Post by Cormack MacNeill on Apr 24, 2016 11:05:50 GMT -5
Tuesday, April 19
0930 hrs
Halifax. Nova Scotia
A black truck rolls slowly down the sparsely populated road at a very slow pace. Behind the wheel, Jimmy stares ahead and looks casually at the rear-view mirror with a amused smile. He accelerates slightly and laughs, before checking the side mirror and rolling to a stop. A sound akin to a slowly chugging steam train can be heard, and the sound drew closer and closer as Jimmy sat in the truck and stared in the mirror with a smile on his face.
A large shape stumbles into frame and leans against the tailgate of the truck heavily. After a moment or two to catch his breath, Cormack staggers up the side of the truck bed and leans in tot he cab.
Thank God you stopped. I was about to pass out.
You're too slow Mack, run it again.
Again? You gone senile old man? I barely survived this run. I'm not runnin this again.
Well, your fat, sweaty ass ain't gettin in this truck. Stainin the seats.
Jimmy, it's my goddamned truck! And besides, there's been blood, sweat, beer, and a few other things spread across the seat of that truck. Let me tell you about that seat you're sittin in.
A look of disgust crosses Jimmy's face as he slides over to let the big man in. With a chuckle Cormack puts the truck in gear and they drive off into the distance.
Thursday, April 21
1845 hrs
Gatineau, Quebec
A large black truck careens down Autoroute 50, passing traffic left and right at a breakneck pace. In the drivers seat is a stunning readhead, her face screwed up in concentration and her knuckles clenched on the wheel with a white grip. In the passenger seat sits Cormack MacNeill, who's gaze moves between the blur of cars and the driving demoness behind the wheel. A look akin to fear is etched on his face, and he mutters to no one in particular.
What's with trying to kill me this week.
Isla answers without looking away from the road.
We could have flown in, had dinner, done the interview, and been off to Toronto in time to train for your match on Sunday. But no. Drive, you said. it'll be relaxing. Bullshit. You had to stop at every gas station between Halifax and here. Bladder the size of a pea. Now we're late for the interview.
A siren starts off in the distance, drawing closer and closer. Isla looks into the rearview mirror and slams her hand against the wheel in frustration. A couple of QPP units have settled in behind the speeding truck and are flashing their lights in an effort to get them to pull over.
Great! This is the last thing we need. Don;t they have drug dealers to chase instead of bothering us?
MacNeill looked down at the speedometer and shook his head.
Honey, you're going 40 over the limit. No wonder they are after us.
No shit Sherlock. Any bright ideas?
Yeah, go 60 over the limit. The bridge is coming up. They won't follow us into Ontario. They gotta turn back.
The truck accelerates and the units behind begin to fall back. The bridge flashes by in a blink and then they begin decelerating rapidly as they hit the city of Ottawa.
See, they can't follow. Oh fuck!
Cormack points ahead, and a line of RCMP cars can be seen blocking the cross road.
We almost made it Mack.
The hell we did. Slide over.
The two switch seats and MacNeill rolls to a stop. The units facing him empty out as Mounties begin to slowly approach the truck. Without warning, the engine roars to life and the truck rockets forth like it was shot from a cannon. Cops scramble to clear the area as the truck barrels through the roadblock, scraping a unit on either side as it does so. The Mounties recover and head for their vehicles, taking a few minutes to sort out who's going first before setting off in pursuit of the rogue truck.
The units follow as the truck rolls through the streets of Ottawa, weaving through the last vestiges of rush hour traffic that slows both pursued and pursuer. MacNeill slides down a side street, then another, trying valiantly to shake his pursuers. Some of the units get turned around, lost, a couple even collide as they take the turn together, but the bulk follow him through the narrow , one way streets.
Inside the truck, the drivers have switched again as Isla is behind the wheel once more. Two more turns and the truck begins to slow down, the pursuers gaining ground quickly. The passenger door opens and a large shape rolls out, kicking the door shut behind it as the truck picks up speed once more. The pursued sets off into the deepening dusk with the pursuers hot on its trail.
A lone figure steps out from the bushes as the tail lights fade. He steps into the light, and his kilt shines a greenish gold as he looks up at the building, and at the neon sign that glows on the side of it.
Late for my interview my ass.
