Chain Reaction 6: Vizier ta Seti (c) vs. Scott Douglas
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The Shadow Pope
- Joined
- Jan 6, 1995
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- www.valeriansgarden.com
The truce ends
(FADEIN on the Brooklyn shoreline, just under the Verrazzano Bridge. There is a man with a mowhawk who has waded up to his waist into the water; he has been there for a while as there appears to be no extraneous disturbance in the river cause by his presence.
Of course, it's the Emerald City Champion. He's wearing a plain black tank top and some form of pants that are indistinguishable from the water.)
SETI: Scott Douglas... the truce is over.
I appreciate your assistance during the tag team main event of Chain Reaction 5, and while I fully intend to fulfill my part of our bargain and grant you what will be the official first shot at my Emerald City Championship, and while I fully intend to give you a free and fair shot... our partnership at the last show will not grant you a single favor as it relates to my intentions toward you.
You were an ally, Sub Pop... and from Chain Reaction 7 on, I will consider you an ally again as long as you remain an honorable peer... but for the time being, you are simply my next opponent and I intend to treat you as such.
Which means you're going to lose.
(He crossed his arms; from behind, the setting sun made him look like more than a man.)
SETI: I study my opponents, Scott... and I think you have the most potential of them all. You don't claim to be perfect, you don't hide behind a multimillion dollar contract, and you aren't a mush-mouthed alcoholic.
You're a competent, exciting wrestler, Scott... and you have a bright future in this business.
(Vizier turned around and started to walk out of the river toward shore - his face and features obscured by the glare of the sun.)
SETI: But your time is not here at Chain Reaction 6.
There is nothing wrong with a bright future, Scott...
...when it shows up, just a little later than you want.
(FADEOUT)
(FADEIN on the Brooklyn shoreline, just under the Verrazzano Bridge. There is a man with a mowhawk who has waded up to his waist into the water; he has been there for a while as there appears to be no extraneous disturbance in the river cause by his presence.
Of course, it's the Emerald City Champion. He's wearing a plain black tank top and some form of pants that are indistinguishable from the water.)
SETI: Scott Douglas... the truce is over.
I appreciate your assistance during the tag team main event of Chain Reaction 5, and while I fully intend to fulfill my part of our bargain and grant you what will be the official first shot at my Emerald City Championship, and while I fully intend to give you a free and fair shot... our partnership at the last show will not grant you a single favor as it relates to my intentions toward you.
You were an ally, Sub Pop... and from Chain Reaction 7 on, I will consider you an ally again as long as you remain an honorable peer... but for the time being, you are simply my next opponent and I intend to treat you as such.
Which means you're going to lose.
(He crossed his arms; from behind, the setting sun made him look like more than a man.)
SETI: I study my opponents, Scott... and I think you have the most potential of them all. You don't claim to be perfect, you don't hide behind a multimillion dollar contract, and you aren't a mush-mouthed alcoholic.
You're a competent, exciting wrestler, Scott... and you have a bright future in this business.
(Vizier turned around and started to walk out of the river toward shore - his face and features obscured by the glare of the sun.)
SETI: But your time is not here at Chain Reaction 6.
There is nothing wrong with a bright future, Scott...
...when it shows up, just a little later than you want.
(FADEOUT)
BWade
Grandma Took Me Home
Catching Up to the Past, Part IV (Civil Discourse)
Scott's had a lot on his mind, this quiet Wednesday afternoon. His title shot verse Vizier ta Seti, the mysterious return of Courtney's older brother Derrick Allen, and his own past transgressions coming back to haunt his personal life.
He and Courtney's communication had all but broken down over the past week and the tension in their household had driven him to the street. The street, however, led him directly to the bar and the bar ... to the drink.
"I, honestly, don't know what she wants from me." Scott tells the bar tender. "I provide, hell I got her in, we are back together and everything was going just fine. That is, of course, until Derrick, showed up."
The bartender keeps himself busy behind the bar while half heartedly listening to Scott essentially whine. Scott parts his lips and gulps down a large portion of the alcoholic drink housed in a high ball glass.
"I did what I had to do... Well, at least what I thought I had to do." Scott continues.
