Of Mice & Magne
* * *
[Current Track: "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor]
* * *
The audience is buzzing after the display in the ring -- particularly, the ending reversal by the smallest superstar on the roster. The cover...
One!
Two!
Three!
Dead center of the ring was Dwight Mare, who landed more on his back than his head, so he came to rather quickly for experiencing the Deify. Stumbling upward, Dwight Mare slid out of the ring as Ripplemagne stood atop the middle rope, bowing graciously before the audience. We can see him mouthing the words 'Just Believe' as he steps down to his roaring theme song...
Rolling backwards over the top rope, he tags a few hands along the way as he makes his way back up the stage, shaking hands and relishing in his own glory. Finally, he got to the top of the stage before theatrically bowing once more.
Abruptly spinning around, the eclectic fellow passed through the curtain and into the corridor where he saw Dwight Mare, collapsed on a folding chair...
Ripplemagne:
"Weird..."
* * *
Oh, I can do serious...
* * *
The Weapons Dance
The fiery spotlights blast open around the crimson velvet coated golden throne, polished with the decor of rubies, diamonds and sapphires. Etched in the backseat is the outline of a mighty Lion roaring with a long weave of mistletoe lavished with roses. Gently perched atop the seat was the undefeated prodigy known as the magnificent Ripplemagne...
Clad in his black trench coat, 1969 bootcut jeans, mismatched sneakers and white linen gloves, he topped it off with a brand new t-shirt in the MxM product lineup. It was a skin tight, faded baby blue t-shirt with white paint splatter design, etching the design of nothing in particular, but highlighting the word "Believe" on the breast area.
Fashioned perfectly, his silken, champagne hair glistened under the spotlights as it cast down over his right cheek bone. Though blue-green in color, his eyes seemed to take on an auburn shade in this lighting as a smirk appeared on his face...
Ripplemagne:
"Show time...!"
As his soft lips coated his words before relinquishing them to the camera, the Patriarch of Pretty raised his hand before leaning forward a few inches...
Ripplemagne:
"Don't get in your way, huh? 'Sat your prodigal mission statement, Pong? After I, the magnificent, pulchritudinous, splendorous and death defyingly gorgeous Ripplemagne... have carried this team to term? Lets face it, mon ami... after your precious Puppet Masters fell, it was only the prologue to your demise at the hands of Hunter Weiss and Synkai Deivenia."
It's clear at this point that he's referring to his tag team partner, The Tang, as he references the events that took place in the Action Wrestling League...
Ripplemagne:
"And where were you on the Frontier? The B Team without anything prestigious to your name. You may have had a 'legendary' run in the Kace Wrestling League, but who didn't? Lets face it, Ping Pong, without me carrying the namesake of our precious MxM, you would be retired or wrestling independent promotions for the next fourty years like Reese Davenport. And you want to take out your hormonal imbalances on me?"
Rearing forward, the charming smirk of Ripplemagne becomes a devilish, scornful grin as he stares directly into the lens of the camera with seething rapture...
Ripplemagne:
"If I wanted to deal with cry baby Megs, I'd have stayed in High School, where the inconsistencies in demeanor are that much more obnoxious. Let me make one thing clear, Lee Wong: In High School, when the bipolar brats who couldn't decide if they were happy or sad on a given day unleashed their Viking fury on the magnificent Ripplemagne, his next words were not 'I'm sorry'; they were 'Say please.'"
We begin to see a darker side of Ripplemagne as the shadow casts over half of his face; eye tooth stabbing into the tip of his tongue beneath his lips.
Ripplemagne:
"You see, when the Ripplemagne approaches you for some fun in the sun, he does not know about your step father beating you earlier in the morning. Nor does he know about your schizophrenic, pimple-faced boyfriend, whose nub you jammed down your throat hole a few dozen times, breaking up with you. Nor does he know about your mangy mut gnawing on your favorite pair of vans while you were jamming your cellulite stuffed posterior into a pair of skinny jeans that could better be classified as a pair of binoculars with the lenses jammed out."
It looks as though the maniacal Ripplemagne hasn't breathed in some time as his cheeks begin to flush and a twitch can be visibly seen around the left side of his lips. But, finally, he exhales and his complexion restores...
Ripplemagne:
"And he shouldn't be expected to. Nor does he care to find out. So, when you project your woe-is-me, running eyeliner negativity onto the Ripplemagne, he will not bend to your emotions. Because regardless of circumstances, the alpha male that is the Ripplemagne is always... smiling..."
Deeper goes his intense grin as he stares with forced emotions into the camera. Passion is swelling through his pores, he grips the edges of the arms to his throne, rearing closer to the camera. It's clear that the White Mage tries to pull the camera back, but he snatches the ring of the lens and pulls it forth..
