Rook Black
Live Long and Pants.
ROOK (quiet singing): “It really took a tall one to see it, two to believe it, three to just get in the way.”
(FADE IN: Kitchen. Green tile, formica countertops. Rook Black, black drawstring pajamas. On the island in the middle of the kitchen sits his holy Vitamix Blender. From the fridge and freezer go into the vitamix the following: frozen green seedless grapes, sliced and cored granny smith apple, sugar snap peas, spinach, vanilla whey protein, ice cubes, some of that peanut butter that you have to stir, chobani plain, and some water. Loaded up, he turns it on at the lowest setting.)
(SFX: clunkclunkclunkclunk)
(And turns the variable knob to the highest setting.)
(SFX: clunkclunkcrunkcrrrrcrrllrcrrrrl.)
(And flips on the switch to “high”.)
(SFX: whrrrrrrrrrr.)
(Lets it run for 90 seconds. The blender contents are a bright green. The look is derived almost entirely from the pea pod fiber with dark spots from the spinach, in spite of the colors and textures of rest of the ingredients. Fiber uber alles.)
(ROOK flips the switch from “high” to “variable” and turns the knob down to the lowest setting before shutting off the blender. He opens a cupboard and removes a single wide rimmed piece of stemware. He grabs the carafe from the blender and leaves the kitchen.)
(CUT TO: ROOK walking down a dimly lit hallway with a hardwood floor.)
(CUT TO: ROOK entering a wide room brightly lit, more hardwood flooring with walls and ceiling in the same wood pattern. Extensive track lighting. On two walls are more than a few pairings of desks and office chairs. The other two walls are plain.)
(Rook puts the carafe and glass on the floor near the center of the room. From a closet he produces a pre mounted digital camera and tripod, lining up the tripod legs on a marked off section.)
ROOK: “Omnia mutantor, nihil interit.”
(Like a villainous mastermind, the words activate voice recognition software, and the lights dim for the majority of the room, but leaving a well illuminated spot in the center. The camera light turns on. From a set of shelves, Rook retrieves one laptop, and one Triple Crown Championship belt. He sits cross legged in the patch of light, directly across from the camera.
(ROOK opens the laptop. He pours the green smoothie into the wine glass. Rook adjusts the Triple Crown Championship onto his left shoulder.)
ROOK: “Now. Let’s see what the damage is.”
(FADE OUT.)
(FADE IN: The glass is half empty. ROOK sits with a raised eyebrow regarding the laptop.)
ROOK (muttering): “Doesn’t even know he’s dead.”
(ROOK’s eyes move to a distant point in the room. He's thinking it over. He turns suddenly to the camera.)
ROOK: “Eric, are you high?”
ROOK: “After the bull**** you’ve pulled, what with refusing to soil your hands with the rest of the roster, what with having to bribe and blackmail yourself into a title shot, what with failing to finish a guy that you’d had a numbers advantage on with a dislocated shoulder, you’re ready to fight to defend your `spot’...”
ROOK: “... now?”
ROOK: “You’re `spot’ evaporated when your title shot did, Eric. A rematch? You think you’ve earned a rematch with Castor? I know I don’t make these decisions around here, but how on earth do you think you can win? You can’t exactly steal his company from him a second time.
ROOK: “You’re hung out to dry. You can’t possibly reproduce a more advantageous situation that what you had going against Castor that night in reloaded, and you failed.”
ROOK: “And with your stolen title shot expired, your relevance around here has flatlined.”
ROOK: “I hate to have to spell it out for you, Eric, but you look weak. And what this means is that you, coming off your colossal botch of a master plan, are in the position where you have the burden of proving that you’re relevant.”
ROOK: “Shall I do you a favor? I invite you to challenge me for this Triple Crown Championship. It’d be my distinct pleasure to put my statistically insignificant streak and this Title on the line for the chance to expose you even further.”
ROOK: “Afraid to face me, fine. I can’t speak for Jack Bryant, but from what I’ve gleaned of the Birmingham Stallion he doesn’t say no to challenges.”
ROOK: “Face Impulse, face Dorchester, face Nova, face Jack Harmon, face JJ, face Deacon.”
ROOK: “But get in the mother****ing ring with someone for ****’s sake. The fact that you haven’t been left for dead by the side of the road during the course your master plan speaks a lot for this roster’s general sense of self control and patience.”
ROOK: “Because you do not belong here. And if you would like to belong here there is the matter of the dues you have yet to pay. They’ve accumulated interest. The **** you have pulled has cost you more credibility than you’ve got.”
ROOK: "The whole stand-your-ground thing and dare-anyone-to-challenge-you **** doesn't hold water when, A: you don't have any ground to stand on, and B: you have a history of refusing to accept challenges."
