Murrr
I will send you to the bin.
- Joined
- Jan 18, 2008
- Messages
- 459
- Points
- 0
- Location
- Aberdeen, Scotland
- Website
- www.defiancewrestling.com
(FADEIN: A dimly-lit drinkery. Bare red-stone walls, vintage chandeliers, furniture that may or may not have been retrieved from a tip, and expensive “craft” booze. The kind of place that was likely once a dive bar, but has now been converted into a safe haven for Generation Y underground trend-hoppers, the likes of which populate the current scene.)
V/O: “... and I said, ‘no way will I settle for a medium iced half-caff, one-pump vanilla soy upside-down dirty chai with Splenda! What do you think this is -- 2013?!’”
(The camera pans across a sea of plaid shirts, questionable facial hair and $100 haircuts to find two men sat at the bar, laughing heartily over the bar’s soundtrack of acid jazz and elitism. Though there’s plenty to distinguish them, they’re undoubtedly cut from the same cloth. The first is dressed in a ribbed maroon cardigan and wears his side-swiped black hair, perfectly-trimmed beard/moustache combo and thick, black glasses with pride. The second has his light brown hair shaved at the sides and slicked-back at the top, and wears a brown “Neutral Milk Hotel” tee with a wholly unnecessary scarf/shades combo. Both are clutching literal jars of ale, and a rusty, “vintage” typewriter sits between them on the bar.)
BROWN HAIR: “Oh boy, those Starbucks baristas. So out of touch…”
(Our black-haired friend feigns surprise, and turns to the camera mid-laughter. His eyes widen as he acknowledges its presence.)
BLACK HAIR: “Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there. It looks like you have tracked us down here at our favourite bar, the Vole & Drainpipe, here in our beloved Williamsburg. Good evening!”
(Black hair smiles, raises his jar to the camera and takes a swig.)
BROWN HAIR: “Indeed they have, Laurent, and I know what they’re thinking: ‘just who are these two young, stylish, ahead-of-the-curve members of the gentry, and what are they doing on my television screen?’”
LAURENT: “I understand, fans of the New Frontier, that you are not used to witnessing such class, such culture, such refinement from your heroes, so let us introduce ourselves. My name is Laurent Cole and this fine young beatnik is my best friend and tag team partner, Skylar Scott. We are Les Enfants Sauvage, and what you’re looking at, Ladies and Gentlemen, as the long-awaited, much-needed rejuvenation of your tag team division.”
SKYLAR: “That’s right, Laurent! The ink is drying, the contract has been signed, and Les Enfants Sauvage are coming to breathe new life into the biggest wrestling promotion on the planet. We’ve done our time on the indies, and now it’s time to bring our brand of wrestling to the majors and disrupt your mainstream sensibilities. I hope you’re ready.”
(Skylar and Laurent share a smile and clink their jars together.)
LAURENT: “You know, NFW: I look around this tag division, and frankly, I’m not impressed. ‘Graverobbers’? ‘Los Olvidados’?! Please...”
SKYLAR: “... and don’t even get me started on those Everette Memorial title holders! Everybody knows that the Chromatics tooootally jumped the shark with ‘Kill for Love’ in 2012. I bet you goofballs aren’t even real ‘dragons.’ You might fool the rest of the world, guys, but nothing gets past Skylar Scott!”
(Scott into the camera over the top of his shades, winks, and taps his nose.)
SKYLAR: “I know all of your secrets.”
LAURENT: “You may not know us yet, but once we gentrify this so-called ‘tag division,’ you’ll never forget us. This isn’t your Dad’s tag team wrestling, NFW. We don’t wrestle: we create. We’re not pugilists: we’re artists! This isn’t a continuation of the legacies laid-down by the Hellmachine, The HWC and the Superfly Express, but a direct extension in the lineage of history’s great creators. Johann Sebastian Bach…”
SKYLAR: “Jean-Michel Basquait…”
LAURENT: “Fyodor Dostoyevsky…”
SKYLAR: “Donatello...”
LAURENT: “Michelango…”
SKYLAR: “Splinter…”
LAURENT: “In the line of humanity’s most iconic trend-setters, Les Enfants Sauvage are the next logical step. This isn’t the crass, glossy, sugar-coated pulp that you, the audience, have been fed for so long. This is artisan wrestling. Wrestling for the cultured, refined viewer -- the viewer who demands more than empty calories from the art.”
SKYLAR: “Les Enfants are coming, NFW. We are wrestling's Sonic Youth, primed to awaken your Daydream Nation. Maybe we’ll see you in Houston, or maybe we’ll wait ‘til Reloaded 22 to make our mark. Until then? Enjoy your squalor while it lasts. Gentrification is coming.”
LAURENT: “Indeed, Sky. Indeed.”
(Momentarily, Laurent Cole turns from the camera to attract the barman’s attention with a click of his fingers.)