Ripplemagne:
"I don't have to project my bad day onto others. Your misery may love company, but the Ripplemagne contains the burdens of life into a microcosm before blissfully sending it off to its rune of reality. But an unappreciative little prick like you can't fathom that no one wants to hear your babbling and because of this, I have to run a stitch through your lips, pleasantly allowing your insides to paint your face like the Ultimate Warrior. For each two pearls in your mouth, I knit one around your lips until your sobbing, wretched eyes go blood shot and I no longer have to hear your belly aching..."
Venomous in tone, he tugs the camera even more to get a close up as we can almost see the heat pouring forth from the surface of his skin. His veins pulsing as though the ocean were funneled through his arteries and beating heart, there is almost a deadness to his voice...
Ripplemagne:
"Let the record show that you drew the line in the stand. And because of your bitter worthlessness in the wake of two members of the weaker sex, the magnificent one is taking to his own journey, leaving you in the rubble that I found you in. But that begs the question, then, doesn't it? Will the Ripplemagne get in The Tang's way at Chaos? Or... will the Ripplemagne... even... show... up...?"
In a streak of insanity, the convulsing lad pushes the camera back as we fade in the room spiraled in clouds of ebony...
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
A crackle is heard as the plains stretch forth in our view. Composed of rocky landscapes and sandy trails, the open trails of Australia stand before us as a white DC sneaker is the first thing before us. Polished and kept glistening in light of the fact that the dirt was bustling around his ankles, his sneaker paved way for the camera to rise across the long legs of the lad. Monotonously, we stretch before his faded jeans, a quick crotch shot before rising up his bare, washboard abs before finally panning out to his entirety.
Sand covered champagne hair, the magnificent Ripplemagne groans before turning behind him...
Ripplemagne:
"Confound this accursed country and its thieving canines!"
Miss Sarah:
"You lost 'im?"
The camera pans out once again to show Miss Sarah in a beige preserve uniform very similar to that of Steve Irwin's, but topped with a skirt. Her hair, as of this moment, is tied back as she steps out of a small green... golf cart?
Ripplemagne:
"I will not stand for this! Just wait until I find that blasted dingo. Ho-ho-ho... a beating!"
Miss Sarah:
"It's just a bag of beef jerky. We can buy another..."
Ripplemagne:
"It was the Ripplemagne's bag of beef jerky! And he will not stand for it! I will not be denied!"
What an idiot...
Ripplemagne:
"Hey! Hey, you!"
Me...?
Ripplemagne:
"Yeah, you, ya' narrating bastard! Unless you have some instructions on how the Ripplemagne may find Clepto the Thieving Dingo, shut up-a your face!"
Dude, you do realize that I'm the narrator and you're not supposed to know I'm here, right?
Ripplemagne:
"I bet you're some zit faced, obese teenager who still pisses on his balls. Pathetic..."
Well, considering that you and I are the same person and I'm just the real world version of you, I can, confidently, say that I'm neither zit faced nor obese. Though pissing on my balls is still up for debate...
Ripplemagne:
"Wait, what?"
I'm you, narrating your story...
Ripplemagne:
"h4x! Oh, wait... I see it now! Whoa! You are adorable!"
Ain't I? But wham, bam! Right back at-cha, hot shot! You are one gorgeous individual. Look at that. Lion face, scared face, lion face! Obby!
Ripplemagne:
"Ha, ha, ha! Whoa, mama... this is like attack of the pretty people. We are amazing!"
The White Mage:
"Miss Sarah, wh-who is he talking to?"
Miss Sarah:
"Beats me."
We should probably get back to continuity before the segment gets ruined, but in the meantime, let The Tang know that he's controlled by some ugly Canadian guy whose name comes from a Randy Orton rip off. That and he's Canadian. Just need to emphasize that point.
Ripplemagne:
"Ah, I love that guy. Anyways, aha! Tango spotted!"
Barring the obvious Tang reference, we capture view of the dingo with Ripplemagne's bag of beef jerky hanging from its jaw.
Ripplemagne:
"For Sparta!"
The White Mage:
"Monsieur Ripplemagne, I thought you represented America."
Miss Sarah:
"And Italy."
The White Mage:
"There's also The Wonderland..."
Miss Sarah:
"Oh, and your NationStates country, Ripplemasia."
The White Mage:
"The Roman Empire..."
Miss Sarah:
"Not to mention The Mighty LoPseid."
The White Mage:
"And Valhalla..."
Miss Sarah:
"Breidablik..."
The White Mage:
"The Mongolian Empire..."
Miss Sarah:
"Anything that will pay you a quarter..."
Ripplemagne:
"I don't recall anyone asking the peanut gallery! Now, unless you plan on making the magnificent Ripplemagne a turkey on rye, step aside while he catches the Dingo!"
And as we see the quirky lad race off, our feed fades...
