Author's Note: While most of the fiction I write with regards to my favorite movie, Rock & Rule, tend to stay particularly close to the story line of the movie, this is a fanfiction idea that came to me while I was watching some documentaries about supernatural occurrences. I always wondered if people who are lucky enough to be born possessed with Magical powers, like Mok, ever had the ability to interact with the undead world. So anyways, this short story is going to mostly revolve around Mok Swagger, my favorite character ever, and certain popular elements from Asian folklore.
Mok, Rock & Rule (c) Nelvana, blah blah.
Driving down the dirt road from the nearest airport miles back, a steel black limousine with sharp angled wings and ominous dark tinted windows hovered through a long pasture of nothing but wheat and age-old fencing with the occasional bovine-people working along side their less-then-evolved cousins. The rickety old barns and shacks which popped up from time to time in the far-off distances bore humorous resemblance to most (if not all) of the houses you'd see in the outskirts of Ohmtown, Montana. But of course, Mok could never forget the miserable childhood he had to spend in one of those wasteland ports.
But that was a long time ago; now, nearly 30 years and over 20 chart-topping albums later, Mok Swagger (alias: "The Magic Man") is worth over billions of dollars in worldwide currency and quite literally living at the top of his game. And it would explain how he could afford to make it here in Fiji, one of the last remaining "clean spots" of undisturbed nature left in this post-nuclear war dying Earth, and a hot spot for vacationing by the super rich and super powerful such as Mok. And that was just what he was here for: a long awaited vacation, away from the occasional hassles of trying to keep his Empire of Music and Magic alive and strong, fighting off other competing Rockers and of course feeding the endless musical appetites of his army of fans. Not that Mok ever disliked this lifestyle, mind you; he loved being The Magic Man more then anything in the universe… but even the greatest of all rock gods needed a Sabbath.
Turning to a thin, wide-screened computer monitor in front of him to his left side, Mok spoke to it in his handsomely deep, silky voice,
"Computer, how much further until we reach a paved road?"
The endlessly intelligent Computer system, which Mok had hooked up wirelessly into his limousine interior, (mostly for doing business while on travel) also worked well as a GPS unit among other things. The stagnant, simulated voice of a woman replied to its Master:
"Keep traveling north. Four more miles. You will find a paved road marked "A11". Take that road until you get passed the bridge at the shores."
"Thank you." Mok spoke as he drew a cigarette from his floral-covered silk vest and lit it with a match. ("Your welcome, Mok." said the computer.)
After spending a few minutes clouding his brain with calming tobacco, Mok spoke again, this time to his limo driver:
"Toad, turn on the radio. I'd like to keep a track of my… fan base… while I'm gone."
With nothing more then a slight grunt, the huge, hulky guy in the driver's pod reached over and pecked the Radio tuner with his thick, sausage-like finger and tuned the dial for volume before going back to what he was doing. Mok continued to smoke as he listened to the slightly fuzzy radio station AM10, which reported news from all over the lands that were once known as "America"; Mok's pointed, cat-like ears pricked around beside his head as he waited for any developments in the categories of Music, or Entertainment, or World Rulerships.
Mok had his good reasons for this request: for a Super-Rocker(or any Rocker for that matter) to remain the king of his territory (music, geological, or otherwise), he would have to keep a sharp ear to the media, on the look out for anyone who should try to challenge the Rocker while he is away, and possibly steal fragments of his fan base and/or his respected place in the musical totem pole. This may not make any sense from a human's perspective (if those creatures still existed now, anyways), but in this new apocalyptic world ruled by animal-humanoid mutants like Mok, the Rock and Roll world was no different from the African savannah: the world itself is now a barren wasteland thanks to The War, and in this wasteland the Rock Stars play out the roll of the lions, ruling their "prides" of fans and groupies as well as guarding their "territories" of recording companies and top media franchises. And just like lions, the Rock Stars themselves held vicious physical and musical fights, often times in front of their fans and women, to see who was worthy enough to carry the electric guitar, let alone make music with it. Only the lions with the greatest gold, platinum and plutonium "manes" (albums) would live on beyond their final fights, and such lions with manes like that were one in a million.
Mok was one such lion. Perhaps he was the lion of them all, seeing as anyone with the guts, balls and audacity to challenge him has been quite rare. But either way, The Magic Man had lived long enough to see other Rockers (even one other Super-Rocker) fall before him due to their own disregard for control and vigilance. Television, computers, radio, newspapers, and the all too important word-of-mouth served such fine purpose as the musician's eyes on the world, and as so, relieved some stress from the artists but not enough for them not to require a vacation from it all.
