Post by Joe Stanton on Apr 28, 2018 5:59:49 GMT
>PLAY
The warm glow of a bar and the music playing plays over the audio of the establishment, many scoundrels and worker class men of all variety are packed into this musty little shack that looks like it's something out of an old port town. The waitress working has to squeeze through all of the patrons practically piled on top of each other and the bartender is working as fast as his hands can move. There's smiling, laughing faces everywhere though the camera gradually zooms in on one particular man sitting at the bar. Even in a sea of people like this he somehow feels alone, isolated from everyone else as he grips his drink.
The waitress and his eyes meet for a moment and he gives her a polite smile & nod, her flashing a bigger and much more genuine smile back at him. The brief exchange comes & goes and his green eyes drift back to the contents of his glass, staring at his reflection in the alcohol that's sitting in the glass. Like a sixth sense he feels someone's eyes on him and he looks up, spotting the figure walking through the crowd & heading straight for him. The instant he sees her a light comes to his eyes that wasn't there previously, on compulsion his grin forms and his demeanor welcomes the person he clearly knows to his side.
The music and the scene drift away into nothingness before a hard cut to staring down at Joe Stanton, who opens his eyes after rubbing them and tries to roll over in his bed to go back to sleep. The red light of his lizard cage glows in the otherwise dark room and catches his eye, making him look towards Blanka his bearded dragon that's casually snoozing on his rock. A barely audible scoff is heard coming out of him and he smiles at his pet, oh the tough life he has, his biggest concerns being does he have somewhere warm to snooze and does he have enough vegetables to snack on in his cage. Joe envies that simplicity.
Taylor Swift suddenly breaks the silence and Stanton rolls over onto his other side, grabbing his phone off the night stand and checking it & wondering who is shooting him a text at this hour. After silencing his phone he half considers just throwing it back onto the night stand and going back to sleep but he spots the number & his curiosity is starting to get the better of him. It's from a promoter. Specifically it's from a promotion that though he's only recently become a apart of he's been invested in.
"Rise and shine..."
Stanton mutters and he scoots up on his bed, sitting up against his pillows and head board of his bed, pushing the button so that he can read the text message properly. It's long. Very long...maybe. He can't tell if it's just his sleep addled mind that's making it difficult to get through all of it but certain words catch his attention. Tag Team Tournament. It's enough and as the wheels start turning in his head a grin starts spreading across his face. This sounds like fun. This sounds like a lot of fun. This sounds like the kind of fun he likes.
This also sounds like he needs a tag team partner.
The Scarlet Speedster maneuvers through his contacts list in a montage, shooting a text to many of the wrestlers he's teamed with over the past year, seeing if anyone's interested in maybe doing the thing. His girl's the first to text him back, can't, conflicts with Rose City Wrestling. Dream's next with a family event he can't cancel on. One by one everyone has something going on that means it's not going to happen. Stanton's about ready to give up and call it a day when his thumb scrolls over one last name in his phone.
Zombie Black.
"Bingo."
Stanton says with confidence and a nod. Now it's a matter of tracking him down. Game plan in mind, he's feeling good, he's feeling confident, this is going to be a hell of a time no matter who signs up for this thing if Black's on board with him. Enjoying the thought, suddenly something strikes Joe when he starts to get up and it gives him pause. His eyes meet Blanka's, who is staring at him blankly like a lizard might. Craning his neck, he glances around the room on the floor.
Actually now it's a matter of pants.
Then tracking down Zombie Black.
>>FF
A quick fade out prompts new music to begin playing as a gradual fade in on a foggy cemetery takes place, headlights flashing across the abandoned & decaying grounds. They shut off and out of the car steps Joe Stanton, fully dressed and with his signature shades, along with a bag that he slings over his shoulder that noticeably has a shovel sticking out of it. He surveys the area around him before marching into the fog and into the unknown, passing several tombstones along the way. The cemetery seems to stretch for eternity and after some time Stanton pauses, looking a little frustrated and he checks what looks like some type of map of the location on his phone. It's then that a light appears kiddy corner to him and catches his attention.
Stanton turns to come face to face with a petite hooded figure, a pale beak peering out from under the hood and more becomes visible as the figure lifts their head to him. The plague doctor mask visage gives Stanton pause but they gesture for him to come forward and they point to the outskirts of the cemetery. His eyes follow the direction they're pointing and he looks back at the hoodie wearing plague doctor, skeptical but he ends up obliging them & venturing to where they direct him. A montage plays of him journeying and looking around him as in the distance strange noises are heard. A sense of unrest is in the air.
