Post by Cormack MacNeill on Jan 19, 2014 17:02:05 GMT -5
Scene opens on a snowy street
Headlights flare in the distance, cutting through the swirling snow with a blinding flash. As the headlights loom closer, the wind begins to die down and buildings come into view. The source of the headlights now becomes visible, a battered pick-up truck slowly cruising through the crumbling facades of long-forgotten buildings as if looking for a specific one. It was once a thriving industrial park, now left vacant and lifeless, the victim of outsourced labor and a dwindling economy.
The truck slows, and pulls into a parking lot as the headlights illuminate a single-story grey building, all concrete and steel. The walkway is shoveled, the paint fresh, almost in defiance of it's neighbours' state of dilapidation. A single sign adorns the plain cement facing, a simple Celtic cross. A light shines though the mesh-covered window, a candle in the night, a beacon against the bitter cold. A face appears in the window, watching the approach of the truck. Just as suddenly, the face disappears from view as the pickup parks, and lights and engine go out.
A dark figure opens the truck door and steps out into the night. Reaching in to grab a gym bag, he slams the door and a virtual rain of rust falls to the ground. With a sigh he heads towards the building, hunched over against the wind as it picks up again, swirling snow all around the building. A light breaks through the blanket of white, and a voice calls out from the opening door.
'Get in here love, or you'll freeze us both out!'
Fade in
A hallway stretches out before the eye, worn wood floors and fresh grey painted walls extend to an ornate wooden door at the end. Voices can be heard as the camera slowly moves down the hallway, approaching the door.
'Now, Cormack MacNeill I presume?'
'That's me lassie.'
'How quaint. He's going to love you. You speak the same language.'
'And what language is that?'
'Language no one else has used in 20 years. I think it's very becoming.'
'And who exactly are you lassie?'
The scene moves inside the door. An open room can be seen, the same worn floor and grey walls maintain a plain but stately atmosphere. As does the plain wooden desk placed in the corner which is now occupied by a young and lovely redhead. Her alabaster skin and high cheekbones do nothing to distract one from the simple black dress or the ample curves underneath.
'Isla Stannet-Smith, executive assistant extraordinaire. And your guide to getting settled in here.'
Cormack looked around slowly, his eyes still adjusting to the bright lights.
'And what is here exactly. I was told to come here by an old friend, that I would get training.'
'Training is one of the many things we offer here Mr. MacNeill.'
With a sideways glance to Cormack, Isla pressed a key on her desktop.
'He's here.'
'I'll be right down. Show him the lounge.'
'Of course, sir.'
She rose from the desk and swayed over to her guest.
' He will be down shortly to explain everything and answer any questions you might have. In the meantime, he has asked me to show you our lounge. Walk this way.'
As she walked off toward the door, Cormack shook his head.
'I don't think I'm built that way lassie.'
Fade Out
Fade In
Cormack is seated in a leather armchair, surrounded by colour not seen in the entryway. Rich mahogany wood lines the floor, polished to a dull shine and the walls are a smoky blue, textured by fine stucco work. A fire is going in the brick hearth, and the crackle belies a familiar smell, one of wood and hot bricks, a smell of home. He's beginning to feel under-dressed in his sweatshirt and jeans, his kilt packed away in deference to the chilly drive.
'What have I gotten myself into? I need a gym, not a country club.'
At the moment, the door opens and Isla sashays into the room, her face in a broad smile.
'Cormack MacNeill, may I introduce you to the CEO of Church Industries...'
At that moment, a man stepped through the door. He was impeccably dressed, from the tip of his carefully coiffed salt-and-pepper hair to the tips of his Armani shoes. Cormack rose to meet him, and the two took a moment to size each other up. The man extended his hand to Cormack.
'Mr MacNeill, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Church...James Church. Welcome to my humble home.'
The two men shook hands, both holding on a little longer than necessary and squeezing a bit more tightly than required. Finally, they broke the handshake.
'Please have a seat Mr MacNeill. Tell me what has brought you here tonight.'
Both men took a seat. Church motioned to Isla.
'Fetch us a drink, would you dear? I believe out guess will want a Guinness. I'll take my usual.'
With a nod to Church and a smile toward Cormack, she left the room.
Cormack cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his chair, suddenly feeling like the poor kid again.
'I was told by a mutual friend that you offered the best training at a fair price. That's what brought me here.'
Church nodded.
'And what is it you feel you need to work on?'
'Everything. I come from a boxer's background, and I left the best boxing trainer in the world to come here. I've learned all I can from him.'
At that moment Isla reappeared with the drinks. Church motioned for her to sit down. He lifted his glass to MacNeill and turned to her.
'Isla, tell me. You've read his resume, you've done research on him. Why should we train him?'
She blushed briefly before putting on a stern face.