So therefore, here he was: Mok Swagger off on another one of his many little getaways (he was quite keen to reward himself handsomely), to a land of his sole choice where he could be alone and reflective, though it was not unusual for Mok to be accompanied by a female, either from a whole group of gaggling groupies or just some random girl he kidnapped out of nowhere but produced no resistance to him. They usually never tried resisting, and even those few who did would soon come to their senses under the dark spells of The Voodoo Black Musician Priest. But this time was different; Mok was going at it alone (with the exception of his bodyguard Toad, who no doubt would ditch his Boss eventually to go find some tough street dogs like himself to hustle around the islands with), but if he did happen to find any women around that he deemed worthy enough to be with him, Mok would allow it. Mok didn't mind a little deserved solitude, but he hated being lonely as well.
Eventually, the cow pastures were left behind and soon the black limo was gliding on through one of the local towns that were sparsely located around the lands; the populations of the towns were comfortably low, considering the "Common Class" and their petty crimes were not very welcome among the super-rich vacationers. As he blew smoke from between his full, voluptuous lips, Mok gazed out the tinted windows at the age-old, multi-colored buildings and the passing street life, recounting the many times he's had to unleash his Magic on the like for trespassing on his property to get photos of him (mostly paparazzi scum), it was no skin off his pointed nose. Ignoring the staring villagers (they could only stare at the limo itself, not Mok who was well hidden behind the tinted windows), The Magic Man watched the background colors go by: topless bar… beach store… topless bar… beach store…
Another twenty minutes into the ride, and the limo had made it through the low-grade part of civilization, passed over a long, rusted iron bridge that Mok guessed had to have been there before The War, and were finally met with smooth pavement; the hovercraft of the limo against the flatness had nicer soft sounds, and right away from a gander at the incredible well-built houses that lay hidden behind iron fences and fancy Italian ivy walls that this was a whole different social division.
But as nice as all these homes were, none were quite as extravagant as Mok's; at last, after detouring through a dead end street close to the beaches and down through the hidden forest of beach foliage, Toad parked the black limousine at the pathway entrance leading across several acres of warm grass front yard and up to an amazing castle-like fortress situated with the backdrop of the ocean and open sky.
Stepping gingerly out of his limo, Mok flicked his cigarette onto the pavement as he strolled down the long tiled pathway through the garden thicket to his estate. Approaching his very tall medieval wooden front doors, Mok pricked his wide pointed ears to catch the lovely sound of the ocean waves beating into the shore that made up his backyard; 'tis a lovely sound to a such a hard-working musician. Mok took out a laser-card key and slipped it through a large bulky slot at the side of the door, but being the spoiled rock star that he was, Mok waited for his big husky bodyguard Toad to pull open the heavy doors for him.
Stepping inside, Mok took in the lovely place which he had not seen for a few years: everything still looked the same the last time he was in Fiji, except for the presence of some layers of dust, beach sand, and salt (which Mok's personal convoy of cleaning maids and servants would take care of as soon as they arrived later on); Mok's expensive pointed-heel shoes clomped upon the hardwood flooring of the living room and echoed up to the ceiling as he explored the rest of his vacation house; after making it onto his screened in pool deck with thick floral adornments overlooking the beach, Mok decided he would check out one last thing before he would settle in: the little old bungalow that sat upon the sandy cliff right over the beach and just beyond his pool deck.
For as long as he had the shore-side mansion, Mok could remember seeing that little beach bungalow, looking so forlorn out there with its age-old wood framing and its peeling paint. Although he admitted to himself that he could have done something with it sooner, Mok wanted to keep the tiny space for entertainment purposes, much like the rest of his house (though he could probably never get cameras in the bungalow due to the erosion of salt air). Back in his 30's when Mok first bought this mansion, he had originated for the little bungalow to be a "secret spot" of sorts for he and his many lady friends to just hang out during the nights when they got too drunk/stoned from Mok's concerts to do anything else.
But as Lord Swagger would come to learn from being around the women in Fiji, it was most, if not all, of them were just tourists who had no problems traveling halfway across the world to attend his concerts, but who apparently could not stand being cooped up in some tiny bungalow, even if there was Mok and oral sex involved. Damned spoiled tourists, Mok would always think in the back of his mind, as he would be carrying the bitches up to his rich, air-conditioned and completely sand-free master bedroom. Not that Mok ever gave in because he actually cared about the opinions of his dames; The Magic Man just wanted to get it up and in while he was still the fit stud (and still is).
But now he's returned in his late 40's to rediscover the perfectly nice bungalow that once was; 'twas a shame he never got a good use out of the place, and now thanks to his own ignorance, the place was looking rather worn, ironically. And being the man with such high standard tastes in décor and design as he did, Mok wouldn't stand having his image threatened by a mere eyesore in his backyard.
Deciding to save the small beachfront's fate for later, Mok turned and went back inside the house, closing the very tall glass doors as he did, just as Toad was unloading his Boss's luggage.
