Martha’s Vineyard, Summertime.
The time when the ultra wealthy swarm in for their summer getaways to the famed locale, hob nob with the elite and ancestral residents who’ve been there since its founding, and any other travelers who just want to see the sights.
It is also now the temporary North American home for a member of the British aristocracy.
No, not Meghan and Harry, they’re small fry.
This is the temporary home for Sir Boliver Turnbuckle.
And currently racing his “Dangermobile”, a 1978 Black and Gold Pontiac Trans-Am straight out of Smokey and the Bandit… or Joe Biden’s wet dreams… Mark “Danger” Zohn cruises down the road toward Turnbuckle Manor.
The wind whipping his (admittedly short) golden hair, aviator shades covering his piercing eyes, and a toothpick between his lips, his arm hangs along the side of the car.
Next to him?
The stunningly gorgeous “All-American Girl”, Stacy Brooks.
Who looks rather bored as Danger continues the soliloquy that’s been going on since they unloaded the Dangermobile from the military cargo plane at Hanscom Air Force Base.
“Danger”: The Admiral really is asking a lot of me this time, Stacy. He’s lucky I’m such a strong, resilient, ambitious, and most of all? Patriotic American. Because yet again, it’s an American that has to take some backwater Limey by the hand, and guide him to victory!
Danger pauses to run finger along a golden wheat strand and smooths it out.
“Danger”: But that’s what American heroes do.
Stacy gives a raised eyebrow.
“The All-American Girl”: You do realize that Lord Turnbuckle is 47th in line to the monarchy, yes?
Danger turns his face toward Stacy, pulling his shades down, looking at her instead of the road while the car races forward (like a Paul Walker badass) as he answers.
“Danger”: Forty-Seven isn’t Number One.
Stacy eyerolls and mutters about “bloody idiot” but Danger doesn’t hear it and just smiles, believing she’s agreeing with him. Sliding the shades back to place, he gets closer to the manor, looking at it and just shaking his head at the architecture and aesthetics.
“Danger”: I know this is still Americana, but really any place called “New England” should be brought up on charges of treason.
Pulling up to the gate, he sees a push button and of course, jams it repeatedly, annoyed that the gates weren’t already open to welcome a True American Icon.
Martha’s Vineyard is home to countless elaborate estates, many of them even so posh as to be considered ‘sprawling’ or ‘ostentatious’. One stands out among the others for more than simply its spacious green lawn, lavish palatial wings, myriad luxuries unseen from outside its walls, and of course the less-than-modestly oversized British flag flying above it. For at last the aristocracy of the Mother Country has come home to the newest of Englands. Within the home is Sir Boliver Turnbuckle, 60th Earl of Buckingham and Lord of the Ring.
Everything in his study has been selected to the exacting standards of a man of his station. Bookshelves of the heartiest British oak and filled with rare, expensive and classy tomes. A chandelier of the finest cut crystal in the world, illuminating the room with its cutting edge yet somehow timeless looking lights. Fine portraits of some of the great names of British history: Shakespeare, Queen Victoria, Churchill, Nelson and of course Boliver himself. To his left sits a glass case framed by gold plated furnishings, in which rest several British treasures. In the center of it all, in his finest tailored suit, sits the man himself, sipping his breakfast tea as he ponders the day ahead.
This is the place he comes to escape the soul-draining reality of living in America. New England may be the closest thing to home he’s liable to find here and even that is maddening at times. The Yanks here are just as loud and uncouth as their brethren across the continent. All of them foolishly believing that something about being in their nation makes it superior by that American-ness alone. Such a travesty. In time - yes, all in due time - he will prove them wrong and make them beg for the crown to take them back. At least it’s not as godawful here as it is in the land of swamps and misery where he has elected to plant the flag of Great Britain. All of those other promotions which declined his services shall rue the day they failed to sign him. Soon all of Tennessee will be bending the knee and singing God Save the King. This happy thought is shattered by a nasal voice with all the qualities of a rusty nail being dragged across a chalkboard.
“Matilda”: ‘Scuse the interrupshun m’lord, but Mister Dane-jehr is here.
Boliver glares at the maid who despite being ever helpful in a fight still manages to aggravate him.
Turnbuckle: We are in private, Matilda. There is no need to grate on my nerves with that pathetic excuse for an accent. A proper English maid requires a more comprehensible dialect! When we are in private, you may just be your lesser Commonwealth self.
