Right, they deserve this. And they deserve to see Dahrkov and I performing on a competing show. I don't need to tell the TNT audience what this match means to either of us..."
Erica, "Rubeus went over all of that already."
Doc Placebo, "Right, and it's been a long time coming too... but this is more than a culmination of our past. Tomorrow we're fighting for a TNT future."
The camera pans downward slightly allowing you to notice Erica slowly slipping out of her high heels. Her eyes still locked on Placebo but her ears listening to the painful laments reaching her from down the hallway.
Erica, "I'll drink to that."
Placebo nods. The two take a sip from their glasses but their eyes never leave each other's gaze much like a pair of martial artists bowing and never taking their eyes off of their opponent. Erica speaks.
Erica, "Hmm... did you bring it?"
He smiles, takes a quick sip of his wine glass then tosses it and its contents over his shoulder. The glass shatters and the wine seeps into the room's rug. Erica follows suit.
Doc Placebo, "Never without it."
She stands, her head cocked slightly downward and to the side, eyes looking upwards... set on Placebo's movements, her left hand hold an exquisitely made leather whip. Her right hand flexes like gunslinger just before a gunfight. A half smile forming on her lips. Placebo stands to his full stature of 5 feet 7 inches. One of the shortest UWA Champions is holding his famed Spanish Rapier in his right hand. It's killing blade is sheathed. He bows, she curtseys...
Doc Placebo, "After you."
crack! CRACK!
She cracks her whip three times building up momentum before surprising even the Doctor by jumping on top of the table and slashing her whip at a plate of fish which fly in Placebo's direction. Placebo dodges most of the fish but is caught by some scolding oily liquids which had not yet cooled. Minor burns not even worthy of the term "first degree" sizzle into his epidermis. Energized by this quick searing pain the Andorran jumps onto the table as well but not before...
Erica, "Blocked?
What would have been a direct slash with her whip Erica's attack is deflected by the Doctor's sheathed blade. The whip's punishment conveying end coils about Placebo's sword. She closes the distance with a step and follows up by yanking on her whip backwards. This movement tears the sheath from the blade and in the same motion sends her free hand to smack at the Doc. He blocks her again, their hands intertwine and in another movement the former UWA wrestler uses her hand to twirl Erica about like a ballroom dancer. Her back is pressed against his chest, his mouth maybe an inch from her ear; she can feel his breathing bearing down on the minute hairs of her neck driving her to attack.
Doc Placebo, "Now wasn't that was dirty?"
Erica, "No..."
She can feel his breathing bearing down on the minute hairs of her neck driving her to attack. Smiling...
Erica, "Not YET!"
With a bare foot Erica slams down onto a platter on the table filled with various seafood items sending pieces of crab legs and shrimp into the air. Placebo slices at the incoming aquatic food items. A crab leg is cut in half, several shrimp are cut and a few stay stuck to the blades edge. While Placebo is dealing with this food fight Erica takes a moment to sweep the legs out from under her former master and the two topple and...
...crash through the center of the table. Erica lands underneath her former Lord and now equal. Doc Placebo's deadly Spanish Rapier lands between the two star crossed lover's faces. A shrimp is still stuck to the blade. She's moving but she took the brunt of the blow since the Doctor landed on top. Breathing heavily Placebo gazes at her face while her eyes flutter open, she smiles...
Erica, "Any... more wine?"
Still under the Doctor's weight and lying in the wreckage of their dinner and the broken splintered dining table Erica nudges forwards a bit and with her teeth she bites into the shrimp stuck onto Placebo's sword. The Doctor does the same tearing the other half from her mouth crunching the appetizer with his teeth shell and all.
Doc Placebo, "I think there's some on my shirt."
The screams of Sam spur them onward, filling them with incredible energy... thoughts of TNT, UWA, and even the main event taking place this week take a second seat to an unquenchable desire. Those are thoughts for tomorrow, but now... now these two souls are alive with a fire which can never die. The scene fades to darkness leaving you with only the pain of an unknown man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.