LAURENT: “Barkeep! Serve us up another couple of Pabst Blue Ribbons and a bowl of your finest organic, fair trade cayenne-sprinkled marcona almonds. We’re celebrating!”
(FADE TO BLACK.)
V/O: “... and I said, ‘no way will I settle for a medium iced half-caff, one-pump vanilla soy upside-down dirty chai with Splenda! What do you think this is -- 2013?!’”
(The camera pans across a sea of plaid shirts, questionable facial hair and $100 haircuts to find two men sat at the bar, laughing heartily over the bar’s soundtrack of acid jazz and elitism. Though there’s plenty to distinguish them, they’re undoubtedly cut from the same cloth. The first is dressed in a ribbed maroon cardigan and wears his side-swiped black hair, perfectly-trimmed beard/moustache combo and thick, black glasses with pride. The second has his light brown hair shaved at the sides and slicked-back at the top, and wears a brown “Neutral Milk Hotel” tee with a wholly unnecessary scarf/shades combo. Both are clutching literal jars of ale, and a rusty, “vintage” typewriter sits between them on the bar.)
BROWN HAIR: “Oh boy, those Starbucks baristas. So out of touch…”
(Our black-haired friend feigns surprise, and turns to the camera mid-laughter. His eyes widen as he acknowledges its presence.)
BLACK HAIR: “Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there. It looks like you have tracked us down here at our favourite bar, the Vole & Drainpipe, here in our beloved Williamsburg. Good evening!”
(Black hair smiles, raises his jar to the camera and takes a swig.)
BROWN HAIR: “Indeed they have, Laurent, and I know what they’re thinking: ‘just who are these two young, stylish, ahead-of-the-curve members of the gentry, and what are they doing on my television screen?’”
LAURENT: “I understand, fans of the New Frontier, that you are not used to witnessing such class, such culture, such refinement from your heroes, so let us introduce ourselves. My name is Laurent Cole and this fine young beatnik is my best friend and tag team partner, Skylar Scott. We are Les Enfants Sauvage, and what you’re looking at, Ladies and Gentlemen, as the long-awaited, much-needed rejuvenation of your tag team division.”
SKYLAR: “That’s right, Laurent! The ink is drying, the contract has been signed, and Les Enfants Sauvage are coming to breathe new life into the biggest wrestling promotion on the planet. We’ve done our time on the indies, and now it’s time to bring our brand of wrestling to the majors and disrupt your mainstream sensibilities. I hope you’re ready.”
(Skylar and Laurent share a smile and clink their jars together.)
LAURENT: “You know, NFW: I look around this tag division, and frankly, I’m not impressed. ‘Graverobbers’? ‘Los Olvidados’?! Please...”
SKYLAR: “... and don’t even get me started on those Everette Memorial title holders! Everybody knows that the Chromatics tooootally jumped the shark with ‘Kill for Love’ in 2012. I bet you goofballs aren’t even real ‘dragons.’ You might fool the rest of the world, guys, but nothing gets past Skylar Scott!”
(Scott into the camera over the top of his shades, winks, and taps his nose.)
SKYLAR: “I know all of your secrets.”
LAURENT: “You may not know us yet, but once we gentrify this so-called ‘tag division,’ you’ll never forget us. This isn’t your Dad’s tag team wrestling, NFW. We don’t wrestle: we create. We’re not pugilists: we’re artists! This isn’t a continuation of the legacies laid-down by the Hellmachine, The HWC and the Superfly Express, but a direct extension in the lineage of history’s great creators. Johann Sebastian Bach…”
SKYLAR: “Jean-Michel Basquait…”
LAURENT: “Fyodor Dostoyevsky…”
SKYLAR: “Donatello...”
LAURENT: “Michelango…”
SKYLAR: “Splinter…”
LAURENT: “In the line of humanity’s most iconic trend-setters, Les Enfants Sauvage are the next logical step. This isn’t the crass, glossy, sugar-coated pulp that you, the audience, have been fed for so long. This is artisan wrestling. Wrestling for the cultured, refined viewer -- the viewer who demands more than empty calories from the art.”
SKYLAR: “Les Enfants are coming, NFW. We are wrestling's Sonic Youth, primed to awaken your Daydream Nation. Maybe we’ll see you in Houston, or maybe we’ll wait ‘til Reloaded 22 to make our mark. Until then? Enjoy your squalor while it lasts. Gentrification is coming.”
LAURENT: “Indeed, Sky. Indeed.”
(Momentarily, Laurent Cole turns from the camera to attract the barman’s attention with a click of his fingers.)
LAURENT: “Barkeep! Serve us up another couple of Pabst Blue Ribbons and a bowl of your finest organic, fair trade cayenne-sprinkled marcona almonds. We’re celebrating!”
(FADE TO BLACK.)