Volbeats [WWC]

Note to self: never write again ever no matter what





Rank: Medium... huehue
CC: Somewhere above 11,000 by my count!

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YO YO YO
Check out your mug
Getting owned by this sick bug
You look like li'l baby need a HUG!

The sound of the mic drop was instantly drowned out by the roars of the crowd. Volby-B, the king of modern rap (and quite a good looker too), had just finished his set on stage. The thousands of onlookers screamed in admiration, chanting for one more song. They needed to hear more. But Volby-B was out. He called the shots around here. With his purple chest puffed out and his tail radiating, he strutted off the stage, two beautiful Illumise at each arm.

"Alright li'l mamas, me time, capiche?" Volby said as he reached the dressing room door, marked with a brilliant glowing star that read VOLBY-B. The fawning Illumise gave him one last pleasing look as he swung around and waltzed right into the dressing room, slamming the door shut with his mighty hip. He slumped down into the plush leather chair, took a sip of his exactly 37 degree bottled water and gazed into the star-studded mirror before him.

No amount of cosmetics could conceal the bags that had become a permanent feature below those piercing black eyes. Lines etched into his skin from years of frowning at incapable underlings littered his face. He was getting too old for this - too weary. The fans were so demanding though, always wanting more and more. As soon as he gave a little, they expected more and more. Ten years in the music industry had taught him to give nothing but what was expected of him, and never a penny more. And, it seemed to work for the most part. But, this couldn't go on much longer. He needed a replacement; a fresh face with a lot of attitude. Did it exist out there?

There came a sharp rapping on the door. Volby groaned out of habit, and beckoned one of his public advisor's in with a little wrinkling of his nose. The hesitant man quickly scurried in and filled Volby in on what was going on.

"They want more. The event organisers are insisting," he started.

"I gave them an hour. That was our arrangement. One hour."

"Right, I know, yes, but it hasn't been an hour," the PA replied immediately. "You were on stage for thirty seven minutes. They're furious. The crowds are going wild."

"I'm done for the night. Now leave me be."

"But-"

"Done!" Volby barked, causing the man to back-up out of the room without hesitation. He had endured enough of those damn fans for one night. Enough is enough. One final glance at those heavy bags drooping down from his eyes was enough to send him to bed on the grandiose, specially-made king size that Volby always insisted on. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the velveteen pillow, but It wasn't long until he was aroused from his dream-less slumber.

It was Marc again, that awkward PA from last night, shaking him awake.

"Sir... Mr. Volby, please. Wake up. Look at this," he insisted, forcing a newspaper right up into Volby's face.

"Not now, boy! I don't want to read. I don't have time for the what's-its and shenanigans of current affairs," Volby said, voice groggy and irate.

"Read this!" Marc exclaimed, jabbing a finger at the headline.

Volby? Or better yet, Vol-BYE the headline read. Beneath was a picture of the infamous rapper pushing his way through swarms of reporters, joirnalists, fans and gossip-mongers after leaving some venue Volby no longer cared to remember. They all started to blur after a while.

"Look, Marc, kid, I don't really care to re-"

"Read."

A little disgruntled, but a tad bit more perplexed, Volby read on.

Volby, the highly-esteemed, award-winning rapper from a rural community of Bug types, often dubbed "Most Inspirational Artist of the Twenty First Century" has become quite a sensation worldwide in the last few years. Even the name, Volby, or more commonly, Volby-B, has become a household term with few not knowing who this gifted artist is. However, has age gotten the better of him? Is he still the real deal as we all once insisted. Perhaps not.

It is nothing new that a celebrity becomes complacent and adjusted to the glamorous life of fame, but perhaps Volby has taken it one step too far. Reports have poured in from every major media outlet and social networking site on how short his sets are, and often ridiculously over-priced, how he when he does in fact turn up to the venue, it's up to three and a half hours late and intoxicated, as multiple concert-goers from the Petalburg Arena insist.

Multiple reports have even come in of the absurdity of his requests, including the controversial termination of an employee for leaving a swivel chair at an uncomfortable angle, or how Volby will only shower with spring-bottled water from Meteor Falls, or even how he will only eat green Pokeblocks. We think this has gone far enough already.

With this aged artist falling off the wagon, we think it's time for some new blood. Some unique and witty skilled men and women who can go toe-to-toe with Volby back in his prime. We think it's time to move on and say Vol-BYE to the old and in with the new!

Volby looked up. The frantic moussey-haired man was pacing back and forth through the spacious backstage room. He paused, raised a finger and looked as though he was about to suggest something before frowning and continuing his pacing. Volby couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Do you think I'm old, boy?" Although it seemed like a question, to answer as one would be a mistake. And this PA messed up.

"N-no of course not!" he stammered. "Not old, no, no. You aren't old. Older, sure, yes, I can attest to that, but never old!"

"But I am old."

"N-"

"Yes. I am old. Look at me! I'm in this industry geared at teenagers and young adults and I'm a stretch past forty years old!"

