05-21-2008, 06:46 AM
No sooner had they stepped off the teleporter, than a chorus of flashbulbs illuminated in Bardock’s face. He was barraged by a flock of media reporters and their assault of questions.
“Bardock! So you’ve come to defend your title?”
“Hey Bardock! Do you think you’ll have a shot at winning again this year?”
“Do you think some of the returning players will be out for revenge?”
“How do you plan to play this year, Bardock?”
“Is there any chance of a grudge match between you and Raditzu?”
“What do you think of the opinion that your win last year was a fluke?”
“Who is this young lady with you?”
“Bardock!” “Bardock!” “Hey Bardock!”
Grunting, he waved the cameras and microphones out of his face, grabbing Violet firmly by the arm and attempted to lead them both out of the swarming throng. As soon as he’d escaped the interview-hungry reporters, he was forced to tackle a group of fans screaming and begging for his autograph. Some of them were wearing t-shirts with his likeness on the front, and others bore fan memorabilia with his quote “Come get some!” printed all over. Completely off-put by this sudden frenzy of attention, he wrote scribbles on the scraps of paper shoved in his face, and barely stopped for personal photographs. The saiya-jin’s ears were ringing with the squeals and screams of young girls and the hoots and hollers from the guys saying how much he rocked and how he was their hero or some such things. Finally, he and Violet broke free of the crowd as he pulled her into the museum.
Getting over a small bout of claustrophobia and breathing heavily, Bardock asked, “You okay?”
“That was crazy!” Violet responded, eyes wide.
“Señor Bardock! So glad ju could join us!” a voice rang out behind them.
Quick as he could turn around, a team of professional make-up artists had surrounded him, along with a strange, vibrant man in tiger-print pants and a way-too-tight white t-shirt.
“Señor Bardock, I am Enrrrrrrique,” the man greeted, rolling his ‘r’ with enthusiasm. “And I will be jore photographer for the photo shoot!”
“Photo shoot?” the fighter repeated dumbly as he was whisked away.
“Contractual obligation, I’m afraid. Promotional shoots, you understand,” Enrique said with a flip of his wrist. “In order to participate this year, we mus’ do the shoot.”
Violet happily followed, sure that this would be very entertaining.
“Come, come, we mus’ get ju ready!” the photograph ordered, clapping his hands. “Enrique will make ju look magnífico!”
It turned out that they had been waiting for him, and set up a small little mini-shoot in a quiet corner of the museum so as to take advantage of the monuments and artifacts, and so they would not be disturbed. Who, after all, goes to a museum when you were here to be in a show? Violet took a seat in a discarded director’s chair while Bardock was propped up in front of a white backdrop. Once the saiya-jin had been instructed on how to look and how to stand, Enrique stepped back behind a camera and behind shooting his little heart out. The brawler moved stiffly and uncomfortably, with an irritated look on his face. This just wasn’t his scene. And it didn’t help that Enrique kept shouting directions and called him a “sexy beast” one too many times. After a couple of awkward rolls of film, Violet jumped in and starting calling out encouragements, having too much fun for Bardock’s taste. The roughneck was given props as well, including the ki pistol and ki shotgun he’d used in the previous tournament, and all the other weapons he’d so painstakingly collected.
“Jore an animal! Jore a sexy beast! Show me that saiya-jin rage!” Enrique bubbled. When the last picture was taken for round, the photographer handed off the camera and called out to his assistants. “H’okay! Bring out the hot oil for the calendar pictures!”
Hot oil?
The make-up artists quickly “helped” Bardock remove his shirt and armor, and rubbed him down with body oil. A fan was brought in and turned on, making his spiky black hair billow about. Enrique reloaded his camera and began snapping away.
“Flex! Flex!” someone chanted through cupped hands, and Bar had a sneaking suspicion who it was.
Reluctantly, he did so, realizing that the better he cooperated the quicker the different scenes and poses went. The props were rotated through, and at the very end, two gorgeous female models were added into the shot, which brightened his mood a little bit. Once all was said and done, Bardock rinsed himself off and put all of his gear back on. Enrique handed off his last set of negatives, muttering something about “photoshop” before turning to Bardock.
“Señor Bardock! It has been a maravilloso experience working with ju. Fear not, for Enrique will make you muy bonito!” Enrique flourished. He clapped his hands, and his crew packed up and hauled off, leaving a stunned Bardock in his wake.
