[Surge] Derrick Allen vs. Scott Douglas
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BWade
Grandma Took Me Home
Catching Up to the Past, Part IX (Fatherly Advise III)
"Hey, pop." Scott addressed his father as he let himself into his parents second floor walk up in the South Park neighborhood of Seattle.
Meer months ago Scott returned to his humble beginnings after an ill faded shot at a wrestling career in Texas, and Mexico. The intent of his, prodigal son like, return was prefaced simply on putting professional wrestling behind him and moving on with his life. A series of random events, a talk with his father and the rekindling of a former relationship led him back to the ring.
His dwindling passion and jaded perception had lent credence to his to former feelings of discontentment and urgings to put this nonsense behind him. The injury he sustained on IWF's Chain Reaction Seven at the hands of his former friend and pseudo-brother-in-law; only bolstered what he felt would end in his eventual departure from the IWF and the sport as a whole.
With all this weighing heavy on his head Scott went to see his father, formally Nate "The Great" Douglas. Although a proficient mid-card man in the territories decades before; Nate never really lived up to his moniker. He left the sport behind in his thirties with trashed knees and an a child's erector set for a spine.
"Hey, son," his father responded as he pulled himself up from the couch, "How's the head?"
Scott rubbed the back of his head and assured his old man it was better. Nate struggled to his feet and the two shook hands and shared a half of a hug before taking seats in the Douglas' time tested living room.
Nate, short for Nathaniel and also his only born son's given name, moved stiffly at best. Nearly fifteen years in a rough and tumble business that took half your mobility before you ever saw a live audience, compounded with carrying mail on a down town Seattle foot route for twenty plus years and counting, will do that to a man.
"Where's Court'?" Scott's father questions the absence of Scott's live-in girlfriend.
Scott sighs as he responds, "You know I wouldn't bring her here, Pop. I know how Mom feels about me and her getting back together."
"Nonsense, boy. She's come around to the idea more then you think. She understands things are different. You're not teenagers anymore." Scott's father explained. "Now, all you have to worry about is her incessantly nudging you toward marriage..."
Scott responds with a chuckle, "Yeah, we both know how she can be."
"You want a beer, son?" Nate asks Scott as he labors to his feet.
"Sit down, Pop. I'll get it." Scott urges as he pops up.
His father puts on a short lived protest, gives in and takes his seat back on the worn out couch. Scott snatches a few cold beers from the refrigerator, just short steps from the living room, and returns with one for himself and his father. The dual generational pair open there respective cans with a crisp pop and sharp snap of the aluminum. They both savor the first cold sip of the age old beverage with matching mannerisms and smiles. Nate breaks the silence.
"That is never bad," he pauses trying to find the words to broach such a delicate subject;
"So ... Derrick."
Scott interjects to save him the agony, "Yeah, Pop," Scott sips from his beer, "Derrick ... I don't know what he has up his ass, honestly. At first I just wanted to let it all pass over and eventually he would either give up the shtick or just move along."
"And now?" Scott's father questions.
"Well, now things have gotten a little convoluted. I had no reason to bother with him until he started to mess with what Courtney and I had so recently salvaged from our past. And then ... well you saw Seven." Scott explained. "At this point I know I need to calm down, take a step back and think this through before things come to a head and actions are taken that can't be reversed ... but at the same time after everything he has done, and damaged ... after knocking me out of the title run to have this pissing match, after trying to come between Courtney and me ... I just want to knock his head off!"
Scott's father laughs, "Hold on there, slick. No need to cut a promo just for your dear old dad. Best save that for that camera time."
Scott realizes he worked himself up as if he had a packed house in front of him and backs off. Scott apologizes somewhere between tipping of beer cans and the laughter of a father and his son.
The amusement ratchets down with each passing second and as it creeps to a halt; Scott's father get this little pow-wow back on track.
"You're going to do what you want, son. With a little bit of what you have to ... mixed in there. You always have and I'd wager you always will. Just keep in mind out there, things can always get worse and they normally do before they get better." Nate lectures.
Scott just nods in acknowledgment and finishes off his beer.
"You want another?" Scott asks his father.
"Sure."
Scott returns to the kitchen and collects two more beverages and plops back down in the easy chair. Passing his father the can, he asks, "You think that chair shot on Eight was too much?"
Nate cracks open his beer. It foams up through the pour spot slightly and he sucks the residual from the top of the can as if he was inhaling it. With the spout free of incumberment, he tips back the beverage and enjoys a large swig. He stares off into the distance, for a moment, pondering his son's question.
Nate finally turns to Scott with a devilish smirk on his face he replies, "No."
The two again share a laugh, toast each other and return to their Friday afternoon libations.
"Hey, pop." Scott addressed his father as he let himself into his parents second floor walk up in the South Park neighborhood of Seattle.
