Chain Reaction 7: Perfection vs. Scott Douglas
- Thread starter Stalker
- Start date
BWade
Grandma Took Me Home
Catching Up to the Past, Part VI (Love and Guard Rails)
Show is over. Lights out. Seats Empty.
Scott Douglas sits in the front row seat that moments earlier had housed Courtney's brother, Derrick Allen.
While Derrick and Courtney enjoyed their free ring side tickets, Scott stood in the middle of ring and took his loss like a champ. Unfortunately; said loss would subsequently hinder his aspirations to be 'champ'.
The night's events left Scott with a myriad of unanswered questions and less than favorable thoughts.
What is Derrick's game?
Where do Courtney's loyalties lie?
Was returning a mistake?
Where does one go from here?
With the digits in his loss column mounting, Scott's mind began to wander freely about his decision to return to professional wrestling. The empty event center seems a thousand times larger than it had even been, even at full capacity going blow for blow in the middle of the ring with the reigning champion... and now instead of screaming fans it housed his rampant thoughts.
A million questions swirling around and around smacking into one another, clashing violently and spawning off into five more unanswered quandaries a piece. And then again, and then ... again. Each more perplexing then the last.
Scott drops his head into his sore callused hands for a moment and tries to shake off the Twilight Zone episode going on his mind. He thrusts his upper body back to a vertical base and mops back his damp jet black hair. He drops his arms, sending his hands collapsing back to his lap with a sharp clap of impact coinciding with a call from ring side.
"Scott!?" Courtney calls out a few short steps from Scott.
Scott startles.
"Scotty!?" she repeats in a rhetorical and confident tone.
Scott rubs his eyes and brow with his left hand in exhaustion and replies; "Yeah, Court'. I'm here."
"Are you alright, babe?" Courtney asks softly.
"I'm fine." Scott responds solemnly.
Courtney leans against the guard rail bracing herself with both hands. "Look, I want to apologize for earlier today... and well, tonight as well." Courtney hesitantly laments.
Scott doesn't respond and lets her squirm in the self-afflicted awkwardness.
"I acted irrationally, and I let that effect both our work and more importantly our relationship. I apologize for that. I'm extremely sorry, Scotty." Courtney pauses waiting for Scott to interject.
He doesn't.
"It's just ... well the way you and D' act toward each other now; it drives me crazy. I know he hasn't always been the best person, or friend ... or hell even brother but I'm always going to have a soft spot for him. He is my brother after all. But I love you, Scotty and I love my brother just as much ... in completely different ways, obviously." Courtney says, tacking on the post script in hopes to illicit at least a chuckle from Scott.
Again, he remains solemn and composed.
Courtney continues, "I just ... I just want him to do well but I do not want that to interfere, in anyway, with what we have. Two months ago I was sure I had lost you forever ... and in the blink of an eye; I have you back. Which, honestly ... is all I've ever wanted."
Scott remain silent. He adjust in his seat slightly, but utters not a word.
"But now that I have everything that ... I've ... ever wanted, is it too much to wish well for my brother?" Courtney rhetorically poses. "Not to say that I don't want success for you as well. You're success, is my success and your joy is not only my joy but it simply brings me joy to see you happy, Scotty."
Courtney eyes well up with all the symptoms of an eventual torrential downpour, but she continues on; "I won't say that we are one... because I know that you say being one isn't special ... being two separate people who choose to share their lives with one another means much more ..."
Courtney sniffles and pushes through, "... than any superficial union ever could pretend to be. And I've grown to believe and cherish that thought."
Scott shifts in his seat again as Courtney wipes the early onset optical precipitation. She swallows trying to clear the lump in her throat or possibly just to eat the emotion that is boiling over her words. She stammers a bit as she continues her monologue.
"But I will say; when you smile, I smile ... and when you glow with that over whelming since of accomplishment... I glow. When you win, I win. And when you ... eventually, no, inevitably hold that Emerald City Championship as high as you can possibly raise it... I will be by your side holding it with you."
Scott stands from his seat and clutches Courtney around her shoulders and neck. She extends her arms instantly and clutches to his mid section and the two embrace only separated by the guard rail that stood between them short hours before.
Show is over. Lights out. Seats Empty.
Scott Douglas sits in the front row seat that moments earlier had housed Courtney's brother, Derrick Allen.