(FADE IN: Kitchen. Green tile, formica countertops. Rook Black, black drawstring pajamas. On the island in the middle of the kitchen sits his holy Vitamix Blender. From the fridge and freezer go into the vitamix the following: frozen green seedless grapes, sliced and cored granny smith apple, sugar snap peas, spinach, vanilla whey protein, ice cubes, some of that peanut butter that you have to stir, chobani plain, and some water. Loaded up, he turns it on at the lowest setting.)
(SFX: clunkclunkclunkclunk)
(And turns the variable knob to the highest setting.)
(SFX: clunkclunkcrunkcrrrrcrrllrcrrrrl.)
(And flips on the switch to “high”.)
(SFX: whrrrrrrrrrr.)
(Lets it run for 90 seconds. The blender contents are a bright green. The look is derived almost entirely from the pea pod fiber with dark spots from the spinach, in spite of the colors and textures of rest of the ingredients. Fiber uber alles.)
(ROOK flips the switch from “high” to “variable” and turns the knob down to the lowest setting before shutting off the blender. He opens a cupboard and removes a single wide rimmed piece of stemware. He grabs the carafe from the blender and leaves the kitchen.)
(CUT TO: ROOK walking down a dimly lit hallway with a hardwood floor.)
(CUT TO: ROOK entering a wide room brightly lit, more hardwood flooring with walls and ceiling in the same wood pattern. Extensive track lighting. On two walls are more than a few pairings of desks and office chairs. The other two walls are plain.)
(Rook puts the carafe and glass on the floor near the center of the room. From a closet he produces a pre mounted digital camera and tripod, lining up the tripod legs on a marked off section.)
ROOK: “Omnia mutantor, nihil interit.”
(Like a villainous mastermind, the words activate voice recognition software, and the lights dim for the majority of the room, but leaving a well illuminated spot in the center. The camera light turns on. From a set of shelves, Rook retrieves one laptop, and one Triple Crown Championship belt. He sits cross legged in the patch of light, directly across from the camera.
(ROOK opens the laptop. He pours the green smoothie into the wine glass. Rook adjusts the Triple Crown Championship onto his left shoulder.)
ROOK: “Now. Let’s see what the damage is.”
(FADE OUT.)
(FADE IN: The glass is half empty. ROOK sits with a raised eyebrow regarding the laptop.)
ROOK (muttering): “Doesn’t even know he’s dead.”
(ROOK’s eyes move to a distant point in the room. He's thinking it over. He turns suddenly to the camera.)
ROOK: “Eric, are you high?”
ROOK: “After the bull**** you’ve pulled, what with refusing to soil your hands with the rest of the roster, what with having to bribe and blackmail yourself into a title shot, what with failing to finish a guy that you’d had a numbers advantage on with a dislocated shoulder, you’re ready to fight to defend your `spot’...”
ROOK: “... now?”
ROOK: “You’re `spot’ evaporated when your title shot did, Eric. A rematch? You think you’ve earned a rematch with Castor? I know I don’t make these decisions around here, but how on earth do you think you can win? You can’t exactly steal his company from him a second time.
ROOK: “You’re hung out to dry. You can’t possibly reproduce a more advantageous situation that what you had going against Castor that night in reloaded, and you failed.”
ROOK: “And with your stolen title shot expired, your relevance around here has flatlined.”
ROOK: “I hate to have to spell it out for you, Eric, but you look weak. And what this means is that you, coming off your colossal botch of a master plan, are in the position where you have the burden of proving that you’re relevant.”
ROOK: “Shall I do you a favor? I invite you to challenge me for this Triple Crown Championship. It’d be my distinct pleasure to put my statistically insignificant streak and this Title on the line for the chance to expose you even further.”
ROOK: “Afraid to face me, fine. I can’t speak for Jack Bryant, but from what I’ve gleaned of the Birmingham Stallion he doesn’t say no to challenges.”
ROOK: “Face Impulse, face Dorchester, face Nova, face Jack Harmon, face JJ, face Deacon.”
ROOK: “But get in the mother****ing ring with someone for ****’s sake. The fact that you haven’t been left for dead by the side of the road during the course your master plan speaks a lot for this roster’s general sense of self control and patience.”
ROOK: “Because you do not belong here. And if you would like to belong here there is the matter of the dues you have yet to pay. They’ve accumulated interest. The **** you have pulled has cost you more credibility than you’ve got.”
ROOK: "The whole stand-your-ground thing and dare-anyone-to-challenge-you **** doesn't hold water when, A: you don't have any ground to stand on, and B: you have a history of refusing to accept challenges."
