| Daemon Macabra vs. Synthasia |
Daemon Macabra #1
The scene opens inside of a dark dimly lit place. There is
sports equipment lining the walls, some of which include a rack of free
weights, a bench, and a stack of circular weights in varying sizes. In the
center of this dimly lit room is a ring. The lights flicker on quickly,
and the sound of footsteps can be heard coming from behind a wooden
staircase. We realize now that this is a basement, and that the person
descending the stairs is Daemon. She’s small in stature, which is shown
even more clearly with a tight black pair of shorts, a sports bra, and a
pair of tennis shoes. There is some muscle definition in her thighs and
arms, which tells us that she definitely hasn’t been playing housekeeper
during her hiatus from the ring. Stepping into the ring, she takes a look
around before looking at the camera.
“So, this is what it comes down to, I see?”
She smiles. Daemon reaches up, and pulls her long black hair into a braid.
“I’ve been absent from the ring for a long time. The birth of my
children, hand in hand with raising them, and seeing to it that my
husband’s career becomes even more successful than it already was, has
taken up much of my time. Don’t get me wrong, I love to fight. The
adrenaline, the rush, the bloodlust… it’s intoxicating. It kept me
going for a long time, knowing that I had such good competition as Lindsay
Moran, Samantha Campbell, Sandra, and um… well, they were it, really.
“The truth is, there are very few women that I would consider worthy
enough to fight. Fighting is an art, and is to be treated as such. However
my body, it is art as well. It is a work of perfection, and to have it
touched in any way by some disgusting piece of filth is… well, beneath
me. I don’t think that this Synthasia has enough worth to clean my
floors, let alone allow her skin to come in contact with mine. She seems
to have that sickening ‘glow’, not unlike Christina Agulera. You know
the one… the one that looks like it could be sweat, but is most likely a
mixture of semen, spit, and the excretion from her pores of various
illegal drug use.
“To put it frankly, she has all of the looks and language of a heroin
addict.
“How dare Mr. Sommers ,a man with talent for business, despite his
inexperience, decide that I should leave my duties as a manager to lower
myself to the level of some woman who’s uterus has probably seen more
visitors than Fort Lauderdale during Spring Break? I would have expected
better from him. No matter, there are some things that can be remedied by
simply talking them out. Am I right, Mark? Lets see.”
“Daemon paces beside one of the ropes, a devious smile across her darkly
painted lips. “Now I’m sure you’re aware that the people want what
they want. At the moment, seeing me in the ring with that pile of vomit is
at the top of many men’s lists. I’m sure it’s quite a profitable
venture, but what’s in it for me?
“The return of my brother?
“Dear, that would come anyway.
“I’m offering you the chance to have me fight for your enjoyment. Any
way you like. There isn’t much I would say no to, with the right type of
persuasion. What I want is what you know is in your best interest to give
me. Mr. Sommers, I’d like to be a board member.”
She holds up her hands.
“Now now, I know what you’re thinking… a board member? Why give her
the honor? Well, it’s very simple, you see. The fact is, I’m good at
what I do, and what I do is promote your federation. I’m very good at
making people rich. I can make your dreams a reality, Mr. Sommers, and I
can make your federation even better than it was before. Remember DEATH?
Remember how involved everyone was? The anger, the humiliations, the pay
raises?
“I’ll allow you the chance to see me discipline this trailer park
whore, in exchange for what it is I’ve been biding my time for. Are you
willing to give it to me?”
She leans over the ropes and stares into the camera, a twinkle in her
black eyes.
“We’ll have to see.”
Synthasia #1
Fade in.
The same warehouse as before. Little has changed.
He brings a hand hard across her face, knocking
her to the ground.
"---ever bite me again, bitch,
and I'll throw you in the box with him!
Better yet...I do believe..."
The priest open a brief case on a nearby table,
fumbling through it's contents.From it, he pulls out a facial mask,
Hannibal Lecter style...
"..ah ha. I have something very
special to accomodate worthless sluts who like to bite..."
