Post by The Mad King on May 27, 2023 6:06:37 GMT -6
Scene II; Return to form. -or- Take that, you fucking casual.
When last we left our heroes: With King Flip on the cusp of seeing his old friend, Aeon Khronos, our warrior decided exactly what it was that needed to be done for Uprising. He called Chanel, who was already setting things in Tallahassee herself, and was right on his way. Though much of the evening's events were cathartic. Seeing David Miller again drew something from King that hasn't been seen since his return two seasons prior. For a moment he was happy; unfortunately, that moment was just as quickly there as it would leave.
Chanel would suffer greatly on this evening. Due to her actions at Hardcore Revolution, which were not limited to but included pelting Buddy Love with a steel chair, one Buddy would find themselves on the path of revenge. This path lead to a return-fire chair shot that now places Chanel's entire future into jeopardy.
Fascinating. The night King Flip sees David Miller. The night King Flip pays his penance, keeping his word to Chris Brock just had to show the mark of a brave man and King would forgive him, extended a free shot and agreeing to shake the Paramount Showrunner's hand. The fury of injuring three of Chris Brock's superstars came out in that kendo stick that night.
And still the King pays. ...why?
The King gives everything to be #2 contender, a-fucking-gain, as if THAT is FUCKING CONGRATULATIONS FOR ANYTHING.
Meanwhile, it's another Merry fucking Christmas to Jane Fonda. But smile, right? Mm.
You will remember.
We return to the war room with what could be affectionately referred to as The Relaxed King. He nearly slumbers in his burgundy-stained luxury leather desk chair. The mechanisms beneath him whine pathetically as he leans, eyes locked in on the grandfather clock across the room. King festers on something, fiddling with his bottom lip, eyes locked in with a glare through his eyebrows. This isn't just fury. In his eyes is more than that as he seethes now and snaps awake. His arm nearly blasts every frame from the excessively elegant desk until Flip makes pause. His eyes lock in with one of the photos and he lets out a snarl.
theMADking: WE... needn't reminding, Georgia. Crimson Masquerade, even with the fall of Shinijoshi -- as SELF proclaimed, or as the prophecy foretold if you will -- well... it doesn't take a fucking genius to put together that the next two chuckleHONKs.
He pauses again, this time a twitch in his eye as they dart to the masked one. The Randomocity. The INNOVATOR or HIDDEN CHAOS, Juncko the Clown. King's teeth grit a second but his next twitch comes with a great shake of the head. Pure disbelief even in his scoff. He waves in the air a simple forefinger a moment. A giggle passing through the King as he relaxes again in his throne of a seat.
theMADking: You humble me, kid brother. Brother. Now, there's a term Ol' Emmie Kay doesn't use enough, hm? Jack Severn is a brother. Dio...
A coy smile and a wink to the champion's photograph.
theMADking: We should consider him a brother as well, hm? In blood, no, but, Junck... neither were you. Nor you, Mike. So let us call a sppahahaha... I almost had you there, didn't I?
The big angry presence of Michael Clarke in his 'Kingpin' suit, paid to stand behind Flip in his earlier years. You read that right. King Flip once paid actor Michael Clarke Duncan a six-figure salary to just... wear his villain costume from the not-so-great Daredevil movie, behind Flip, arms crossed, just looking menacing as fuck. MCD never said a word on camera at any professional wrestling show; however, even to The Mad King, even in this moment of reminiscence is pain. A single tear wells. A single tear falls with a quivering lip.
theMADking: No, still nothing from Walter either. He doesn't take my calls, again, that prick Cain Brodie. Kind of a... habit of people in The Land, these days, it seems, not answering the phone. Haven't been able to get in touch with P Wins either. Aeon, finally, sure, but what's he waiting for? Just come out.
His eyes glance momentarily to the autographed photo on the wall. King leans back again, eyes squinting now after he clears them with his arm. That son of a bitch Jack Severn. Even the shock in his eyes as he lifts his soon-to-be stablemate. That dumbfounded look on his smug little face. It twitches our King's eye once further. A small bite of the lip as the anger agitates even his feet into tapping. Something snaps him to his feet. That classic King Flip malicious animosity lifts the little trash can, the one with the broken photograph, that photograph, yeah, you don't get a name, bitch, no, you get a Kuzku joke and I don't even give a shit if I spelled that wrong. Literally fuck you forever. King Flip clears his throat to return us to the hate in his eyes as he fires the door open.
