The Papa and The Pizza Man: Finale.
Jun 2, 2020 15:39:58 GMT -5
James Nightingale, Ned the Intern, and 1 more like this
Post by The Papa John's Pizza Man on Jun 2, 2020 15:39:58 GMT -5
(25th of May 2020)
The sound of the motorcycle is defeaning, suffocating, like the urgency of the situation has formed a semi-physical body and is now strangling the Papa John's Pizza Man out of sheer panic.
And The Papa John's Pizza Man is panicked, anyone could tell you that.
He steers through red lights, yellow lights, through wooden fences carelessly. His eyes do not blink. They do not close for a second, not when the wind blows hard as PJPM drives up a Wyoming hill, nor when his own Pizza blood slowly, seductively descends down his crimson mask, decorated by shards of glass.
In other words, he's focused.
Blind to all things not related to this.
Many would say that is foolish, risky, reckless. But PJPM does everything with his entire body.
His heart.
His soul.
And his soul has planted those seeds of comeuppance deep into PJPM's mind for months now.
Spring has passed. This plant has treachery has bloomed and Pizza Man must see it. With his own eyes, he has to see it.
He spots a familiar looking Pizza Truck overlooking the suburbs. A pizza druid, no, two pizza druids are staring at PJPM as he glides down the bumpy hill.
He allows his body to tumble of the vehicle and to the uncaring dirt, and as the druids sprint over to check on him he retakes control and grabs one by it's neck.
"Is it done?!" PJPM screams, like a feral hogs squeal rather than a man's words.
"I- is what done? Listen, The Papa really didn't like our unplanned visit, he wants to spea-"
"THE BAG!! YOU ETERNAL FOOL?! WHERE IS THE BAG?!"
Charlie stumbles back a little, caught by the other druids, both angered at the PJPM's familiar ferality.
Charlie gulps, as nervous as he looked after PJPM informed him of the contents of the bag. Informed him of what PJPM was going to do to his precious The Papa.
"We left it. Like you said. You're bleeding, man. Thould you really b-"
The three men freeze. Motionless, soundless. Time almost feels like it's paused itself, as the night sky lights up in one sound.
Sirens.
And they're getting louder.
The bloodied PJPM struggles to his feet. The druids carry him closer to the house, to the backgarden.
His eyes are open in wonder, like an amazed child as his face is shined upon with the blue and red beams of a police vehicle.
"What wath in the bag?!" The Bearded Druid shouts, now grabbing PJPM by his muddied collar.
Charlie mutters, eyes open for a different reason. His lips tremble as he just about makes out a figure being taken away by FBI operatives. A familiar figure.
One of authority. One who's toothless, controlling grin is absent at the moment.
Suprisngly, it's not the sight of their leader in the back of a stained window SUV that alerts them to the gravity of the situation.
It's the frightening real laugh they hear once the car door fully shuts.
The Druids look at that bruised, beaten face of PJPM who for the first time in months seems to be letting out an actual laugh.
It's natural. Small, almost impossible to hear underneath the noise of the house being raided.
It's hoarse, scratchy, but somehow innocent pure, even.
For once PJPM seems happy. Not victorious or unimaginably zealous, screaming about Pizza and it's superiority.
And then it's not.
It's gets louder, and louder. More viscious, no longer a calm summer tune but a triumphant, all conquering rhapsody of conquest and victory.
And then it stops again.
PJPM stands on his own, in clear view of the vehicle that his former boss is in. His indoctrinator. His vanquished foe.
"Who's your daddy, The Papa?
Heh..
Who's your daddy?"
And after that, naught but PJPM's constant, scarring laughter plagues the rest of the night.
(OOC: I'm dumb and I thought the show card said 1700 word RP but it actually said one 700 word RP. My bad, apologies. So this is the stuff I cut. Real important PizzaLore here, gonna start a Pizza Cinematic Universe soon. That was a joke.
Have a good day, you cool, polite, hard-working Action Wrestlers)