Movie Monster/Origins
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
Covered in an overcoat, a lumbering figure shambled towards the entrance to Mysterion's Mystic Holistics. Jade fists the size of cinder blocks hammered the oak door. The new age shops rustic exterior was a stark contrast to its urban surroundings. There was a rustling inside (along with more than a few curse words) as a man hurried to the door.
"We're closed, go away! Come back tomorrow.'" he grunted, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
"Mysterion. It's me, Brock." a voice rasped. Monotonous and dry, it sounded as if its owner had gone weeks without drinking. It certainly wasn't a voice he recognized. The eye-level slot in the door slid open as the man inside peered out. It was the dead of night and the streetlights were so dim he had to squint to make out just what he was looking at.
It was the front of a man. His chest to be more specific. He had to be at least seven and a half feet tall. And just as wide as the door.
"Eh? Brock who? I don't know any Brock."
"Brock Barnes! The actor? We worked together on Sudden Vengeance."
"Prove it." Mysterion spat in response.
"After the first day of shooting we got wasted and you admitted you hated the director."
"Common knowledge. I drink. He's a hack. Go away."
"Your middle name is Archibald!" he croaked out desperately.
The man inside paused for a moment. He was taken aback when the figure outside bent over, peering right back at him through the slot in the door. It certainly wasn't the Brock Barnes he remembered.
"I need your help. Just lemme’ in." he pleaded. Mysterion cautiously pulled the wooden door open, cowering behind it as he peeked outside.
"By the gods... what happened to you?" Mysterion gasped.
"It's a long story."
"Man, do you see how flexible she is? She's gotta be part monkey or something. Gross." Brock took a sip of the cocoa that his agent had just made and spit it out in disgust. "Ugh. There's like, zero booze in here."
She side-eyed him. "I don't know which is worse: That you're ogling contortionists" - Brock started to protest, but she held up a hand to silence him - "or that you can't imbibe anything without alcohol."
"My bloodstream has got to be at least fifty-fifty at this point," Brock replied brightly. He turned back to one of the caged party booths and waved at the contortionist inside. "Besides, it's a carnival, Kate. They're supposed to be ogled. That's what they get paid for."
Brock Barnes had just wrapped his last day of shooting on the sequel to I Heart You, Frankenstein. While not the box office success it was projected it would be, the film found its audience after it went to DVD, so much so that the studio decided to produce a sequel. And here he was, six months later, at the film's wrap party - a horror themed carnival.
Kate snatched a flask out of Brock's hands before he could pour any in his cup. She took a sip and tucked it into her purse before she pointed a finger at him. "Sober up. We fly back to LA tomorrow morning."
"You're not the boss of me." he shouted with a smirk as she walked away. He turned back to the crowded carnival again. "Ladies!" he yelled, outstretching his arms. A blonde and a redhead rushed over to him. They were local girls. And big fans of the movies. But he couldn't remember their names.
As they clumsily waded through the crowd, Brock spotted an elderly fortune teller. “Oh!” He shouted, zipping towards her shrouded table, dragging the girls along behind him.
“Ew, you believe in that stuff?” the blonde asked.
“What? No! I just want a picture with her. Look how old she is. This could be the last time anyone takes her photo. And I could be in it.” Brock answered shallowly. He hurried up beside her as at her table while one of Brock's groupies pulled her cellphone from her purse. Taken by surprise, the fortune teller's expression wasn't exactly joy when the redhead snapped her photo. Brock patted her on the shoulder and was about to wander off again when she grabbed his arm.
"Sit." she said with a thick accent. "Free wish for you."
"Free wish?" Brock laughed as he took a seat opposite her. "Alright."
"Fame, fortune. Anything you desire." She continued, taking his hand in hers. Her skin was ice cold.
Brock jumped at her touch, but shrugged nnonchalantly "Okay, I'll bite... well I'm already famous, so..." The girls behind him laughed. "How 'bout we keep it going, eh? I wanna' be Frankenstein for twenty more sequels!" he yelled, to the cheers and applause of those around him. The fortune teller smiled slyly and nodded. "Then your wish shall be granted."
She closed her eyes, muttered some words Brock didn't understand, and then let go of his hand. Brock stood with a laugh and tossed a twenty dollar bill on her table as he and the ladies strolled off into the night.
"And then what happened?" Mysterion asked.
"Nothing." Brock answered with a shrug. "I flew back to L.A. the next day and was fine. But about a week later, I woke up like this." he gestured to himself. They sat in the parlor of shop, Mysterion on a velvet-cushioned oak bench, Brock seated on a big metal strongbox - the only thing in the room that supported his weight. He'd taken off his overcoat and fedora which allowed Mysterion a better look at him. His skin was a sickly green while his massive frame towered over Mysterion. "I need your help." Brock repeated.
"What makes you think I can help you?" Mysterion scoffed, standing and venturing over to a refrigerated cabinet. He poured himself a glass of wine.
"You don't think I heard the rumors on set?" Brock countered skeptically. "That you dabble in magic?"
Mysterion stiffened, lifting his chin defensively. "I run a holistic shop. We offer healing herbs and potions, but there is no magic to be fou-"
"Don't lie to me!" Brock boomed, slamming a fist down and denting the metal box. He took a large breath. "I'm sorry." he apologized. "It's just... You're the only one I know who can help me."
Mysterion grunted. He finished his wine in one swig and sat the glass down on a counter . "Alright..." nodded, gesturing Brock to follow him. "I'll see what I can do."