It was a couple hours of unloading later (with Toad doing all the real work, of course), and both him and Mok had finally settled into the grand mansion for the next two and a half hours that were left in the day before the evening:
The not-so-gentle giant Toad resided down in the spacious living room on the long, winding couch that surrounded the wide-screened computer monitor which was actually a TV; the tube was broadcasting a bunch of programs on professional street dogfighters (something Toad and his brother Sleazy had always enjoyed in the past before they got their jobs as Mok's bodyguards), but the TV was on mute as Toad was on his blocky walkie-talkie phone with Sleazy, making sure his younger siblings Zip and Cinderella, and also making sure they were taking very good care of Mok's real home back in Ohmtown.
Meanwhile, the king of the house himself was upstairs on the third floor of his Fiji beachfront, reclining quietly on his enormous silk bed within his master bedroom; the long, wide curving screen monitor surrounding the bed and suspended from above by wires and bars; with a nonchalant look upon his face and his large lips slightly puckered as he searched for a good station, Mok took a moment to run his long bony fingers through his sphinx-like silver wig of long beautiful hair. He sighed as he continued to skim through all 40 channels, wishing now that he had asked for the Premium Movie Package. He hated it when this happened.
Mok was bored.
And it was not entirely uncommon for Ohmtown's greatest entertainer to need entertaining himself, but what was incredibly worrisome for the common creature was how The Magic Man choose to solve this little problem; being such a creatively-minded man who sired many innovations in the world of music, Mok could think of the craziest and even most incredibly dangerous ways to entertain himself. Some of these would include:
Terrorizing random people (fans or not) with his disappearing/reappearing stunt,
Terrorizing entire cities by setting off laser-energy spheres and leveling buildings,
Slaughtering members of the paparazzi who got in his way,
Invading bar stage shows,
Or just getting himself shit-faced high/stoned/drunk/whatever and kidnapping random girls.
But this also meant that being the legendary rock star of untouchable nature, Mok could get away with anything… and Mok himself knew it.
So now that he was officially unable to find anything remotely interesting on TV to watch (certainly not any of his popular music videos), Mok hit the mute button, irritatedly threw the remote away, and just sat back, looking at his bedroom ceiling. As he gazed up at all the fancy lighting, electronics, wiring, and iron cover paneling, Mok sighed, wondering what he should do. There wasn't a city anywhere for miles, so he couldn't go on a rampage or even a shopping spree; he didn't come in any of his luxury airships, so he couldn't just fly over to a city to takeover; it was night out, so there was no longer a point to the beach; the only little town close by was full of simple-minded locals, who no doubt would hassle him for autographs if Mok revealed himself; and the only other person in the mansion was Toad, who obviously wanted nothing to do with his Boss after that long-ass car ride all the way over here with Mok being the typical "backseat driver" and complaining constantly about Toad's driving.
Still laying out on is bed, Mok looked down himself at what he was still wearing: a velvet maroon vest, a long sleeve white undershirt with fancy lacing down the chest and cuffs, long tight-fitting dress pants that were a darker shade of maroon, a gold chain necklace, and black suede shoes with high heels and pointed toes.
Seeing that he was in clothes more designed for the city high life rather then where he was now, Mok decided then and there that he was going to change clothes and just go out to one of the topless bars in town; he decided to go dressed like the locals in order to blend in and avoid creating too much of a frenzy with him being there. And while he was out, Mok was also going to torment some of the local drug dealers in the area into giving him some dope, as he was out of his crack and cannabis.
So Mok rolled off his large bed and strolled over to one of his large suitcases marked with his world famous (and infamous) black-striped Goat's Head Insignia, opened it up and began tossing everything out of it and all over his room in his search for something to wear.
This will serve that "dumb waiter" of mine to slack off on his chores around my houses… Mok thought grumpily to himself of Toad as he pulled out a pair of faded knee-length jean shorts, a thin Hawaiian-print button up shirt, a sea shell necklace, a nose ring, and a pair of sleek sunglasses. Mok also rummaged through a very special case full of some of his expensive wigs from home and chose the one with long, brown wavy hair.
After changing in his large upstairs bathroom (which had just been renovated with a giant hot tub), Mok looked himself over and was surprised to see how young he now looked; the faded jean shorts that looked a bit baggy over Mok's long muscular legs were none-of-the-less very comfy and definitely something pretty much everyone he's seen today has been wearing, and the Hawaiian T-shirt he had on was only held shut by one button, thus still allowing a show of Mok's muscular chest and handsome rows of abs (Why cover up something others could only wish they could have? Mok thought proudly to himself.) And last, Mok ran his long, clawed fingers through his head of now wavy, brown (albeit fake) hair that fell to his open chest and framing his seashell necklace. Mok gave himself a quick once-over, smiled admiringly at himself (as he always did), and quickly got on his way out, slipping into a pair of brown open-toe sandals that Toad had managed to remember to leave by the sliding-glass door to the pool deck.
Meanwhile, Toad was still over in the living room jabbering on the phone with his brother Sleazy over the latest runner's up for the Dog-Fighters Championship in Russia; he never did catch his Boss leaving the house. But then again, why the hell should he care what the eccentric super-rocker did with his life?
A.N: Chapter 2 coming soon.