While Derrick and Courtney enjoyed their free ring side tickets, Scott stood in the middle of ring and took his loss like a champ. Unfortunately; said loss would subsequently hinder his aspirations to be 'champ'.
The night's events left Scott with a myriad of unanswered questions and less than favorable thoughts.
What is Derrick's game?
Where do Courtney's loyalties lie?
Was returning a mistake?
Where does one go from here?
With the digits in his loss column mounting, Scott's mind began to wander freely about his decision to return to professional wrestling. The empty event center seems a thousand times larger than it had even been, even at full capacity going blow for blow in the middle of the ring with the reigning champion... and now instead of screaming fans it housed his rampant thoughts.
A million questions swirling around and around smacking into one another, clashing violently and spawning off into five more unanswered quandaries a piece. And then again, and then ... again. Each more perplexing then the last.
Scott drops his head into his sore callused hands for a moment and tries to shake off the Twilight Zone episode going on his mind. He thrusts his upper body back to a vertical base and mops back his damp jet black hair. He drops his arms, sending his hands collapsing back to his lap with a sharp clap of impact coinciding with a call from ring side.
"Scott!?" Courtney calls out a few short steps from Scott.
Scott startles.
"Scotty!?" she repeats in a rhetorical and confident tone.
Scott rubs his eyes and brow with his left hand in exhaustion and replies; "Yeah, Court'. I'm here."
"Are you alright, babe?" Courtney asks softly.
"I'm fine." Scott responds solemnly.
Courtney leans against the guard rail bracing herself with both hands. "Look, I want to apologize for earlier today... and well, tonight as well." Courtney hesitantly laments.
Scott doesn't respond and lets her squirm in the self-afflicted awkwardness.
"I acted irrationally, and I let that effect both our work and more importantly our relationship. I apologize for that. I'm extremely sorry, Scotty." Courtney pauses waiting for Scott to interject.
He doesn't.
"It's just ... well the way you and D' act toward each other now; it drives me crazy. I know he hasn't always been the best person, or friend ... or hell even brother but I'm always going to have a soft spot for him. He is my brother after all. But I love you, Scotty and I love my brother just as much ... in completely different ways, obviously." Courtney says, tacking on the post script in hopes to illicit at least a chuckle from Scott.
Again, he remains solemn and composed.
Courtney continues, "I just ... I just want him to do well but I do not want that to interfere, in anyway, with what we have. Two months ago I was sure I had lost you forever ... and in the blink of an eye; I have you back. Which, honestly ... is all I've ever wanted."
Scott remain silent. He adjust in his seat slightly, but utters not a word.
"But now that I have everything that ... I've ... ever wanted, is it too much to wish well for my brother?" Courtney rhetorically poses. "Not to say that I don't want success for you as well. You're success, is my success and your joy is not only my joy but it simply brings me joy to see you happy, Scotty."
Courtney eyes well up with all the symptoms of an eventual torrential downpour, but she continues on; "I won't say that we are one... because I know that you say being one isn't special ... being two separate people who choose to share their lives with one another means much more ..."
Courtney sniffles and pushes through, "... than any superficial union ever could pretend to be. And I've grown to believe and cherish that thought."
Scott shifts in his seat again as Courtney wipes the early onset optical precipitation. She swallows trying to clear the lump in her throat or possibly just to eat the emotion that is boiling over her words. She stammers a bit as she continues her monologue.
"But I will say; when you smile, I smile ... and when you glow with that over whelming since of accomplishment... I glow. When you win, I win. And when you ... eventually, no, inevitably hold that Emerald City Championship as high as you can possibly raise it... I will be by your side holding it with you."
Scott stands from his seat and clutches Courtney around her shoulders and neck. She extends her arms instantly and clutches to his mid section and the two embrace only separated by the guard rail that stood between them short hours before.
John Doe
The Anorexic Ethiopian
Rocko, Scott, and next Vizier.
FADEIN...
Perfection is sitting in a chair as a female is applying mixtures of creams lightly onto the scrapped forehead of Perfection following a chair shot at Chain Reaction Six. He lays back relaxing with cucumbers on his eyes as she works in her magic. Spa robe and slippers and a Sangria on a table on his right side.