'He's a two time amateur boxing champion, and in his WCF matches he's shown resiliency and the ability to think on his feet. He has strength that belies his size. And he has good conditioning.'
'And what are his weak points?'
'He acts before thinking, he rushes in when he should stop and evaluate. And he can't seem to get the wins that matter.'
Church turned to Cormack with a wry smile.
'These are all good reasons why I should not take you on as a student. But for some reason, I still think you have promise. You have the tools, you just don't have the know how. That I can teach you.'
Cormack sat up, and smiled to both Church and Isla.
'Great! When can I start?'
Church stands, motioning to MacNeill.
'Now. Isla, show him where he'll be sleeping.'
Isla stood and motioned for Cormack to follow her.
Scene Fades out.
STATIC....
'How do I turn this thing on?'
'Here I'll get it for you. Just this switch.'
CAMERA SNAPS TO LIFE
Cormack sits in a overstuffed chair. He is dressed now in kilt and a Dropkick Murphys tour shirt. Stepping away from the cam is Isla, dressed in a tight blue number.
'I'll leave you to your promo Mack. Good luck.'
She turns and walks out of frame.
Cormack waits until she is gone.
'OK, now I might get your attention. Let's talk about my opponents tonight. First off, a biker and a clown? Did I run over your dog Seth? What did I ever do to you? The only bright spot is that with Seth back in control, these cheap shot artists and half baked talents will have to step up their game. Learn how to fight with out chairs, fire, dildo, chloroform...sounds like Paris Hilton's sweet 16 party, doesn't it.
Chase Michaels...what is there to say. You're a tough competitor I'll give you that. But so am I. Who wins the battle of the tough guys? Nobody.. Win or lose, we're both gonna wake up tomorrow knowing we were in a fight. Just give it to me clean, and I'll do the same. All I know is I'm coming out there tonight to prove a point. That you can be tough and play fair. Try and keep up.
Jack Unhappy...heard what you said. Don't care. I'm not rocking a Braveheart gimmick, I'm showing my Celtic pride. I have pride in where I come from, both Canada and Scotland. At least I have something to be proud of. the brave men who stood against overwhelming odds so that the defenseless would be defended, the voiceless would have a voice. If you insult that history, then you and I have a big problem.
Oh, and the 90's called back...Doink is pissed. As long as you pretend you're Doink 2.0 or a member of ICP, don't talk about someone elses gimmick. After tonight, I don't think you'll be looking for another match with me for a long time.
Chase, Happy... only thing I can guarantee is that tonight there's be no happy ending
FADE TO BLACK
Headlights flare in the distance, cutting through the swirling snow with a blinding flash. As the headlights loom closer, the wind begins to die down and buildings come into view. The source of the headlights now becomes visible, a battered pick-up truck slowly cruising through the crumbling facades of long-forgotten buildings as if looking for a specific one. It was once a thriving industrial park, now left vacant and lifeless, the victim of outsourced labor and a dwindling economy.
The truck slows, and pulls into a parking lot as the headlights illuminate a single-story grey building, all concrete and steel. The walkway is shoveled, the paint fresh, almost in defiance of it's neighbours' state of dilapidation. A single sign adorns the plain cement facing, a simple Celtic cross. A light shines though the mesh-covered window, a candle in the night, a beacon against the bitter cold. A face appears in the window, watching the approach of the truck. Just as suddenly, the face disappears from view as the pickup parks, and lights and engine go out.
A dark figure opens the truck door and steps out into the night. Reaching in to grab a gym bag, he slams the door and a virtual rain of rust falls to the ground. With a sigh he heads towards the building, hunched over against the wind as it picks up again, swirling snow all around the building. A light breaks through the blanket of white, and a voice calls out from the opening door.
'Get in here love, or you'll freeze us both out!'
Fade in
A hallway stretches out before the eye, worn wood floors and fresh grey painted walls extend to an ornate wooden door at the end. Voices can be heard as the camera slowly moves down the hallway, approaching the door.
'Now, Cormack MacNeill I presume?'
'That's me lassie.'
'How quaint. He's going to love you. You speak the same language.'
'And what language is that?'
'Language no one else has used in 20 years. I think it's very becoming.'
'And who exactly are you lassie?'
The scene moves inside the door. An open room can be seen, the same worn floor and grey walls maintain a plain but stately atmosphere. As does the plain wooden desk placed in the corner which is now occupied by a young and lovely redhead. Her alabaster skin and high cheekbones do nothing to distract one from the simple black dress or the ample curves underneath.
'Isla Stannet-Smith, executive assistant extraordinaire. And your guide to getting settled in here.'
Cormack looked around slowly, his eyes still adjusting to the bright lights.
'And what is here exactly. I was told to come here by an old friend, that I would get training.'
'Training is one of the many things we offer here Mr. MacNeill.'
With a sideways glance to Cormack, Isla pressed a key on her desktop.
'He's here.'