But again. We find the MAD King in pause even with that damn trash can, everything it used to represent, everything tomorrow has already forgotten, that even now his temper takes hold.
And he laughs as he tosses the trash can back down, unzips his pants, and urinates about three cups of water's worth -- do you drink water? probably not, let's be real scrub -- so what's being described takes, oh, let's approximate near a minute bud. He jiggles it a few times but no more than two because then you're just playing with yourself. After an adjusting, King turns to a now cackling young woman in the hallway. And whether it's the stupid pink hair, the obnoxious red nose, or the fact that she'd just come from literally nowhere and shook King a pinch, for the first time in a little while a genuine laugh escapes him as well. He appreciates the view only a few respectful seconds before closing the door.
theMADking: Oh, uh huh. Suppose as this is your first time, darling, I'll allow the other ladies to apologize for me by explaining further but... hey. Can't hear him if he's drowned. HAHAHA! Get IT!?
King falls to one knee, pained, before fully returning to his lounge chair. With a grunt he clutches the ridiculously soft fabrics of the chair. So nice. Wait, what? No it isn't. He looks to it and for a moment the laughing -- haunting from the hallway now -- comes too from the lounge chair. Big menacing eyes fright King's heart into near shock. Then it's mouth opens.
KK Today: What's pibbity poppin, 2002? We are BACK in Serial Killer Championship Wrestling. Young, chipper, and confident we have the self-proclaimed KING Flip here tonight in the opening match against World Heavyweight champion Dante Macabre. And ah'w'll Ah gots ta say is--
Bob Stopalotapuss: Floop-pop? That stank noodle couldn't hold his cock with your mother's hands. You know what I'm saying?
KK Today: Playboy, I'ma be outta pocket but nah man. I don't think anybody knows. Like, those were all certainly words...
PAUSE. What will be affectionately remembered as 'The MSN Curcuit' was a fucking wild place. If the script wasn't this? Well, it was pretty crudely close.
CONTINUE. Commentary continues firing off as King comes to breathing better than he has in twenty years. His eyes fire open as he knows exactly where he is. The stupid black handcuffs, the off-color color commentary (they'd say the r-word, f-word, n-word, they didn't care! They LAUGHED when you got mad! And you people think I'm a diva? Whoof. Fucking awful cesspool of shitheads that was.), and that son of a bitch approaching, methodically paced, glaring through his eyebrows.
youngMADking: NAHNAHNAH, AEON, FOR FUCKS! BEFORE OR AFTER THIS WOULD'VE BEEN FUCKING PERFECT THANK YOU VERY FUCKING MUCH!! FFFFUUUUUCCCCCCKKKK!!!
KK Today: Flip, we both watched Georgia James just get whooped up on last night. What you tryna bring her out here for?
Bob Stopalotapuss: Let me not be my namesake and fucking excuse you?
Commentary called correctly; it is only The Mad King that knows he's... out of time. Young Flip frantically fires up into a seated position, his skin around the grips of the handcuffs already tearing as he screams with all his might. Both legs trying to force the matter into breaking the link. Though close this would be a moment of no cigar, this getting away business, and Dante would collide with that fire, that barbed wire, the breaking wood of a baseball bat. King Flip broke six fingers this night and right now he relives it. The wood would shatter in through his wrists and he feels every splinter, as fine cut from the stoked hot wire, and the crescendo here of course being the handcuffs break with the baseball bat. The licks of flame still smuttering as Young King Flipper rolls hazardously into the referee.
Dante Macabre: I TOLD you no, boy... but YOU don't listen, huh? So now tonight you learn.
KK Today: ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE, PLAYAS ON PUSSEH POPPAS I'SS GEORGIA WIDDA STEEEEEEL CHAAAAIR ISAIDGAHTDAMNNNNN!!