Thursday, April 21
1955 hrs
The Interview
Team 1200 is back with Gord and a special guest. We have WCF star and proud Canadian Cormack MacNeill with us. Welcome to the Post-Drive show Cormack.
Thanks Gord, glad to be back in Canada again.
First question...why are you picking ine needles out of your beard. Care to share the story?
Not really Gord. Let's just say I rolled in here later than expected.
Ok, good enough. Now, you're facing off against Dagvald Riddik, the Neo-Norseman, at Aftermath on Sunday for the International Championship. You two have had a war over the last couple of months, with Riddik seemingly outsmarting you at every turn. What can we expect to see on Sunday?
Well Gordo, you're right. Dag Riddik always has a trick up his sleeve. A way to avoid fighting. A way to say a step ahead of me. Thats because Dagvald Riddik is a coward. A conniving, plotting, scheming yellow bellied punk. Tricks and traps are the only way he's managed to hold on to the International title so far. But on Sunday, the tricks and traps are done. He'll be facing me in a Last Man Standing match. What that means is if he wants to try and attack me in the locker room, thats fine. In the parking lot? Thats fine. On the way to the ring? Thats fine too. It's all legal. And I'll be looking for him. Looking in the dressing room, the parking lot, on the way tot he ring.
I'm gonna be ready to fight from the time I step foot in that Arena until I stand over that joke of a Champion with my hand raised. And there's no place he can run, no place he can hide. I'll follow him from one end of the Air Canada Centre to the other. I'll kick in every door till I find that rotten bastard and then I'll pay him back for every sneak attack, every trap, trick, every time he slipped out of my grasp.
Wow, no love lost for the champion there Cormack. Why do you dislike him so much?
It's simple. He's a hateful, pitiful, weasel of a man. He calls himself the Neo-Nordicist...the New Norseman. He makes a big talk about being a new version of greatness, but he's just an echo of evil. Of villainy. Of a time when Norway knelt at the feet of their Nazi captors. When a country rose to embrace white supremacy and racial segregation. A time that any true Scandinavian hangs their head in shame over. He is that spirit personified.
And just like the world stood against that evil, stood against the ideas that those megalomaniacs spouted, so too will I. To have that kind of garbage wearing WCF's International Title is a disgrace to the company. Seth Lerch sees that, and thats why he gave me this opportunity to end the hateful reign of Dagvald Riddik. The weak, willful voice of oppression and hatred in the WCF.
Sure, we have all kinds of assholes and degenerates in the WCF, but they do it out of spite, or out of an imbalance that they won't take their meds for. Riddik does it out of some deep, twisted need to follow men he thinks are better than him. That's why he's joined Logan and his Family.
Strong words for the champ Cormack. That's all the time we have for this segment of the Post-Drive show. Any last words for the WCF fans out there?
Yes Gord. The German mindset that Riddik wants to bring back...well those Germans ran from very few things during those hateful, misery filled years. But there were two things that struck fear into their hearts. American and British bombers would drop propaganda from the skies into the German and Norwegian camps. They all said the same thing. The Canadians were coming. They know from experience that there are many brave Yanks and many brave Brits, but when the Canadians came, they came on and on and on. Wave after wave of dedicated men, all willing to make the ultimate sacrifice without a second thought. What struck fear into their hearts what that Canada never drafted anyone. All of these brave men and women volunteered. They shivered in fear at a country that lined up in record numbers to kick some Nazi ass.
The other thing Cormack?
The Highland regiments. Men crazy enough to storm the beach at Normandy, kilts blowing in the breeze, pipes blasting away amid the gunfire and smoke. Men who charged the heaviest fortifications, and who stood their ground against the heaviest attacks. Men who knew no fear, who knew that bringing dishonour to your tartan was a fate worse than death. They called the the 'Ladies from Hell'
And on Sunday night, Dagvald Riddik will have to deal with a Canadian Highland Motherfucker. And he's going to fare just as well as his Nazi idols did.
Several Minutes later...
A large black truck backed slowly into an alley between two large buildings and flashed its lights twice in quick succession. A alrge back shape slid into the passengers seat and closed the door. In the light of passing vehicles, Isla and Cormack shared a look before she spoke.
It's 486 miles to Toronto, we've got a full tank of gas, a six pack of beer, and we're both wearing skirts.
Hit it.
