Post by RAM on Apr 30, 2024 3:00:43 GMT
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October 14, 2019 -- 3:55 PM
As we delve into RAM's mind, we start at a moment taking place five years ago...
"Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here. I must applaud you for showing up to detention on time."
After school detention -- the very bane of one's existence as a student.
That was, of course, if said student happened to be a very young Robert Allen Marshall.
At age 15, he was one of Watauga High School's most frequent discipline cases. It came as no surprise though, considering that he never had the idyllic childhood he perceived others had. He had quite a batch of skeletons in the closet, and not even a stint in the library's computer lab was going to help him shake of his traumatic past.
At least, that was the thought.
There were two other souls in detention this particular afternoon. One was a football player named Benny Figgins, the varsity team's quarterback who had a lot on his mind other than staring at a blank Microsoft World document. The other student was a pretty young gal named Rydia, an unassuming presence that looked like she could be the girl next door. Yet behind her curly blonde hair and blue eyes, she was a bit of a loner who wanted to fit in with her vast knowledge of computers and programming.
And then, there was Mr. Connery -- the school's chief disciplinarian.
After a 20 year career of teaching civics, this middle-aged man in a black suit got his due as the school's assistant principal. He was a tough nut, and it was believed that the young R.A. Marshall didn't have the mental capacity to crack him.
As he spoke, his baritone voice commanded the entire room.
"Rules of the house...first of all, you will not speak until you're spoken to. Two, you will not move from these seats unless you have my say-so. Finally, rule number three...any funny business, and I'll see youse again tomorrow afternoon -- same time, same place."
Mr. Connery paced around the lab, carrying a giant yard stick that he would use to tap on desks and keep students on their toes.
"Let's have a l'il fun, an exercise in humility, as my proud papa used to say. I want an essay printed out by the end of the hour -- a clear, concise short essay that's a thousand words or less. I want to know...who you think you are..."
RAM decided it'd be cute to chime in, commenting on the disciplinarian's overweight stature.
"I know who YOU are, piglet..."
RAM made an oinking sound that prompted Rydia to chuckle. Bobby, on the other hand, facepalmed as Mr. Connery slowly stalked towards Robert and gave him a death stare.
"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, Mr. Marshall. Try to bully the bull, boy...and you're gonna get the horns."
Pause. Mr. Connery flaunted his measuring stick and smirked.
"Do I make make myself CLEAR...?!"
RAM hissed.
"...yes, sir..."
Mr. Connery eked out a slight laugh, almost daring the youngster to push him back harder.
"I can break you, Mr. Marshall, in ways you can't even begin to describe. By the end of the day, you will be humble...or I'll snap you so far back, you'll feel like you're in kindergarten."
The ex-teacher approached the lab's main entrance, but not before pointing his yard stick at the digital clock hanging overhead.
"You have approximately 55 minutes to work on your projects. I want them to be special -- oh, and by the way, my office is right across the hallway from the lab. Doing stupid stuff will be ill-advised..."
The longtime former instructor made his exit, leaving the threesome to work on their short essays. Bobby takes a deep breath as Robert twiddled his fingers. Rydia was working feverishly on her terminal, charting out ideas for her essay using the Word document.
"Ain't this the shit...?!"
Rydia giggled softly as she worked. RAM eked out a slight grin.
"Hey...I've seen ya around compus before. Lonely gal, sittin' on the end of the furthest table in the cafetorium..."
Bobby decided to chime in, his face blank as he stared hopeless at his computer's monitor.
"What--?! You think that nice lookin' gal's gonna come waltzin' over to your troublemakin' self?"
"Says the jock who plays with his deflated balls -- a la Tom Brady!"
"Shut up, maggot!"
Only Figgins didn't call Marshall a "maggot." He called him something that rhymed and started with the letter F -- and naturally, it offended him.
"Call me that word again, loser. You'll get Connery so far up your ass, the blood from his foot will quench your thirst."
RAM cackled.
"Anyway, I despise jocks. To me, you're somethin' between vermin and the foam that comes outta your mouth after a boa constrictor wraps you up in its grip."
"Pffft, right street rat. Vermin like you ought to be snuffed out -- like your mommy, who got put in the pokey in that big tax case years ago."
"YOU DON'T KNOW ME, MOTHERFUCKER!!!"
RAM pointed at Bobby and screamed, prompting Mr. Connery's booming voice to bellow from across the hallway.