Another voice pierces the din, much more measured and pleasant than the first.
"George": Lord Turnbuckle, Mr. Zohn has arrived at the gates and requests permission to enter the grounds.
Boliver smirks and jabs a finger in Matilda’s direction.
Turnbuckle: There, you see?! Just like that. My ears are not bleeding from the announcement. It is not difficult!
Matilda sighs, clearly not agreeing with the assessment of her accent.
Matilda: Sorry, eh?
The butler dramatically swoops in, placing a firm hand on Matilda’s shoulder.
"George": Worry not, my lord, I shall take Matilda’s training on as a personal responsibility. Shall I open the gate for your guest?
Matilda and the butler gaze at each other starry eyed. Boliver only now realizes what his servants have been trying to tell him and groans.
Turnbuckle: Oh God, he’s here. FINE. Allow him to enter the grounds.
As the servants scurry off to prepare the estate’s west wing for Danger’s arrival, Boliver stands and gazes at his reflection in the polished metal of a suit of armor worn at Agincourt. Perfect. As annoying as this is about to get, he cannot accomplish victory without a useful American idiot to do his bidding. Just as history would have it. He nods and turns on his heels while a phrase repeats in his mind. ‘Manners maketh man’.
“Danger”: This is an utter embarrassment! Typical of the Limeys! No appreciation for their saviors!
Danger grouses while dressed in a white “karate master” outfit (with his hero medals weirdly pinned to it) in a dojo. Pressing two fingers against the tatami mat while keeping his other arm folded behind his back as he does push-ups.
Or at least that’s what Danger believes in his mind as in reality? He’s in the middle of a living room and while he is braced in a one-arm push-up position?
It’s his palm.
And he’s only doing at best a quarter-inch flex up and down.
Though of course, his shades are still immaculately settled on his face.
“Danger”: Shoved into the ‘guest house’? Ridiculous! He should be on his knees, hands clasped, thanking me for allowing him to bask in American glory! In fact? HE SHOULD BE IN HERE! A real host would gladly give up his home for a hero!
“The All-American Girl”: Actually this is the servant house.
Danger is oblivious as ever to her comment as he keeps his “hard push-ups” going until a ring on his iPhone in front of the large screen TV catches his attention.
Rushing over, Danger answers the FaceTime call and projects it onto the screen.
Immediately the wide smiling, grinning face of a man in Admiral’s uniform… who oddly looks like Rip Torn in Down Periscope?
Well anyway, the elder man smiles and salutes.
The Admiral: DANGER! So glad I found you! How’s the mission going, son? Has the Limey bastard given praise to God that I was able to send our finest hero?
“Danger”: Unfortunately, he seems to have nothing but soggy crumpets or whatever those backwards people eat as brains. But that’s okay Admiral…
Wiping a sweat soaked lock from his brow, Danger strikes a pose and gives a thumbs up.
“Danger”: Where there’s a will? Danger finds a way.
The Admiral: Good Lord, you’re an inspiration! I wish I still had you here at Andrews, but the mucky mucks at the Pentagon swear to me this Top Secret mission is of the utmost importance. Which…
The Admiral looks around his office, then waves at the screen for Danger to “come closer”.
The Admiral: What is the mission? The real one. Come on! You can tell your ol’ pal The Admiral for ol’ times sake.
Grabbing a water bottle, Danger dramatically chugs the liquid down before pulling it from his lips with a dramatic gasp. With a raised eyebrow, he stares at the screen full of seriousness.
“Danger”: I’m sorry, Admiral. That’s on a need to know basis and you…
Danger gives a dramatic pause and adjusts his shades (that didn’t need adjusting) before continuing.
“Danger”: …aren’t authorized.
The Admiral looks shocked, then properly admonished.
The Admiral: That’s why we need more heroes like you, Danger! You always put country before companions!
Danger folds his arms behind his back and takes a formal stance of respect.
“Danger”: Yes sir. But what I can tell you? Is that you should tune in on July 1st, just three days before America’s birthday, to watch its greatest and most humble hero defend its honor and values at the Nashville Fairgounds!
The Admiral: Nashville Fairgrounds? On the 1st? But that’s…
The Admiral dramatically slams both palms on his desk as he raises to his feet in excitement.
