Post by terfle on Jun 20, 2006 22:33:08 GMT
Once upon a time, in the deepest darkest streets of what could only be identified by the numerous nightclubs as…well Manchester; a fairytale unfolded, a dramatic rescue from a treacherous and suave villain as only a fairytale can give…
In one of these sinister streets, there was one particular establishment known as ‘The Club.’ This disreputable club was owned by a Prince…Mike Prince (Or Prince4U as he was more popularly known in chat rooms of the darkest corners of the extensive internet) who was not very prince like, not very tall, dark or dashing. In fact he was rather stupid as Princes go and his main objective was to avoid paying his taxes as one does.
One smoke filled night at the bar, the main point of the story arrived; the Princess Alicia. (Or PrincessLaBelle as her chat name went) she was a foreign poker playing, card dealing, dirty dancing beauty that could drink all the lads in the club under the table.
Dressed in her killer heels and pretty pink handbag, she surveyed the scene at the bar and promptly ordered a round of pink thingytails, one eye on her drinks, one eye out for her Prince. (Prince4U actually) you couldn’t miss her, blue tinted hair and passport tucked in her pretty pink handbag. You guessed it, a French student out on the town looking for her chat room date.
An hour later she was on a roll with several candidates, Mike included, when a man in an oversized black bomber jacket strolled in and aimed a gun at Prince4U and drawled ‘Mike King I presume?’ The barmaid squinted at the assembled party and swigged some gin, watching interestedly from behind the bar.
‘Mike King I presume?’ Looking around him in apprehension, stools stained with beer, surfaces gleaming with what looked like dandruff, but he hoped was just the dodgy lighting. The snacks weren’t up to much either and the music was pretty tired, mainly 80’s stuff. He was a strictly R and B and garage guy. No matter. If it were him, he would bulldoze the lot.
He pointed the gun in Mike’s direction and said ‘We’ll talk in your office, shall we?’ Mike wandered into his office. The man didn’t look like a tax collector but he would obviously try any trick in the book.
He shut the door and waited, he would have to humour him. ‘I am going to kidnap you Mr King’ said he, holding the gun at arm’s length to show he was not joking. Mike thought it was hilariously funny and rolled about with mirth, the gun was obviously fake, the man was obviously drunk and the safe was in the basement so that couldn’t be what he was after. (It was empty)
Five minutes later, the doors of the dilapidated van clanged shut with a wailing Prince inside. (‘Let me out, I want a lawyer!’) Alicia raced outside and promptly tripped over the dustbins. She watched the van stall and start down the road.
‘I don’t believe it’ exclaimed a voice by her ear. ‘He forgot to pay me.’ The barmaid was standing behind her, watching the van with a doleful face.
Alicia leaned against the bin and lit a cigarette.
‘Do you speak English?’ bellowed the woman, causing several nesting birds to fall out of their trees, while waving her hands around and gesturing. However dense Alicia may have appeared, she could defiantly read and understand the flashing ‘Exit’ sign above her. ‘Of course I speak English you cretin’ retorted the blue tinted heroine. I’m not here for a laugh you know. I have to find my Prince.’ The last comment was addressed to the barmaid (‘Call me Dana’) who was now rooting in her bag for another bottle of gin.
‘Mike Prince?’ slurred the intoxicated dame, squinting down her bottle of gin. ‘Total prat.’ Tittered girlishly.
Alicia considered the options. She set off in the direction of the van, rolling up her sleeves and her skirt as far as it would go. ‘Prince Mike, you need saving and I a, the one to do it.’ She said it in French because she still couldn’t understand half the words in her dictionary stored in her pretty pink handbag.
Mike cowered in the corner of his cell never taking his eyes off the packet of cigarettes near him. He was sure Tony would be coming back soon.
Outside Tony shook his head disbelievingly; this man was the biggest idiot he’d ever laid his eyes on. He didn’t need to tell him he was a member of the Mancunian Mafia, he just assumed he was a tax collector.
They had broken into a house and ‘borrowed’ the cupboard under the stairs. Well Tony had used a crow bar while Mike skulked round around looking for an escape route. (The letter box was useless and the kennel was too small) he was just about to leap through the fence when Tony parked a gun at his back and herded him through the window; the front garden was nothing to shout about. They hadn’t even been in the back yet.
‘Now listen to me King’ Tony drawled, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He was enjoying this.
Alicia stopped and frowned. She could see a small house with pink walls and a blue door. She looked at the house next door and decided that was it, peeling paint and grey boards slapped over vacant barred windows. She was just about to walk to that one when she noticed the smashed window at the next house, the pink one. She didn’t want to be charged for breaking and entering a pretty pink house. Nobody wants to plunge through broken glass to rescue a Prince, no matter how designer his jeans are. Still, if that’s what needs doing.
She swung round as footsteps echoed eerily on the pavement. It was only Dana. Somehow she’d followed Alicia through the various gardens with fishponds; creeping round the countless kennels with baited breath (Though Dana’s breath would send any hardened Alsatian packing) and ran through lawn sprinklers (Still on) trying to follow the van that held her Prince hostage. Stopping down this road, she ducked behind someone’s geraniums and listened to his yells as he was dragged through the house. She’d been too busy making sure her handbag was there to notice which house he was being dragged into. This must have been it.