"HEY! What the hell is going on in there!?!"
Taking a deep breath, yet still unable to forgive the insult, RAM plunked himself back in his chair.
"...shit..."
Bobby, the senior of the trio, growled at him.
"Listen punk, if I get in trouble and LOSE MY RIDE to Notre Dame thanks to your sorry ass, I'll snap you in half like a goddamn twig!"
RAM scoffed right back.
"Oh, I'm sorry rich boy. Did I hurt your widdle feelings!?! Mommy and Daddy gave you a silver spoon your whole fuckin' life--"
"Listen, jackoff...I've got a game Friday night. I AIN'T gonna miss it on account of you!"
"Oh, wouldn't that be just the pits, huh? Missin' a whole football game!"
"Well, you wouldn't know nothin' about it, dickless!"
Pause.
"I bet you a case of Dr. Pepper that you've never competed in your whole life."
"Heh, I feel so empty inside! All I need to put on a pair of shoulder pads and run around a patch of grass with other guys before standin' in a smelly locker room to compare the size of your schlong..."
Rydia giggled once more, perhaps admiring the male-on-male tension coarsing throughout the room.
"Have you got any future plans? Any...goals in this life?!"
"I do...I wanna be just like you, a 'roid-raging shit-for-brains who truly believes that plastic-metal trophies are more important than anything else. More than savin' the life of the one you loved the most..."
Figgins stood up, his face turning red at Marshall's taunts.
"You know somethin', I don't wanna have to sit there and listen to this SHIT!!"
RAM stood up, eager to pound the overhyped jock into the blue carpet.
"COME AT ME, FUCKER! I'LL RIP YOUR SKULL CLEAN OFF YOUR SHOULDERS--!!"
CLANG! The sound of Mr. Connery's yard stick hitting the end of the teacher's desk was enough to settle the two boys down.
"HEY!!!"
He slowly paced around the room, staring daggers at Marshall and Figgins.
"I am warning you, boys. Keep the testosterone flowing and I'll see to it that you spend an eternity with me! Do I make myself CLEAR!?!"
The quarterback cleared his throat.
"Yessir!"
The street rat mocked him, spitting in his rival's general direction.
"Yes, sir! Mr. Connery, sir! Hey-ho, sir!"
Mr. Connery has had enough and stomps towards RAM. The two ended up nose to nose as the former got his two cents in.
"Do NOT press your luck with me, Mr. Marshall. You'll find yourself hitting a whammy and losing it all. And that goes for the rest of you in here!!"
The middle-aged man stomped out of the lab and back into his office. RAM and Figgins stayed spiteful of each other despite the brief intrusion.
"...Christ, I can't believe I have to deal with this chum for a full hour..."
"I heard that, big boy."
RAM sighed before settling into his chair and brainstorming some ideas for his short essay. Rydia, who had been quiet this whole time save for a laugh or two, spoke up after nodding her head -- perhaps figuring out what she wanted to write about.
"Hey..."
RAM and Figgins turned their attention towards Rydia, whose curly hair and glasses made her the perfect computer nerd. Yet in Marshall's mind, Rydia's voice was the sweetest thing he had ever heard in his life -- other than his mother's or his aunt's.
He chose to listen.
"...how'd you end up in here...?"
To be continued...
--------
October 14, 2019 -- 3:55 PM
As we delve into RAM's mind, we start at a moment taking place five years ago...
"Well, well, well. Lookie what we have here. I must applaud you for showing up to detention on time."
After school detention -- the very bane of one's existence as a student.
That was, of course, if said student happened to be a very young Robert Allen Marshall.
At age 15, he was one of Watauga High School's most frequent discipline cases. It came as no surprise though, considering that he never had the idyllic childhood he perceived others had. He had quite a batch of skeletons in the closet, and not even a stint in the library's computer lab was going to help him shake of his traumatic past.
At least, that was the thought.
There were two other souls in detention this particular afternoon. One was a football player named Benny Figgins, the varsity team's quarterback who had a lot on his mind other than staring at a blank Microsoft World document. The other student was a pretty young gal named Rydia, an unassuming presence that looked like she could be the girl next door. Yet behind her curly blonde hair and blue eyes, she was a bit of a loner who wanted to fit in with her vast knowledge of computers and programming.
And then, there was Mr. Connery -- the school's chief disciplinarian.
