Post by Victor Bloodmoon on Mar 6, 2007 18:58:24 GMT -6
{The scene opens up inside of a dingy bar. It is dimly lit by various neon signs. A country song is playing on the jukebox. Victor Bloodmoon is sitting at the counter. He downs a shot of Jim Beam before wiping his mouth and slamming the shot glass down.}
Victor: Bartender! Could I get another one of these, please?
{A man behind the counter, looking to be in his late thirties, walks over.}
Bartender: Damn, man, don’t you think you’ve had enough?
Victor: I weigh 300 f**king pounds, it doesn’t affect me that much. Now, just give me a bottle.
Bartender: Okay, I just hope you know what you’re doing. That last thing this place needs is a lawsuit.
Victor: Just give me the damn bottle!
{The waiter complies and puts a bottle down in front of Victor. Victor pours it into the glass and takes another shot, keeping his right hand clasped around the bottle. Suddenly, Wilhelm Toulon walks into the camera view, and sits down on the seat next to Victor. He lightly taps his cane on the ground a few times before turning his head over to Victor.}
Wilhelm: I thought I’d find you here.
Victor: If your career had just taken a nosedive, where the Hell would you be?
Wilhelm: I’d be training.
Victor: Train for what? I’m in some filler tag team match with Chester Coban, against Rich Morrison and Big Ci. Coban is Morrison’s own personal bitch, so he isn’t exactly going to be a lot of help. Me versus two guys…yet another loss. Looks like my hopes for any kind of title shot are just about out.
Wilhelm: Come on now, that’s not the Victor I know. Where’s the guy who thinks that he’s the best thing to happen to POW?
Victor: He lost to George Duke.
Wilhelm: Come on, let’s get you into a taxi.
{Wilhelm puts Victor’s arm around his shoulders and carries him to the exit. Victor still clutches the bottle of Jim Bean as the scene fades out.}
Victor: Bartender! Could I get another one of these, please?
{A man behind the counter, looking to be in his late thirties, walks over.}
Bartender: Damn, man, don’t you think you’ve had enough?
Victor: I weigh 300 f**king pounds, it doesn’t affect me that much. Now, just give me a bottle.
Bartender: Okay, I just hope you know what you’re doing. That last thing this place needs is a lawsuit.
Victor: Just give me the damn bottle!
{The waiter complies and puts a bottle down in front of Victor. Victor pours it into the glass and takes another shot, keeping his right hand clasped around the bottle. Suddenly, Wilhelm Toulon walks into the camera view, and sits down on the seat next to Victor. He lightly taps his cane on the ground a few times before turning his head over to Victor.}
Wilhelm: I thought I’d find you here.
Victor: If your career had just taken a nosedive, where the Hell would you be?
Wilhelm: I’d be training.
Victor: Train for what? I’m in some filler tag team match with Chester Coban, against Rich Morrison and Big Ci. Coban is Morrison’s own personal bitch, so he isn’t exactly going to be a lot of help. Me versus two guys…yet another loss. Looks like my hopes for any kind of title shot are just about out.
Wilhelm: Come on now, that’s not the Victor I know. Where’s the guy who thinks that he’s the best thing to happen to POW?
Victor: He lost to George Duke.
Wilhelm: Come on, let’s get you into a taxi.
{Wilhelm puts Victor’s arm around his shoulders and carries him to the exit. Victor still clutches the bottle of Jim Bean as the scene fades out.}