The Admiral: CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING FROM NASHVILLE?! SOUTHERN WRESTLING FEDERATION?!
“Danger”: *proudly smiles* I figured you’d heard of it.
The Admiral: Heard of it? Son, my Daddy and I were front row at the very first show in 1985. Joker J. Jones…
The Admiral looks nostalgic.
The Admiral: That’s a name I haven’t thought of in years. Is Nelson Hammer still the champ?
“Danger”: The owner I’m told.
The Admiral: The owner!? Well hot damn! I knew he’d go beyond being the biggest star! Did you know I tried to recruit him to the Top Gun Academy but he turned me down?
The Admiral looks sorrowful while in admiration as he recalls the memory.
The Admiral: He said he was sorry, but wrestling was in his blood.
“Danger”: I’ll give him your regards sir. But nonetheless? He at least recognizes the hero gracing him with their heroic presence! I’m in the main event competing for the Tag Team titles!
Danger then gives a half-hearted shrug as he recalls another tidbit of the match.
“Danger”: Oh… and I suppose the Limey will be there too due to the rules of tag team wrestling requiring that two men are on a team.
The Admiral nods as he looks off screen, checking what must be a computer.
The Admiral: I see, I see. Titan Dragons and Malone & Bruiser. I gotta say, Danger, these boys? Especially them Dragons? They don’t look like daisies. That’s a large side of beefy manly man meat on them racks! Be careful! But if I know of anyone that will be ready for them? It’s you.
“Danger”: Admiral?
Danger strikes another pose while tilting his shades down and revealing his baby blue eyes.
“Danger”: I was born ready.
Several minutes later Sir Boliver stands in the lavish dining hall, tapping his foot expectantly. This is to be an important meeting, perhaps the most important since he deigned to set foot in the Colonies. He must ensure the success of his master plan, and to do that he needs a partnership with a truly American American. If he’s to win his way into bigger and better opportunities and to achieve domain in this backwater, he must show he can work with the locals. A simple Yank shouldn’t be able to resist his noble charm but just in case, he’s prepared himself. For now he awaits the man’s arrival while Matilda stands by.
Turnbuckle: What the devil is taking him so long?
“Matilda”: Maybe he just got lost, it’s a big estate sir.
Turnbuckle: It would be just like a Yank to fail at following simple instructions.
“Matilda”: Of course, sir, very right sir.
Turnbuckle: The Allied Powers must triumph no matter how much blood, sweat, toil and tears we have to suffer. Hammer has given us the opportunity to wear crowns from our first night and we must see to it that those crowns are ours and ours alone.
Cushioned footsteps echo in the corridor.
Turnbuckle: And they will be! Just look at the fight which Hammer has given a gentleman of my standing. Firstly two middle aged drunkards who I’m surprised have not died of cardiac arrest. Titan Dragons? Titanic may describe their considerable girth, but their love of cheap alcohol and brute force shall not carry the day. They’d be better suited to returning to whatever swamp they climbed out of and living out their lives as the wastes of space they are! Dragons they may be - but only in that their invincibility is as mythical as the beasts they name themselves for. And as a proud subject of His Majesty, I am duty bound to follow the example of St. George and slay these beasts.”
The footsteps draw closer.
"Matilda": Lord Turnbuckle-
Turnbuckle: The others? A beaten down has-been and his slimy serpentine partner? Malone is merely a man with no ambition or vision. That is why he has not pursued grander things and that is why we must stamp him out. As for his partner, the man was last relevant before I was even born. How dare such an uncouth brute think he can stand against the unified power of American might and British cunning!
The footsteps stop, there’s a knock on the door.
Turnbuckle: I suppose they're fitting. They are the perfect representatives for the lethargic, slovenly mess that this region - nay, this country - has become! They can sit down on their grimy, roach infested sofas, pop open a can of your piss water of choice and lose themselves in cars making left turns for 6 hours. Leave the wrestling and crowns to a real gentleman and his ally.
"Matilda" and "George": Lord Turnbuckle.
Boliver turns around to see his butler standing there with “Danger”; the two meet each others eyes.
Or they would meet eyes if Danger didn’t have his shades on as always. Dressed as usual with his aviator’s jacket that’s parted open to reveal a “Property of America” muscle t-shirt that trails down to a belt with a giant bald eagle belt buckle and then a pair of stonewashed Levis with the pockets sewn with the American flag as patches.