* * *
[Current Track: "Remember the Name" by Fort Minor]
* * *
The audience is buzzing after the display in the ring -- particularly, the ending reversal by the smallest superstar on the roster. The cover...
One!
Two!
Three!
Dead center of the ring was Dwight Mare, who landed more on his back than his head, so he came to rather quickly for experiencing the Deify. Stumbling upward, Dwight Mare slid out of the ring as Ripplemagne stood atop the middle rope, bowing graciously before the audience. We can see him mouthing the words 'Just Believe' as he steps down to his roaring theme song...
Rolling backwards over the top rope, he tags a few hands along the way as he makes his way back up the stage, shaking hands and relishing in his own glory. Finally, he got to the top of the stage before theatrically bowing once more.
Abruptly spinning around, the eclectic fellow passed through the curtain and into the corridor where he saw Dwight Mare, collapsed on a folding chair...
Ripplemagne:
"Weird..."
* * *
Oh, I can do serious...
* * *
The Weapons Dance
The fiery spotlights blast open around the crimson velvet coated golden throne, polished with the decor of rubies, diamonds and sapphires. Etched in the backseat is the outline of a mighty Lion roaring with a long weave of mistletoe lavished with roses. Gently perched atop the seat was the undefeated prodigy known as the magnificent Ripplemagne...
Clad in his black trench coat, 1969 bootcut jeans, mismatched sneakers and white linen gloves, he topped it off with a brand new t-shirt in the MxM product lineup. It was a skin tight, faded baby blue t-shirt with white paint splatter design, etching the design of nothing in particular, but highlighting the word "Believe" on the breast area.
Fashioned perfectly, his silken, champagne hair glistened under the spotlights as it cast down over his right cheek bone. Though blue-green in color, his eyes seemed to take on an auburn shade in this lighting as a smirk appeared on his face...
Ripplemagne:
"Show time...!"
As his soft lips coated his words before relinquishing them to the camera, the Patriarch of Pretty raised his hand before leaning forward a few inches...
Ripplemagne:
"Don't get in your way, huh? 'Sat your prodigal mission statement, Pong? After I, the magnificent, pulchritudinous, splendorous and death defyingly gorgeous Ripplemagne... have carried this team to term? Lets face it, mon ami... after your precious Puppet Masters fell, it was only the prologue to your demise at the hands of Hunter Weiss and Synkai Deivenia."
It's clear at this point that he's referring to his tag team partner, The Tang, as he references the events that took place in the Action Wrestling League...
Ripplemagne:
"And where were you on the Frontier? The B Team without anything prestigious to your name. You may have had a 'legendary' run in the Kace Wrestling League, but who didn't? Lets face it, Ping Pong, without me carrying the namesake of our precious MxM, you would be retired or wrestling independent promotions for the next fourty years like Reese Davenport. And you want to take out your hormonal imbalances on me?"
Rearing forward, the charming smirk of Ripplemagne becomes a devilish, scornful grin as he stares directly into the lens of the camera with seething rapture...
Ripplemagne:
"If I wanted to deal with cry baby Megs, I'd have stayed in High School, where the inconsistencies in demeanor are that much more obnoxious. Let me make one thing clear, Lee Wong: In High School, when the bipolar brats who couldn't decide if they were happy or sad on a given day unleashed their Viking fury on the magnificent Ripplemagne, his next words were not 'I'm sorry'; they were 'Say please.'"
We begin to see a darker side of Ripplemagne as the shadow casts over half of his face; eye tooth stabbing into the tip of his tongue beneath his lips.
Ripplemagne:
"You see, when the Ripplemagne approaches you for some fun in the sun, he does not know about your step father beating you earlier in the morning. Nor does he know about your schizophrenic, pimple-faced boyfriend, whose nub you jammed down your throat hole a few dozen times, breaking up with you. Nor does he know about your mangy mut gnawing on your favorite pair of vans while you were jamming your cellulite stuffed posterior into a pair of skinny jeans that could better be classified as a pair of binoculars with the lenses jammed out."
It looks as though the maniacal Ripplemagne hasn't breathed in some time as his cheeks begin to flush and a twitch can be visibly seen around the left side of his lips. But, finally, he exhales and his complexion restores...
Ripplemagne:
"And he shouldn't be expected to. Nor does he care to find out. So, when you project your woe-is-me, running eyeliner negativity onto the Ripplemagne, he will not bend to your emotions. Because regardless of circumstances, the alpha male that is the Ripplemagne is always... smiling..."
Deeper goes his intense grin as he stares with forced emotions into the camera. Passion is swelling through his pores, he grips the edges of the arms to his throne, rearing closer to the camera. It's clear that the White Mage tries to pull the camera back, but he snatches the ring of the lens and pulls it forth..
