Words From The Wise (A Storm [Supremacy] RP)
Jan 17, 2018 18:16:13 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001), and 2 more like this
Post by ForeverKuroi on Jan 17, 2018 18:16:13 GMT -5
Fade in. We're at Storm's house. More specifically, his basement, where his best friend Michael Clarke Duncan basically lives there rent free. He's watching television. He's laughing while holding an ice cream cone. In the ice cream cone are some snowballs he found while outside. On top of the ice cream cones is a bottle of Hypnotiq, his way of making snow cones. While he's putting together this... concoction, he is also watching educational programming - or something he would argue to be educational programming.
(Up until :35)
MCD: NO, I'M DIRTY DAN! I'M DIRTY DAN! I'M DIRTY DAN! I'M D-
Television: More of Spongebob Square Pants after this commercial break!
MCD: I hate da commercial breaks!
That's when the television cuts to the XHF Network advertisement featuring Goldbear II. Now Michael Clarke Duncan prefers anything furry: Dogs, cats, furries, etc. So of course, when he saw Goldbear II, he became enchanted.
MCD: Shit, I don't know da words dat be comin' outta his mouf, but he sounds so mofuggin' magical, like a unicorn.
More and more, Michael Clarke Duncan is paying attention to Goldbear II. Not even the words coming out of his mouth, but not the magic and wonder.
MCD: I don't even know if it's the acid making him talk or if he really be the real fuckin' deal. YOU FOLLOW YO' MOFUGGIN' DREAMS, DAWG! Shit, when I see you at Supermaenancy, I betta get yo' autograf.
Shortly thereafter, Goldbear II finished his promo. There was another advertisement or two, one about women's hair and the second about McDonald's new Dollar Menu. It's not as good as the old Dollar Menu because of inflation and shit, but I mean, it's something, right? Anyways, the commercials end and it's back to Spongebob Squarepants. Michael Clarke Duncan somehow left off in his rant that he just had before the commercial break.
MCD: -IRTY DAN!
Michael Clarke Duncan throws the snow cone at the television. Unfortunately, he forgot that the bottle of alcohol - GLASS BOTTLE - was still attached to the snow cone. Upon impact, the television breaks. The liquid inside of the alcohol and the snow does some damage as well, encouraging the television to spark. Duncan sees this and puckers his lips with a grimace.
MCD: Shit. I made it mad. I guess I ain't not meant to be da real Dirty Dan after all.
~Elsewhere In Storm's house. More specifically, the bedroom. Storm's eyes are peeled. He's laying in bed, trying to relax. Relax, how can he relax? He hasn't slept in days. He has been thinking too much. Too much has been going on. Last the XHF Universe, he went to ask someone for help.
What kind of help?
...And who?
It's hard to say. There's not a lot known. Not a lot seen, but Storm is lying on his bed. He's looking at the ceiling, but he's seeing so much more. Conflict. Hopes. Dreams. Success... and failure. His mind replayed the events like a movie...
~Monday, January 15th~
1:32 PM
Location: Unknown
Storm: Mike, we're here. Stay in the car.
Michael Storm pulls into a driveway. The house looks humble, but decent. Passable. He gets out of the car and knocks on the door. The camera switches on the other side of the door. It opens, facing Storm. He stares at the homeowner and grits his teeth.
Storm: I need your help.
The camera pans up and down, sizing up Storm. The person exhales deeply.
Person: And you decided to come here of all places.
Storm: Where else would I go? You're a legend in the XHF.
Person: And of all topics, of course it would be this topic. Stop wasting your time. I'm done with that now.
Storm: You've won the XHF Championship before. You know greatness, you-
Person: You keep using the present tense. You keep telling me about what I am, but I'm not in the game anymore. Want to tell me whatever it is you want so I can tell you to fuck off and that I'm not interested?