He walks over to her, snatching her head up
violently by her hair. He forcefully straps the mask over her mouth,
continueing as he does.
"You'll be wearing this from now
on...your mouth is only good for one purpose and I can't have you running
around biting people...it may be a little uncomfortable at first, but I'm
sure you'll get used to it eventually..."
He tosses her to the ground, having secured the
mask in place. She looks up at him, a mixed expression of hurt and hate.
He ignores her and turns to face us.
"Now, Mrs. Macabre. I'm not sure
we've been properly introduced. See, a long time ago, I took it upon
myself to adopt your brother...raise him in the way of the Lord, but he
strayed his path, ran back to the likes of you, and I now consider him a
lost cause...I hate to inform, also, that your brother will die where he
lies...a pitiful and pathetic death, for you see, it is my Will, and my
Will be done.
Synthasia here, she's has very little
to do with this. She was promised things, and certain promises had to be
broken...the only reason she hasn't been properly dealt with is because I
find her to be very entertaining at times, and we all need a little
entertainment in our lives at some point. Your match with her is nothing
more...mere entertainment...a chance for you to answer to her earlier
accusations and insults. Please, do hurt her. Make her bleed...break her.
She loved your brother once, and making assumptions here, he loved her
too. Now the one is all the other has left, and there is no hope. Beating
her will not secure any form of pity towards your brother...his fate is
sealed. Beating her, Daemon, serves one purpose and one purpose only and
that is her suffering.
Ah...you must find yourself in a sort
of deliema. Do you fight? Do you destroy the one sympathy even relativly
close to your brother...his only hope, however much of a pathetic hope it
may be? Would you really sacrafice your own flesh and blood for a shot at
power?"
To be continued...
Synthasia #2
She awakens, finding herself lost amidst a void
of darkness. Her mask had been removed, and for the first time in awhile,
she was alone...there wasn't a soul in sight...nothing but the pitch black
of the night and the sounds of the raven cawing in the distance.
She stands, gazing around in confused fashion,
attempting to take in and make sense of her odd surroundings. The shadows
danced around her like the ghosts of the past, swirling upward in a
tornado of the lost, turning and twirling in the air and spiraling
downward to be swallowed up once more by the distant dark. A chill racks
her body and she shivers slightly, wrapping her arms around herself in
attempt to shield off the sudden, eerie coolness that had swept in.
She watches on in disbelief as the shadowy ghosts
dive into the ground, their bodies reaching upward and arching over into
sharply pointed branches. They formed a sort of walk-way for her, and
seemed to beckon for her to move inward.
She was hesitant, but soon realized that she had
no choice...there was simply no where else to go...all around her was an
empty space...a void. There was nothing but herself, and her pathway of
shadows that had now begun to glow slightly with a dull red eminence.
She takes her first step onto the path. A
thousand whispers fill her mind...all at once they sound of shrill
screams, and she falls to her knees, covering her ears with her hands and
wincing slightly. Turning back, she notices that where she once tread mere
seconds ago, was no longer there. Replaced by the blackened void that
already seemed to engulf everything in existence.
The whispering reaches a stand still, leaving
behind a silence that is even more painful.
"What...the...fuck...?"
The sound of her own voice in such a dead silence
startles her, causing her to jump slightly.
"Where am I? What the---? WHERE
THE FUCK AM I??!! You fucking---YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT PRIEST!!! WHERE
THE FUCK AM I???!!!!"
She screamed at the top of her lungs in a
desperate frustration..
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!! WHERE THE
HELL HAVE YOU PUT ME??!!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS PLACE??!?!?!"
Desperation fades into fear...
"Where am I? ANSWER ME YOU PIECE
OF SH----"
"SILENCE!"
His voice came from nowhere, and penetrated all,
like thunder...yet she remained alone, with only the company of his
voice...the voice of wrath. The voice of Erik.
"Erik? Oh my go-- You're alive?
I'm...I'm so sorry...I never intended for...I...I'm....Please? Forgive
me?...I needed the money...I had no choice....and if I'd known what I was
dealing with...believe me...I never would've agreed....please?
