wingedbeast

Setting: A boardroom full of people sitting around a meeting table, looking to the chairman. His as yet empty seat is at one end. A golden-colored picture of a cartoon-like calf is at the other.

Chairman as he walks to his seat: Morning shoppers.

The board in unison: Morning.

Chairmen takes his seat: Anyone seen the overnights?

Various board members not in unison: No.

Chairman with a grin: We creamed 'em.

Light applause from the board.

Chairman: Last night was a rerun, which says to me that... *look up from his papers* Do I smell onions? *leans to the side and looks to see two men in casual dress, one cutting at an onion with a knife*

Chairman: Excuse me.

Loki (not the Norse god, played by Matt Damon): Huh?

Chairman: May I ask what you're doing in my boardroom?

Loki looks forward, indicating his friend: You may procede, mon frere.

Bartleby starts as he stands up: I have to start by apologizing. My friend has a penchent for the dramatic.
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Continued from http://wingedbeast.dreamwidth.org/5131.html

Setting: The large, industrial basement of some building. The room is packed with Zion revolutionaries, all in the customarily excessive leather and sunglasses.

Morpheus (perhaps looking out at the group, it's hard to tell with those sunglasses): I have to ask. Does anybody remember why we meet, like this, in the Matrix, itself? It begins to occur to me that hanging around the Matrix in loud leather outfits that mark us as abnormal is a bad idea.

Unnamed Zion Revolutionary: That's just because you have Wot on your team. We've all had those conversations with him, he messes with your mind.

Morpheus: That doesn't mean that he's entirely wrong. From a purely functional perspective, should we not be trying to blend in, wearing suits like themselves? Or at least dressing down?

Unnamed Zion Revolutionary: Listen, once he has you questioning whether or not terrorist tactics with unimaginable body-counts are a good way of freeing people from The Matrix, he can get you to question everything.
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Setting: An office. Syndrome sits across the desk from Wot.

Syndrome: We'll have to use supers to test and refine this robotic orb in order to make it a monster. Then, I'll send the monster-orb to attack a city. I'll save the city from the monster-orb. I'll be a hero. It'll just cost a few billion dollars and the lives of some supers. And, everybody will want to buy my technology.

Wot: Okay, I get how certain parts of this work. I even get how certain parts of this plan might even be good for society. But, I have a question about this orb-monster business.

Syndrome: Oh, if you want out, don't worry. In fact, I'll make sure you don't have to worry about anything ev-

Wot: Euphemism for killing me. I get it. No, I'm actually asking what I think is a reasonable question.

Syndrome: ... Okay. What's your question?

Wot: About this last part of the plan where you make the orb-monster. Why?

Syndrome: What part don't you get?

Wot: The part where it serves any purpose at all.
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Sigourney Weaver: Either you die horribly now or, six minutes from now, you die horribly with the rest of humanity.

Wot: A basic understanding of history says that's bullshit.

Sigourney Weaver: The old gods are here. You can just look over the edge.

The "Virgin": He said History. And, I think I get it. What you're doing is classic "Appeasement" strategy.

Wot: Thank you. By the way, werewolf behind you.

The "Virgin" turns and shoots the werewolf before it can pounce: Thank you.

Wot: No problem.
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Setting: The post apocalyptic, reconstructed society. Everybody is tested to find their one true Guild, based on their one Virtue.

Scene 1: In a white office without anything on the walls, with a white desk and white chairs.

Guild Assessment Counselor: I understand you have something to ask me about?

Wot: Umm, it's about my Social Diagnosis.

Counselor stands up, signaling to Wot with a finger to the lips, and walks to the door: If you're thinking we misdiagnosed you, we can test again. I assure you th at mistakes are very rare. :Counseler closes the door.: *harsh whisper* You need to be more careful! If they ever find out-

Wot: That's the thing. I think that the hidden and vaguely evil people trying to take over would already know I'm a-

Counselor: SHH! The walls have ears.
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Scenes I'd Like to See Re: Fantasy

Scene 1

Scene: An ornate, alabaster gazebo amidst a lush and beautiful forest. Humans gathered near one pillar, the dwarves near another, the elves at a third, and the hobbits at the fourth. In the center, a floating woman clothed in light speaks a prophecy.

Prophetess: The time has come. The prophesied one is here in our presence. The prophesied one will bring The One Thing to Evil Mountain and save us all. The prophesied one is *prophetess pivots in the air and points* you.

Wot: Who, me?

Prophetess: Yes, you.

Wot: I'm prophesied to take The One Thing to Evil Mountain?
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