PERFECTION: Dear lord help me. Now don't get me wrong, I understand what you were trying to do Scott. Be the loyal dog to the champ, beckon his every call. Since he obviously can't defend himself, he obviously is too weak to handle a Perfect assault his little Labrador comes to his aid.
Not only did you cause me to have to fix the blemish on his very delicate, beautiful, and flawless skin. You interrupted me in the process of making another point clear.
A smile creeps his mouth.
PERFECTION: Hell, let's be honest Scott, I have already bested you once, I have beaten you. Shoulders on the mat out for the count, and have a nice PERFECT day. And here we are again, on this endless merry go round.
Reminder, I am still the number one contender to the title. Vizier can give out as many title shots as he wishes. At the end of the day, I am still number one. And with that, Scott, means I can cash in my shot anytime.
Because I earned it. Just like I earned the first ten grand prize, just like I earned my win over Mary Lynn, just like I earned the love of every single woman that puts their eyes on me. What have you earned Scott? Other than being handed a free title shot just because you were a good errand boy?
Perfection puts up one finger as the girl steps out of camera view to get different mineral ointments.
PERFECTION: Nothing? You have done nothing? That's what I thought. But hey, Scott at least you do the whole useless thing, PERFECTLY.
As for me, I have beaten Rocko Daymon, I have toppled every single individual that has put themselves face to face with me. Because I am that damn good Scott, because when I wrestle women need to change their panties.
I am Perfection. It's so simple and easy to understand we can teach it in third world countries if we wanted. Beyond that, beyond Cho putting this company on a tour, beyond the fact that is only possible because of one person...ME. The only thing I have left to offer this company is a very long and prosperous title reign.
Lift of the Sangria, a Perfect sip, and a Perfect sigh of delight.
PERFECTION: I rake in the cash Scott, with out me, my presence, my very existence this company would be so far down the tubes even a cheap and rusty wrestler like you wouldn't have a job.
The difference that sets us apart is I am great Scott, I am Perfect. I execute Perfectly, I look Perfect, I win Perfectly. And at the end of the day, it's all about results.
I deliver results....every....single....week.
He stretches in the chair gently as the girl returns to apply the ointments to his battle wound.
PERFECTION: You can't even deliver a f-cking pizza let alone results. You didn't topple that Egyptian swine, you didn't over come me in the number one contenders match, not to mention you screwed me from winning MY title.
In all fairness you are at this point just a person getting in the way of my excelling. I don't know how far Art has his head up his ass that he doesn't realize you are not a challenge to me. Not one that I deserve.
Hell if there even is a challenge in this company. Rocko Daymon was meant to be a big whoop. Some big name coming in to show us all a lesson. Look how that panned out for him.
The girl finishes the treatments and removes the cucumbers from his eyes. Perfection sits up staring at the camera.
PERFECTION: So what's next? What do you think is about to happen, Scott? That you are going to walk into Chain Reaction Seven and make up for your repeated failures? That you are going to hope your new Master Seti saves your ass from me?
The answers are so very simple you can answer it in three seconds while looking up at the roof lights, Scott.
Perfection.
FADEOUT.
FADEIN...
Perfection is sitting in a chair as a female is applying mixtures of creams lightly onto the scrapped forehead of Perfection following a chair shot at Chain Reaction Six. He lays back relaxing with cucumbers on his eyes as she works in her magic. Spa robe and slippers and a Sangria on a table on his right side.
PERFECTION: Dear lord help me. Now don't get me wrong, I understand what you were trying to do Scott. Be the loyal dog to the champ, beckon his every call. Since he obviously can't defend himself, he obviously is too weak to handle a Perfect assault his little Labrador comes to his aid.
Not only did you cause me to have to fix the blemish on his very delicate, beautiful, and flawless skin. You interrupted me in the process of making another point clear.
A smile creeps his mouth.
PERFECTION: Hell, let's be honest Scott, I have already bested you once, I have beaten you. Shoulders on the mat out for the count, and have a nice PERFECT day. And here we are again, on this endless merry go round.
Reminder, I am still the number one contender to the title. Vizier can give out as many title shots as he wishes. At the end of the day, I am still number one. And with that, Scott, means I can cash in my shot anytime.
Because I earned it. Just like I earned the first ten grand prize, just like I earned my win over Mary Lynn, just like I earned the love of every single woman that puts their eyes on me. What have you earned Scott? Other than being handed a free title shot just because you were a good errand boy?