He finishes the glass and slides it forward to signal he is ready for another. The bartender swoops the glass from the bar, dumping a healthy scoop of ice inside and replenishes the spirits.
"This one's on the fellow down the bar." The bartender informs Scott.
Scott twists his neck about to see who the bartender spoke of. The afternoon sun shined brightly threw the storefront style windows and left the man backlit and hard to make out.
The man raises his glass and shouts to Scott in a familiar voice, "To the next Emerald City Champion!"
The man's impromptu toast elicits a small reaction from the handful of patrons scattered amongst the bar. Scott raises his glass toward the dark figure and nods in a show of gratitude. He turns his attention back toward the bar tender to continue his rhetorical conversation; only to find the bar tender has slipped off to the back momentarily.
The man at the end of the bar rises from his seat, tucks it away politely underneath the bar and makes his way down to where Scott is seated.
"A few more and you'll be less Sup Pop... more Mateo, sir."
Scott pin points the familiar voice void of the facial recognition instantly with the sarcastically spun honorific address.
Derrick and Scott had always talked a little different to each other than anyone else. It was almost a contest of who could sound more intelligent and eloquent then the other. If points were kept, insults cleverly disguised as
empty rhetoric would be worth two. Sir, would commonly punctuate the end of most sentences or statements almost as a sarcastic exclamation point. Although their connection and subsequent friendship had seemingly feel victim to past events ... they're parlance amongst once another remained the constant.
Scott raises his glass toward his lips and snidely greets the generous gift giver just before sipping from his cup causing his words to muffle in the short glass. "Derrick."
The man formally shrouded in a backlight blackness takes a seat at the bar next to Scott. He responds in the same manor just before finishing off his glass. "Scott." Derrick holds his glass out toward the returning bartender who sets out to refill its contents.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?" Scott asks of his defacto drinking partner.
Derrick, retrieves his full glass from the bartender, and responds. "Sir, your current tone ... and more recent assumptions outside the event center; infer my motives to be clandestine in nature. Nothing... could be further from the truth... Sir."
Scott's tone changes swiftly and now denotes a more definitive and direct line of questioning. "What are you doing here, Derrick?"
"If, by which, you are referring to Seattle, I believe we have had this discourse once before, sir." Derrick answers.
Scott sets his glass down on the bar with a heavy thud. "I mean; in this bar."
"Well, I assume, sir ... for the same reason you are. The haunts of our misguided youth. What better place to be received after a home ward sojourn." Derrick responds.
Scott, slides his glass to the edge of the bar once again. "So, am I to believe your time here playing prodigal son... is one of temporary standings, sir."
"By design... but who knows what the coming days could possibly bring a young out of work athlete of my candor and unbridled talent... Sir." Derrick responds.
Scott downs his current drinks and slams the glass back down on the warped beer sponsored paper coaster. "Either way, I think I'll find another establishment to patronize while you ponder your prospects and plan you inevitable departure. Thanks for the drink, sir."
With a chuckle, Derrick tips his glass. "Anytime, sir."
Scott pushes his seat back in and snatches his jacket from its back. He tosses a few bills up on the bar and exits; disappearing into the late afternoon glare as he approaches and passes through the door.
Scott's had a lot on his mind, this quiet Wednesday afternoon. His title shot verse Vizier ta Seti, the mysterious return of Courtney's older brother Derrick Allen, and his own past transgressions coming back to haunt his personal life.
He and Courtney's communication had all but broken down over the past week and the tension in their household had driven him to the street. The street, however, led him directly to the bar and the bar ... to the drink.
"I, honestly, don't know what she wants from me." Scott tells the bar tender. "I provide, hell I got her in, we are back together and everything was going just fine. That is, of course, until Derrick, showed up."
The bartender keeps himself busy behind the bar while half heartedly listening to Scott essentially whine. Scott parts his lips and gulps down a large portion of the alcoholic drink housed in a high ball glass.
"I did what I had to do... Well, at least what I thought I had to do." Scott continues.
He finishes the glass and slides it forward to signal he is ready for another. The bartender swoops the glass from the bar, dumping a healthy scoop of ice inside and replenishes the spirits.
"This one's on the fellow down the bar." The bartender informs Scott.