Toothpick between his lips, he gets a gaze at the towering 6’4” Brit who looks giant to his not-5’11”-and-totally- 6’1” (real American men are never under 6’ tall!) frame.
If he’s intimidated… well of course he isn’t intimidated. He’s Mark F’ing “Danger” Zohn!
But is he impressed?
That doesn’t seem likely as he just looks the Brit up and down, sizing him up.
Behind him, Stacy just rolls her eyes and for sake of some propriety, clasps her right hand over her ample chest and half-bows to Turnbuckle in apology.
“Danger”: Nice place you have here, Pilgrim.
Danger states in his most “polite John Wayne” manner possible.
This is to be expected from a Yank of Zohn's ilk. Boliver nods ever slightly to Stacy to acknowledge her gesture, as a proper gentleman does. As he stares at his reflection in Zohn's shades, Boliver flashes his best attempt at a genuine smile.
Turnbuckle: Thank you, and your.. sunglasses are impressive as well.
He offers his hand in greetings. Time for the research to go into play.
Turnbuckle: It's nice to meet you, you magnificent bastard! I look forward to defending liberty at your side.
No need to add that he meant his liberty to establish dominion over the colonies for the crown. Danger meanwhile buys it and finally eases his posture and gives a wide smile. In a scene straight out of Commando, he doesn’t give a normal shake, but clenches Turnbuckle’s hand and raises their arms a “bulging biceps of bromance” style.
Well, Turnbuckle has most of the biceps but Danger is a lean machine that’s not to scoff at.
“Danger”: You’re goddamn right, son! I look forward to us showing those forces of evil that no one can beat the combined powers of the err… Allied Powers!
Stacy facepalms behind Danger in disgust but throws her hands up in defeat. Danger… being Danger… just continues right along.
“Danger”: I’m glad you’re a proper Limey and not one of those fools that cry and boohoo about “God Save the Queen” or such nonsense. Now? We can properly focus on rooting out insurrectionists and terrorists starting with that Snake Malone. Which between me and you? Fitting name. Because that mustache? It makes me think he’s a sleazy, scummy, no-good rotten bastard. Basically he must be…
Danger sneers as the mere thought of what he’s about to say turns his stomach.
“Danger”: …French.
It’s a single word that fills Turnbuckle with rage. His aristocratic lip curls up as he feels as though he may vomit; in the end he manages to retain his composure, though the disgust is clear on his face.
Turnbuckle: Oh God. You’re right! I can’t unsee it now. The man positively radiates Frenchness. I’d wager he carries a baguette to assault innocents for objecting to his public smoking.
He shivers at the thought, all while Matilda can be see chatting up an increasingly annoyed Stacy in the background. A moment later Boliver smirks, holding up his index finger to accentuate a point.
Turnbuckle: Do not forget his erstwhile partner in crime, Bruiser Bedlam. You must agree, Zohn, that the man looks like a vagrant who rides the rails to travel from one city to the next. A man like that only hops off to commit unspeakable crimes in the cities and contribute to the shrinking populations therein! All in the name of bring talked of, since his prime years have long since passed.
Turnbuckle sighs at the very thought.
“Danger”: Please. My friends call me…
Striking a dramatic pose, he finally shows his eyes as he lowers his shades.
“Danger”: Danger.
He then moves right along.
“Danger”: But I have to give you credit. Bedlam does look like a lazy, no-good hobo who somehow missed out at the checkout line for American ingenuity, know-how, and ambition.
Turnbuckle nods vigorously.
Turnbuckle: That is precisely what I was thinking, D.. Danger. And the Allied Powers must show those two what ambition truly looks like! When they see us hoist the tag team gold, maybe they'll be inspired to make something of their lives.
He starts walking towards the bay window, inviting "Danger" to join him.
Turnbuckle: The Titanic Dragons will be a hassle to deal with given their power. Yet between your Yank ingenuity and courage and my British cunning and resourcefulness, the only titanic thing about them will be the sound of their fall.
Danger follows as Stacy looks on bewildered at this “bro’ing” moment between the pair and looks around.
“The All-American Girl”: Alright. Where’s the bloody hidden cameras? This can’t actually be happening.
Matilda is just as confused by the display and looks up at Stacy.
