| Beating The Odds | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 28 2010, 01:43 AM (74 Views) | |
| Pat | Mar 28 2010, 01:43 AM Post #1 |
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That one guy who is awesome
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Here we are again. A lavish office overlooking the Hollywood skyline, an expansive trophy rack across one wall, filled to the brim with certificates, blue ribbons, and first place trophies. In the dead center of the wall, where we last saw nothing but things pushed aside now resides a shiny, brand new title belt. Across from this wall, across the huge family crest embroidered into the plush green carpet, sits one Christopher St. James, behind his massive oak desk, with his back to the huge bank of windows overlooking the city he considers to be his "realm." CSJ's ice blue eyes are narrowed at the belt as a random servant stands nervously to one side of it, his hands twitching afraid of what will next come out of CSJ's mouth. For his part CSJ had his hands steepled in front of him as he continued to stare at the belt, as if looking into its very essence. "A little more to the right please Horatio." The servant jumps, obviously not expecting to be spoken to again. However, he leaps into action and in his nervousness he pushes the belt too far. It plunges into the nearest trophy which falls onto the floor, falling heavily onto the carpet with a dull thud. Horatio looks shell shocked, like a kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. His eyes are wide with fear, sweat begins to bead on his forehead, his face turns a crimson shade of red, and he begins to shake, fearing the obvious torrent that is about to come his way. Surprisingly enough CSJ merely says. "Excellent job Horatio. It's perfect!" CSJ leaps up from his chair and bounds across the room to see the newest addition to his wall close up. "It really is perfect." Horatio nods in agreement, thinking that he's in the clear. Could it be that Christopher St. James, the richest man in probably all of Hollywood has overlooked Horatio's blunder? Not so much. SMACK! The backhand flew up so fast that it was more of a blur, a flurry of movement from CSJ. The blow lifts Horatio briefly onto his toes and backwards, since CSJ's ringed hand caught him under the chin and then stumbles to regain his balance, holding his bleeding chin. Without taking his eyes of the belt CSJ speaks in a voice that is filled with a controlled fury and void of any sympathy. "Did you think that I'd let you disrespect one of my many accomplishments like that? Did you honestly think that I'd allow you discredit one of MY trophies, one that I worked HARD to achieve? Tell me Horatio, do Mexicans think at all?" At this point Horatio has recovered slightly but has started to slink toward the door. CSJ picks up the trophy that was knocked over and looks at it admiringly. He sighs and then glares back at Horatio. "To be honest since you knocked down MY trophy, I think MY trophy should have a crack at you!" With that CSJ raises the trophy high above his head as Horatio starts to fumble with the door latch. As CSJ makes it to Horatio, the worker finally manages to open the door and stumbles out, running in fear of his life. The hydraulic hinges on the door hiss slightly as the heavy door starts to swing shut by itself. With a soft click CSJ is left alone once more with his trophy wall. He sighs as he smiles slightly to himself, lowering the trophy after the door shuts. He polishes it with a near by terry cloth and puts it back in its place. Taking a step back CSJ takes a deep breath and lets it out as he takes in his extensive trophy collection. One day....That belt will be mine. It won't just be a replica of the real thing it WILL be the REAL thing. While other people waste their time trying to define themselves by doing good deeds and not getting rewarded, I'll be here, showing off my "deeds." In the end who will have more to show off? The guy that gets walked on doing good deeds for others and doesn't ask for anything in return? Or the man that TAKES what he deserves and DEMANDS that he's respected for everything that he has gained? Greatness shall be mine, it's only a matter of time before I prove it to all. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It could be called a carnival for adults. There are blinking lights, laughing, talking, cheerful but mechanical sounds, and a general good vibe in the air. Poker chips are rattled and coin buckets are shaken as people show off what they've earned. It's where the rich go to get richer and where the poor go to take the "short cut" to the rich, only to realize that it's not that easy. Only to realize that fate has other plans and it doesn't involve them getting rich. There was one man who was the envy of the room. One man who wasn't afraid to walk out onto the floor and show off his expensive suit, his expensive sunglasses (even though it is currently 11 o'clock at night), his expensive hair style, basically his expensive YES. Anything and everything about this man was expensive, it didn't matter what it was. To him EVERYTHING had a price and ANYTHING could be bought. With him, it was all about the YES. The man in question is of course Christopher St. James and he was currently walking through HIS casino in the heart of downtown Las Vegas. You heard correctly, HIS casino. He stops in the dead center of the room and people stop to stare but CSJ doesn't care. If anyone tried anything, there were security. And where there wasn't security, there was, well, security. You get the point don't you? Basically, Christopher St. James is untouchable and unbeatable. If one asked him what he could win at his answer would be short, simple, and one word. "YES." His cold blue eyes stare straight ahead as a sly smile plays across his lips. "Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Saints and Sinner Casino, owned and operated by yours truly! I figured that as long as I was doing weekly business here anyways, why not make it even more profitable for, well, me? Of course everyone here has an equal chance of winning the jackpot! Will our next winner be you?" With that CSJ starts to walk away and of course we have no choice but to follow him. "There's something special about casinos though. The foundation is built on chance. What are the chances of winning it big time? What are the chances of taking the fast track to the exact place that I'm standing? That is, what are YOUR chances of becoming FILTHY and EXTREMELY rich? They are the same as just about everyone else in this place. The EXACT same. Now will you see me gambling? No. I've worked hard to earn my fortunes and I don't need to waste my time risking it to win more. What would the point of that be?" He chuckles to himself. There's no warmth in this chuckle though, it's cold, heartless, and almost frightening. Slowly though he continues. "Allow me to tell you something else about why I don't gamble and for this reason alone I ask that A.) Whoever is watching this holds it in the most secretive manner and B.) We'll have to go to a place a bit more...private..." With that the scene fades to black only for the picture to become sharper. Nothing can be seen except an expensive desk with a spotlight overhead. The initials CSJ in ornate golden letters are displayed across the desk. A desk that Christopher St. James is currently sitting behind. "This week in sVo we are having a Roulette Night. Everything is left up to chance, all the matches are determined by the roll of the dice. Basically a champion could walk in there with his belt and walk out a defeated man, his hard fought for belt now currently residing around the waste of someone else. My point being is that everything and ANYTHING can happen on Sunday night. There is one thing that is for certain though and I'll share it with you." CSJ leans forward from the chair and steeples his hands in front of his face, right under his chin. His chilly blue eyes stare intently at his audience. "I don't plan on going in there as the underdog and I plan on walking out of there as the top dog. You see, people underestimate the power and the hold that money has on people." To emphasize his point he pulls out two large and substantial stacks of money and places them on his desk. He steeples his hands again. "I'd bet that that just got your attention. I bet that your mouths are watering, that you're leaning forward in your seat, your eyes transfixed on the screen as you stare at my big wads....Of money. You have all just proven my point. Money controls us all, it makes the world go round. Whoever has the money has the control and whoever has the control, well..." A roulette table lights up in front of the desk, the center already spinning and an automatic dispenser ready to drop the ball. "I bet all of this money that that ball lands on Black 13." With that the dispenser drops the ball and the typical clacking of a roulette table. The table slowly stops spinning, the ball stops and we are shown the table. The ball now resides in the Black 13 spot. Without missing a beat CSJ is once again shown, his voice cold as steel yet quiet. "I just doubled my money. You see what happens when you have all the money? Betting becomes dull and boring because Lady Luck becomes your whore. She becomes just another girl that you pay to get your jollies. So remember come roulette night. Remember as you watch all your favorite stars, Tobias, Roscoe, Night, whomever, that everyone and more importantly EVERYTHING has a price. Even Lady Luck. And when Lady Luck is in your corner, well, problems just seem to take care of themselves." With that everything fades to black as CSJ chuckles, cold, merciless, and ruthless. |
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12:55 AM Jul 11