Scott twists his neck about to see who the bartender spoke of. The afternoon sun shined brightly threw the storefront style windows and left the man backlit and hard to make out.
The man raises his glass and shouts to Scott in a familiar voice, "To the next Emerald City Champion!"
The man's impromptu toast elicits a small reaction from the handful of patrons scattered amongst the bar. Scott raises his glass toward the dark figure and nods in a show of gratitude. He turns his attention back toward the bar tender to continue his rhetorical conversation; only to find the bar tender has slipped off to the back momentarily.
The man at the end of the bar rises from his seat, tucks it away politely underneath the bar and makes his way down to where Scott is seated.
"A few more and you'll be less Sup Pop... more Mateo, sir."
Scott pin points the familiar voice void of the facial recognition instantly with the sarcastically spun honorific address.
Derrick and Scott had always talked a little different to each other than anyone else. It was almost a contest of who could sound more intelligent and eloquent then the other. If points were kept, insults cleverly disguised as
empty rhetoric would be worth two. Sir, would commonly punctuate the end of most sentences or statements almost as a sarcastic exclamation point. Although their connection and subsequent friendship had seemingly feel victim to past events ... they're parlance amongst once another remained the constant.
Scott raises his glass toward his lips and snidely greets the generous gift giver just before sipping from his cup causing his words to muffle in the short glass. "Derrick."
The man formally shrouded in a backlight blackness takes a seat at the bar next to Scott. He responds in the same manor just before finishing off his glass. "Scott." Derrick holds his glass out toward the returning bartender who sets out to refill its contents.
"To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?" Scott asks of his defacto drinking partner.
Derrick, retrieves his full glass from the bartender, and responds. "Sir, your current tone ... and more recent assumptions outside the event center; infer my motives to be clandestine in nature. Nothing... could be further from the truth... Sir."
Scott's tone changes swiftly and now denotes a more definitive and direct line of questioning. "What are you doing here, Derrick?"
"If, by which, you are referring to Seattle, I believe we have had this discourse once before, sir." Derrick answers.
Scott sets his glass down on the bar with a heavy thud. "I mean; in this bar."
"Well, I assume, sir ... for the same reason you are. The haunts of our misguided youth. What better place to be received after a home ward sojourn." Derrick responds.
Scott, slides his glass to the edge of the bar once again. "So, am I to believe your time here playing prodigal son... is one of temporary standings, sir."
"By design... but who knows what the coming days could possibly bring a young out of work athlete of my candor and unbridled talent... Sir." Derrick responds.
Scott downs his current drinks and slams the glass back down on the warped beer sponsored paper coaster. "Either way, I think I'll find another establishment to patronize while you ponder your prospects and plan you inevitable departure. Thanks for the drink, sir."
With a chuckle, Derrick tips his glass. "Anytime, sir."
Scott pushes his seat back in and snatches his jacket from its back. He tosses a few bills up on the bar and exits; disappearing into the late afternoon glare as he approaches and passes through the door.
User Poets
The Shadow Pope
- Joined
- Jan 6, 1995
- Messages
- 2,192
- Points
- 36
- Age
- 44
- Location
- Top of the Pile
- Website
- www.valeriansgarden.com
Fallacy
(CUE UP: "Through Osiris' Eyes (instrumental)" by Pagan's Mind.)
"Your fatal mistake, Scott... is your assumption that you can become Emerald City Champion... simply by wanting to."
(FADEIN on a rather large bonfire, in the middle of a clearing. Nothing can be seen outside of the small halo of light provided by the fire; that is, nothing can be seen except for an outline of logs that probably serve as crude seats, and a man, backlit by the flames, tossing papers and other various sundries into the middle of the burning embers.
This man has a mowhawk. It's a given, who it is.)
SETI: The Hometown Boy makes good, Scott. It's an amusing tale, and it's one that has certainly worked at least a handful of times in the past.
(Toss, toss, toss.)
SETI: Your time has arrived, Scott. You're going to unseat the indominable One Who Saw All, and you're going to rule the Emerald City like a conquering hero.
Except you don't write the ending of this story.
Except you can't see the future of this championship.
Except... outside the small fire of your life... you are blind.