"Matilda": Ah've got no idea, m'lady. None whutsoevah. But by crikey it's 'apppenin'.
Danger meanwhile seems to be in deep contemplation while staring out of the window.
“Danger”: Actually it’s the ‘Titan Dragons’ as in like the Tennessee Titans football team.
Danger pauses and realizes he’ll need to translate “American” to the Brit.
“Danger”: Err, that’s AMERICAN football. Not that “football” name that you Euros use for soccer. Either way? It seems like those two are trying to play a joke on someone. Since it is oddly coincidental that a pair of beer drinking, gut busting bruisers have the same names as the quarterbacks of Tennessee Titans who play in Nashville as we prepare for a Nashville wrestling show.
Danger then suddenly has a revelation!
“Danger”: IT’S A TRAP! I bet they’re not even Americans at all! They’re probably Russian spies posing as Americans!
Stacy just groans in the background, muttering to herself while looking at Matilda pleadingly.
“The All-American Girl”: May I have a glass of wine, please? *glances toward Danger* A large one preferably.
Matilda nods understandingly and skitters off to fetch large amounts of alcohol, perhaps for more than just Stacy. Turnbuckle meanwhile fights back the urge to correct Danger about the name of that athletic competition. Instead he nods gravely, face properly stoic.
Turnbuckle: Then we have no other recourse but to expose them to the world. And to prevent them from becoming champions. It is our duty to vanquish them with the power of our nations' special relationship.
“Danger”: DAMN STRAIGHT WE DO!
Danger yells as he’s now extremely pumped up now that he’s realized the “evil plot” that’s afoot.
“Danger”: We can’t have them winning AMERICAN championships so that they get AMERICAN marketing deals and sponsorships and showing up on AMERICAN TV!
Danger looks wild eyed as he realizes the greater err.. danger… afoot.
“Danger”: It’d give them a platform to brainwash impressionable young children! If we don’t stop this a whole generation of kids will be singing “Rossiya svyashchennaya” in five years!
Danger pauses as he looks around, afraid as if he’ll be misunderstood for being a spy himself.
“Danger”: Not that I know their dirty Russkie national anthem or anything!
Turnbuckle chuckles to himself as he sees how locked in his ally is. Mission accomplished. He grins devilishly as he turns to face Danger, one hand motioning out the window.
Turnbuckle: Of course not. We're agreed then that the Allied Powers must save the world from these threats? And that capturing these titles whatever it takes is how we shall do accomplish the mission?
“Danger”: Well whatever it takes within the means of honor! We’re not some dirty, cheating, no-good Commies. That said?
Danger smooths a lock of hair back while striking his usual flyboy pose.
“Danger”: Real Americans always strap up their boots and use American ingenuity and know-how.
Danger pauses and looks at Turnbuckle.
“Danger”: And uh… British pomp and circumstance and such. SPEAKING OF WHICH!
Danger grins wider as he pulls out his phone which somehow magically hacks into Turnbuckle’s nearest television screen (of the numerous he has) and projects a mock-up CGI video.
Said video? A combination of their finishers.
“Danger”: I had the government’s marketing team make an example of our finisher. Your “St. George’s Cross” followed by my “Highway To The Danger Zone!”. I call it…
Immediately a super close-up on Danger happens… even for Turnbuckle’s eyes that aren’t cameras… and Danger lowers his shades just enough and pops an eyebrow.
“Danger”: “Highway To The Danger Zone!!!”
“The All-American Girl”: That’s the same bloody name you git!
Danger sighs.
“Danger”: Poor confused girl. I said “Highway To The Danger Zone!!!”. There’s THREE exclamations on the team finisher.
Turnbuckle: A devastating combination, but we shall call it the Regal Resolution!
Both men bicker back and forth until another voice is raised.
"George": Sirs? Perhaps something like D-Day?
Turnbuckle raises an eyebrow.
Turnbuckle: Yes, that would do. It shall be D-Day for our foes.
Danger rubs his chin and nods.
“Danger”: I can work with that.
Ever the peacekeeper like any American special forces, he offers his hand once more to Turnbuckle.
“Danger”: FOR FREEDOM!
Turnbuckle slaps his hand into "Danger's", recreating the bromanciest of handshakes.
Turnbuckle: FORWARD TOGETHER, TO VICTORY!