The truck pulls slowly out of the alley, turns right and disappears from view.
Fade out
0930 hrs
Halifax. Nova Scotia
A black truck rolls slowly down the sparsely populated road at a very slow pace. Behind the wheel, Jimmy stares ahead and looks casually at the rear-view mirror with a amused smile. He accelerates slightly and laughs, before checking the side mirror and rolling to a stop. A sound akin to a slowly chugging steam train can be heard, and the sound drew closer and closer as Jimmy sat in the truck and stared in the mirror with a smile on his face.
A large shape stumbles into frame and leans against the tailgate of the truck heavily. After a moment or two to catch his breath, Cormack staggers up the side of the truck bed and leans in tot he cab.
Thank God you stopped. I was about to pass out.
You're too slow Mack, run it again.
Again? You gone senile old man? I barely survived this run. I'm not runnin this again.
Well, your fat, sweaty ass ain't gettin in this truck. Stainin the seats.
Jimmy, it's my goddamned truck! And besides, there's been blood, sweat, beer, and a few other things spread across the seat of that truck. Let me tell you about that seat you're sittin in.
A look of disgust crosses Jimmy's face as he slides over to let the big man in. With a chuckle Cormack puts the truck in gear and they drive off into the distance.
Thursday, April 21
1845 hrs
Gatineau, Quebec
A large black truck careens down Autoroute 50, passing traffic left and right at a breakneck pace. In the drivers seat is a stunning readhead, her face screwed up in concentration and her knuckles clenched on the wheel with a white grip. In the passenger seat sits Cormack MacNeill, who's gaze moves between the blur of cars and the driving demoness behind the wheel. A look akin to fear is etched on his face, and he mutters to no one in particular.
What's with trying to kill me this week.
Isla answers without looking away from the road.
We could have flown in, had dinner, done the interview, and been off to Toronto in time to train for your match on Sunday. But no. Drive, you said. it'll be relaxing. Bullshit. You had to stop at every gas station between Halifax and here. Bladder the size of a pea. Now we're late for the interview.
A siren starts off in the distance, drawing closer and closer. Isla looks into the rearview mirror and slams her hand against the wheel in frustration. A couple of QPP units have settled in behind the speeding truck and are flashing their lights in an effort to get them to pull over.
Great! This is the last thing we need. Don;t they have drug dealers to chase instead of bothering us?
MacNeill looked down at the speedometer and shook his head.
Honey, you're going 40 over the limit. No wonder they are after us.
No shit Sherlock. Any bright ideas?
Yeah, go 60 over the limit. The bridge is coming up. They won't follow us into Ontario. They gotta turn back.
The truck accelerates and the units behind begin to fall back. The bridge flashes by in a blink and then they begin decelerating rapidly as they hit the city of Ottawa.
See, they can't follow. Oh fuck!
Cormack points ahead, and a line of RCMP cars can be seen blocking the cross road.
We almost made it Mack.
The hell we did. Slide over.
The two switch seats and MacNeill rolls to a stop. The units facing him empty out as Mounties begin to slowly approach the truck. Without warning, the engine roars to life and the truck rockets forth like it was shot from a cannon. Cops scramble to clear the area as the truck barrels through the roadblock, scraping a unit on either side as it does so. The Mounties recover and head for their vehicles, taking a few minutes to sort out who's going first before setting off in pursuit of the rogue truck.
The units follow as the truck rolls through the streets of Ottawa, weaving through the last vestiges of rush hour traffic that slows both pursued and pursuer. MacNeill slides down a side street, then another, trying valiantly to shake his pursuers. Some of the units get turned around, lost, a couple even collide as they take the turn together, but the bulk follow him through the narrow , one way streets.
Inside the truck, the drivers have switched again as Isla is behind the wheel once more. Two more turns and the truck begins to slow down, the pursuers gaining ground quickly. The passenger door opens and a large shape rolls out, kicking the door shut behind it as the truck picks up speed once more. The pursued sets off into the deepening dusk with the pursuers hot on its trail.
A lone figure steps out from the bushes as the tail lights fade. He steps into the light, and his kilt shines a greenish gold as he looks up at the building, and at the neon sign that glows on the side of it.
Late for my interview my ass.
Thursday, April 21
1955 hrs
The Interview
Team 1200 is back with Gord and a special guest. We have WCF star and proud Canadian Cormack MacNeill with us. Welcome to the Post-Drive show Cormack.