To succeed, you have to be willing to remove all layers of hesitation and doubt. You have to be able to see your goal and move toward it, allowing nothing to slow you down.
No family.
No friends.
No future.
Everything that you own, everyone that you love... are you willing to sacrifice every part of your life and your history to obtain that which you desire?
(Vizier ta Seti stopped behind and to the side of the fire, and he held up his hands. It appears to be a series of photographs that he is burning.)
SETI: My family. My past life. The memory of my ancestors fills me with pride... but when it comes to immortality, those memories are a garrote around my neck, dragging me to mediocrity. Memory... feelings... emotion... they can all be sources of great strength.
(He tossed the pictures into the fire.)
SETI: But they make you content. They make you happy to be part of some kind of unit. They remove the desire to continually move forward.
Never be complete.
Stop being perfect.
(He smirked, no doubt thinking about James Witherhold in the moment.)
SETI: I see Scott Douglas as a man who wants to make his mark on the world in general and on professional wrestling, and the IWF in particular.
(He paused.)
SETI: How do you intend to become immortal with your b*tch girlfriend and his useless brother dragging you down?
I want you to succeed, Scott. I want you to be a major pillar of the IWF for years to come... but you will never... ever... reach your potential if you allow inferiority to dictate the course of your thoughts... let alone your life.
(He stopped, and stood in front of the fire, making his silhouette glow around the edges.)
SETI: Because if you don't... if you truly believe that you... here... now... have what it takes to take my Emerald City Championship...
(Smirk.)
SETI: Then you're a bigger fool than even James Witherhold could ever hope to be.
(FADEOUT)
(CUE UP: "Through Osiris' Eyes (instrumental)" by Pagan's Mind.)
"Your fatal mistake, Scott... is your assumption that you can become Emerald City Champion... simply by wanting to."
(FADEIN on a rather large bonfire, in the middle of a clearing. Nothing can be seen outside of the small halo of light provided by the fire; that is, nothing can be seen except for an outline of logs that probably serve as crude seats, and a man, backlit by the flames, tossing papers and other various sundries into the middle of the burning embers.
This man has a mowhawk. It's a given, who it is.)
SETI: The Hometown Boy makes good, Scott. It's an amusing tale, and it's one that has certainly worked at least a handful of times in the past.
(Toss, toss, toss.)
SETI: Your time has arrived, Scott. You're going to unseat the indominable One Who Saw All, and you're going to rule the Emerald City like a conquering hero.
Except you don't write the ending of this story.
Except you can't see the future of this championship.
Except... outside the small fire of your life... you are blind.
To succeed, you have to be willing to remove all layers of hesitation and doubt. You have to be able to see your goal and move toward it, allowing nothing to slow you down.
No family.
No friends.
No future.
Everything that you own, everyone that you love... are you willing to sacrifice every part of your life and your history to obtain that which you desire?
(Vizier ta Seti stopped behind and to the side of the fire, and he held up his hands. It appears to be a series of photographs that he is burning.)
SETI: My family. My past life. The memory of my ancestors fills me with pride... but when it comes to immortality, those memories are a garrote around my neck, dragging me to mediocrity. Memory... feelings... emotion... they can all be sources of great strength.
(He tossed the pictures into the fire.)
SETI: But they make you content. They make you happy to be part of some kind of unit. They remove the desire to continually move forward.
Never be complete.
Stop being perfect.
(He smirked, no doubt thinking about James Witherhold in the moment.)
SETI: I see Scott Douglas as a man who wants to make his mark on the world in general and on professional wrestling, and the IWF in particular.
(He paused.)
SETI: How do you intend to become immortal with your b*tch girlfriend and his useless brother dragging you down?
I want you to succeed, Scott. I want you to be a major pillar of the IWF for years to come... but you will never... ever... reach your potential if you allow inferiority to dictate the course of your thoughts... let alone your life.
(He stopped, and stood in front of the fire, making his silhouette glow around the edges.)
SETI: Because if you don't... if you truly believe that you... here... now... have what it takes to take my Emerald City Championship...
(Smirk.)
SETI: Then you're a bigger fool than even James Witherhold could ever hope to be.
(FADEOUT)