Post by nbk on May 21, 2011 20:18:28 GMT -5
Finally, some recognition! After consistently delivering stunning images, and iconic scenes to the Unified Global Wrestling Coalition, weeks of taking the cinematography to a level the company hadn't seen before, your time had come.
It came on Tuesday as the crew prepared for a new week, everyone had been saying how your camera work had turned the end of show confrontation between Pierce, Deimos and Tyvola into something much more emotional and intense than anyone could have hoped. The way you had used the light, the angle the light hit the belt, and your framing of the competitors had all earned you positive remarks.
After the usual meeting, Harvey took you aside and congratulated you on your work, and informed you that it had indeed got you noticed, and in no small way. Apparently, directly after this week's synergy you would be accompanying Harvey and various other crew members to New Orleans as part of UGWC's advance team. You and Harvey were going to be responsible for deciding the sites for the fixed camera positions, alongside planning the movements of the huge camera crew that would be needed over the weekend.
Although you wanted nothing more than to bask in your success, in this victory, you knew you still had to continue with the day job. And that's why you found yourself dragging your tripod and camera around the city once more, following another vague tip about the location of the Natural Born Killer.
You stood in front of a run down, and abandoned cinema, and the door is indeed kicked open as you had been informed. As you clambered through the splintered wooden frame you wondered whether UGWC would cover any medical expenses should you be injured on one of these assignments, it was doubtful you'd seen Robert Ooley backstage when the camera's were not rolling, and he was every bit the SOB he presented as on the broadcasts, definitely the kind of man that would find a loophole.
Regardless after investigating the lobby which your were fairly certain had become a hobo make-out spot since the establishments demise and then the theatre itself you noticed movement up in the projection room, you make the possibly stupid decision to climb the dubious looking stairs to the upper reaches of the building. Despite a lot of strained creaking you finally find your way into the room.
And set up your camera, and start shooting.
Because NBK is stood stroking the projector like some kind of pet.
They want us to share...again?
For the first time we see a new reaction from The Killer, he begins to maniacally laugh.
Why not? It was such...a phenomenal experience last time...like poetry in motion![/b]
Again he lets out a loud shrill laugh before stopping abruptly and turning towards the camera.
Do they wish to test us? Is that what this is? Is The Killer...not tortured enough...for ratings?[/b]
NBK leans forward, both hands resting on his knee's as he breathes heavily as his body shakes.
We...DO NOT...SHARE![/i][/color]
Taking a deep breath the Natural Born Killer fully extends himself once more, and regains some form of composure.
It's so...so simple. We do not do this for glory, for victories...for purse...we simply do this for ourselves. We are not here to make friends, they have no use to us...friends do not dance the dance we wish. I am selfish in my needs....they are dictated to me and only me...the likes of Kyle Tacker and John Russo are of no use by my side...
At least...Kyle did the honourable thing...and rather than tease the Screams, he gave them the briefest of dances...but I fear his partner is not of that ilk. He is too consumed by the fallacy of love...and selling himself out. John Russo clearly needs all the friends he can get....because he seems to be his own worst enemy...there is little chance of an impromptu dance there...
Why, why should we be forced to share the delights of Jet Somers with...Russo? Or even the lesser prospect of Duncan Ryder?
Ryder may well be a vain and relatively empty vessel...but there is still potential we have no desire to share with...the lovestruck. Whilst Ryder is clearly the more...marketable...of the current Cooperative Champions...he must struggle with his partners...inferiority complex...and his own doubts that he is nothing more than a pretty face. They may only be morsels...but they are enough to whet the appetite, for what would be the Main Course.
The Screams are excited once more...this time at the prospect of the Crazy Opie. Enough so, that it satiates their impatience for the spectacle of WrestleStock and the glorious ballroom on offer in New Orleans. Jet Somers...oh the delights his head must contain...we know he will be fabulous at the foxtrot, so to speak.
A man with no home, he wanders UGWC aware that he fits nowhere...with no-one....yet he has become one with this beast he once sought to expose. Once, a long time ago, he was proud of his past, his history...and now he looks forward and all he sees is nothing...he cannot envisage his future without the very thing that shames him most.
Much like The Killer, Jet cannot be at peace, his own Passengers have rooted themselves to him...and he knows no other way to silence them...than to enter the arena of combat. Somers....has yet to recognise he is bound...to his anguish, and it will never release him...if The Killer was so inclined...he might seek to take Jet's raw...torment...and focus it...but The Screams...just want to dance.
We can only hope, that our time with Jet is not...interrupted too often...by the fairytale loving prince...or the simple appetiser. However the cards fall...The Killer will dance this Monday...and then...then it will only be a short time, before thousands of people witness in the flesh...why The Natural Born Killer...is the most dangerous rumour...New Orleans....has never heard.
With that The Killer staggers off camera, and you are able to stop filming.