Besides...I've missed you soo much...."
"You. It seems
all strays eventually find their way back. Feed them once, and they never
leave...but never would I have presumed that they'd turn, and bite at the
very hand that fed them.."
"Erik...I---"
"...And be so
foolish to think the Master wouldn't bite them back. To hiss at the mouse,
my dear, is amusing...but confront the Dragon, and you'll get
BURNED!!!"
Suddenly, the walls of shadow that surrounded her
explode into tall flames, and run down towards the other end of her path.
The intensity of the explosion causes her to fall backwards. She sits
there, helplessly as the flames continue down their path, eventually
merging at a point and dying down, leaving behind them what appears to be
a door made completely of light.
The light changes...from a blinding white...to a
golden mist, to an electric blue, and finally settles on a bright, bloody
red...casting all that surrounds into a luminance of the same hue.
Nina Daemon Macabre #2
The scene opens inside of Daemon's
bedroom. She's humming casually as she lays out clothes on the bed. She
picks up a pair of pants, which drawf her in size and length, and begins
to fold them. There is a pile of clothes to her left that she puts them
in. The door creaks.
"Mom?"
She turns, and sees Ashram Jr. He's wearing paintball gear, and holding a
kiddie-sized gun. There are goggles on his face, and paintball stains on
his clothes.
"Yes, darling?"
"Why are you folding clothes? Isn't that Ichiro's job?"
Ashram Jr. comes over and jumps up on the bed.
Daemon smiles, continuing to fold.
"Actually, your father doesn't let anyone but me touch his
clothes."
The boy frowns, and furrows his brow.
"Why?"
Daemon pauses for a moment.
"I suppose... he simply doesn't trust anyone else. You never know
what some people will do. It's awful, the way this world works."
"I saw what dad did to that Phoenix guy,"
Ashram says with a grin.
"Is that why he doesn't trust anyone? He thinks someone might do that
kind of thing to him?"
"You're a smart boy,"
Daemon says while extending a hand, and caressing the boy's face. He turns
his head away, embarassed.
"Moooom..."
Daemon chuckles, and continues to fold clothes.
"Aren't you worried about what that priest guy said? About uncle Eric
and that blonde lady?"
She shrugs and shakes her head.
"Not really. In this line of business son, you've got to keep a cool
head. That bad man who has your uncle has made it seem like your uncle
actually cares for that bad lady. Now, I know better. She said some bad
things, and well, I've got to punish her for them. And we'll get your
uncle back, either way, don't you worry. He's got some things he's left
here that he needs to take care of."
Ashram Jr. jumps off of the bed.
"Hey mom, when do you think dad can come and play with us? Gonji
doesn't like getting pelted by paint balls, and Yoshiro keeps helping
Joseph."
Daemon turns, pats his head, and squeezes his cheeks.
"Don't worry. He'll play with you when he's finished...hm.. working.
Alright? Now go and have fun, and don't shoot the dogs."
"Okay!"
Ashram Jr. runs out of sight, leaving Daemon back to the pile of clothes
on the bed. She turns away from them for a moment, and rummages through
one of the drawers on a night stand. She pulls out a small toy spider,
smiles at it, and sneaks it into one of Brymstone's pockets. With a
chuckle, she turns back to the camera.
"Hello there, mister scary priest man. No, you know what, you're no
priest, I won't call you that. You're just a filthy old man in priests
robes who has taken my brother, and is trying to make us both suffer. It's
not going to work. If there's one thing nobody has control of, it's me and
my family. Make no mistake, after I'm finished breaking the bones of that
girl you're using, he's going to break you. It will be slow and painful,
and you'll never think twice about dealing with us again.
"I wouldn't reccomend threatening me with Eric's 'happiness'. Love?
For that thing? I doubt he loves anything, really. Except maybe me, and...
well, back to the topic, I'm going to make a suggestion. Either you let
him go, or things are going to get very bad for you. Very bad. You're not
scared? Good. That will make the surprise all the more fun.