Storm: Look, I'm not looking to try to bring you back to the XHF. I'm not looking for you to train me. I know what the hell I need to eat and how to exercise. What I need from you is wisdom. Give me a piece of advice. If there's one thing I haven't done in the XHF, it's gone for the top of the belt. The greatest of championships. The one time I've tried, at End of Days, I lost in the quarterfinals. You've won before. You've won more than once and you have a track record of consistently winning. It's not just your skill. It's not just your technique. It's your attitude. Your spirit. You walk into the ring clear-minded, without worry, without fear. I need that.
The person exhales once more.
Person: Get off my property...
The person grabs the door and begins to close it, but Storm steps forward, stopping the door with his foot.
Storm: Please. I need this.
The person is silent. He reads Storm for another moment.
Person: If I help you, will you go away and leave me in some fucking peace?
Storm: And you won't ever see me again.
Person: Fine. Never live with regret. If you feel an ounce of regret then you need to search deep down to find what it is that makes you feel that way.
Storm: O...kay... That wasn't too helpf-
Person: And destroy it.
That shut Storm up. He's now staring face to face with the person in front of him. The door closes.
~Present Time~
Michael Storm breaks out of the trance by the sound of glass shattering. It's MCD downstairs. It always is. He's always doing something irresponsible. Something stupid. Something reckless. Storm gets up from bed and walks downstairs. He descends to Michael Clarke Duncan where he stands in front of a sparking television. He looks like a child who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar or a teenager who gets caught jerking off - two things that Michael Clarke Duncan, to this day, still gets caught doing.
MCD: SHIT, STORMIE! I knows what yous thinking, but I'll fix it.
Storm: You're going to fix my TV?
MCD: Nah, dawg. Imma be Dirty Dan. This is yo' house. You gotta be da adult here. When you furniture breaks, you gotta fix dat shit. Don't let yo' guests do your work for you. That's irresponsible.
Storm begins to breathe heavy, trying to suppress his anger.
Storm: You don't understand. You live in my house already, even after I've told you not to. You constantly do stupid shit that get you in trouble. You break shit. You keep this place smelling like drugs.
MCD: Dat's small shit.
Storm: You've spied on Erin and I having sex.
MCD: OK, so that might b a bit much.
Storm: You've attempted to sexually assault eXXXstacy in this very room!
MCD: Oh my god, Stormie! It was attempted sex! Shit, I just forgot to get consent! That was my only mistake! We all make mistakes, bro!
Storm: Mike, you need to leave my house. Right now.
MCD: Shit, no I don't. We're buddies. You're going to forget all about this by tomorro'. I just knows it.
Michael Storm moves forward. He grabs Michael Clarke Duncan by the throat and pushes him up against the wall. Along with the force and the clutch of his throat beneath Storm's fingers, Storm has forced him upon the shattered glass of the television. His bare feet is also feeling the burns from the sparking.
Storm: Let us get one fucking thing straight here, Mike. You are a thorn in my side. You're a cockroach. You've added nothing to my life, but annoyance. You're a nuisance. So when I tell you that you need to leave my house, you can also take it to mean that you need to leave my life. And when I say this, I don't mean next month or next week. I don't even mean tomorrow. When I say you need to get out, I mean now, and for the rest of my fucking life. Make no mistake, Mike, the next time I see you in my house or on my property - the next time I see you in the ring or in the locker room, I will unleash a world of pain. I'm saying all of this to you so explicitly so you don't misunderstand the words that come from my lips. So tell me, Mike - DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME?
MCD tries to speak through the pan, through the suffocation. Tears are running down from his reddened eyes.
MCD: Y-yes!
Storm: SPEAK THE FUCK UP. DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME, ASSHOLE?
Michael Clarke Duncan is trying to manage words with the remaining breathe left in his chest. Veins pop out of his neck as he fights through the tears to make the words sound normally.
MCD: ...YES!
Michael Storm finally lets go. Duncan falls onto his knees and tries to collect himself, sweat and tears mixing into moisture that has enveloped over his entire face. Storm looks down.
Storm: Get your fucking ass off the ground, collect your shit and get out of here. I'm going to go for a run. Remember what happens to you if I come back and I find you still here.
