Isaiah King Corporation Said:The following is a work of art, a visceral experience, an unparalleled masterpiece produced by Isaiah King Corporation. It will be best enjoyed along with its musical accompaniment and your full attention, any less and you should be ashamed of yourself. Try to keep your hand out of your pants, if you can - you have been warned.
New York City, New York. Somewhere suburban. Sometime after sunset.
As your screen flickers from black to light, you find yourself in the streets of Manhattan, lit by amber street lamps and the burning flames of cigarettes. Hi, my name is Izzy, and I’ll be your narrator for the foreseeable future. You can almost smell the stench of piss and capitalistic greed through your screen, you can’t help but scrunch your nose up in disgust. It’s understandable. You can hear the incessant horns of impatient drivers, men, and women who can’t for the life of them have a peaceful ride home or give one to others. Your speakers catch the sound of a feuding couple, probably homeless and high from the slurring of their speech and their obvious lack of self-awareness.
The orange tinge finds itself meeting the glare of a tungsten bulb as the camera pans from the skyline to eye-level. Past the chain-links of a metal fence, you find yourself standing outside a basketball court - almost immediately you hear the bounce of a ball and the yelling of some grown ass… Ethnic, men.
-
Yo PAULIE, the hell you doing man?
Get on his ass!
Pass the damn ball before I put this-
THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT! BRING IT HERE!
A ball comes flying at your face, thank God for metal fences. The clatter rubber against metal shakes you out of your voyeurism. This isn’t some zoo, sir. As you open your eyes and look back at your screen, your welcomed to the chiselled face of a not-so-familiar man. The camera zooms out, trying to fit his beautiful face into the frame, it would really be a shame to miss any of it. He’s really a specimen of mankind. Gorgeous, if you might say so yourself. His eyes are dark and far-gazing, his jaw clenched with the shadows of a smile playing on his lips. His hair is cut neat, efficient, and his body… Oh boy, his body looks like it took every greek sculptors hands to craft. You salivating yet?
About time.
His voice rings clear, its practiced and it’s polished. You can hear every consonant, and you find it difficult to play his accent… Yeah he’s private schooled. His hand comes up to wipe the thick layer of sweat on his forehead, flicking it to the concrete floor. His eyes look straight into the camera, straight into your sad little soul.
About time I got a contract.
The man smacks his large, wonderful hands onto the chain-link fence, sending musical vibrations coursing through it and into your ears. His fingers curl into the gaps, gripping at the cold metal.
About time they realised the XWF needed a new King.
A chuckle like the sound of singing birds.
But what is a King without a kingdom?
He flexes his fingers, oh don’t you wish you could feel them on you?
Don’t you worry, I’m not going to stroll through those doors, walk down that ramp and claim that ring as my throne. No, no, I am no King.
I am an heir.
An heir to a kingdom, an heir to a throne, an heir to what belongs to another.
The people don’t know it yet, and the courts are unaware.
I am an heir.
-
I’ll make my mark, win their hearts, every noble will know it is just.
I am an heir.
The King himself still lives in delusion. Illusions of grandeur and longevity as every ruler must struggle with. I will come through the gates, right infront of him, no schemes and no mischief. When I finally stand before him, he’ll know it’s only right to hand me throne.
I am an heir.
Not an heir by heritage or family. I am an heir by conquest and blood. The people might cry my name, the courts begging me to rule, even the king might drops to his knees before me. Still I will take the crown off him by force - crush him and claim his throne.
I am an heir. That is a promise.
King releases his grip on the fence, his hands are pale from how hard he was holding on. His words came out smooth but his jaw is tight with determination. His words screamed confidence but his eyes twinkle with an unhinged excitement. His body glistens with sweat and his muscles ache with anticipation. He begins to turn away from the fence and the camera, and tilts his head.
You may think kings and princes are old and overdone. You may think I’m just some copy with an Imperial fetish. Be warned, you’ve never seen something like me before. I am Isaiah King and you are my inheritance.
The camera cuts to black. Toodles, poodles. See you soon.
OOC: Having some trouble with formatting (paragraphs) for some reason. Please forgive me :)
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