The Guy in Shades comes to a stop when he stands before a gravestone that reads "Zombie Hero Black" and he slips the bag off of his shoulder, pulling out the shovel that he fingers a few times and he starts digging. Initially his digging is quick, forceful but as he continues his shoveling becomes more methodical and purposeful, slower. Beads of sweat form and roll down him, his muscles start feeling the strain of digging up some six feet worth of dirt across the general size of a human body. Deeper & deeper he goes, and bigger & bigger the hole becomes and it's at likely the halfway mark that he has to take a break to catch his breath.
Holding onto the edge of the hole, he pulls himself up out of it and he kneels down beside it, breathing heavily and his lungs desperate for every breath. His somewhat dirty hand wipes sweat from his brow and he thinks about how long this is going to take, he's likely to be here all night. It's then that something strikes him, an idea, an idea so completely and perfectly stupid that it may just work.
"Zombie Black."
Joe pauses for a beat.
"Zombie Black."
A tremor? A faint rumbling is heard from within the grave. Maybe just dirt resettling with the lack of so much of it. Stanton stifles the grin on his face.
"Zombie Black."
The dirt flies into the air! An eruption of clods of dirt and splinters of wood rain down onto the area surrounding the grave and Joe Stanton. There's no stifling his grin now, a confident swagger to it when he gradually reaches up and slowly slides his sunglasses down his nose so that his eyes are exposed. Staring straight into the camera, Joe Stanton scoffs as a hand violently grabs the ground right beside him from within the grave.
"Bitching."
STOP
There's a port on a western bay
And it serves a hundred ships a day
Lonely sailors pass the time away
And talk about their homes
And it serves a hundred ships a day
Lonely sailors pass the time away
And talk about their homes
The warm glow of a bar and the music playing plays over the audio of the establishment, many scoundrels and worker class men of all variety are packed into this musty little shack that looks like it's something out of an old port town. The waitress working has to squeeze through all of the patrons practically piled on top of each other and the bartender is working as fast as his hands can move. There's smiling, laughing faces everywhere though the camera gradually zooms in on one particular man sitting at the bar. Even in a sea of people like this he somehow feels alone, isolated from everyone else as he grips his drink.
And there's a girl in this harbor town
And she works layin' whiskey down
They say, Brandy, fetch another round
She serves them whiskey and wine
And she works layin' whiskey down
They say, Brandy, fetch another round
She serves them whiskey and wine
The waitress and his eyes meet for a moment and he gives her a polite smile & nod, her flashing a bigger and much more genuine smile back at him. The brief exchange comes & goes and his green eyes drift back to the contents of his glass, staring at his reflection in the alcohol that's sitting in the glass. Like a sixth sense he feels someone's eyes on him and he looks up, spotting the figure walking through the crowd & heading straight for him. The instant he sees her a light comes to his eyes that wasn't there previously, on compulsion his grin forms and his demeanor welcomes the person he clearly knows to his side.
The sailors say: "Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"Yeah, your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea"...
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)
"Yeah, your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea"...
The music and the scene drift away into nothingness before a hard cut to staring down at Joe Stanton, who opens his eyes after rubbing them and tries to roll over in his bed to go back to sleep. The red light of his lizard cage glows in the otherwise dark room and catches his eye, making him look towards Blanka his bearded dragon that's casually snoozing on his rock. A barely audible scoff is heard coming out of him and he smiles at his pet, oh the tough life he has, his biggest concerns being does he have somewhere warm to snooze and does he have enough vegetables to snack on in his cage. Joe envies that simplicity.
I stay out too late, got nothin' in my brain
That's what people say, mmm hmm, that's what people say, mmm hmm
I go on too many dates, but I can't make 'em stay
At least that's what people say mmm mmm, that's what people say mmm mmm
That's what people say, mmm hmm, that's what people say, mmm hmm
I go on too many dates, but I can't make 'em stay
At least that's what people say mmm mmm, that's what people say mmm mmm
Taylor Swift suddenly breaks the silence and Stanton rolls over onto his other side, grabbing his phone off the night stand and checking it & wondering who is shooting him a text at this hour. After silencing his phone he half considers just throwing it back onto the night stand and going back to sleep but he spots the number & his curiosity is starting to get the better of him. It's from a promoter. Specifically it's from a promotion that though he's only recently become a apart of he's been invested in.
