Michael Blackson Stand-up Comedy の小説・ストーリー

“What the hell do you want? I was in the middle of something.” It was a late night for Michael as he’d left the office early, due to them being let off because of the festivities. Of course, he wasn’t invited to the soiree, but he didn’t give a damn; it’s not like he wanted to be there, surrounded by aristocratic snobs who mercilessly rubbed their wealth in other people’s faces. That, and the fact that his new asshole of a boss would be the main attraction. I cannot stand that goddamn bastard!

“Please, what? What? Please make this shit better? That’s what I’m trying to do. Don’t any of you want to get out of here? We got legs so we should use them. We take something hard and we bash out that fucking window and take our chances.” Michael leaped forward—he couldn’t hold himself back. “Just stop it for God’s sake! Just stop, all of you!” Face flushed red. “He speaks!” Jack laughed. “Well fuck me Freddy, I better drop everything and—” He lost the momentum of his words. “Oh, just fuck off, kid.” Michael realized it felt good to speak, to have his opinion heard. A minor victory. His elation faded when Jack turned his back to him. Michael stood alone in the aisle, an exposed figure on a

Was he not happy with the peperformance? “That was fine”, Mr Black spoke up, he pulled his two hands forward, resting them on the table, She took a deep breath. “But I wasn’t impressed”. His hands which covered in with black gloves fell on the table with a bang, startling Grace who shifted on her feet, The rest of the panel made no effort to speak , they speculated, not uttering a word.

“You passed.” Trixie drops her head into her hands. “I’m going to scream.” “Again?” Michael offers. “Because I gotta say, I really enjoyed the last few times.” “Shut up,” Sonia growls. Theo finally lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. “So… moral of the story… black magic sucks, flowers are snobs, and I need a drink.” “I second that,” Elias mutters. I lean back in my chair, folding one leg over the other again. “Congratulations. You’re worthy.”

With a low groan, he slumped back into his seat. Micheal was handsome with features similar to Easton but in a more manly manner. He was five years older, after all. He also had green eyes and stood at six feet two. He oozed a powerful aura as he turned to face the crowd. His lips curled into a smile, but the smile was nothing friendly. He actually made people even more uncomfortable. “My name is Michael Black," he began, his voice steady and commanding. "And I’m here to set the record straight. Scarlet is no fraud. Everything you’ve heard tonight or any other time is nothing but baseless lies designed to tear her down."

“Eat your soup, Zander. It’s a classic vichyssoise. Chilled, like the state of your current portfolio.” The voice was like the scraping of a dry leaf against a gravestone. Michael Blackwood sat at the head of the long, obsidian-colored dining table, the candlelight glinting off his silver hair and the sharp, predatory curve of his smile. He looked invigorated, a man who found his youth in the wreckage of his children’s lives.

Black and getting to the bottom of what had happened to Sophia. Finally, he reached the large office at the end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. Inside, Mr. Black was standing near his desk, his back to the door, staring at the array of security screens that lined the walls. Mike cleared his throat, his presence filling the room before he even stepped inside. “Mike,” Mr. Black said, his voice low, acknowledging him without turning around. Mike stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. “You can take off that mask of yours, Xender,” he said, his tone dripping with irritation. “I still don’t understand why you bother wearing it.”

Was he the one who he had told me about? "Dylan, not now." Mr Blackwood replied and it made sense. He had brought his friends around, who were the best people to announce such good news to except people he considered his very good friends. "A lot of you might have been wondering why you are here but I think it is spelled out clearly now." He said, "some of you can't relate because you have killed your wives and now are looking for someone who will help you out." He joked. The room erupted in laughter and I couldn't help but smile at his opening statement. He had been doing this business way longer before I was born so it was only natural that he would be better at it than I would.

“God help me, I can’t.” I stood up and opened my door. “Come out here. Please. I need to see you when we talk.” He hesitated for almost a full minute. Then I heard his door open. Michael stepped out. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, collar still on but slightly crooked. His eyes looked exhausted and hungry at the same time. We stood in the small space between the booths, close enough that I could smell his soap and something warmer underneath. “You look tired,” I said softly.