User:Tyrannosaurus Lex/characterintros/Marv

It's an ordinary night at the POSEIDON nightclub in San Cristóbal, Listless. With the guest list at its fullest, and its patrons highly satisfied, everything seems alright around this part of town.

...NAH.

Transcript

{Open to the Sierra Strip, the hottest stretch of the Sierra Boulevard around. It is 10PM on a Saturday night, and the streets are littered with neon lights and flashy cars. The atmosphere is like none other, with hundreds of people walking the streets, taking in the brilliant sights that are around them, exploring the vast selection of luxury buildings, embracing the premier collection of boutiques, restaurants, rock clubs, and nightclubs that are on the cutting edge of the entertainment industry. Business is booming in the POSEIDON nightclub, with a long list of patrons waiting to be allowed into the busy club.}

{Pan over to the doorman, who is arguing with one of the patrons who he's refused into the club.}

DOORMAN: Last time, man. Get out, before I throw you out. Your name is certainly not on the VIP list, and I do not believe for one second that you know Marv personally.

ANDRE: Yeah, and what would you know, holmes? Huh? Who the hell are you, anyway?

DOORMAN: I'm the guy who's gonna kick your sorry ass if you don't leave, right now.

ANDRE: Hey, dude. Let's not get antagonistic here. How about we ask him ourselves, huh?

DOORMAN: It'll be pretty hard doing so, considering the fact that he's not even here yet.

MARV: What was that, Paul?

{The doorman turns around, to see Marv, standing right at the doorway, hands on his hips.}

DOORMAN: ...Oh.

{Andre moves towards Marv, but the doorman pushes him away.}

ANDRE: Eyyyy, Marvin! My man! Why don't you tell this maricon who I am, eh?

MARV: I... don't particularly believe that I know you.

ANDRE: Don't be silly, Marv! You know, you and I? We used to... um... roll together, in... um...

MARV: Roll together? Oh please, I haven't rolled with anyone for years.

ANDRE: What? No, man! No, come on, you-...

DOORMAN: You heard him. Now get the hell out of here.

{The doorman proceeds to pick Andre up so that he can throw him out, but Marv beckons him to stop.}

MARV: Just let him in, Paul. I mean, you've already let in half the line already.

{Pan over to reveal that during the argument, people have been sneaking in from behind him.}

ANDRE: Haaaah, gracias, Marv! You are a real bro!

{Andre goes over to fistbump Marv, who simply puts his arm around Andre instead and guides him into the club. Coming back out, he confronts the doorman.}

DOORMAN: So.. um.. how did you get here, all of the sudden?

MARV: Oh, I snuck inside with the rest of the lot.

DOORMAN: Oh...

MARV: Yeah, you gotta step up your game, man.

{Marv looks at the rest of the waiting line.}

MARV: Just get in.

{The entire line cheer as they all rush into the club, filling it even further with patrons. Marv looks inside, and then motions to the doorman.}

MARV: Do me a favor, Paul, and don't let anyone else in. This place is at its full capacity.

DOORMAN: Can do, boss.

MARV: Can you though? Can you reaaaaaaally?

DOORMAN: ...Maybe?

MARV: Just try, alright. Please. For me.

{Marv goes inside of the nightclub and makes his way over to the cocktail bar, sitting between two buxom women. The two look at him and smile, cuddling closer towards him.}

MARV: Oh, ladies...

{Marv snaps his fingers to attract the bartender, who walks over.}

BARTENDER: Marv! Right on time, like always! What do you want?

MARV: Three Pina Coladas. One for me, and the other two for these vixens.

{The two ladies giggle as he cavorts with them. Cut to the interior of a car viewed through the front windscreen. Four guys in white suits are sitting in the car, driving through the streets of San Cristóbal. A thing to note would be the appearances of the four individuals. The one driving happens to be a man in his late 40s. He is thin as a rake and has a distinctive mole under his eye. We shall refer to him as "Mole". The man next to him, riding shotgun, is a man in his late 20s - early 30s. His hair slicked back and he is wearing a pair of designer sunglasses. We shall refer to him as "Shades". The other two men in the back are named "Fatso", and "Scarr". No guesses to what their appearances are.}

SHADES: You think the guy's gonna pay up this time?

MOLE: I doubt it. He hasn't done so for six months, I doubt he's going to do so now. To be quite honest with ya, I'm surprised that The Boss is lettin' him off so easily.

SHADES: He's a public figure, that's why. It's hard to do anything drastic to the "King of Nightclubs", because the whole media'll be on it.

SCARR: King of Nightclubs. What kind of prick calls himself that, anyway?

MOLE: It's the fuckin' media, man. They have all sorts of dumb names for people.

FATSO: I'm not surprised that he refuses to pay. The guy's a Jew. When have they ever paid up, huh?

SHADES: Oy, easy up with the racism, y'hear? I'm part Jewish on my mother's side!

FATSO: Like you're a fuckin' exception. You cheat at all the card games.

SHADES: Like hell I do.

MOLE: Guys, guys, quiet it down. Let's be civil about this, alright? It's the Boss's call whether we wanna do anything drastic or not. I don't think he'll let him off this time, anyway.

SCARR: Surprised he's having so much trouble paying, considering who his uncle is. You'd think he'd mooch some cash off of him, huh?

FATSO: Probably is. Doesn't mean he's paying us though. Can't trust a fuckin' Rosenberg with nothin'.