'I'll be right down. Show him the lounge.'
'Of course, sir.'
She rose from the desk and swayed over to her guest.
' He will be down shortly to explain everything and answer any questions you might have. In the meantime, he has asked me to show you our lounge. Walk this way.'
As she walked off toward the door, Cormack shook his head.
'I don't think I'm built that way lassie.'
Fade Out
Fade In
Cormack is seated in a leather armchair, surrounded by colour not seen in the entryway. Rich mahogany wood lines the floor, polished to a dull shine and the walls are a smoky blue, textured by fine stucco work. A fire is going in the brick hearth, and the crackle belies a familiar smell, one of wood and hot bricks, a smell of home. He's beginning to feel under-dressed in his sweatshirt and jeans, his kilt packed away in deference to the chilly drive.
'What have I gotten myself into? I need a gym, not a country club.'
At the moment, the door opens and Isla sashays into the room, her face in a broad smile.
'Cormack MacNeill, may I introduce you to the CEO of Church Industries...'
At that moment, a man stepped through the door. He was impeccably dressed, from the tip of his carefully coiffed salt-and-pepper hair to the tips of his Armani shoes. Cormack rose to meet him, and the two took a moment to size each other up. The man extended his hand to Cormack.
'Mr MacNeill, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Church...James Church. Welcome to my humble home.'
The two men shook hands, both holding on a little longer than necessary and squeezing a bit more tightly than required. Finally, they broke the handshake.
'Please have a seat Mr MacNeill. Tell me what has brought you here tonight.'
Both men took a seat. Church motioned to Isla.
'Fetch us a drink, would you dear? I believe out guess will want a Guinness. I'll take my usual.'
With a nod to Church and a smile toward Cormack, she left the room.
Cormack cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his chair, suddenly feeling like the poor kid again.
'I was told by a mutual friend that you offered the best training at a fair price. That's what brought me here.'
Church nodded.
'And what is it you feel you need to work on?'
'Everything. I come from a boxer's background, and I left the best boxing trainer in the world to come here. I've learned all I can from him.'
At that moment Isla reappeared with the drinks. Church motioned for her to sit down. He lifted his glass to MacNeill and turned to her.
'Isla, tell me. You've read his resume, you've done research on him. Why should we train him?'
She blushed briefly before putting on a stern face.
'He's a two time amateur boxing champion, and in his WCF matches he's shown resiliency and the ability to think on his feet. He has strength that belies his size. And he has good conditioning.'
'And what are his weak points?'
'He acts before thinking, he rushes in when he should stop and evaluate. And he can't seem to get the wins that matter.'
Church turned to Cormack with a wry smile.
'These are all good reasons why I should not take you on as a student. But for some reason, I still think you have promise. You have the tools, you just don't have the know how. That I can teach you.'
Cormack sat up, and smiled to both Church and Isla.
'Great! When can I start?'
Church stands, motioning to MacNeill.
'Now. Isla, show him where he'll be sleeping.'
Isla stood and motioned for Cormack to follow her.
Scene Fades out.
STATIC....
'How do I turn this thing on?'
'Here I'll get it for you. Just this switch.'
CAMERA SNAPS TO LIFE
Cormack sits in a overstuffed chair. He is dressed now in kilt and a Dropkick Murphys tour shirt. Stepping away from the cam is Isla, dressed in a tight blue number.
'I'll leave you to your promo Mack. Good luck.'
She turns and walks out of frame.
Cormack waits until she is gone.
'OK, now I might get your attention. Let's talk about my opponents tonight. First off, a biker and a clown? Did I run over your dog Seth? What did I ever do to you? The only bright spot is that with Seth back in control, these cheap shot artists and half baked talents will have to step up their game. Learn how to fight with out chairs, fire, dildo, chloroform...sounds like Paris Hilton's sweet 16 party, doesn't it.
Chase Michaels...what is there to say. You're a tough competitor I'll give you that. But so am I. Who wins the battle of the tough guys? Nobody.. Win or lose, we're both gonna wake up tomorrow knowing we were in a fight. Just give it to me clean, and I'll do the same. All I know is I'm coming out there tonight to prove a point. That you can be tough and play fair. Try and keep up.
Jack Unhappy...heard what you said. Don't care. I'm not rocking a Braveheart gimmick, I'm showing my Celtic pride. I have pride in where I come from, both Canada and Scotland. At least I have something to be proud of. the brave men who stood against overwhelming odds so that the defenseless would be defended, the voiceless would have a voice. If you insult that history, then you and I have a big problem.
Oh, and the 90's called back...Doink is pissed. As long as you pretend you're Doink 2.0 or a member of ICP, don't talk about someone elses gimmick. After tonight, I don't think you'll be looking for another match with me for a long time.
Chase, Happy... only thing I can guarantee is that tonight there's be no happy ending
FADE TO BLACK