Thanks Gord, glad to be back in Canada again.
First question...why are you picking ine needles out of your beard. Care to share the story?
Not really Gord. Let's just say I rolled in here later than expected.
Ok, good enough. Now, you're facing off against Dagvald Riddik, the Neo-Norseman, at Aftermath on Sunday for the International Championship. You two have had a war over the last couple of months, with Riddik seemingly outsmarting you at every turn. What can we expect to see on Sunday?
Well Gordo, you're right. Dag Riddik always has a trick up his sleeve. A way to avoid fighting. A way to say a step ahead of me. Thats because Dagvald Riddik is a coward. A conniving, plotting, scheming yellow bellied punk. Tricks and traps are the only way he's managed to hold on to the International title so far. But on Sunday, the tricks and traps are done. He'll be facing me in a Last Man Standing match. What that means is if he wants to try and attack me in the locker room, thats fine. In the parking lot? Thats fine. On the way to the ring? Thats fine too. It's all legal. And I'll be looking for him. Looking in the dressing room, the parking lot, on the way tot he ring.
I'm gonna be ready to fight from the time I step foot in that Arena until I stand over that joke of a Champion with my hand raised. And there's no place he can run, no place he can hide. I'll follow him from one end of the Air Canada Centre to the other. I'll kick in every door till I find that rotten bastard and then I'll pay him back for every sneak attack, every trap, trick, every time he slipped out of my grasp.
Wow, no love lost for the champion there Cormack. Why do you dislike him so much?
It's simple. He's a hateful, pitiful, weasel of a man. He calls himself the Neo-Nordicist...the New Norseman. He makes a big talk about being a new version of greatness, but he's just an echo of evil. Of villainy. Of a time when Norway knelt at the feet of their Nazi captors. When a country rose to embrace white supremacy and racial segregation. A time that any true Scandinavian hangs their head in shame over. He is that spirit personified.
And just like the world stood against that evil, stood against the ideas that those megalomaniacs spouted, so too will I. To have that kind of garbage wearing WCF's International Title is a disgrace to the company. Seth Lerch sees that, and thats why he gave me this opportunity to end the hateful reign of Dagvald Riddik. The weak, willful voice of oppression and hatred in the WCF.
Sure, we have all kinds of assholes and degenerates in the WCF, but they do it out of spite, or out of an imbalance that they won't take their meds for. Riddik does it out of some deep, twisted need to follow men he thinks are better than him. That's why he's joined Logan and his Family.
Strong words for the champ Cormack. That's all the time we have for this segment of the Post-Drive show. Any last words for the WCF fans out there?
Yes Gord. The German mindset that Riddik wants to bring back...well those Germans ran from very few things during those hateful, misery filled years. But there were two things that struck fear into their hearts. American and British bombers would drop propaganda from the skies into the German and Norwegian camps. They all said the same thing. The Canadians were coming. They know from experience that there are many brave Yanks and many brave Brits, but when the Canadians came, they came on and on and on. Wave after wave of dedicated men, all willing to make the ultimate sacrifice without a second thought. What struck fear into their hearts what that Canada never drafted anyone. All of these brave men and women volunteered. They shivered in fear at a country that lined up in record numbers to kick some Nazi ass.
The other thing Cormack?
The Highland regiments. Men crazy enough to storm the beach at Normandy, kilts blowing in the breeze, pipes blasting away amid the gunfire and smoke. Men who charged the heaviest fortifications, and who stood their ground against the heaviest attacks. Men who knew no fear, who knew that bringing dishonour to your tartan was a fate worse than death. They called the the 'Ladies from Hell'
And on Sunday night, Dagvald Riddik will have to deal with a Canadian Highland Motherfucker. And he's going to fare just as well as his Nazi idols did.
Several Minutes later...
A large black truck backed slowly into an alley between two large buildings and flashed its lights twice in quick succession. A alrge back shape slid into the passengers seat and closed the door. In the light of passing vehicles, Isla and Cormack shared a look before she spoke.
It's 486 miles to Toronto, we've got a full tank of gas, a six pack of beer, and we're both wearing skirts.
Hit it.
The truck pulls slowly out of the alley, turns right and disappears from view.
Fade out