“Bardock! So you’ve come to defend your title?”
“Hey Bardock! Do you think you’ll have a shot at winning again this year?”
“Do you think some of the returning players will be out for revenge?”
“How do you plan to play this year, Bardock?”
“Is there any chance of a grudge match between you and Raditzu?”
“What do you think of the opinion that your win last year was a fluke?”
“Who is this young lady with you?”
“Bardock!” “Bardock!” “Hey Bardock!”
Grunting, he waved the cameras and microphones out of his face, grabbing Violet firmly by the arm and attempted to lead them both out of the swarming throng. As soon as he’d escaped the interview-hungry reporters, he was forced to tackle a group of fans screaming and begging for his autograph. Some of them were wearing t-shirts with his likeness on the front, and others bore fan memorabilia with his quote “Come get some!” printed all over. Completely off-put by this sudden frenzy of attention, he wrote scribbles on the scraps of paper shoved in his face, and barely stopped for personal photographs. The saiya-jin’s ears were ringing with the squeals and screams of young girls and the hoots and hollers from the guys saying how much he rocked and how he was their hero or some such things. Finally, he and Violet broke free of the crowd as he pulled her into the museum.
Getting over a small bout of claustrophobia and breathing heavily, Bardock asked, “You okay?”
“That was crazy!” Violet responded, eyes wide.
“Señor Bardock! So glad ju could join us!” a voice rang out behind them.
Quick as he could turn around, a team of professional make-up artists had surrounded him, along with a strange, vibrant man in tiger-print pants and a way-too-tight white t-shirt.
“Señor Bardock, I am Enrrrrrrique,” the man greeted, rolling his ‘r’ with enthusiasm. “And I will be jore photographer for the photo shoot!”
“Photo shoot?” the fighter repeated dumbly as he was whisked away.
“Contractual obligation, I’m afraid. Promotional shoots, you understand,” Enrique said with a flip of his wrist. “In order to participate this year, we mus’ do the shoot.”
Violet happily followed, sure that this would be very entertaining.
“Come, come, we mus’ get ju ready!” the photograph ordered, clapping his hands. “Enrique will make ju look magnífico!”
It turned out that they had been waiting for him, and set up a small little mini-shoot in a quiet corner of the museum so as to take advantage of the monuments and artifacts, and so they would not be disturbed. Who, after all, goes to a museum when you were here to be in a show? Violet took a seat in a discarded director’s chair while Bardock was propped up in front of a white backdrop. Once the saiya-jin had been instructed on how to look and how to stand, Enrique stepped back behind a camera and behind shooting his little heart out. The brawler moved stiffly and uncomfortably, with an irritated look on his face. This just wasn’t his scene. And it didn’t help that Enrique kept shouting directions and called him a “sexy beast” one too many times. After a couple of awkward rolls of film, Violet jumped in and starting calling out encouragements, having too much fun for Bardock’s taste. The roughneck was given props as well, including the ki pistol and ki shotgun he’d used in the previous tournament, and all the other weapons he’d so painstakingly collected.
“Jore an animal! Jore a sexy beast! Show me that saiya-jin rage!” Enrique bubbled. When the last picture was taken for round, the photographer handed off the camera and called out to his assistants. “H’okay! Bring out the hot oil for the calendar pictures!”
Hot oil?
The make-up artists quickly “helped” Bardock remove his shirt and armor, and rubbed him down with body oil. A fan was brought in and turned on, making his spiky black hair billow about. Enrique reloaded his camera and began snapping away.
“Flex! Flex!” someone chanted through cupped hands, and Bar had a sneaking suspicion who it was.
Reluctantly, he did so, realizing that the better he cooperated the quicker the different scenes and poses went. The props were rotated through, and at the very end, two gorgeous female models were added into the shot, which brightened his mood a little bit. Once all was said and done, Bardock rinsed himself off and put all of his gear back on. Enrique handed off his last set of negatives, muttering something about “photoshop” before turning to Bardock.
“Señor Bardock! It has been a maravilloso experience working with ju. Fear not, for Enrique will make you muy bonito!” Enrique flourished. He clapped his hands, and his crew packed up and hauled off, leaving a stunned Bardock in his wake.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
_=Pass you by, it's all in this life you have
Pass you by, good-bye to you=_
Pass you by, good-bye to you=_