Meer months ago Scott returned to his humble beginnings after an ill faded shot at a wrestling career in Texas, and Mexico. The intent of his, prodigal son like, return was prefaced simply on putting professional wrestling behind him and moving on with his life. A series of random events, a talk with his father and the rekindling of a former relationship led him back to the ring.
His dwindling passion and jaded perception had lent credence to his to former feelings of discontentment and urgings to put this nonsense behind him. The injury he sustained on IWF's Chain Reaction Seven at the hands of his former friend and pseudo-brother-in-law; only bolstered what he felt would end in his eventual departure from the IWF and the sport as a whole.
With all this weighing heavy on his head Scott went to see his father, formally Nate "The Great" Douglas. Although a proficient mid-card man in the territories decades before; Nate never really lived up to his moniker. He left the sport behind in his thirties with trashed knees and an a child's erector set for a spine.
"Hey, son," his father responded as he pulled himself up from the couch, "How's the head?"
Scott rubbed the back of his head and assured his old man it was better. Nate struggled to his feet and the two shook hands and shared a half of a hug before taking seats in the Douglas' time tested living room.
Nate, short for Nathaniel and also his only born son's given name, moved stiffly at best. Nearly fifteen years in a rough and tumble business that took half your mobility before you ever saw a live audience, compounded with carrying mail on a down town Seattle foot route for twenty plus years and counting, will do that to a man.
"Where's Court'?" Scott's father questions the absence of Scott's live-in girlfriend.
Scott sighs as he responds, "You know I wouldn't bring her here, Pop. I know how Mom feels about me and her getting back together."
"Nonsense, boy. She's come around to the idea more then you think. She understands things are different. You're not teenagers anymore." Scott's father explained. "Now, all you have to worry about is her incessantly nudging you toward marriage..."
Scott responds with a chuckle, "Yeah, we both know how she can be."
"You want a beer, son?" Nate asks Scott as he labors to his feet.
"Sit down, Pop. I'll get it." Scott urges as he pops up.
His father puts on a short lived protest, gives in and takes his seat back on the worn out couch. Scott snatches a few cold beers from the refrigerator, just short steps from the living room, and returns with one for himself and his father. The dual generational pair open there respective cans with a crisp pop and sharp snap of the aluminum. They both savor the first cold sip of the age old beverage with matching mannerisms and smiles. Nate breaks the silence.
"That is never bad," he pauses trying to find the words to broach such a delicate subject;
"So ... Derrick."
Scott interjects to save him the agony, "Yeah, Pop," Scott sips from his beer, "Derrick ... I don't know what he has up his ass, honestly. At first I just wanted to let it all pass over and eventually he would either give up the shtick or just move along."
"And now?" Scott's father questions.
"Well, now things have gotten a little convoluted. I had no reason to bother with him until he started to mess with what Courtney and I had so recently salvaged from our past. And then ... well you saw Seven." Scott explained. "At this point I know I need to calm down, take a step back and think this through before things come to a head and actions are taken that can't be reversed ... but at the same time after everything he has done, and damaged ... after knocking me out of the title run to have this pissing match, after trying to come between Courtney and me ... I just want to knock his head off!"
Scott's father laughs, "Hold on there, slick. No need to cut a promo just for your dear old dad. Best save that for that camera time."
Scott realizes he worked himself up as if he had a packed house in front of him and backs off. Scott apologizes somewhere between tipping of beer cans and the laughter of a father and his son.
The amusement ratchets down with each passing second and as it creeps to a halt; Scott's father get this little pow-wow back on track.
"You're going to do what you want, son. With a little bit of what you have to ... mixed in there. You always have and I'd wager you always will. Just keep in mind out there, things can always get worse and they normally do before they get better." Nate lectures.
Scott just nods in acknowledgment and finishes off his beer.
"You want another?" Scott asks his father.
"Sure."
Scott returns to the kitchen and collects two more beverages and plops back down in the easy chair. Passing his father the can, he asks, "You think that chair shot on Eight was too much?"
Nate cracks open his beer. It foams up through the pour spot slightly and he sucks the residual from the top of the can as if he was inhaling it. With the spout free of incumberment, he tips back the beverage and enjoys a large swig. He stares off into the distance, for a moment, pondering his son's question.
Nate finally turns to Scott with a devilish smirk on his face he replies, "No."
The two again share a laugh, toast each other and return to their Friday afternoon libations.
JGray44
New member
State of Mind...
For the past couple of weeks the bad blood has been rising and rising especially for Derrick Allen. The once close friends are now bitter enemies. Derrick Allen, recently dubbed "ADD" Derrick Allen, is unstable to say the least. Some blame it on his actual ADD but none know the real reason.
"Damn...my head hurts." Derrick painstakingly says to himself.