Perfection puts up one finger as the girl steps out of camera view to get different mineral ointments.
PERFECTION: Nothing? You have done nothing? That's what I thought. But hey, Scott at least you do the whole useless thing, PERFECTLY.
As for me, I have beaten Rocko Daymon, I have toppled every single individual that has put themselves face to face with me. Because I am that damn good Scott, because when I wrestle women need to change their panties.
I am Perfection. It's so simple and easy to understand we can teach it in third world countries if we wanted. Beyond that, beyond Cho putting this company on a tour, beyond the fact that is only possible because of one person...ME. The only thing I have left to offer this company is a very long and prosperous title reign.
Lift of the Sangria, a Perfect sip, and a Perfect sigh of delight.
PERFECTION: I rake in the cash Scott, with out me, my presence, my very existence this company would be so far down the tubes even a cheap and rusty wrestler like you wouldn't have a job.
The difference that sets us apart is I am great Scott, I am Perfect. I execute Perfectly, I look Perfect, I win Perfectly. And at the end of the day, it's all about results.
I deliver results....every....single....week.
He stretches in the chair gently as the girl returns to apply the ointments to his battle wound.
PERFECTION: You can't even deliver a f-cking pizza let alone results. You didn't topple that Egyptian swine, you didn't over come me in the number one contenders match, not to mention you screwed me from winning MY title.
In all fairness you are at this point just a person getting in the way of my excelling. I don't know how far Art has his head up his ass that he doesn't realize you are not a challenge to me. Not one that I deserve.
Hell if there even is a challenge in this company. Rocko Daymon was meant to be a big whoop. Some big name coming in to show us all a lesson. Look how that panned out for him.
The girl finishes the treatments and removes the cucumbers from his eyes. Perfection sits up staring at the camera.
PERFECTION: So what's next? What do you think is about to happen, Scott? That you are going to walk into Chain Reaction Seven and make up for your repeated failures? That you are going to hope your new Master Seti saves your ass from me?
The answers are so very simple you can answer it in three seconds while looking up at the roof lights, Scott.
Perfection.
FADEOUT.
BWade
Grandma Took Me Home
Catching Up to the Past, Part VII (Dwindling Flames)
Scott Douglas enters his and Courtney's Seattle apartment; tossing his keys on the counter, Scott collapses on the couch and attempts to let go of this week's stress. Between Derrick Allen's unsanctimonious return, Scott's own status in the IWF, and an upcoming match with the loose lipped, long winded James Witherhold ... Scott has nearly had enough.
This felt like Texas. Like Mexico.
Courtney, hearing Scott had arrived, exits the bedroom for the living room and greets her boyfriend with an awkward embrace; reaching over the back of the couch and wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Hey, babe. How was your work out?" Courtney asks.
Scott reaches up and places his hand on her forearm in a show of mutual affection. "It was good. Cleared my head a bit, I suppose." He replies.
"Good. Glad to hear it." Courtney adds. "While you were out IWF posted a new promo spot from Jimmy Jam. It's pulled up on my laptop, if you want to check it out."
Scott replies, simply, "Pass."
Courtney giggles as she releases her loving sleeper hold and meanders into the kitchen. "Yeah, you're not missing anything. Same old song and dance. I'm this, your that ... blah, blah, blah. I half expected him to toss a towel around his back and catch it. Very trite and cliché."
Scott grunts just enough to convey acknowledgement and sluggishly grabs the remote. Courtney busies herself in the kitchen, unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher. Scott clicks on the television on and mashes at the remote's channel button in search of something ... not wrestling, yet just as mind-numbing.
Courtney continues and dishes clank against one another. "I can schedule the camera crew if you like. Are you going to do anything?"
Scott hesitates to reply in fear of the conversation it may spawn. "I wasn't planning on it."
Courtney pauses mid-motion; plate in hand. "Why the hell not, babe?"
"Honestly, what the point? I'm sure he'll ramble on about the same **** whether I make a showing or not. Let me guess, I cost him the title, I didn't deserve a title shot, he is perfect, and I imagine something about my terrible win/loss record." Scott answers with an apathetic tone. "I'm over it, Court'."