After a 20 year career of teaching civics, this middle-aged man in a black suit got his due as the school's assistant principal. He was a tough nut, and it was believed that the young R.A. Marshall didn't have the mental capacity to crack him.
As he spoke, his baritone voice commanded the entire room.
"Rules of the house...first of all, you will not speak until you're spoken to. Two, you will not move from these seats unless you have my say-so. Finally, rule number three...any funny business, and I'll see youse again tomorrow afternoon -- same time, same place."
Mr. Connery paced around the lab, carrying a giant yard stick that he would use to tap on desks and keep students on their toes.
"Let's have a l'il fun, an exercise in humility, as my proud papa used to say. I want an essay printed out by the end of the hour -- a clear, concise short essay that's a thousand words or less. I want to know...who you think you are..."
RAM decided it'd be cute to chime in, commenting on the disciplinarian's overweight stature.
"I know who YOU are, piglet..."
RAM made an oinking sound that prompted Rydia to chuckle. Bobby, on the other hand, facepalmed as Mr. Connery slowly stalked towards Robert and gave him a death stare.
"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that, Mr. Marshall. Try to bully the bull, boy...and you're gonna get the horns."
Pause. Mr. Connery flaunted his measuring stick and smirked.
"Do I make make myself CLEAR...?!"
RAM hissed.
"...yes, sir..."
Mr. Connery eked out a slight laugh, almost daring the youngster to push him back harder.
"I can break you, Mr. Marshall, in ways you can't even begin to describe. By the end of the day, you will be humble...or I'll snap you so far back, you'll feel like you're in kindergarten."
The ex-teacher approached the lab's main entrance, but not before pointing his yard stick at the digital clock hanging overhead.
"You have approximately 55 minutes to work on your projects. I want them to be special -- oh, and by the way, my office is right across the hallway from the lab. Doing stupid stuff will be ill-advised..."
The longtime former instructor made his exit, leaving the threesome to work on their short essays. Bobby takes a deep breath as Robert twiddled his fingers. Rydia was working feverishly on her terminal, charting out ideas for her essay using the Word document.
"Ain't this the shit...?!"
Rydia giggled softly as she worked. RAM eked out a slight grin.
"Hey...I've seen ya around compus before. Lonely gal, sittin' on the end of the furthest table in the cafetorium..."
Bobby decided to chime in, his face blank as he stared hopeless at his computer's monitor.
"What--?! You think that nice lookin' gal's gonna come waltzin' over to your troublemakin' self?"
"Says the jock who plays with his deflated balls -- a la Tom Brady!"
"Shut up, maggot!"
Only Figgins didn't call Marshall a "maggot." He called him something that rhymed and started with the letter F -- and naturally, it offended him.
"Call me that word again, loser. You'll get Connery so far up your ass, the blood from his foot will quench your thirst."
RAM cackled.
"Anyway, I despise jocks. To me, you're somethin' between vermin and the foam that comes outta your mouth after a boa constrictor wraps you up in its grip."
"Pffft, right street rat. Vermin like you ought to be snuffed out -- like your mommy, who got put in the pokey in that big tax case years ago."
"YOU DON'T KNOW ME, MOTHERFUCKER!!!"
RAM pointed at Bobby and screamed, prompting Mr. Connery's booming voice to bellow from across the hallway.
"HEY! What the hell is going on in there!?!"
Taking a deep breath, yet still unable to forgive the insult, RAM plunked himself back in his chair.
"...shit..."
Bobby, the senior of the trio, growled at him.
"Listen punk, if I get in trouble and LOSE MY RIDE to Notre Dame thanks to your sorry ass, I'll snap you in half like a goddamn twig!"
RAM scoffed right back.
"Oh, I'm sorry rich boy. Did I hurt your widdle feelings!?! Mommy and Daddy gave you a silver spoon your whole fuckin' life--"
"Listen, jackoff...I've got a game Friday night. I AIN'T gonna miss it on account of you!"
"Oh, wouldn't that be just the pits, huh? Missin' a whole football game!"
"Well, you wouldn't know nothin' about it, dickless!"
Pause.
"I bet you a case of Dr. Pepper that you've never competed in your whole life."
"Heh, I feel so empty inside! All I need to put on a pair of shoulder pads and run around a patch of grass with other guys before standin' in a smelly locker room to compare the size of your schlong..."