By now, Dana had reached the curb, peering blearily at the at the pretty house with the red roof and comment ‘You know, that doesn’t look too safe.’ She swung her bottle round to prove her point and accidentally attacked a cat prowling around. He scarpered with a yowl that sounded suspiciously like Mike in the van. ‘I have another one I think.’ Alicia left her to root in her bag. She needed her wit about her o help with the task ahead; Mike had her pack of cards. ‘Right, here goes. She hurtled through the window and fell on the table by the window.
‘I’m going to say this once and once only’ drawled Tony. He hoped the idiot would co-operate, the cigarette was burning his mouth. Mike also hoped he would be quick; he was missing some reruns of ‘Friends’ back home. ‘Can I go now?’ he whined. Courage was never his strong point, cheating and sucking up was more his style.
Suddenly the door of the cupboard burst open and in stepped the heroine of the day, holding a gun. As she rushed in, her fluffy head caught the low beam; the gun flew out of her hands and landed on the floor. ‘Dammit!’ Being plastic and fake, it didn’t create the impact she was hoping for.
Tony sighed; being a villain was hard work. This was not his day. 3 days of travelling up and down Manchester looking for the right club, 4 bus stops later, he’d captured the right guy and the girlfriend had just stomped in with a fake gun. Something had gone wrong along the way. This hostage was no proper damsel in distress, he was more accustomed to dodgy hats and accents, not this nightclub, Prince kidnapping lark. He should have kidnapped someone else other than this snivelling twit tugging at his jacket, whining about a gun. ‘Its not loaded is it? Mike was taking no chances; he wasn’t going to get blown up for the sake of a pack of cards.
‘Right, get over there, I’m not taking any more chances’ snarled Tony, pointing the gun at them both. She took the dictionary out and started rifling through it, no doubt looking up a word in his sentence she wasn’t sure of.
Suddenly a gin-soaked whirlwind swept in and smashed her empty bottle over Tony’s super-gelled head. ‘It was empty anyway’ she cackled as he fell clumsily, muttering about aspirin for a head.
‘Now where’s my money?’ she shrieked at the vaguely puzzled Mike. Dammit, he had to think of something. He did manage to hand over the money gallantly over some haggling. It would be fair to say she got her gin money to her liking. Alicia went home happy her train fare had been paid and Mike escaped with a fair amount to tide him over. And a revengeful Tony woke to the sound of battering at the door, while he struggled with his memory to apply to the night’s events and his looted pockets.
And they all lived happily ever after…
In one of these sinister streets, there was one particular establishment known as ‘The Club.’ This disreputable club was owned by a Prince…Mike Prince (Or Prince4U as he was more popularly known in chat rooms of the darkest corners of the extensive internet) who was not very prince like, not very tall, dark or dashing. In fact he was rather stupid as Princes go and his main objective was to avoid paying his taxes as one does.
One smoke filled night at the bar, the main point of the story arrived; the Princess Alicia. (Or PrincessLaBelle as her chat name went) she was a foreign poker playing, card dealing, dirty dancing beauty that could drink all the lads in the club under the table.
Dressed in her killer heels and pretty pink handbag, she surveyed the scene at the bar and promptly ordered a round of pink thingytails, one eye on her drinks, one eye out for her Prince. (Prince4U actually) you couldn’t miss her, blue tinted hair and passport tucked in her pretty pink handbag. You guessed it, a French student out on the town looking for her chat room date.
An hour later she was on a roll with several candidates, Mike included, when a man in an oversized black bomber jacket strolled in and aimed a gun at Prince4U and drawled ‘Mike King I presume?’ The barmaid squinted at the assembled party and swigged some gin, watching interestedly from behind the bar.
‘Mike King I presume?’ Looking around him in apprehension, stools stained with beer, surfaces gleaming with what looked like dandruff, but he hoped was just the dodgy lighting. The snacks weren’t up to much either and the music was pretty tired, mainly 80’s stuff. He was a strictly R and B and garage guy. No matter. If it were him, he would bulldoze the lot.
He pointed the gun in Mike’s direction and said ‘We’ll talk in your office, shall we?’ Mike wandered into his office. The man didn’t look like a tax collector but he would obviously try any trick in the book.
He shut the door and waited, he would have to humour him. ‘I am going to kidnap you Mr King’ said he, holding the gun at arm’s length to show he was not joking. Mike thought it was hilariously funny and rolled about with mirth, the gun was obviously fake, the man was obviously drunk and the safe was in the basement so that couldn’t be what he was after. (It was empty)
Five minutes later, the doors of the dilapidated van clanged shut with a wailing Prince inside. (‘Let me out, I want a lawyer!’) Alicia raced outside and promptly tripped over the dustbins. She watched the van stall and start down the road.
‘I don’t believe it’ exclaimed a voice by her ear. ‘He forgot to pay me.’ The barmaid was standing behind her, watching the van with a doleful face.