Storm walks toward the stairs and jogs away. Michael Clarke Duncan looks up at Storm as he's leaving, wondering who he has become. Fade out.
(Up until :35)
MCD: NO, I'M DIRTY DAN! I'M DIRTY DAN! I'M DIRTY DAN! I'M D-
Television: More of Spongebob Square Pants after this commercial break!
MCD: I hate da commercial breaks!
That's when the television cuts to the XHF Network advertisement featuring Goldbear II. Now Michael Clarke Duncan prefers anything furry: Dogs, cats, furries, etc. So of course, when he saw Goldbear II, he became enchanted.
For years I sat in a cage. A cage that I was put in for no reason other than I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I watched my family get annihilated by a robotic monster, and last week I avenged them and now I am free. I am free of the cage. I am free of the thoughts of revenge that plagued me for years. I am free do follow my dreams.
MCD: Shit, I don't know da words dat be comin' outta his mouf, but he sounds so mofuggin' magical, like a unicorn.
More and more, Michael Clarke Duncan is paying attention to Goldbear II. Not even the words coming out of his mouth, but not the magic and wonder.
MCD: I don't even know if it's the acid making him talk or if he really be the real fuckin' deal. YOU FOLLOW YO' MOFUGGIN' DREAMS, DAWG! Shit, when I see you at Supermaenancy, I betta get yo' autograf.
Shortly thereafter, Goldbear II finished his promo. There was another advertisement or two, one about women's hair and the second about McDonald's new Dollar Menu. It's not as good as the old Dollar Menu because of inflation and shit, but I mean, it's something, right? Anyways, the commercials end and it's back to Spongebob Squarepants. Michael Clarke Duncan somehow left off in his rant that he just had before the commercial break.
MCD: -IRTY DAN!
Michael Clarke Duncan throws the snow cone at the television. Unfortunately, he forgot that the bottle of alcohol - GLASS BOTTLE - was still attached to the snow cone. Upon impact, the television breaks. The liquid inside of the alcohol and the snow does some damage as well, encouraging the television to spark. Duncan sees this and puckers his lips with a grimace.
MCD: Shit. I made it mad. I guess I ain't not meant to be da real Dirty Dan after all.
~Elsewhere In Storm's house. More specifically, the bedroom. Storm's eyes are peeled. He's laying in bed, trying to relax. Relax, how can he relax? He hasn't slept in days. He has been thinking too much. Too much has been going on. Last the XHF Universe, he went to ask someone for help.
What kind of help?
...And who?
It's hard to say. There's not a lot known. Not a lot seen, but Storm is lying on his bed. He's looking at the ceiling, but he's seeing so much more. Conflict. Hopes. Dreams. Success... and failure. His mind replayed the events like a movie...
~Monday, January 15th~
1:32 PM
Location: Unknown
Storm: Mike, we're here. Stay in the car.
Michael Storm pulls into a driveway. The house looks humble, but decent. Passable. He gets out of the car and knocks on the door. The camera switches on the other side of the door. It opens, facing Storm. He stares at the homeowner and grits his teeth.
Storm: I need your help.
The camera pans up and down, sizing up Storm. The person exhales deeply.
Person: And you decided to come here of all places.
Storm: Where else would I go? You're a legend in the XHF.
Person: And of all topics, of course it would be this topic. Stop wasting your time. I'm done with that now.
Storm: You've won the XHF Championship before. You know greatness, you-
Person: You keep using the present tense. You keep telling me about what I am, but I'm not in the game anymore. Want to tell me whatever it is you want so I can tell you to fuck off and that I'm not interested?
Storm: Look, I'm not looking to try to bring you back to the XHF. I'm not looking for you to train me. I know what the hell I need to eat and how to exercise. What I need from you is wisdom. Give me a piece of advice. If there's one thing I haven't done in the XHF, it's gone for the top of the belt. The greatest of championships. The one time I've tried, at End of Days, I lost in the quarterfinals. You've won before. You've won more than once and you have a track record of consistently winning. It's not just your skill. It's not just your technique. It's your attitude. Your spirit. You walk into the ring clear-minded, without worry, without fear. I need that.
