Casting Call
Cue and open to an exquisitely
appointed bathroom. Italian marble flooring of the purest white
variety lavishes the ground as the camera begins to pan around.
Gold plated taps, twenty-four karat, naturally, gleam from the light
emanating from a small crystal chandelier.
The sound of running water, from the shower, fills the room as a gentle fog of steam hovers around filling every orifice where it may.
The view from the lens settles by the foot of the shower enclosure as the water ceases. A few moments later the haze of mist begins to dissipate, and the glass door of the shower slides open. Out steps a pair of shapely, sensuously smooth looking legs. She exits the scene.
"Daemon Curtis. Welcome to New York. Welcome to our home."
The voice of Avarice, Destroyer of Worlds.
A white towel made from the finest Egyptian cotton suddenly his the floor. It is stained with what appears to be blood.
"Nothing like a shower to rejuvenate one's self."
He steps out of the shower, his legs too stained red, and walks out of the shot. The scene rises and moves towards the shower enclosure itself, which is violently smeared with blood; as it coagulates, small droplets make their way down the porcelain tile which has been raped of its purity.
The scene fades out, and quickly fades back in. Avarice, now dressed and appareled in finest tailored suit money can buy, and Mozart.
"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik," quietly playing in the background, familiar to all but the untrained ear.
Breakfast time: croissant, orange juice, coffee, assorted imported jams.
"So pleased that you are able to join us for breakfast Mr. Curtis."
Avarice rips a piece of croissant and butters it lightly, adds some strawberry jam to it, and begins to consume it.
"Our first act must be to congratulate you on a job well done, in becoming the inaugural OLW Heavyweight Champion."
Avarice nods as he chews the rest of his croissant and swallows it. He sips some orange juice to cleanse his palate.
"T'was quite a feat you accomplished. You are to be praised and lauded." Avarice picks up his coffee cup and sips, placing it back down onto its saucer.
"We must also apologize and send our sincere regrets that you have the honour of being placed in the four sided horror with our good self. Arrogance you might say? Whom should you fear now that you have the golden orb around your shoulder."
Avarice shifts in his seat and puts his leg up atop his knee. "Fear everyone. And most of all, fear us, and fear our new found taste for blood."
The Englishman moves to pick up his coffee cup, but accidentally tips it over, spilling its contents onto the ground. The water of life in deadly red crimson flows from out of the cup.
"Goddamn it."
The scene flashes quickly from the table to the stain on the ground and then fades to blackness.
The blackness remains.
The rumbling of car engines, honking horns, screeching tires. Manhattan at its finest.
Scene returns with Avarice in long woolen winter jacket, black leather gloves, on a grey, soon-to-be-rain New York day, walking the streets.
"Oh Mr. Curtis. All we want you to be is mindful. And we truly hope you witnessed our match against our noble foe, Seamus Finnegan. Did you see what we are capable of doing? Did you see what we did to the man who we once trusted and relied on more than anyone? Against a man we once called friend - we sought to kill him by killing his livelihood, and leave him a shamble of himself. And that is what we did. We paid the price ourselves, suffering and forbearing more burdens than usually deemed humanly possible. Our only company that night was a nurse and a transfusion."
He stops walking. "The scars we earned that night are priceless treasures. Yet we wonder: what shall we do to you?"
The scene fades out and quickly reappears in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, before which Avarice stands.
"It is time to grasp history, Curtis. We have evolved, every moment we evolve, and he who you shall seek will evolve against every punch you throw, every move you execute, and whatever the outcome - we shall return, and sooner than later, we shall meet again, take that which you prize most, and you shall join Seamus in the line of shadows that we have cast."
A rumble from the heavens signals rain, which begins to fall. It is of course, red, and begins to fall heavily, covering our man in plasma. He holds his head up to the skies and allows the red beads to roll down his face and into his red coloured eyes. He wipes his face and mouth with his leather glove.
"I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er."
"Curtis, onwards we wade."
Fade out.
The sound of running water, from the shower, fills the room as a gentle fog of steam hovers around filling every orifice where it may.
The view from the lens settles by the foot of the shower enclosure as the water ceases. A few moments later the haze of mist begins to dissipate, and the glass door of the shower slides open. Out steps a pair of shapely, sensuously smooth looking legs. She exits the scene.
"Daemon Curtis. Welcome to New York. Welcome to our home."
The voice of Avarice, Destroyer of Worlds.
A white towel made from the finest Egyptian cotton suddenly his the floor. It is stained with what appears to be blood.
"Nothing like a shower to rejuvenate one's self."
He steps out of the shower, his legs too stained red, and walks out of the shot. The scene rises and moves towards the shower enclosure itself, which is violently smeared with blood; as it coagulates, small droplets make their way down the porcelain tile which has been raped of its purity.
The scene fades out, and quickly fades back in. Avarice, now dressed and appareled in finest tailored suit money can buy, and Mozart.
"Eine Kleine Nachtmusik," quietly playing in the background, familiar to all but the untrained ear.
Breakfast time: croissant, orange juice, coffee, assorted imported jams.
"So pleased that you are able to join us for breakfast Mr. Curtis."
Avarice rips a piece of croissant and butters it lightly, adds some strawberry jam to it, and begins to consume it.
"Our first act must be to congratulate you on a job well done, in becoming the inaugural OLW Heavyweight Champion."
Avarice nods as he chews the rest of his croissant and swallows it. He sips some orange juice to cleanse his palate.
"T'was quite a feat you accomplished. You are to be praised and lauded." Avarice picks up his coffee cup and sips, placing it back down onto its saucer.
"We must also apologize and send our sincere regrets that you have the honour of being placed in the four sided horror with our good self. Arrogance you might say? Whom should you fear now that you have the golden orb around your shoulder."
Avarice shifts in his seat and puts his leg up atop his knee. "Fear everyone. And most of all, fear us, and fear our new found taste for blood."
The Englishman moves to pick up his coffee cup, but accidentally tips it over, spilling its contents onto the ground. The water of life in deadly red crimson flows from out of the cup.
"Goddamn it."
The scene flashes quickly from the table to the stain on the ground and then fades to blackness.
The blackness remains.
The rumbling of car engines, honking horns, screeching tires. Manhattan at its finest.
Scene returns with Avarice in long woolen winter jacket, black leather gloves, on a grey, soon-to-be-rain New York day, walking the streets.
"Oh Mr. Curtis. All we want you to be is mindful. And we truly hope you witnessed our match against our noble foe, Seamus Finnegan. Did you see what we are capable of doing? Did you see what we did to the man who we once trusted and relied on more than anyone? Against a man we once called friend - we sought to kill him by killing his livelihood, and leave him a shamble of himself. And that is what we did. We paid the price ourselves, suffering and forbearing more burdens than usually deemed humanly possible. Our only company that night was a nurse and a transfusion."
He stops walking. "The scars we earned that night are priceless treasures. Yet we wonder: what shall we do to you?"
The scene fades out and quickly reappears in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, before which Avarice stands.
"It is time to grasp history, Curtis. We have evolved, every moment we evolve, and he who you shall seek will evolve against every punch you throw, every move you execute, and whatever the outcome - we shall return, and sooner than later, we shall meet again, take that which you prize most, and you shall join Seamus in the line of shadows that we have cast."
A rumble from the heavens signals rain, which begins to fall. It is of course, red, and begins to fall heavily, covering our man in plasma. He holds his head up to the skies and allows the red beads to roll down his face and into his red coloured eyes. He wipes his face and mouth with his leather glove.
"I am in blood
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,
Returning were as tedious as go o'er."
"Curtis, onwards we wade."
Fade out.