"I'll see you soon, Synthasia. Know that I have no pity for
you."
There is a knock on the door. Kotori looks inside. She's wearing a woolen
sweater and a short skirt, but looks none the less dischevelled. Daemon
gives a harsh glare at the camera, and goes over to her as we fade. |
| Psycho Sandra vs. The Man |
Psycho Sandra #1
The scene opens inside of Sandra's usual wrestling ring.
Her trainer is nearby, watching intently as she bounces off one of the
ropes and into the next. She practices tucking and rolling, leaping back
to her feet in a hot second right after being knocked to the floor. She
seems to be getting hot during her work out; her skin is glistening, and
her hair is matted to her skull. Her trainer blows a whistle.
"Alright, break!"
Sandra walks over to him, and takes the bottle of water she's offered.
"How's it looking?"
"You'll need to work with a partner for the next few exersizes. The
Man is known for a submission hold as his finisher. I want to know that
you can slip out of it."
Sandra nods as she drinks. "Hey," she says in between gulps.
"I can get out of anything."
"Didn't see you get out of that situation with Phoenix. What the hell
was that, Sandra? How can you work so hard and let him best you like
that?"
She throws her water bottle to the floor. "Don't give me any crap,
I've been working my ass off trying to do two jobs at once, here! Now I
picked you, and I'm keeping you, because you tend to keep me inline. So
while I appreicate you keeping me in line... do me a favor, and don't be
such a jerk about it."
"Hey, sorry Sandra," her trainer says. "But I wouldn't be
good if I let you off easy. That loss was a mistake. Don't make one again.
Right now, guys are going to be going for the World Title belt. Do you
know what they've been saying about you? That the Grizzly Beer belt is
lower. That you're lower. Do you want that?"
"No.." She mutters.
"Right. Now get back in there, and work on getting out of those
submission moves."
Sandra climbs back into the ring, and is soon followed by a young man in a
wrestling team uniform. He looks to be in his twenties, and his heavily
muscled. Soon, the two of them start grappling.
"I've got to be harsh," her trainer mumbles. "There's more
on the line than some damned belt."
Fade.
The Man #1
The scene opens up on a scene
overlooking a magnificent castle in medieval times. Wait a minute, are we
tuned into the correct channel? I thought this was supposed to be some
sort of wrestling network not a program for glasses-wearing, twenty sided
die-wielding uber dorks. Oh wait a minute, maybe we aren’t in the wrong
place. We see a figure dressed in a burnished steel breast plate strolling
along the ramparts of the castle. His long hair is flowing seemingly
impossibly in the breeze, we recognize him as PWA Superstar “The Man”.
As The Man looks out over the parapets, a squire comes bursting out of a
tower door.
Squire: Sir! The King requests an audience with you immediately
something has gone horribly wrong.
The Man: What is it Gerrard? Do you have any idea what is
happening?
Squire: No Sir! But you must make haste to the council chamber!
The Man marches through the doors of the castle and makes a couple of
turns until he is facing the large double doors of the council chambers
belonging to the king. He takes a deep breath and then pushes both doors
open and enters the King’s audience area. Sitting on a throne of
encrusted gems and burnished gold is a man who looks strangely like Mark
Sommers, however I must stress that this is not Mark Sommers, it just
looks like him. A lot. He is wearing a crown on his head and is slouching
in his throne with one leg draped over the side in a relaxed and yet
arrogant Pose.
King: Ah Sir Oswald, I am glad you have come. I fear that our
kingdom is in a crisis.
The Man: Again! It seems that every week that there is some
nefarious wizard out to usurp your throne, or a strange mythical creature
who is threatening the kingdom. What is it this time, fire breathing
dragons? Polar bears with claws the size of a small cat? A demented
necrophiliac who wants to use our subjects for his dastardly plots?
King: I think you mean necromancer, not necrophiliac. A necromancer
summons the undead, a necrophiliac has sex with them.
The Man: Oh I get it, sort of like Brymstone?