The blood-lusting Brooklyn crowd continues to fire up. CRACK! "Sweet Peach" Georgia James with the save from more threatened damage by the the World Heavyweight champion as he gets just halfway through the ropes. The fire hazard melts some thinly-padded canvas before ultimately being extinguished and Gee Jay slides the chair into the ring. The King gives a knowing smile, barely able to mutter to himself through gritted teeth at the Wildside Women's champion as she hypes the crowd behind FlipJam and the soon-to-be World Heavyweight champion, in the opening of a pay per view, with broken hands to lift the steel chair with but, hey, at the spritely young age of not-even 17 you just don't give a fuck at all. But yeah anyway Flip was about to say something.
youngMADking: This is the night I fall in love with you. For no reason other than we were friends, Georgia. For no fucking reason you saved my Goddamn life when you didn't have to and...
CRACK! Flip pains through cracking a now vertical Dante to the ground. CRACK! He plants him one in the mouth, removing several teeth from their tight and comfortable homes, and keeping Macabre at bay while he continues not repeating history. This time he shoots his shot, sliding out of the ring to approach a way-too-old woman, gross.
youngMADking: I'm so sorry. I'm just so, so fucking sorry I never said anything. I... okay. Please stop looking at him like that. I know none of this makes sense and I'm inappropriately young RIGHT NOW, like, why are you talking to me but to train me, right? It's a time wizard, Georgia! I FOUND A WIZARD AND HE'S, well, she right now, BUT REAL. PAHAHAAAA... Georgia?
King realizes now he wasn't just remembering the movements. As he gazes to the ring a Young Flip continues the action against Dante Macabre and walks away with his first big gold belt. This is a lot of firsts happening before the old rotten son of a bitch right now. With Georgia giving Flip 'the rub' (don't be FUCKING gross), with title belt in hand in the middle of the ring and prime powering him through this pain, it's a slight flash at first. A camera? While many are firing, no, it isn't the old pops coming from the photographer's corner. The glimmer catches Flip as he sits back and just gets to enjoy it now, if only for a moment.
theMADking: You're a real son of a bitch for tricking me like that, Aeon, but I'll give it to you. You were...
Song Inspiration: 'The Old Estate' by Pete & Bas feat. M24
Chanel would suffer greatly on this evening. Due to her actions at Hardcore Revolution, which were not limited to but included pelting Buddy Love with a steel chair, one Buddy would find themselves on the path of revenge. This path lead to a return-fire chair shot that now places Chanel's entire future into jeopardy.
Fascinating. The night King Flip sees David Miller. The night King Flip pays his penance, keeping his word to Chris Brock just had to show the mark of a brave man and King would forgive him, extended a free shot and agreeing to shake the Paramount Showrunner's hand. The fury of injuring three of Chris Brock's superstars came out in that kendo stick that night.
And still the King pays. ...why?
The King gives everything to be #2 contender, a-fucking-gain, as if THAT is FUCKING CONGRATULATIONS FOR ANYTHING.
Meanwhile, it's another Merry fucking Christmas to Jane Fonda. But smile, right? Mm.
You will remember.
We return to the war room with what could be affectionately referred to as The Relaxed King. He nearly slumbers in his burgundy-stained luxury leather desk chair. The mechanisms beneath him whine pathetically as he leans, eyes locked in on the grandfather clock across the room. King festers on something, fiddling with his bottom lip, eyes locked in with a glare through his eyebrows. This isn't just fury. In his eyes is more than that as he seethes now and snaps awake. His arm nearly blasts every frame from the excessively elegant desk until Flip makes pause. His eyes lock in with one of the photos and he lets out a snarl.
theMADking: WE... needn't reminding, Georgia. Crimson Masquerade, even with the fall of Shinijoshi -- as SELF proclaimed, or as the prophecy foretold if you will -- well... it doesn't take a fucking genius to put together that the next two chuckleHONKs.