"Forty years young."

"Stop that. I can't even dress like these kids with a team of stylists, or are you callin me a liar?"

It was true. Although rap artists tended to dress very fashionably, or edgy, or in darker colours, Volby was dressed like, well, a middle-aged man. The only thing that seemed to suit his rather round torso was a checkered shirt and some slacks, with black suspenders. It was all he ever wore. Now, naturally enough, the fans loved it, and many even insisted on wearing the exact same get-up as their role model, but that didn't change the fact that he no longer held a place in this vastly-changing environment. The new rap era was not really a place for a wrinkled backwards fogey with their opinions on the environment and emojis and their swags and their yolos.

"I need a replacement."

So, he finally said it. His gig was up; the curtains drawn but the show must go on. For that, he needed an underling. A gifted artist with a varied background, maybe an underdog even. Probably not an underdog though - they could be a bit unpredictable to say the least. A bright spark who would take the genre by storm. Shouldn't be that hard to find, eh?

"Malcolm-"

"It's Marc"

"I don't care. Spread the word and set up auditions. We're gonna find some talented youth and change his world."

And so, four months and hundreds of gruelling auditions later, the aspiring contestants had been whittled down to three promising new acts. The first was a robust Jynx with a killer attitude who went by the name Vicky Mirage. She was fearless, fierce and even had a disproportionally large derrière to boot. She liked to rap about her promiscuity while flaunting her, um... assets. But, beneath those platinum extensions and plump red lips, a true star existed.

The next finalist was a certain Mouldy Bizkit. This Surskit might not look the part but don't let those baby-blue-eyes or those rosy cheeks fool you! She can spin a rhyme faster than she can spin a web! Not to mention her spindly little legs quivered along to the beat as she rapped. It was truly impressive stuff.

Last, but probably least, was a broad-shouldered hunky slab of Ursaring known as Carlos. From somewhere that doesn't speak PokEnglish, with a slight inflection in his voice, this well-groomed bear was the apple in every girl's twinkling eyes. Although his rapping was no more than adequate, the ladies absolutely adored him, and hell, even some men did. He was still a solid contendor, and a potentially very successful protigé.

So, here he was. Volby-B, the world's greatest rapper, about to choose his successor. After just one more performance each, his next big thing would be a reality an he could step into retirement, spending the remaining years of his life yachting with those PlayBoy Lopunny.

"First one up. Mouldy Bizkit, I believe," he called out, breaking the silence of the recordig studio. The door on the opposite side of the glass panel swung open and a little blue spider with a straw-hat-cap scuttled in. She blue him a kiss with her forelegs and placed the headphones over her ears, closing her eyes.

One of the recording artists flipped a switch, and some coloured buttons burst into life. The music started playing, and Mouldy Bizkit came into motion. Her cheeks flared as the snare kept the beat, her eyes dead set on the mic before her.

Slick as water don't fuck with me
Bug type, yeah? I ain't no Combee
Honey, don't know much better
Cuz this spider'll make ya wetter
One letter
At
A
Time

Then the chorus came, and it was pretty darn immaculate.


M-M-Mouldy Bizkit's the name
Ya better check it out
Chicks can't spin wicked lies
Bitch, watch my shout, pout,
Don't hesitate
Irate?
Ya that's right
U wot m8

Volby's eyes were twinkling with excitement as he saw the raw talent in this Surskit. She was so witty and quick that there never seemed any distinction between her on-the-spot rap battling skills or the lyrics she had worked meticulously on, which almost sounds like an insult, but it really wasn't. He didn't even need to give the other two contestants their turn in the spotlight.

"But, sir, Vic-"

"No. This. This right here is our star. And, surely enough, Volby-B had found his predecessor. A few short weeks of encouragement and lessons, a recording contract, and Surskit's strength of character was all it took for her to become a star. The next big thing! In no time at all she was on all the magazines, dolled in fancy jewellery and expensive clothes from designers unpronouncable. She would grow bored of it eventually as they all did, but for now Volby was content to let her enjoy the limelight.

As for the other two, well... Vicky ended up getting her own reality show about her dramatic life, her butt and many plastic surgeries. Carlos, well, he was involved in a bit of a steroids controversy a little while back, before disappearing into the abyss. Rumour has it that he moved to Pacifidlog town, but who would voluntarily go there? Volby, well, he got the retirement that he'd always dreamed of, some beautiful babes to accompany his travels along the seas. Maybe one day he will plunge back into the industry if the vast world out there doesn't quite pick his fancy... Just maybe. For now though, we must part. Next episode, we will explore the truth behind the Slaking hordes terrorising Petalburg woods. Are they real, or are they merely hairy homeless neanderthals looking for food? Find out next time on Inside the Life!

 

Le claim. Grade will be done before the end of Friday at the latest, or maybe even today?!??!?! Who knows~

 

Graded & deleted, & I'm about to send it to Syn now~