Post by Murdoc on Feb 2, 2006 21:45:40 GMT -5
--February 2nd, 2006--
~9:45 P.M.~
{HONK HONK!}
{The sound of a car's horn bleeding through the divide in the vehicle, one Marcus Murdoc grumbles as the brakes are utilized in a rather sudden fashion, his body lurching forward in repsonse. The light splish-splash of chardonnay on his boots sounding like atomic bombs in his ears, he lets fly a choice set of words before hurling the decently sized glass at the partition. The glass shattering on impact, the glittering...jagged shards of glass rain down upon the plush floorboard and the soft leather upholstery as the offended Prophet picks up the receiver end of the small phone tucked away in a small alcove on the side of the seat he is currently lounging in. Pressing a small button, the response is instantaneous.}
Yes sir?
What in the BLAZES is going ON up there? Can't you drive?!
We've just hit a bit of traffic, sir. We're within about fifteen minutes of our destination and depending on if the traffic moves, we might get there in 20, 25 minutes.
We'd better be there in FIFTEEN minutes.
Yes, sir.
{Hanging the phone up in disgust, the Prophet looks to his shoes with a rather annoyed look on his face. Taking a small cocktail napkin, he wipes the fine leather toe of his boot and inspects it lightly before tossing the napkin into the trash. Taking a few small breaths, he puts the unbelievable display of incompetence out of his mind as he grabs a new, non-broken glass and sets it to the side for the moment. Reaching into the small ice chest at his other side, he smiles and pulls out a very exotic looking bottle. Taking a corkscrew provided, he plunges the cold metal into the cork and pops the bottle open. Carelessly throwing the corkscrew aside, he raises the bottle to his nose and takes in the sweet aroma of the liquid.}
Ahhhh...excellent. This is going to be a GOOD night...
**2**
Ladies and gentlemen...we have a PARTY going on here!
{The bouncy, rather seductive voice of the E! Channel's Cindy Taylor hits the airwaves. Looking rather gorgeous in an Donna Karan dress accentuated with a retro-chic theme to the whole outfit, her beautiful smile shining into the camera as she does what she does best: hosting the program Wild On. However, tonight was a different case, as a group of A-list celebrities have joined forces and created a rather large bash in the Florida Keys. And our resident Prophet has taken it upon himself to enjoy the festivities.}
Well, we are LIVE...for the FIRST time on Wild On, where a HUGE bash hosted by none other than rap-mogul Sean 'Diddy' Combs is playing out. Everyone who's anyone has been spotted trolling this particular red carpet tonight. Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore were spotted earlier, as well as Bruce Willis and one fabulous looking Cindy Margolis....not to forget Nelly with the St. Lunatics just pulled in a few moments ago. And they just keep on coming.
{The cameras still rolling, a single white limousine begins to pull up to the red carpet, making a complete stop and park as the driver gets out and begins to walk towards the passenger door. Gripping the handle and pulling it open swiftly, PCW's own Marcus Murdoc steps out looking rather fantastic, much different than his normal appearance in the squared circle. Dressed rather elegantly in a snappy looking black tuxedo, gothic style writing on the back stating the Latin phrase 'Mundus Vult Decipi', meaning 'The World invites Deception'. Walking along, his brilliant white hair is pulled back neatly into a ponytail that hangs down between his shoulder blades. Stepping along the hallowed red carpet, walking cane topped with a Dragon's head leading the way, he smiles to the people hanging around the barricades. Waving politely, he passes the camera and flashes a cheesy, brilliant smile. Not even stopping to give a few words, he steps up to the front door of the club that's hosting the party. The music thumping, bass echoing along the walls before wafting out into the public air. Two rather big men standing on either side of the door, they each stick a single hand in front of the door as the Prophet walks up to them.}
Name?
Murdoc. Should be near the top of the list, with a big dollar sign in front of it.
{Flashing a confident, cocky smile, pages on a clipboard are flipped before voices are heard again.}
Sorry, man. No Murdocs on here.
Check under Prophet then.
Sorry, dude. NOT ON THE LIST. Get lost.
{Gritting his teeth heavily, he breathes a few deep breaths and closes his eyes for a moment. Not letting this get under his skin, he pulls out his wallet and about 5 one-hundred dollar bills on the clipboard. Watching as the men look down to the clipboard for a moment, his eyes grow as wide as saucers as the man turns the clipboard upside down, the bills fluttering to the ground lazily. A few people standing around spotting this, chuckles beginning to filter into the air.}
Look, you shaved apes, I don't think you understand. I am MARCUS MURDOC. I AM THE PROPHET! Two-time PCW International Champion, PCW Tag Team champion, soon-to-be-Number-One-contender for the PCW World Championship. I DEMAND that you let me in!