King: Yes sort of, in the same way that an apple is sort of like a
fire breathing dragon.
The Man: So you want me to destroy this necro-whatever you call it?
Or was it a fire breathing dragon. You’ve got me confused.
King: No, this threat is far more severe then necromancers or fire
breathing dragons. I am afraid that I have just gotten word of a most
horrible plot. A plot far more vile than anything we have ever
encountered.
The Man: Dear Lord, what could it be?
King: People have been talking Sir Oswald, and I don’t like the
rumors that I am hearing. The word on the street is that someone is
planning on poisoning our number one export and killing millions.
The Man: They want to poison our marijuana!
King: Not the marijuana! The Grizzly Beer!
The Man: Not the Grizzly Beer, the Grizzly Beer is the greatest
thing that there has ever been! It is clearly the crowning achievement of
both our kingdom and of all of mankind.
King: Yes, I agree. You must find out the truth behind these
rumors, and if someone is attempting to taint our fine Grizzly Beer, then
you must stop them in any way possible.
The Man: Yes Sire!
King: But wait, there is a problem.
The Man: What now?
King: You aren’t very popular with the people of the kingdom
right now.
The Man: Are those peons still upset about the time that I urinated
in the well? You could hardly taste it at all!
King: Well yes, that might have something to do with. You must
first go on a quest to find the Holy Pail!
The Man: The Holy Pail! Isn’t that the cup that Jesus drank from
at the last supper and whoever drinks from it will have eternal life?
King: Uh, no that was the Holy Grail, which probably doesn’t
actually exist and is simply a metaphor for believing in Jesus as that
ties in awfully strongly about everything is says about believing in him
and having eternal life.
The Man: You want me to drink the blood of Jesus?
King: I think I need to speak in shorter sentences. You need to
find the Holy Pail.
The Man: Okay so there is no blood drinking then?
King: I doubt it.
The Man: Phew, you had me worried there. So what happens when I
find this Holy Pail?
King: The Holy Pail is filled with sacred Grizzly Beer, and if you
drink from it then you’ll be more popular. At least you will think that
you are.
The Man: It all makes so much sense now!
King: Good, go now and complete your quest you… bloody drunken
Sot!
Suddenly the King’s voice changes strangely feminine as we see the
maid of the hotel room looking at him lying face down on his bed in
disgust. The Man stirs on the bed squinting up at the sun which is
streaming in onto his face.
The Man: Oh man that was one messed up dream. I don’t know what I
drank last night but it messed me up. I don’t know why I’ve been
thinking about Grizzly Beer so much, the match against Sandra isn’t even
for the title.
Maid: Maybe it’s because you’re an alcoholic and all you think
about is beer.
The Man: That’s not true! I also think about women? How you doin?
The Maid just turns around and exits the room her face wrinkled in
disgust and mumbles something about ‘probably can’t even get it up’
as she heads out. The Man drops back down into his bed hoping that the
next part of his dream involves a maiden that needs rescuing.
Psycho Sandra #2
The scene opens inside of Sandra’s
living room. The television is muted, but there is text scrolling upwards
on the screen. It looks like the intro to a Star Wars film, and judging by
the open box of a silver colored “Star Wars Trilogy” set of DVD’s,
it probably is.
Sandra is asleep on the couch, wearing a Darth Maul t-shirt and a pair of
boxer shorts with space ships on them. Her hair is in two braids. There
are cans of Grizzly Beer everywhere. The scene is pretty tranquil, until
the doorbell rings.
“Huh? What?”
Sandra gets up, rubbing her eyes, and answers the door. Standing there is
an older middle-aged woman, wearing a bathrobe and curlers.
“Oh, hi there Mrs. Jorgenson. What can I do for you?”
“Mrs. Sommers, I believe you have some explaining to do.”
“Mrs. Sommers?” Sandra looks confused.
“Oh right! Yes. I’m married. Hah, kinda forgot for a second there.”
“I’m not surprised,”
Mrs. Jorgenson says with a frown.