The person exhales once more.
Person: Get off my property...
The person grabs the door and begins to close it, but Storm steps forward, stopping the door with his foot.
Storm: Please. I need this.
The person is silent. He reads Storm for another moment.
Person: If I help you, will you go away and leave me in some fucking peace?
Storm: And you won't ever see me again.
Person: Fine. Never live with regret. If you feel an ounce of regret then you need to search deep down to find what it is that makes you feel that way.
Storm: O...kay... That wasn't too helpf-
Person: And destroy it.
That shut Storm up. He's now staring face to face with the person in front of him. The door closes.
~Present Time~
Michael Storm breaks out of the trance by the sound of glass shattering. It's MCD downstairs. It always is. He's always doing something irresponsible. Something stupid. Something reckless. Storm gets up from bed and walks downstairs. He descends to Michael Clarke Duncan where he stands in front of a sparking television. He looks like a child who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar or a teenager who gets caught jerking off - two things that Michael Clarke Duncan, to this day, still gets caught doing.
MCD: SHIT, STORMIE! I knows what yous thinking, but I'll fix it.
Storm: You're going to fix my TV?
MCD: Nah, dawg. Imma be Dirty Dan. This is yo' house. You gotta be da adult here. When you furniture breaks, you gotta fix dat shit. Don't let yo' guests do your work for you. That's irresponsible.
Storm begins to breathe heavy, trying to suppress his anger.
"Never live with regret."
Storm: You don't understand. You live in my house already, even after I've told you not to. You constantly do stupid shit that get you in trouble. You break shit. You keep this place smelling like drugs.
MCD: Dat's small shit.
Storm: You've spied on Erin and I having sex.
MCD: OK, so that might b a bit much.
Storm: You've attempted to sexually assault eXXXstacy in this very room!
MCD: Oh my god, Stormie! It was attempted sex! Shit, I just forgot to get consent! That was my only mistake! We all make mistakes, bro!
"If you feel an ounce of regret then you need to search deep down to find what it is that makes you feel that way."
Storm: Mike, you need to leave my house. Right now.
MCD: Shit, no I don't. We're buddies. You're going to forget all about this by tomorro'. I just knows it.
"And destroy it."
Michael Storm moves forward. He grabs Michael Clarke Duncan by the throat and pushes him up against the wall. Along with the force and the clutch of his throat beneath Storm's fingers, Storm has forced him upon the shattered glass of the television. His bare feet is also feeling the burns from the sparking.
Storm: Let us get one fucking thing straight here, Mike. You are a thorn in my side. You're a cockroach. You've added nothing to my life, but annoyance. You're a nuisance. So when I tell you that you need to leave my house, you can also take it to mean that you need to leave my life. And when I say this, I don't mean next month or next week. I don't even mean tomorrow. When I say you need to get out, I mean now, and for the rest of my fucking life. Make no mistake, Mike, the next time I see you in my house or on my property - the next time I see you in the ring or in the locker room, I will unleash a world of pain. I'm saying all of this to you so explicitly so you don't misunderstand the words that come from my lips. So tell me, Mike - DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME?
MCD tries to speak through the pan, through the suffocation. Tears are running down from his reddened eyes.
MCD: Y-yes!
Storm: SPEAK THE FUCK UP. DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME, ASSHOLE?
Michael Clarke Duncan is trying to manage words with the remaining breathe left in his chest. Veins pop out of his neck as he fights through the tears to make the words sound normally.
MCD: ...YES!
Michael Storm finally lets go. Duncan falls onto his knees and tries to collect himself, sweat and tears mixing into moisture that has enveloped over his entire face. Storm looks down.
Storm: Get your fucking ass off the ground, collect your shit and get out of here. I'm going to go for a run. Remember what happens to you if I come back and I find you still here.
Storm walks toward the stairs and jogs away. Michael Clarke Duncan looks up at Storm as he's leaving, wondering who he has become. Fade out.