{The two men looking at each other silently for a moment that seems to last an eternity, they both begin to let small, simple smiles creep onto their faces. The grins growing wider and wider until they stretch from ear to ear, they both look back to The Prophet as they speak.}
Oh, well in that case....please. Feel FREE to go in. After all, you sure told US didn't you? Go right in, Mr. Prophet.
That's better, Magilla Gorilla. Step aside.
{The Prophet smiling and nodding a bit, he shakes his head and begins to step through the threshold of the doorway. But...halted in his forward movement, The Prophet grunts a bit as he feels both shoulders held up. Looking over his right shoulder, then his left...both of them held tightly by the gargantuan hands of the bouncers. Pulled backwards, he lets out a groan as he's not pulled...literally TOSSED...from the very inside of the doorway about three feet backwards, landing on the red carpet with a heavy THUD. The crowd now spotting this, raucous laughter emerging from the wannabes all around.}
<Oh my god...this is SO not happening...>
{Sighing heavily, The Prophet returns to his feet and dusts himself off. Holding his walking cane tightly in his hand, he walks up to the bouncers and steps right in front of them. Showing absolutely no fear whatsoever, his eyes steely and cold as he smiles gently.}
Okay. Look. The truth of the matter is...I'm in a good mood, REGARDLESS of that little...*achem* MISHAP. And I AM assuming it was a mishap. Now, you listen...and listen good, morons. I'm going to let that little slip of the hand pass, just like YOU...are going to let ME pass. We can do this the EASY way...or the HARD way. The choice is up to you...
**3**
~10:45 P.M.~
{WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!}
{Red, cylindrical lights spiral and slice through the otherwise still night-time air. The piercing shriek of sirens alert all in a 2, 3 block radius that an ambulance is racing through the streets. The outside of the vehicle is rather chaotic, tumultuous. However, on the inside of the vehicle, all is docile and tranquil...for the moment.}
{A paramedic sitting on the side of the man lying in the carriage area, she sets there calmly as she awaits some kind of sign. It isn't long, fortunately, before the Prophet begins to lightly stir. His head beginning to loll side to side, his hair falling in a few places as he lightly moves back and forth. His eyes remaining shut for the moment, his head finally falls to his side without much of a will to remain facing up.}
{Eyelids fluttering open softly, a glazed look emanates from The Prophet's eyes. Taking a few precious seconds to let his vision steady, the blurring disappearing as he begins to focus on the black blob in front of him. A light throbbing hitting the base of his neck, he deliberately ignores it as he finally sees what was lying to his side.}
{His walking cane. Though, at this point, he couldn't even call it a walking cane anymore. Why not? Well, walking canes don't really work when they're bent into a clean-looking V shape. Letting out a groan, he stares off into space for a moment as he slowly begins to turn his head to the other side, his gaze resting on the female paramedic that was sitting beside him. His vision still blurring a bit around the edges, he just takes in that she's a female...no details. Coughing lightly, clearing his throat, The Prophet begins to speak to to woman softly.}
Ohhhhh....okay. Not even gonna ask how I got here. I'm sure I'll remember later. But I do know that I want to get out of this stupid thing. S'Not my style. So...lemme out and I'll be...gettin' home.
Sorry, sir. There's reason to believe you may have suffered a minor concussion so we're taking you to the hospital to undergo some routine tests. However, I'm sure you'll be out by tomorrow afternoon, after you speak with a physician. So try and relax.
{The Prophet lying back in defeat, he really didn't have the willpower to try and argue the point at this point. Letting his eyes close, forcing the spots blinking in and out of his vision to disappear as he lets his mind wander FAR away from his body. However, HAD he been in control of all his mental faculties, he might have noticed the item pinned to the lapel of his tuxedo jacket. A black envelope with the simple address 'Marcus' stenciled on the front in cursive lettering, white ink contrasting sharply to the black envelope. His mind fading into a relaxed, soft place...he can hear himself mumble out to no one in particular.}
Jesus...tomorrow's gonna be a ROUGH day...
{Little did he know how right he was. Little did he know...}
*~FIN~*