The chair shot from Scott Douglas was obviously successful. Although he is not "out", he is definitely "down". Left bloodied at Chain Reaction Eight, Allen certainly had it coming to him.
"This ought to help." Derrick thinks to his self as he sits alone at the back of the Seattle Center Monorail. His Destination is unknown and who knows how long he has been riding around. Allen reaches into his pocket and pulls out a medicine bottle which reads "Oxycontin". Who knows where Derrick got a hold of this medicine since this type of narcotic is not offered in an pharmacy in his surrounding areas, nonetheless he has them. He pulls two pills out of the bottle and tosses them into his mouth. As he chews them up the look on his face is one of disgust. "Lord these things taste horrible." Allen thinks.
Derrick pulls out a mini tape recorder out of his jacket pocket. pondering for a moment he presses the record button.
"How did I get to this point in my life? I guess everything started going down hill that dreadful day I found out he left home for Texas. Leaving everyone and everything behind. The only family I had, along with Court, since my parents died. No explanation, no motive given, just left me behind."
"I guess some would call it depression..."
Derrick pulls another medicine bottle out which reads "Prozac". It is clear that not a single pill has been removed.
"I was told this Prozac would be the saving grace to my problems."
Right there on the monorail Derrick opens the bottle and pours out the contents. He proceeds to crush them with his right boot clad foot.
"Screw that...these things are not my answer. I have finally figured out the solution to my issues. In my eyes it will what i see as retribution. I finally will get to put my hands on the one I once revered."
"Surge...my match with Scott...things will finally be settled. I will step into the ring and settle all my problems."
"I will punish the man who turned his back on me. The man I came back to this dump of a town to seek out. The man who took my sister from me. The man I have come to loathe."
"Scott Douglas better show up."
"But I know he will...His ego and black heart will not let him miss an opportunity in the spotlight."
"He will suffer. He will be beaten. He will feel my pain."
"Soon, everything shall come to pass...but will this be the end?"
A smirk slowly forms on Derricks face.
"Or will this only be the beginning of a nightmare the Scotty will not be capable of waking from?"
"At Surge...We shall see, Sir..."
Derrick depresses stop in the mini recorder. He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes. Derrick's mental stability is more in question then ever before. No one knows how this will play out, not even Allen himself.
For the past couple of weeks the bad blood has been rising and rising especially for Derrick Allen. The once close friends are now bitter enemies. Derrick Allen, recently dubbed "ADD" Derrick Allen, is unstable to say the least. Some blame it on his actual ADD but none know the real reason.
"Damn...my head hurts." Derrick painstakingly says to himself.
The chair shot from Scott Douglas was obviously successful. Although he is not "out", he is definitely "down". Left bloodied at Chain Reaction Eight, Allen certainly had it coming to him.
"This ought to help." Derrick thinks to his self as he sits alone at the back of the Seattle Center Monorail. His Destination is unknown and who knows how long he has been riding around. Allen reaches into his pocket and pulls out a medicine bottle which reads "Oxycontin". Who knows where Derrick got a hold of this medicine since this type of narcotic is not offered in an pharmacy in his surrounding areas, nonetheless he has them. He pulls two pills out of the bottle and tosses them into his mouth. As he chews them up the look on his face is one of disgust. "Lord these things taste horrible." Allen thinks.
Derrick pulls out a mini tape recorder out of his jacket pocket. pondering for a moment he presses the record button.
"How did I get to this point in my life? I guess everything started going down hill that dreadful day I found out he left home for Texas. Leaving everyone and everything behind. The only family I had, along with Court, since my parents died. No explanation, no motive given, just left me behind."
"I guess some would call it depression..."
Derrick pulls another medicine bottle out which reads "Prozac". It is clear that not a single pill has been removed.
"I was told this Prozac would be the saving grace to my problems."
Right there on the monorail Derrick opens the bottle and pours out the contents. He proceeds to crush them with his right boot clad foot.
"Screw that...these things are not my answer. I have finally figured out the solution to my issues. In my eyes it will what i see as retribution. I finally will get to put my hands on the one I once revered."
"Surge...my match with Scott...things will finally be settled. I will step into the ring and settle all my problems."
"I will punish the man who turned his back on me. The man I came back to this dump of a town to seek out. The man who took my sister from me. The man I have come to loathe."
"Scott Douglas better show up."
"But I know he will...His ego and black heart will not let him miss an opportunity in the spotlight."
"He will suffer. He will be beaten. He will feel my pain."
"Soon, everything shall come to pass...but will this be the end?"
A smirk slowly forms on Derricks face.
"Or will this only be the beginning of a nightmare the Scotty will not be capable of waking from?"
"At Surge...We shall see, Sir..."
Derrick depresses stop in the mini recorder. He sits back in his seat and closes his eyes. Derrick's mental stability is more in question then ever before. No one knows how this will play out, not even Allen himself.