Post by Gurgen Hovhanissian on Apr 14, 2016 7:10:10 GMT -5
Bob shows up at the gym, he has someone in tow we haven’t seen before. In a corner of the gym, Beast is lifting weights. Guess he ran out of trees.
“Hello Beast,” Bob goes.
Beast briefly glances over and grunts his acknowledgement of Bob’s existence in his vicinity.
“I figured you’d have quite a bit to say about the whole La Diva deal, so I brought NAME along. He’s an interpreter.”
Not grasping … anything really, Beast defaults to his usual horribly mangled facsimile of English, “What NAME interpret? NAME interpret lines on hand or cards with funny pictures?”
“No,” NAME responds in Bob’s stead, “I interpret language.”
The words are spoken in Armenian, we’re informed of their meaning in subtitles.
Beast drops the dumb bell he’s holding, narrowly missing Bob’s toes. He throws his arms wide and shouts,”Brother!”
Much to the interpreter’s chagrin, Beast grabs him in a loving bear hug and kisses him on both cheeks.
Once the poor fellow is released, Bob commences the interview, “Now Beast, …”
But Beast lunges forward and wraps his paw across Bob’s mouth.
“Bob make hush,” Beast instructs. He tiptoes over to his coat, haphazardly strewn across one of the benches. From the great depths of the coat, he retrieves a bottle of wodka. The interpreter reluctantly joins Gurgen in a toast to the eternal persistence of the Armenian people.
A few big gulps disappear down The Armenian Beast’s throat. Now, Beast is ready for Bob’s questions.
Simultaneously offended and elated at not being offered any wodka, Bob sets forth, “Now, Beast … La Diva … What WERE you thinking?”
“I just thought that she was a bit lonely.”
Bob scratches his chin. And tries to make sense of the response. “You thought she was lonely, so you offered to marry her?”
“Yes. I think she’s a pretty girl and I prefer that people are not lonely. I’ve been lonely a lot. It doesn’t bother me, really. But I know other people don’t like it much. So, I thought, maybe we can be lonely together.”
“Beast, I don’t think you quite understand,” Bob says, adding ‘now there’s a surprise’ under his breath, “THAT’S NOT A REASON TO MARRY SOMEONE!”
Beast’s a bit taken aback. His eyes grow wide and he defends himself with, “I did say she was pretty!”
“Still not a reason to marry!”
“I mean, she’s got, like …” He cups his hands in front of his chest. “Boobs!”
“Ok,” Bob reconciles, rubbing his temples where the inevitable headache is beginning to manifest that invariably follows when you try and make sense of the Beastly ramblings, “lots of guys do actually get married for the sake of boobs, I’ll grant you that. And you did it out of … legitimate concern for La Diva’s well-being. Which is very noble of you. But still … MARRIAGE? You hardly know the girl!”
“That’s not true!” Beast objects, “I’ve watched her loads! I’ve watched her in the gym. I’ve watched her in the training ring … in the restaurant … the locker room, getting a taxi, the hotel, out shopping, …”
Bob put his hand on Beast’s arm, instantly realizing what he’s doing. He yanks his hand back and pulls a bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket. Meanwhile he interrogates the Beast, “What do you mean … the locker room.”
In trying to answer, Beast runs into the limits of even his Armenian vocabulary. He exchanges a few words with the interpreter. These are not subtitled. Finally the interpreter turns to Bob and says, “I thinks he’s talking about … crawlspaces or something.”
“What?” Bob’s dear in the headlights look, which, like the headache, is sure to be the result of an exchange with the Beast, gets even deer in the headlightier.
Beast grabs Bob by the arms. In English, he mangles, “Here, Beast show Bob.” Before the intrepid reporter can formulate an objection beyond, “Hey”, Beast drags him off his feet. Free arm flailing for something to hold on to, Bob is manhandled through a few corridors until they reach an air vent. As Bob regains his footing, his composure but not necessarily his dignity, Frank zooms in on the grate. There’s evidence of tampering. Two of the screws aren’t screwed in all the way and one is completely missing.
Before Bob can ask the obvious question, Beast has already undone the remaining screws and removed the grate.
“I’m not going in there,” objects the interpreter.
“I ain’t too crazy about the concept either,” remarks Bob.
Turning to the Beast, Bob queries, “So, you crawl through here and … then what?”
Beast sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Obviously …” he pauses for dramatic effect, the interpreter expertly butchering the timing in his translation, “I check in on the ladies’ locker room!”
Bob stares at the translator. But all he can do is shrug and go, “What can I tell you, that’s what he said.”
Picking up on Bob’s perturbement, Beast adds, “How ELSE would I know La Diva is lonely.”
And with that, Beast has apparently stretched his attention span as far as he can. He marches off muttering phrases the interpreter thinks should be left without translation.
“To sum up,” Bob addresses the camera, “Beast thinks La Diva is lonely and that she has boobs and that’s why he proposed to her. Needless to say, La Diva isn’t in to Beast-iality. This was Robert May and for the record, yes, I do hate my life.”