Courtney pushes the dish washer shut and walks back into the adjoined living room drying her damp hands on a dish towel. "With promotional tapings?" She questions and she takes a seat next to Scott.
Scott turns to Courtney, rubs his eyes, traces his hand down to his chin and responds with a sigh to exhaustion and disappointment; "All of it."
Courtney is taken by surprise. "But ... this has always been your dream babe. And your closer than you have ever been to success. You can't stop now."
Scott sits up from his slump and reaches for the cigarettes on the coffee table. He places one between his lips and fumbles with a small box of matches. "It was, or is... " he mumbles while maintaining oral possession of the smoking implement. "... And I am. But seems like the closer I get the further away I feel."
The match scraps along with rough red flint of the match box and ignites furiously and dwindles quickly and Scott make it to the cigarette.
"Every step closer to the promise land I feel more and more detached from the kid that used to truly love the art."
He tries again with yet another match. It ignites and he cups it with his free hand for safe delivery. It again extinguishes prematurely.
"I don't want to gain the world, if it costs my soul, Court'."
He tries again with the same result. Courtney digs in her pocket and Scott rambles on in depressing defeatist tones.
"Maybe my ... flame has gone out. Lit up like a box full of matches ..." Scott laments as he tossed the matches to the coffee table in defeat.
Courtney pulls a small blue lighter from her pocket and raises it to Scott's cigarette. She flicks it and he inhales; coloring the cherry a bright orange.
"But this time you don't have to do it alone." she whispers. "You have me."
Courtney leans in a gives Scott a peck on the cheek as he takes a long drag of the cigarette.
"Chin up, mister. I have a few calls to make. I'll come check on you in a few." Courtney tells Scott as she leverages herself off of the couch and heads into the bedroom.
Scott continues to flip through the channels. After a long exhale he brings the cigarette back to his mouth to take another drag, only to realize the cherry has fell off somewhere on his person or worse ... the couch. He leaps to his feet.
"****!"
Scott Douglas enters his and Courtney's Seattle apartment; tossing his keys on the counter, Scott collapses on the couch and attempts to let go of this week's stress. Between Derrick Allen's unsanctimonious return, Scott's own status in the IWF, and an upcoming match with the loose lipped, long winded James Witherhold ... Scott has nearly had enough.
This felt like Texas. Like Mexico.
Courtney, hearing Scott had arrived, exits the bedroom for the living room and greets her boyfriend with an awkward embrace; reaching over the back of the couch and wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Hey, babe. How was your work out?" Courtney asks.
Scott reaches up and places his hand on her forearm in a show of mutual affection. "It was good. Cleared my head a bit, I suppose." He replies.
"Good. Glad to hear it." Courtney adds. "While you were out IWF posted a new promo spot from Jimmy Jam. It's pulled up on my laptop, if you want to check it out."
Scott replies, simply, "Pass."
Courtney giggles as she releases her loving sleeper hold and meanders into the kitchen. "Yeah, you're not missing anything. Same old song and dance. I'm this, your that ... blah, blah, blah. I half expected him to toss a towel around his back and catch it. Very trite and cliché."
Scott grunts just enough to convey acknowledgement and sluggishly grabs the remote. Courtney busies herself in the kitchen, unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher. Scott clicks on the television on and mashes at the remote's channel button in search of something ... not wrestling, yet just as mind-numbing.
Courtney continues and dishes clank against one another. "I can schedule the camera crew if you like. Are you going to do anything?"
Scott hesitates to reply in fear of the conversation it may spawn. "I wasn't planning on it."
Courtney pauses mid-motion; plate in hand. "Why the hell not, babe?"
"Honestly, what the point? I'm sure he'll ramble on about the same **** whether I make a showing or not. Let me guess, I cost him the title, I didn't deserve a title shot, he is perfect, and I imagine something about my terrible win/loss record." Scott answers with an apathetic tone. "I'm over it, Court'."
Courtney pushes the dish washer shut and walks back into the adjoined living room drying her damp hands on a dish towel. "With promotional tapings?" She questions and she takes a seat next to Scott.
Scott turns to Courtney, rubs his eyes, traces his hand down to his chin and responds with a sigh to exhaustion and disappointment; "All of it."
Courtney is taken by surprise. "But ... this has always been your dream babe. And your closer than you have ever been to success. You can't stop now."