Rydia giggled once more, perhaps admiring the male-on-male tension coarsing throughout the room.
"Have you got any future plans? Any...goals in this life?!"
"I do...I wanna be just like you, a 'roid-raging shit-for-brains who truly believes that plastic-metal trophies are more important than anything else. More than savin' the life of the one you loved the most..."
Figgins stood up, his face turning red at Marshall's taunts.
"You know somethin', I don't wanna have to sit there and listen to this SHIT!!"
RAM stood up, eager to pound the overhyped jock into the blue carpet.
"COME AT ME, FUCKER! I'LL RIP YOUR SKULL CLEAN OFF YOUR SHOULDERS--!!"
CLANG! The sound of Mr. Connery's yard stick hitting the end of the teacher's desk was enough to settle the two boys down.
"HEY!!!"
He slowly paced around the room, staring daggers at Marshall and Figgins.
"I am warning you, boys. Keep the testosterone flowing and I'll see to it that you spend an eternity with me! Do I make myself CLEAR!?!"
The quarterback cleared his throat.
"Yessir!"
The street rat mocked him, spitting in his rival's general direction.
"Yes, sir! Mr. Connery, sir! Hey-ho, sir!"
Mr. Connery has had enough and stomps towards RAM. The two ended up nose to nose as the former got his two cents in.
"Do NOT press your luck with me, Mr. Marshall. You'll find yourself hitting a whammy and losing it all. And that goes for the rest of you in here!!"
The middle-aged man stomped out of the lab and back into his office. RAM and Figgins stayed spiteful of each other despite the brief intrusion.
"...Christ, I can't believe I have to deal with this chum for a full hour..."
"I heard that, big boy."
RAM sighed before settling into his chair and brainstorming some ideas for his short essay. Rydia, who had been quiet this whole time save for a laugh or two, spoke up after nodding her head -- perhaps figuring out what she wanted to write about.
"Hey..."
RAM and Figgins turned their attention towards Rydia, whose curly hair and glasses made her the perfect computer nerd. Yet in Marshall's mind, Rydia's voice was the sweetest thing he had ever heard in his life -- other than his mother's or his aunt's.
He chose to listen.
"...how'd you end up in here...?"
To be continued...
--------
"Well, well.
What have we here now?!
We've got Abraxes, a fake-ass demon who thinks that other fake-ass demons are festerin' about and the heroes have gotten lazy. We've got Soloman Khan, an Imperial Gladiator who ain't no different than the other ones, take Hellscream for example, in that he marches out to the ring, pretends he's King Solomon or some bullshit, and collects a paycheck. I guess life's dealt some SHITTY cards for the both of 'em as we get closer and closer to May and Night of the Immortals.
Ain't that right, Abraxes?!
How does it FEEL, big boy, to come so close to winnin' the Joker briefcase only to have James Gilmore knock your ass down back in 2020?! Honestly...I've done enough homework on you to know that you haven't truly recovered since then. Now after spendin' a good chunk of time sittin' in your fat ass and wallowin' away in misery, you've decided to put on the stupid warpain and act all big and bad, like everything hinges upon the next poor bastard to be exorcised or some other stupid bullshit.
I've got news for ya, though.
You don't know me at all, motherfucker.
I plan on changin' that tune in a heartbeat.
If it makes you feel any better, I welcome the chance for you to keep on hurtin' me. Yeah, it's true...I talk too much. But I also LISTEN too much. I can put on a stupid mask and pretend to be larger than life like you, but...I don't wanna make it seem too easy to bust other people's egos. Fiona likes me. Caroline likes me. My girlfriend Rydia...she likes me! And ya wanna know why?!
'Cause I'm the REAL news article around this stinkin' shithole.
What you see is what you get.
I see people like you, Abraxes, creatin' a shadow that you think is too deep to penetrate. Yet the prspect of winnin' gold -- some plastic metal trophy -- don't mean JACK SHIT to me! I've had to make a livin' in the REAL world! I've had to take poundin' after poundin' on the STREETS, but even still?! I've made a killin' as a survivor, and that ain't gonna change anytime soon!
Think you're gonna be the one to pin Soloman Khan?!
I don't think you've got the mental capacity to face me -- or him -- head on.
Whether it's you or him, the results will be the same -- I win.
Cope."
PROMO WORD COUNT: 413
Well howdy there pardner.