Lt. Carter Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lieutenantantichrist) wrote2015-03-09 03:00 am
lieutenantantichrist) wrote2015-03-09 03:00 am
[21] Video/Action for Goldenrod - "I'm gonna rule this world."
[In a square in the center of Goldenrod City, a small crowd has gathered. A show is about to start.
There's a crude stage that's been freshly hammered together. Near the back, a little Snubbull is tapping in the last few nails. The platform wobbles but holds as a man climbs up it, then takes a place at a podium in the center. He's wearing a white button-up shirt and, in concession to his ambitions, a tie. He looks toward the camera.] Hey, Newt. You got that thing running?
[The camera's view nods up and down.]
All right.
[He holds his arms up for silence. Then, when no one quite pays attention, he barks,] Hey! All of you! Shut up!
[That's much more effective. When the eyes of the curious onlookers are on him, he plants his hands on the sides of the podium and clears his throat.]
All of you. Locals, people from the real world, people from the fuckin' moon. You know me. See, I've been here a long, long time. Two damn years, and I know some of you have been here longer. I was thinking about that, and you know what I realized?
[His voice gets louder and clearer as he finds his rhythm.]
I realized I'm not a fuckin' tourist. None of us are. This is our world as much as it is theirs-- and nobody is doing dick to run it.
Look around. Everybody does whatever they damn well please, and that's real nice right up until the minute some idiot starts planting bombs around. The closest thing to somebody in charge is the police, and they're a goddamn joke who give terrorists a week picking up garbage and then set them loose again. There's nobody calling the shots.
That changes today.
[His boots thud on plywood as he tramps back and forth along the stage, and his speech takes a turn toward harangue.]
When bees and sharks came crashing through people's windows, who smacked them right back out? Me. When some moron went around shooting lasers at the city, who knocked him out of the sky? Me. When a couple armies of fire and water idiots tried to wreck up the place with giant monsters, who went out to stop them? [He jerks his thumb to his chest.] Me.
[His voice is getting louder and louder. The cords stand out on his neck.]
And I'm not some jumped-up fourteen-year-old who thinks he's magic. I've been around the block in the real world. I have decades on the front lines. I haven't just lead people, I've lead them into tenements full of crackheads with shotguns. That has to mean something, even here.
Somebody around here has to get shit in order, and I'm done waiting.
[His tread takes him back to the podium. He grips the sides with his coarse-knuckled hands and leans over it to look straight into the Gear.]
I'm not asking you. I'm telling you.
From now on, I'm the head honcho around here.
[He jabs his finger at the camera.]
Stand with me or get out of my way.
There's a crude stage that's been freshly hammered together. Near the back, a little Snubbull is tapping in the last few nails. The platform wobbles but holds as a man climbs up it, then takes a place at a podium in the center. He's wearing a white button-up shirt and, in concession to his ambitions, a tie. He looks toward the camera.] Hey, Newt. You got that thing running?
[The camera's view nods up and down.]
All right.
[He holds his arms up for silence. Then, when no one quite pays attention, he barks,] Hey! All of you! Shut up!
[That's much more effective. When the eyes of the curious onlookers are on him, he plants his hands on the sides of the podium and clears his throat.]
All of you. Locals, people from the real world, people from the fuckin' moon. You know me. See, I've been here a long, long time. Two damn years, and I know some of you have been here longer. I was thinking about that, and you know what I realized?
[His voice gets louder and clearer as he finds his rhythm.]
I realized I'm not a fuckin' tourist. None of us are. This is our world as much as it is theirs-- and nobody is doing dick to run it.
Look around. Everybody does whatever they damn well please, and that's real nice right up until the minute some idiot starts planting bombs around. The closest thing to somebody in charge is the police, and they're a goddamn joke who give terrorists a week picking up garbage and then set them loose again. There's nobody calling the shots.
That changes today.
[His boots thud on plywood as he tramps back and forth along the stage, and his speech takes a turn toward harangue.]
When bees and sharks came crashing through people's windows, who smacked them right back out? Me. When some moron went around shooting lasers at the city, who knocked him out of the sky? Me. When a couple armies of fire and water idiots tried to wreck up the place with giant monsters, who went out to stop them? [He jerks his thumb to his chest.] Me.
[His voice is getting louder and louder. The cords stand out on his neck.]
And I'm not some jumped-up fourteen-year-old who thinks he's magic. I've been around the block in the real world. I have decades on the front lines. I haven't just lead people, I've lead them into tenements full of crackheads with shotguns. That has to mean something, even here.
Somebody around here has to get shit in order, and I'm done waiting.
[His tread takes him back to the podium. He grips the sides with his coarse-knuckled hands and leans over it to look straight into the Gear.]
I'm not asking you. I'm telling you.
From now on, I'm the head honcho around here.
[He jabs his finger at the camera.]
Stand with me or get out of my way.
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