He pauses again, this time a twitch in his eye as they dart to the masked one. The Randomocity. The INNOVATOR or HIDDEN CHAOS, Juncko the Clown. King's teeth grit a second but his next twitch comes with a great shake of the head. Pure disbelief even in his scoff. He waves in the air a simple forefinger a moment. A giggle passing through the King as he relaxes again in his throne of a seat.
theMADking: You humble me, kid brother. Brother. Now, there's a term Ol' Emmie Kay doesn't use enough, hm? Jack Severn is a brother. Dio...
A coy smile and a wink to the champion's photograph.
theMADking: We should consider him a brother as well, hm? In blood, no, but, Junck... neither were you. Nor you, Mike. So let us call a sppahahaha... I almost had you there, didn't I?
The big angry presence of Michael Clarke in his 'Kingpin' suit, paid to stand behind Flip in his earlier years. You read that right. King Flip once paid actor Michael Clarke Duncan a six-figure salary to just... wear his villain costume from the not-so-great Daredevil movie, behind Flip, arms crossed, just looking menacing as fuck. MCD never said a word on camera at any professional wrestling show; however, even to The Mad King, even in this moment of reminiscence is pain. A single tear wells. A single tear falls with a quivering lip.
theMADking: No, still nothing from Walter either. He doesn't take my calls, again, that prick Cain Brodie. Kind of a... habit of people in The Land, these days, it seems, not answering the phone. Haven't been able to get in touch with P Wins either. Aeon, finally, sure, but what's he waiting for? Just come out.
His eyes glance momentarily to the autographed photo on the wall. King leans back again, eyes squinting now after he clears them with his arm. That son of a bitch Jack Severn. Even the shock in his eyes as he lifts his soon-to-be stablemate. That dumbfounded look on his smug little face. It twitches our King's eye once further. A small bite of the lip as the anger agitates even his feet into tapping. Something snaps him to his feet. That classic King Flip malicious animosity lifts the little trash can, the one with the broken photograph, that photograph, yeah, you don't get a name, bitch, no, you get a Kuzku joke and I don't even give a shit if I spelled that wrong. Literally fuck you forever. King Flip clears his throat to return us to the hate in his eyes as he fires the door open.
But again. We find the MAD King in pause even with that damn trash can, everything it used to represent, everything tomorrow has already forgotten, that even now his temper takes hold.
And he laughs as he tosses the trash can back down, unzips his pants, and urinates about three cups of water's worth -- do you drink water? probably not, let's be real scrub -- so what's being described takes, oh, let's approximate near a minute bud. He jiggles it a few times but no more than two because then you're just playing with yourself. After an adjusting, King turns to a now cackling young woman in the hallway. And whether it's the stupid pink hair, the obnoxious red nose, or the fact that she'd just come from literally nowhere and shook King a pinch, for the first time in a little while a genuine laugh escapes him as well. He appreciates the view only a few respectful seconds before closing the door.
theMADking: Oh, uh huh. Suppose as this is your first time, darling, I'll allow the other ladies to apologize for me by explaining further but... hey. Can't hear him if he's drowned. HAHAHA! Get IT!?
King falls to one knee, pained, before fully returning to his lounge chair. With a grunt he clutches the ridiculously soft fabrics of the chair. So nice. Wait, what? No it isn't. He looks to it and for a moment the laughing -- haunting from the hallway now -- comes too from the lounge chair. Big menacing eyes fright King's heart into near shock. Then it's mouth opens.
BIG WHITE FLASH
KK Today: What's pibbity poppin, 2002? We are BACK in Serial Killer Championship Wrestling. Young, chipper, and confident we have the self-proclaimed KING Flip here tonight in the opening match against World Heavyweight champion Dante Macabre. And ah'w'll Ah gots ta say is--
Bob Stopalotapuss: Floop-pop? That stank noodle couldn't hold his cock with your mother's hands. You know what I'm saying?
KK Today: Playboy, I'ma be outta pocket but nah man. I don't think anybody knows. Like, those were all certainly words...
PAUSE. What will be affectionately remembered as 'The MSN Curcuit' was a fucking wild place. If the script wasn't this? Well, it was pretty crudely close.