"Rise and shine..."
Stanton mutters and he scoots up on his bed, sitting up against his pillows and head board of his bed, pushing the button so that he can read the text message properly. It's long. Very long...maybe. He can't tell if it's just his sleep addled mind that's making it difficult to get through all of it but certain words catch his attention. Tag Team Tournament. It's enough and as the wheels start turning in his head a grin starts spreading across his face. This sounds like fun. This sounds like a lot of fun. This sounds like the kind of fun he likes.
This also sounds like he needs a tag team partner.
The Scarlet Speedster maneuvers through his contacts list in a montage, shooting a text to many of the wrestlers he's teamed with over the past year, seeing if anyone's interested in maybe doing the thing. His girl's the first to text him back, can't, conflicts with Rose City Wrestling. Dream's next with a family event he can't cancel on. One by one everyone has something going on that means it's not going to happen. Stanton's about ready to give up and call it a day when his thumb scrolls over one last name in his phone.
Zombie Black.
"Bingo."
Stanton says with confidence and a nod. Now it's a matter of tracking him down. Game plan in mind, he's feeling good, he's feeling confident, this is going to be a hell of a time no matter who signs up for this thing if Black's on board with him. Enjoying the thought, suddenly something strikes Joe when he starts to get up and it gives him pause. His eyes meet Blanka's, who is staring at him blankly like a lizard might. Craning his neck, he glances around the room on the floor.
Actually now it's a matter of pants.
Then tracking down Zombie Black.
>>FF
A quick fade out prompts new music to begin playing as a gradual fade in on a foggy cemetery takes place, headlights flashing across the abandoned & decaying grounds. They shut off and out of the car steps Joe Stanton, fully dressed and with his signature shades, along with a bag that he slings over his shoulder that noticeably has a shovel sticking out of it. He surveys the area around him before marching into the fog and into the unknown, passing several tombstones along the way. The cemetery seems to stretch for eternity and after some time Stanton pauses, looking a little frustrated and he checks what looks like some type of map of the location on his phone. It's then that a light appears kiddy corner to him and catches his attention.
Stanton turns to come face to face with a petite hooded figure, a pale beak peering out from under the hood and more becomes visible as the figure lifts their head to him. The plague doctor mask visage gives Stanton pause but they gesture for him to come forward and they point to the outskirts of the cemetery. His eyes follow the direction they're pointing and he looks back at the hoodie wearing plague doctor, skeptical but he ends up obliging them & venturing to where they direct him. A montage plays of him journeying and looking around him as in the distance strange noises are heard. A sense of unrest is in the air.
The Guy in Shades comes to a stop when he stands before a gravestone that reads "Zombie Hero Black" and he slips the bag off of his shoulder, pulling out the shovel that he fingers a few times and he starts digging. Initially his digging is quick, forceful but as he continues his shoveling becomes more methodical and purposeful, slower. Beads of sweat form and roll down him, his muscles start feeling the strain of digging up some six feet worth of dirt across the general size of a human body. Deeper & deeper he goes, and bigger & bigger the hole becomes and it's at likely the halfway mark that he has to take a break to catch his breath.
Holding onto the edge of the hole, he pulls himself up out of it and he kneels down beside it, breathing heavily and his lungs desperate for every breath. His somewhat dirty hand wipes sweat from his brow and he thinks about how long this is going to take, he's likely to be here all night. It's then that something strikes him, an idea, an idea so completely and perfectly stupid that it may just work.
"Zombie Black."
Joe pauses for a beat.
"Zombie Black."
A tremor? A faint rumbling is heard from within the grave. Maybe just dirt resettling with the lack of so much of it. Stanton stifles the grin on his face.
"Zombie Black."
The dirt flies into the air! An eruption of clods of dirt and splinters of wood rain down onto the area surrounding the grave and Joe Stanton. There's no stifling his grin now, a confident swagger to it when he gradually reaches up and slowly slides his sunglasses down his nose so that his eyes are exposed. Staring straight into the camera, Joe Stanton scoffs as a hand violently grabs the ground right beside him from within the grave.
"Bitching."
NEW JAPAN FIGHTING CHAMPIONSHIP
TAG TEAM TROPOLIS
RED & BLACK
RATED R FOR RETROWAVE
TAG TEAM TROPOLIS
RED & BLACK
RATED R FOR RETROWAVE
STOP