“Mrs. Sommers, you and your friends destroyed my azaleas. I’m going to
need you to take care of them.”
Sandra rubs her eyes, and shields them from the sunlight.
“…azaleas? What are they? Italian food?”
“No, Mrs. Sommers…”
The older woman says, then takes a deep breath.
“They are lovely garden flowers that once grew in abundance in front of
my house. Unfortunately, because of last night’s escapades, right now
they are a smoldering pile of ash.”
Sandra stares at the woman for a few seconds, then goes back inside of her
house. She emerges in a pair of sweat pants over her shorts.
“Alright, lets see what this is all about…”
Mrs. Jorgenson leads Sandra to her gold cart, which they both climb inside
of. She then drives them both to a large picturesque mansion, surrounded
by trees and plan life. The front lawn, however, is brown and smoking.
There are piles of Grizzly Beer cans, and spent fireworks litter the area.
The flowerbeds have been completely incinerated. Sandra looks at the
scene, dumbstruck.
“So? What do you plan to do about it?”
Mrs. Jorgenson asks.
Sandra scratches her head.
“Uhm… I mean, I’ll pay for it, if that’s what you’re asking…
I’m really sorry this happened. I guess out little Independence Day
celebration was a little more rowdy than we planed, heh…”
Mrs. Jorgenson doesn’t looked pleased.
“You know, I really hate it when your type moves in to these gated off
communities. You bring so much… unpleasantness. I can’t wait until The
Man beats you so I won’t have to see your face on all of those ads.”
Sandra looks hurt.
“Now, you’re just saying that because I’m hung over, Mrs. Jorgenson.
That’s not very fair. You could at least give me a chance to say how you
smell like fertilizer and cats.”
“Get off of my property!”
Mrs. Jorgenson shouts.
“I am sending you a bill!”
Sandra shrugs and walks back towards the golf cart.
“Fine, as long as your sending me a bill, you might as well add the golf
cart into it.”
Before Mrs. Jorgenson can protest, Sandra takes off in the golf cart, back
towards her house. When she gets there, she notices a set of several tire
tracks leading from her driveway to the street.
“Looks like the guys left…”
She mumbles while getting back inside. Once she reaches the living room,
she falls backwards on to the couch, and turns off the TV. Looking our
way, she beckons the camera over.
“Happy Independence Day, everyone. I mean, it was yesterday, but happy
Independence Day all the same. Yesterday we celebrated the day our nation
became a nation. The day we made the world see how awesome we are. I’m
very proud to be an American, and with that pride, I say, mister The Man,
I’m going to kick your ass.
“For America.
“I’ve heard you’re a drunk. Well, that’s no good… drinking
sometimes is good, but all the time? What’s the point? You can’t hold
on to a prestigious belt like this without being focused, and you sir, do
not look focused. Now I’m not going to underestimate you, but I am going
to tell you this; I didn’t fight for my independence from the woman’s
circuit just to let a few men push me around. I won this belt fair and
square, and I plan on keeping it. Now, you can have your little tumultuous
fantasies in that head of yours, but I’m going to go train.
“And man… in the state I’m in, it is going to hurt.”
She moves to kick off her shoes, then realizes that she isn’t wearing
any.
“Huh. Would you look at that. Hey, is that what I call him? The Man?”
She asks the cameraman. “It doesn’t seem right… I’d be all,
‘hey, Man’, and he’d be like, ‘yes, that’s my name’, and if I
saw another guy I’d be all ‘hey, man’, and The Man would be all
like, ‘hey, that’s my name’, and I’d be all like ‘step off,
brosef’, and he’d be all like, ‘I’m the Man’, and it all seems
very confusing.
“I should give him another name. Hm. Maybe Ted. Yes. I’ll call him
Ted. Ted,” she faces the camera again. “After I kick your ass, I
challenge you to a drinking competition. I think it’ll be both fun and
educational. Have your people call my people. My will be done. I need a
nap.”
Sandra turns the TV back on, and falls asleep to the “Razor Gator”
jingle as we fade out. |