Scott sits up from his slump and reaches for the cigarettes on the coffee table. He places one between his lips and fumbles with a small box of matches. "It was, or is... " he mumbles while maintaining oral possession of the smoking implement. "... And I am. But seems like the closer I get the further away I feel."
The match scraps along with rough red flint of the match box and ignites furiously and dwindles quickly and Scott make it to the cigarette.
"Every step closer to the promise land I feel more and more detached from the kid that used to truly love the art."
He tries again with yet another match. It ignites and he cups it with his free hand for safe delivery. It again extinguishes prematurely.
"I don't want to gain the world, if it costs my soul, Court'."
He tries again with the same result. Courtney digs in her pocket and Scott rambles on in depressing defeatist tones.
"Maybe my ... flame has gone out. Lit up like a box full of matches ..." Scott laments as he tossed the matches to the coffee table in defeat.
Courtney pulls a small blue lighter from her pocket and raises it to Scott's cigarette. She flicks it and he inhales; coloring the cherry a bright orange.
"But this time you don't have to do it alone." she whispers. "You have me."
Courtney leans in a gives Scott a peck on the cheek as he takes a long drag of the cigarette.
"Chin up, mister. I have a few calls to make. I'll come check on you in a few." Courtney tells Scott as she leverages herself off of the couch and heads into the bedroom.
Scott continues to flip through the channels. After a long exhale he brings the cigarette back to his mouth to take another drag, only to realize the cherry has fell off somewhere on his person or worse ... the couch. He leaps to his feet.
"****!"
John Doe
The Anorexic Ethiopian
Perfect Flame Out
FADEIN...
[Seattle Space Needle, more importantly we are in SkyCity the restaurant atop the Space Needle. Perfection sitting at a table with a woman across from him, beautiful, dazzling, and smoking hot. He sees the camera coming setting down his glass of white wine he motions his hand to the girl asking her to give up her seat to the cameraman who is now sitting across from Perfection.]
PERFECTION: This is what I have come up with in the last twenty-four hours. That some people can't handle pressure, they crack. And then they begin to fade away.
Scott Douglas, doesn't know if he has it in him anymore to keep on wrestling. Can you make this any easier for me? A man in doubt, a man so far from Perfect, hell, not even mentally prepared.
Why don't you just toss in the towel. Why don't you do us all a favor, a good deed and just walk out, Scott. Because apparently when the going got tough you doubted yourself and don't know if you can handle things at THIS level.
And this level, Scott....this isn't Empire Pro, this isn't New Frontier, or CSWA. This is some crackpot shoot on the West coast. This is a playground and little “Sup Pop” can't play with the kiddies and sure as hell not the big boys.
[He picks up a piece of bread that was sitting on the plate in front of it and butters it lightly]
PERFECTION: I can. I have, Scott, I put the night out on Rocko Daymon, I put him down for three just like I will to you. And he at least had confidence. He was at least a champion in A1E. He at least had some sort of a career.
You? You are sitting around having to get support from Courtney to keep on moving. Pathetic, Scott. A real man, a true man, one worthy of getting in that ring with me only needs the support of two testicles and a brain.
[He points the butter knife at the camera]
PERFECTION: Guess you are oh for three.
It doesn't bother me one bit, if anything it makes the prospect of me putting you out...again...that much greater.
Not that the odds were even stacked against me, trust me my odds of beating you are Perfect. But its always good to have that extra umph. Extra boost knowing that winning is inevitable. That winning is literally a few short hours away.
Unchanged.
[He sets the knife down]
PERFECTION: Unmoved.
Unavoidable.
Could I be handed an any more Perfect situation?
Scott, think about it. The fans, they hate me because of how literally great I am. The company rallies behind me, my face on the posters, my name on the headlines, my body envied. I have others to do my bidding, to do my calling.
Like you, Scott a dog to Seti my brother was a dog to me. I offered him money for our fathers hospital bills to take out Rocko Daymon. I didn't pay him, he's more than likely sitting around waiting for that check won't be coming.
[He takes a small bite of the bread, chews...perfectly. Picks up the napkin closest to him pats his mouth.]
PERFECTION: The point is, everyone has a place in life, yours isn't in the ring, let the professionals do that. As far as you and I, Scott, as far as we are concerned you are just a sitting duck ready to get popped off.