And not a moment too soon, something growing in this room was affecting your allergies, and you wouldn't be able to see if you didn't get out soon. You hoist the camera on your shoulder and hope to god your streaming eyes wouldn't cause you to fall head over heels down the dubious stairs.
It came on Tuesday as the crew prepared for a new week, everyone had been saying how your camera work had turned the end of show confrontation between Pierce, Deimos and Tyvola into something much more emotional and intense than anyone could have hoped. The way you had used the light, the angle the light hit the belt, and your framing of the competitors had all earned you positive remarks.
After the usual meeting, Harvey took you aside and congratulated you on your work, and informed you that it had indeed got you noticed, and in no small way. Apparently, directly after this week's synergy you would be accompanying Harvey and various other crew members to New Orleans as part of UGWC's advance team. You and Harvey were going to be responsible for deciding the sites for the fixed camera positions, alongside planning the movements of the huge camera crew that would be needed over the weekend.
Although you wanted nothing more than to bask in your success, in this victory, you knew you still had to continue with the day job. And that's why you found yourself dragging your tripod and camera around the city once more, following another vague tip about the location of the Natural Born Killer.
You stood in front of a run down, and abandoned cinema, and the door is indeed kicked open as you had been informed. As you clambered through the splintered wooden frame you wondered whether UGWC would cover any medical expenses should you be injured on one of these assignments, it was doubtful you'd seen Robert Ooley backstage when the camera's were not rolling, and he was every bit the SOB he presented as on the broadcasts, definitely the kind of man that would find a loophole.
Regardless after investigating the lobby which your were fairly certain had become a hobo make-out spot since the establishments demise and then the theatre itself you noticed movement up in the projection room, you make the possibly stupid decision to climb the dubious looking stairs to the upper reaches of the building. Despite a lot of strained creaking you finally find your way into the room.
And set up your camera, and start shooting.
Because NBK is stood stroking the projector like some kind of pet.
They want us to share...again?
For the first time we see a new reaction from The Killer, he begins to maniacally laugh.
Why not? It was such...a phenomenal experience last time...like poetry in motion![/b]
Again he lets out a loud shrill laugh before stopping abruptly and turning towards the camera.
Do they wish to test us? Is that what this is? Is The Killer...not tortured enough...for ratings?[/b]
NBK leans forward, both hands resting on his knee's as he breathes heavily as his body shakes.
We...DO NOT...SHARE![/i][/color]
Taking a deep breath the Natural Born Killer fully extends himself once more, and regains some form of composure.
It's so...so simple. We do not do this for glory, for victories...for purse...we simply do this for ourselves. We are not here to make friends, they have no use to us...friends do not dance the dance we wish. I am selfish in my needs....they are dictated to me and only me...the likes of Kyle Tacker and John Russo are of no use by my side...
At least...Kyle did the honourable thing...and rather than tease the Screams, he gave them the briefest of dances...but I fear his partner is not of that ilk. He is too consumed by the fallacy of love...and selling himself out. John Russo clearly needs all the friends he can get....because he seems to be his own worst enemy...there is little chance of an impromptu dance there...
Why, why should we be forced to share the delights of Jet Somers with...Russo? Or even the lesser prospect of Duncan Ryder?
Ryder may well be a vain and relatively empty vessel...but there is still potential we have no desire to share with...the lovestruck. Whilst Ryder is clearly the more...marketable...of the current Cooperative Champions...he must struggle with his partners...inferiority complex...and his own doubts that he is nothing more than a pretty face. They may only be morsels...but they are enough to whet the appetite, for what would be the Main Course.
The Screams are excited once more...this time at the prospect of the Crazy Opie. Enough so, that it satiates their impatience for the spectacle of WrestleStock and the glorious ballroom on offer in New Orleans. Jet Somers...oh the delights his head must contain...we know he will be fabulous at the foxtrot, so to speak.
A man with no home, he wanders UGWC aware that he fits nowhere...with no-one....yet he has become one with this beast he once sought to expose. Once, a long time ago, he was proud of his past, his history...and now he looks forward and all he sees is nothing...he cannot envisage his future without the very thing that shames him most.
Much like The Killer, Jet cannot be at peace, his own Passengers have rooted themselves to him...and he knows no other way to silence them...than to enter the arena of combat. Somers....has yet to recognise he is bound...to his anguish, and it will never release him...if The Killer was so inclined...he might seek to take Jet's raw...torment...and focus it...but The Screams...just want to dance.
We can only hope, that our time with Jet is not...interrupted too often...by the fairytale loving prince...or the simple appetiser. However the cards fall...The Killer will dance this Monday...and then...then it will only be a short time, before thousands of people witness in the flesh...why The Natural Born Killer...is the most dangerous rumour...New Orleans....has never heard.
With that The Killer staggers off camera, and you are able to stop filming.
And not a moment too soon, something growing in this room was affecting your allergies, and you wouldn't be able to see if you didn't get out soon. You hoist the camera on your shoulder and hope to god your streaming eyes wouldn't cause you to fall head over heels down the dubious stairs.
