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The Collins Twins were sitting in the living room of their apartment, just off the Las Vegas strip. There were beer bottles, but nearly all of them were in front of Michael - who was noticeable by a mole on his left cheek (in fact, it was the only thing that separated the twins from each other). Michael and Rowland looked intoxicated, but they were fighting back sleep as they watched a movie. Not just any movie, but the best movie from the 1980s, ever. Lost Boys. Michael and his brother had pads of paper in one hand, and a pen in the other, and were jotting down bits and pieces of the movie quickly, hardly ever taking their eyes off the television. As they did this, their over protective little sister walked into the room, disgusted by the amount of alcohol on the table. "Don't yeh feckers stop?" Michael looked up to his sister, quickly, and waved his hand at her, motioning for her to get out of the room. She put her hand on her hip and looked at the TV, before snapping back at the twins. "Yeh can't bloody well believe this character's a vampire, can yeh?" Michael sat his pad of paper down, before grabbing the remote and pausing the DVD. He looked at his sister, before trying to stand up... and failing miserably. Michael sighed, and tried it again, this time lunging to his feet, just a couple steps in front of his sister. "Do yeh believe in leprechauns and faeries, Mo?" "Well, o' course I do." "Well then yeh bloody well believe in unicorns and brownies?" "Aye, at some point in time." "And if we believe in vampires, we're freaks, aye?" Maureen shook her head, after thinking. "Well... no, I guess not." "Then you'll excuse us. We've got some research to do, Lass." "But he-" "Eh! Just... let us do our research, and go back to yer bloody leprechauns and faeries." Michael turned around and walked back to the couch, where he plopped down next to his brother again. As Maureen left the room, Rowland turned to his brother and chuckled. "If she believes we're serious, boyo, maybe yeh should run with this." Michael, obviously the drunker of the two, smiled that crazy drunk smile as he sat back on the couch. * * * * * * * * * The camera began rolling on the twins, scribbling away at their pads of paper, feverously. It was the same scene as before, Lost Boys, beer bottles, etc, but this time the brothers had their crucifixes in their hands, trying to write the "holy word" on the paper. Rowland spoke up, over the loud scribbling. "Mikey, are yeh sure you wanna do this? I mean... I look at this idgit and I get scared, aye? Because he might have daddy longlegs and um... dead things, Mikey. DEAD THINGS!" The semi-obvious Goonies reference played nicely into their little 'game' they were playing. "Yeh know what they say, Rolly. Vampires are demons from Hell. Who better to test the might, if not the Devil himself?" Rowland looked at Michael seriously for just a second before bursting out into drunken laughter, which caused the drunker brother to laugh as well. As the two brothers tried to calm down, Michael belched and patted himself on the chest before continuing on. "The man dresses like a vampire... has pale green eyes like a vampire... has horrible taste in music like a vampire... and spends half of his allotted video time talking about how he's not a vampire. That, Rolly, spells vampire." Michael chuckled, before continuing on. "So, Willett tosses a garlic necklace at the oversized blood sucker, and it does nothin'. That's fine, Sepulcher's the super-beast. Even in Lost Boys the head vampire wasn't phased by no garlic, aye? So, I'm dealin' with Keifer Sutherland here. Not 'Jack Bauer' Keifer Sutherland, but wicked cool vampire named David Keifer Sutherland." Rowland coughs quickly. "Eh. He's more of a Lastat's gay lover than anythin', boyo." Michael looked to his brother, nodding. "Right, right. Gay lover. That'd explain the over exposure o' the women he's sleeping with, both on camera and in their dress. But, that's fine, Lad. If there's somethin' yeh need ta tell us, let us know - don't keep it bottled with in. After a while, yeh'd end up down on the bayou, married to a twisted bitch that likes to be gagged and caged while ya sodomize her, screaming at her to moan deeper. Not naming names, but the freak I wrestled last week was the guy I was hinting at. But you, yeh damn Anne Rice wanna-be, you take the stake. Not the meat, boyo, no. Yer goofy, horribly dressed, over-compensating arse puts Doombringer McNazi to shame." Michael stands up, slowly, and steadies himself before reaching down on the table and grabbing a garlic necklace and throwing it up over his head. "Yeh'll have to excuse me for a second, Seppy. I believe you went on for, well... most o' yer promo about how you're not a vampire, and how you don't like the taste of blood and how you don't like being called a vampire and blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda. I, however, know the truth. See, I come from the o' leprechauns and banshees. I come from the land o' the supernatural, and even though yeh can't dress yerself cause yeh've been sipping from the scepter o' man-juice a little much lately, I don't believe yeh believe yer a leprechaun-" "Vampire." "Vampire,
that's what I said. I don't believe yeh believe yer a vampire. But me? I'm
not taking any chances. I'll bring me super-soaker full o' holy water, and
I'll bring me garlic cloves an' crucifixes, because I wont be caught of
guard if you are a bloodsucker with bad taste in women. However...
if yeh are just a human being? Ditch the horrible get up, and the fake
sense of aristocracy, because yeh let yer true speech comes out. I don't
care if yeh 'like the 18th century', I'm pretty feckin' sure no feckin' 18th Century cunt said something 'tasted like shite' or 'feckin anhilate', aye? So, until yeh stop acting like a 12 year old, striving fer attention, yeh'll never get me scared, or on the mat for the three count." Michael paused for a second, then hurried on. "And yeh can call the man that beat yeh 'Little Willy', like yeh have something on him, and yeh can claim to have some stupid feckin' antidote fer me and THEN have the pebbles to talk about gettin' 'yer fix' and 'shooting up' without me thinkin' yer high on somethin'. But when yeh get threw defendin' yerself, and get through denying your Vampire...ness, and actually start thinking about OUR match, not what someone did in yer last match - which yeh lost, boyo, THEN yeh can talk about killin' me on yer so called 'killing fields' and talking about the 'Angel of Death' under the moon light that makes yer death-smelling arse glimmer. Until then?" * * * * * * * * * As the cameraman walked out of the room, Michael turned around to his brother, both of whom were still pretty well hammered. "So, Killian Reilly has a match this week. Against Jester." Rowland chuckled a little. "Oh, really? The same Jester Smiles that got fecked over by Killian fer interferin, much like yerself?" Michael nods, grinning. "Aye. The lads stretchin' himself a little thin, don't yeh think?" "Aye, but maybe the lad'll get that belt off of the clown and take it into yer match, aye?" Michael smirks, thinking for a second, before shaking it off. "No... Killian can't make the save properly, how the feck yeh think he's goin' to win a match?" "Fair enough, heh." Michael pauses for a second. "I need to find a place to have this fight." Rowland thinks for a second, before nodding. "Call up Marz. Use the Marz Bar, I don't think he wants it much anyways." Michael looks at his brother, before grabbing his head. "In the mornin'. Now? I crash." And hurries out of the room, leaving Rowland to turn off the TV. |