Even you said it, your flame is out. You are burnt out. No one but you has said it, no one but you can admit it. And not only did you say it, you believe it.
I suppose seeing is believing. I justify my words with actions. I support what I say with what I do. You say you are burnt out, you are done with this entire industry well your actions in the ring certainly back up your words.
[A lift of wine, a sip, a smile.]
PERFECTION: I don't walk into Chain Reaction Seven with an opponent, I walk in with a light sparring session. They might as well not even have the match because frankly the public doesn't need to pity me whooping your ass post to post.
There isn't much more to say on the entire situation, Scott. There isn't anything you can say to convince me, the figureheads, the fans that you have anything left to offer other than kindly giving me a double-you.
One step closer to my Perfect, deserved, and expected title reign.
FADEOUT
FADEIN...
[Seattle Space Needle, more importantly we are in SkyCity the restaurant atop the Space Needle. Perfection sitting at a table with a woman across from him, beautiful, dazzling, and smoking hot. He sees the camera coming setting down his glass of white wine he motions his hand to the girl asking her to give up her seat to the cameraman who is now sitting across from Perfection.]
PERFECTION: This is what I have come up with in the last twenty-four hours. That some people can't handle pressure, they crack. And then they begin to fade away.
Scott Douglas, doesn't know if he has it in him anymore to keep on wrestling. Can you make this any easier for me? A man in doubt, a man so far from Perfect, hell, not even mentally prepared.
Why don't you just toss in the towel. Why don't you do us all a favor, a good deed and just walk out, Scott. Because apparently when the going got tough you doubted yourself and don't know if you can handle things at THIS level.
And this level, Scott....this isn't Empire Pro, this isn't New Frontier, or CSWA. This is some crackpot shoot on the West coast. This is a playground and little “Sup Pop” can't play with the kiddies and sure as hell not the big boys.
[He picks up a piece of bread that was sitting on the plate in front of it and butters it lightly]
PERFECTION: I can. I have, Scott, I put the night out on Rocko Daymon, I put him down for three just like I will to you. And he at least had confidence. He was at least a champion in A1E. He at least had some sort of a career.
You? You are sitting around having to get support from Courtney to keep on moving. Pathetic, Scott. A real man, a true man, one worthy of getting in that ring with me only needs the support of two testicles and a brain.
[He points the butter knife at the camera]
PERFECTION: Guess you are oh for three.
It doesn't bother me one bit, if anything it makes the prospect of me putting you out...again...that much greater.
Not that the odds were even stacked against me, trust me my odds of beating you are Perfect. But its always good to have that extra umph. Extra boost knowing that winning is inevitable. That winning is literally a few short hours away.
Unchanged.
[He sets the knife down]
PERFECTION: Unmoved.
Unavoidable.
Could I be handed an any more Perfect situation?
Scott, think about it. The fans, they hate me because of how literally great I am. The company rallies behind me, my face on the posters, my name on the headlines, my body envied. I have others to do my bidding, to do my calling.
Like you, Scott a dog to Seti my brother was a dog to me. I offered him money for our fathers hospital bills to take out Rocko Daymon. I didn't pay him, he's more than likely sitting around waiting for that check won't be coming.
[He takes a small bite of the bread, chews...perfectly. Picks up the napkin closest to him pats his mouth.]
PERFECTION: The point is, everyone has a place in life, yours isn't in the ring, let the professionals do that. As far as you and I, Scott, as far as we are concerned you are just a sitting duck ready to get popped off.
Even you said it, your flame is out. You are burnt out. No one but you has said it, no one but you can admit it. And not only did you say it, you believe it.
I suppose seeing is believing. I justify my words with actions. I support what I say with what I do. You say you are burnt out, you are done with this entire industry well your actions in the ring certainly back up your words.
[A lift of wine, a sip, a smile.]
PERFECTION: I don't walk into Chain Reaction Seven with an opponent, I walk in with a light sparring session. They might as well not even have the match because frankly the public doesn't need to pity me whooping your ass post to post.
There isn't much more to say on the entire situation, Scott. There isn't anything you can say to convince me, the figureheads, the fans that you have anything left to offer other than kindly giving me a double-you.
One step closer to my Perfect, deserved, and expected title reign.
FADEOUT