CONTINUE. Commentary continues firing off as King comes to breathing better than he has in twenty years. His eyes fire open as he knows exactly where he is. The stupid black handcuffs, the off-color color commentary (they'd say the r-word, f-word, n-word, they didn't care! They LAUGHED when you got mad! And you people think I'm a diva? Whoof. Fucking awful cesspool of shitheads that was.), and that son of a bitch approaching, methodically paced, glaring through his eyebrows.
youngMADking: NAHNAHNAH, AEON, FOR FUCKS! BEFORE OR AFTER THIS WOULD'VE BEEN FUCKING PERFECT THANK YOU VERY FUCKING MUCH!! FFFFUUUUUCCCCCCKKKK!!!
KK Today: Flip, we both watched Georgia James just get whooped up on last night. What you tryna bring her out here for?
Bob Stopalotapuss: Let me not be my namesake and fucking excuse you?
Commentary called correctly; it is only The Mad King that knows he's... out of time. Young Flip frantically fires up into a seated position, his skin around the grips of the handcuffs already tearing as he screams with all his might. Both legs trying to force the matter into breaking the link. Though close this would be a moment of no cigar, this getting away business, and Dante would collide with that fire, that barbed wire, the breaking wood of a baseball bat. King Flip broke six fingers this night and right now he relives it. The wood would shatter in through his wrists and he feels every splinter, as fine cut from the stoked hot wire, and the crescendo here of course being the handcuffs break with the baseball bat. The licks of flame still smuttering as Young King Flipper rolls hazardously into the referee.
Dante Macabre: I TOLD you no, boy... but YOU don't listen, huh? So now tonight you learn.
KK Today: ASK AND YE SHALL RECIEVE, PLAYAS ON PUSSEH POPPAS I'SS GEORGIA WIDDA STEEEEEEL CHAAAAIR ISAIDGAHTDAMNNNNN!!
The blood-lusting Brooklyn crowd continues to fire up. CRACK! "Sweet Peach" Georgia James with the save from more threatened damage by the the World Heavyweight champion as he gets just halfway through the ropes. The fire hazard melts some thinly-padded canvas before ultimately being extinguished and Gee Jay slides the chair into the ring. The King gives a knowing smile, barely able to mutter to himself through gritted teeth at the Wildside Women's champion as she hypes the crowd behind FlipJam and the soon-to-be World Heavyweight champion, in the opening of a pay per view, with broken hands to lift the steel chair with but, hey, at the spritely young age of not-even 17 you just don't give a fuck at all. But yeah anyway Flip was about to say something.
youngMADking: This is the night I fall in love with you. For no reason other than we were friends, Georgia. For no fucking reason you saved my Goddamn life when you didn't have to and...
CRACK! Flip pains through cracking a now vertical Dante to the ground. CRACK! He plants him one in the mouth, removing several teeth from their tight and comfortable homes, and keeping Macabre at bay while he continues not repeating history. This time he shoots his shot, sliding out of the ring to approach a way-too-old woman, gross.
youngMADking: I'm so sorry. I'm just so, so fucking sorry I never said anything. I... okay. Please stop looking at him like that. I know none of this makes sense and I'm inappropriately young RIGHT NOW, like, why are you talking to me but to train me, right? It's a time wizard, Georgia! I FOUND A WIZARD AND HE'S, well, she right now, BUT REAL. PAHAHAAAA... Georgia?
King realizes now he wasn't just remembering the movements. As he gazes to the ring a Young Flip continues the action against Dante Macabre and walks away with his first big gold belt. This is a lot of firsts happening before the old rotten son of a bitch right now. With Georgia giving Flip 'the rub' (don't be FUCKING gross), with title belt in hand in the middle of the ring and prime powering him through this pain, it's a slight flash at first. A camera? While many are firing, no, it isn't the old pops coming from the photographer's corner. The glimmer catches Flip as he sits back and just gets to enjoy it now, if only for a moment.
theMADking: You're a real son of a bitch for tricking me like that, Aeon, but I'll give it to you. You were...
BIG RED FLASH
WHAT
WHY'D THE COLOR CHANGE!?
WHAT
WHY'D THE COLOR CHANGE!?