Alicia leaned against the bin and lit a cigarette.
‘Do you speak English?’ bellowed the woman, causing several nesting birds to fall out of their trees, while waving her hands around and gesturing. However dense Alicia may have appeared, she could defiantly read and understand the flashing ‘Exit’ sign above her. ‘Of course I speak English you cretin’ retorted the blue tinted heroine. I’m not here for a laugh you know. I have to find my Prince.’ The last comment was addressed to the barmaid (‘Call me Dana’) who was now rooting in her bag for another bottle of gin.
‘Mike Prince?’ slurred the intoxicated dame, squinting down her bottle of gin. ‘Total prat.’ Tittered girlishly.
Alicia considered the options. She set off in the direction of the van, rolling up her sleeves and her skirt as far as it would go. ‘Prince Mike, you need saving and I a, the one to do it.’ She said it in French because she still couldn’t understand half the words in her dictionary stored in her pretty pink handbag.
Mike cowered in the corner of his cell never taking his eyes off the packet of cigarettes near him. He was sure Tony would be coming back soon.
Outside Tony shook his head disbelievingly; this man was the biggest idiot he’d ever laid his eyes on. He didn’t need to tell him he was a member of the Mancunian Mafia, he just assumed he was a tax collector.
They had broken into a house and ‘borrowed’ the cupboard under the stairs. Well Tony had used a crow bar while Mike skulked round around looking for an escape route. (The letter box was useless and the kennel was too small) he was just about to leap through the fence when Tony parked a gun at his back and herded him through the window; the front garden was nothing to shout about. They hadn’t even been in the back yet.
‘Now listen to me King’ Tony drawled, cigarette hanging from his mouth. He was enjoying this.
Alicia stopped and frowned. She could see a small house with pink walls and a blue door. She looked at the house next door and decided that was it, peeling paint and grey boards slapped over vacant barred windows. She was just about to walk to that one when she noticed the smashed window at the next house, the pink one. She didn’t want to be charged for breaking and entering a pretty pink house. Nobody wants to plunge through broken glass to rescue a Prince, no matter how designer his jeans are. Still, if that’s what needs doing.
She swung round as footsteps echoed eerily on the pavement. It was only Dana. Somehow she’d followed Alicia through the various gardens with fishponds; creeping round the countless kennels with baited breath (Though Dana’s breath would send any hardened Alsatian packing) and ran through lawn sprinklers (Still on) trying to follow the van that held her Prince hostage. Stopping down this road, she ducked behind someone’s geraniums and listened to his yells as he was dragged through the house. She’d been too busy making sure her handbag was there to notice which house he was being dragged into. This must have been it.
By now, Dana had reached the curb, peering blearily at the at the pretty house with the red roof and comment ‘You know, that doesn’t look too safe.’ She swung her bottle round to prove her point and accidentally attacked a cat prowling around. He scarpered with a yowl that sounded suspiciously like Mike in the van. ‘I have another one I think.’ Alicia left her to root in her bag. She needed her wit about her o help with the task ahead; Mike had her pack of cards. ‘Right, here goes. She hurtled through the window and fell on the table by the window.
‘I’m going to say this once and once only’ drawled Tony. He hoped the idiot would co-operate, the cigarette was burning his mouth. Mike also hoped he would be quick; he was missing some reruns of ‘Friends’ back home. ‘Can I go now?’ he whined. Courage was never his strong point, cheating and sucking up was more his style.
Suddenly the door of the cupboard burst open and in stepped the heroine of the day, holding a gun. As she rushed in, her fluffy head caught the low beam; the gun flew out of her hands and landed on the floor. ‘Dammit!’ Being plastic and fake, it didn’t create the impact she was hoping for.
Tony sighed; being a villain was hard work. This was not his day. 3 days of travelling up and down Manchester looking for the right club, 4 bus stops later, he’d captured the right guy and the girlfriend had just stomped in with a fake gun. Something had gone wrong along the way. This hostage was no proper damsel in distress, he was more accustomed to dodgy hats and accents, not this nightclub, Prince kidnapping lark. He should have kidnapped someone else other than this snivelling twit tugging at his jacket, whining about a gun. ‘Its not loaded is it? Mike was taking no chances; he wasn’t going to get blown up for the sake of a pack of cards.
‘Right, get over there, I’m not taking any more chances’ snarled Tony, pointing the gun at them both. She took the dictionary out and started rifling through it, no doubt looking up a word in his sentence she wasn’t sure of.
Suddenly a gin-soaked whirlwind swept in and smashed her empty bottle over Tony’s super-gelled head. ‘It was empty anyway’ she cackled as he fell clumsily, muttering about aspirin for a head.
‘Now where’s my money?’ she shrieked at the vaguely puzzled Mike. Dammit, he had to think of something. He did manage to hand over the money gallantly over some haggling. It would be fair to say she got her gin money to her liking. Alicia went home happy her train fare had been paid and Mike escaped with a fair amount to tide him over. And a revengeful Tony woke to the sound of battering at the door, while he struggled with his memory to apply to the night’s events and his looted pockets.
And they all lived happily ever after…