OOC: the tile is a reference to ...
“Hello Beast,” Bob goes.
Beast briefly glances over and grunts his acknowledgement of Bob’s existence in his vicinity.
“I figured you’d have quite a bit to say about the whole La Diva deal, so I brought NAME along. He’s an interpreter.”
Not grasping … anything really, Beast defaults to his usual horribly mangled facsimile of English, “What NAME interpret? NAME interpret lines on hand or cards with funny pictures?”
“No,” NAME responds in Bob’s stead, “I interpret language.”
The words are spoken in Armenian, we’re informed of their meaning in subtitles.
Beast drops the dumb bell he’s holding, narrowly missing Bob’s toes. He throws his arms wide and shouts,”Brother!”
Much to the interpreter’s chagrin, Beast grabs him in a loving bear hug and kisses him on both cheeks.
Once the poor fellow is released, Bob commences the interview, “Now Beast, …”
But Beast lunges forward and wraps his paw across Bob’s mouth.
“Bob make hush,” Beast instructs. He tiptoes over to his coat, haphazardly strewn across one of the benches. From the great depths of the coat, he retrieves a bottle of wodka. The interpreter reluctantly joins Gurgen in a toast to the eternal persistence of the Armenian people.
A few big gulps disappear down The Armenian Beast’s throat. Now, Beast is ready for Bob’s questions.
Simultaneously offended and elated at not being offered any wodka, Bob sets forth, “Now, Beast … La Diva … What WERE you thinking?”
“I just thought that she was a bit lonely.”
Bob scratches his chin. And tries to make sense of the response. “You thought she was lonely, so you offered to marry her?”
“Yes. I think she’s a pretty girl and I prefer that people are not lonely. I’ve been lonely a lot. It doesn’t bother me, really. But I know other people don’t like it much. So, I thought, maybe we can be lonely together.”
“Beast, I don’t think you quite understand,” Bob says, adding ‘now there’s a surprise’ under his breath, “THAT’S NOT A REASON TO MARRY SOMEONE!”
Beast’s a bit taken aback. His eyes grow wide and he defends himself with, “I did say she was pretty!”
“Still not a reason to marry!”
“I mean, she’s got, like …” He cups his hands in front of his chest. “Boobs!”
“Ok,” Bob reconciles, rubbing his temples where the inevitable headache is beginning to manifest that invariably follows when you try and make sense of the Beastly ramblings, “lots of guys do actually get married for the sake of boobs, I’ll grant you that. And you did it out of … legitimate concern for La Diva’s well-being. Which is very noble of you. But still … MARRIAGE? You hardly know the girl!”
“That’s not true!” Beast objects, “I’ve watched her loads! I’ve watched her in the gym. I’ve watched her in the training ring … in the restaurant … the locker room, getting a taxi, the hotel, out shopping, …”
Bob put his hand on Beast’s arm, instantly realizing what he’s doing. He yanks his hand back and pulls a bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket. Meanwhile he interrogates the Beast, “What do you mean … the locker room.”
In trying to answer, Beast runs into the limits of even his Armenian vocabulary. He exchanges a few words with the interpreter. These are not subtitled. Finally the interpreter turns to Bob and says, “I thinks he’s talking about … crawlspaces or something.”
“What?” Bob’s dear in the headlights look, which, like the headache, is sure to be the result of an exchange with the Beast, gets even deer in the headlightier.
Beast grabs Bob by the arms. In English, he mangles, “Here, Beast show Bob.” Before the intrepid reporter can formulate an objection beyond, “Hey”, Beast drags him off his feet. Free arm flailing for something to hold on to, Bob is manhandled through a few corridors until they reach an air vent. As Bob regains his footing, his composure but not necessarily his dignity, Frank zooms in on the grate. There’s evidence of tampering. Two of the screws aren’t screwed in all the way and one is completely missing.
Before Bob can ask the obvious question, Beast has already undone the remaining screws and removed the grate.
“I’m not going in there,” objects the interpreter.
“I ain’t too crazy about the concept either,” remarks Bob.
Turning to the Beast, Bob queries, “So, you crawl through here and … then what?”
Beast sighs and rolls his eyes.
“Obviously …” he pauses for dramatic effect, the interpreter expertly butchering the timing in his translation, “I check in on the ladies’ locker room!”
Bob stares at the translator. But all he can do is shrug and go, “What can I tell you, that’s what he said.”
Picking up on Bob’s perturbement, Beast adds, “How ELSE would I know La Diva is lonely.”
And with that, Beast has apparently stretched his attention span as far as he can. He marches off muttering phrases the interpreter thinks should be left without translation.
“To sum up,” Bob addresses the camera, “Beast thinks La Diva is lonely and that she has boobs and that’s why he proposed to her. Needless to say, La Diva isn’t in to Beast-iality. This was Robert May and for the record, yes, I do hate my life.”
OOC: the tile is a reference to ...