Post by The Polar Phantasm on Jan 1, 2013 16:32:43 GMT -5
[Scene: a beautiful courtyard patio. The cobblestones and wrought-iron gate echo a by-gone era of French colonialism... the glass and iron patio tables and chairs reflect a more modern attempt at the same style, giving the whole place an oxymoronic feel... in other words, this place seems an authentic imitation of itself, somehow. Sitting at a patio table, next to a large standing propane heater, is a short-haired man in a blue and grey jacket. He is smoking a cigarette out of one side of his mouth, one eye pinched closed, as he furiously types away on a small netbook computer. We've seen this guy before. Hell, you might even be Facebook friends with him... he's the "Mad Storyteller". He looks an awful lot like Lucien Hicks. He's not a bad guy, either... I've known him for years. 'Cause he's me.]
Mad Storyteller: And then... oh, shit-
[The writer's eyes scroll up with the page, then back down frantically as he searches for his place in the narrative.]
Mad Storyteller: -Yes. Yesss.
[The loud squeal of a wrought iron door causes the man to look up from his work... a taller, thinner man in a suit jacket comes out of what appears to be an indoor garden functioning as a dining room.]
Manager: Hey, we start seating in 10- what you workin' on?
[The slick-haired man comes over and glances at the screen.]
Manager: ...looks like... a book, maybe. Sci-fi, fantasy... wow. That's a lot of shit... what's "WCF"?
[The writer looks up and smiles.]
Mad Storyteller: It's a long story. Let me ask you a question- how do you feel about professional wrestling?
[An awkward smile creeps across the manager's face. As he forms a response, a grey-haired man comes down a flight of stairs adjacent to the patio and gruffly addresses them.]
GM: We're going live in sixty. Everybody punch in and get to work.
[The older gentleman heads through a doorway and into a massive open kitchen. The slick-haired manager quickly heads back through the wrought-iron door, pointing to the small computer as he goes.]
Manager: Grab your stuff... I'm punching you in, Bonhagen. You ready?
[The mad storyteller nods as he closes the small computer, shoving it into a worn satchel.]
Mad Storyteller: Honestly? You have no idea how ready I am, boss.
[Taking off his jacket, we can see that the mad storyteller is wearing a white shirt, black pants, a vest and a necktie.]
Mad Storyteller: Now if y'all would just let me write on the clock... then I'd be in fuckin' business.
[Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, the writer follows his boss toward the task at hand.]
------------------------------------------------
[Happy 2013...be seeing you.]
Mad Storyteller: And then... oh, shit-
[The writer's eyes scroll up with the page, then back down frantically as he searches for his place in the narrative.]
Mad Storyteller: -Yes. Yesss.
[The loud squeal of a wrought iron door causes the man to look up from his work... a taller, thinner man in a suit jacket comes out of what appears to be an indoor garden functioning as a dining room.]
Manager: Hey, we start seating in 10- what you workin' on?
[The slick-haired man comes over and glances at the screen.]
Manager: ...looks like... a book, maybe. Sci-fi, fantasy... wow. That's a lot of shit... what's "WCF"?
[The writer looks up and smiles.]
Mad Storyteller: It's a long story. Let me ask you a question- how do you feel about professional wrestling?
[An awkward smile creeps across the manager's face. As he forms a response, a grey-haired man comes down a flight of stairs adjacent to the patio and gruffly addresses them.]
GM: We're going live in sixty. Everybody punch in and get to work.
[The older gentleman heads through a doorway and into a massive open kitchen. The slick-haired manager quickly heads back through the wrought-iron door, pointing to the small computer as he goes.]
Manager: Grab your stuff... I'm punching you in, Bonhagen. You ready?
[The mad storyteller nods as he closes the small computer, shoving it into a worn satchel.]
Mad Storyteller: Honestly? You have no idea how ready I am, boss.
[Taking off his jacket, we can see that the mad storyteller is wearing a white shirt, black pants, a vest and a necktie.]
Mad Storyteller: Now if y'all would just let me write on the clock... then I'd be in fuckin' business.
[Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, the writer follows his boss toward the task at hand.]
------------------------------------------------
[Happy 2013...be seeing you.]