Ripplemagne:
"I don't have to project my bad day onto others. Your misery may love company, but the Ripplemagne contains the burdens of life into a microcosm before blissfully sending it off to its rune of reality. But an unappreciative little prick like you can't fathom that no one wants to hear your babbling and because of this, I have to run a stitch through your lips, pleasantly allowing your insides to paint your face like the Ultimate Warrior. For each two pearls in your mouth, I knit one around your lips until your sobbing, wretched eyes go blood shot and I no longer have to hear your belly aching..."
Venomous in tone, he tugs the camera even more to get a close up as we can almost see the heat pouring forth from the surface of his skin. His veins pulsing as though the ocean were funneled through his arteries and beating heart, there is almost a deadness to his voice...
Ripplemagne:
"Let the record show that you drew the line in the stand. And because of your bitter worthlessness in the wake of two members of the weaker sex, the magnificent one is taking to his own journey, leaving you in the rubble that I found you in. But that begs the question, then, doesn't it? Will the Ripplemagne get in The Tang's way at Chaos? Or... will the Ripplemagne... even... show... up...?"
In a streak of insanity, the convulsing lad pushes the camera back as we fade in the room spiraled in clouds of ebony...
* * *
And now, for your feature presentation...
* * *
A crackle is heard as the plains stretch forth in our view. Composed of rocky landscapes and sandy trails, the open trails of Australia stand before us as a white DC sneaker is the first thing before us. Polished and kept glistening in light of the fact that the dirt was bustling around his ankles, his sneaker paved way for the camera to rise across the long legs of the lad. Monotonously, we stretch before his faded jeans, a quick crotch shot before rising up his bare, washboard abs before finally panning out to his entirety.
Sand covered champagne hair, the magnificent Ripplemagne groans before turning behind him...
Ripplemagne:
"Confound this accursed country and its thieving canines!"
Miss Sarah:
"You lost 'im?"
The camera pans out once again to show Miss Sarah in a beige preserve uniform very similar to that of Steve Irwin's, but topped with a skirt. Her hair, as of this moment, is tied back as she steps out of a small green... golf cart?
Ripplemagne:
"I will not stand for this! Just wait until I find that blasted dingo. Ho-ho-ho... a beating!"
Miss Sarah:
"It's just a bag of beef jerky. We can buy another..."
Ripplemagne:
"It was the Ripplemagne's bag of beef jerky! And he will not stand for it! I will not be denied!"
What an idiot...
Ripplemagne:
"Hey! Hey, you!"
Me...?
Ripplemagne:
"Yeah, you, ya' narrating bastard! Unless you have some instructions on how the Ripplemagne may find Clepto the Thieving Dingo, shut up-a your face!"
Dude, you do realize that I'm the narrator and you're not supposed to know I'm here, right?
Ripplemagne:
"I bet you're some zit faced, obese teenager who still pisses on his balls. Pathetic..."
Well, considering that you and I are the same person and I'm just the real world version of you, I can, confidently, say that I'm neither zit faced nor obese. Though pissing on my balls is still up for debate...
Ripplemagne:
"Wait, what?"
I'm you, narrating your story...
Ripplemagne:
"h4x! Oh, wait... I see it now! Whoa! You are adorable!"
Ain't I? But wham, bam! Right back at-cha, hot shot! You are one gorgeous individual. Look at that. Lion face, scared face, lion face! Obby!
Ripplemagne:
"Ha, ha, ha! Whoa, mama... this is like attack of the pretty people. We are amazing!"
The White Mage:
"Miss Sarah, wh-who is he talking to?"
Miss Sarah:
"Beats me."
We should probably get back to continuity before the segment gets ruined, but in the meantime, let The Tang know that he's controlled by some ugly Canadian guy whose name comes from a Randy Orton rip off. That and he's Canadian. Just need to emphasize that point.
Ripplemagne:
"Ah, I love that guy. Anyways, aha! Tango spotted!"
Barring the obvious Tang reference, we capture view of the dingo with Ripplemagne's bag of beef jerky hanging from its jaw.
Ripplemagne:
"For Sparta!"
The White Mage:
"Monsieur Ripplemagne, I thought you represented America."
Miss Sarah:
"And Italy."
The White Mage:
"There's also The Wonderland..."
Miss Sarah:
"Oh, and your NationStates country, Ripplemasia."
The White Mage:
"The Roman Empire..."
Miss Sarah:
"Not to mention The Mighty LoPseid."
The White Mage:
"And Valhalla..."
Miss Sarah:
"Breidablik..."
The White Mage:
"The Mongolian Empire..."
Miss Sarah:
"Anything that will pay you a quarter..."
Ripplemagne:
"I don't recall anyone asking the peanut gallery! Now, unless you plan on making the magnificent Ripplemagne a turkey on rye, step aside while he catches the Dingo!"
And as we see the quirky lad race off, our feed fades...
* * *
