Post by Dru Tha Merc on Jan 27, 2011 13:57:07 GMT -5
“Get out.”
“All I need nigga, is a min-”
“Get out.”
“Just give me a- ”
“Dru, I swear before god, I don’t care how much blood we share, I will cause yours to spill if you do not leave in the next few seconds.”
---
At current time, we have two men standing before each other, staring holes into one another, one man giving the other a lowly, sickened stare, and the other man… The other man is trying to hide his pride. He’s trying to push away any amount of disgust he may have. That one man… That one man is the one known as Dru Tha Merc. He’s staring right back at a young man who once donned the title of King of Muay Thai.
A man who once thought he could challenge the likes of Chris Hart and Kurt Noble, and teamed with the likes of Chris Strike.
A man known as Lyn Dallins.
---
Dru: My little sister, my little sister sucked CHRIS STRIKE off! He…
Lyn, he got me into the Harlem Knights.
It is then that the face of Lyndon Dallins twitched at that. Lyn happened to be an actual Harlem Knight, an actual Knight who had actually earned his title. Yet, he hated Dru. He hated him, despised him, and wished him the absolute of most deaths. That was his cousin though and Strike…
Strike was like a brother.
Just a brother who happened to commit incest.
…And a brother, who just made everything Lyn had worked for in the underground… Meaningless. Or had he. Lyn shook his head.
Dru: Don’t you care? Don’t you give two and a half-shits that Strike mouthfucked Carolyn!? Don’t you give two shits that Strike fucked up my pride and now I gotta call these niggas and tell ‘em I quit for the simple fact that Strike forced it on me!?
…I need a manager, and you are the only one who would be willing to do it, so man up and help me, cocksuckin’ ass nigga.
Lyn Dallins, The King of Muay Thai stares at his cousin. He stares at him a long time, from behind his corner mahogany desk. Lyn Dallins is wearing a solid black hoodie, with the words, “Hood Approved, Muay Thai affiliated”, etched in a ragged ‘shocked’ white. Lyn stares coolly, ever so coolly at Dru Tha Merc, before he gets to thinking, and he thinks some more… And Lyn thinks some more.
Then The King Of Muay Thai smiles.
He smiles wide and wickedly, a wide and reckless grin that never leaves him.
Lyn: You come asking my help like I’ll give it to you. You come asking my help like I’m supposed to help you out of a sudden slump you have, like I should give a shit you are starting to get your ass handed to you by guys the likes of Adam Abel, or other actually competent and capable wrestlers? I’m supposed to weep for you?
Not gonna happen Dru.
Not gonna happen.
This week I hear you’re fighting some sort of Samoan Juggernaut, and you can understand when I say that seeing you catch a fat thumb to the throat would give me no greater joy. My only sympathy goes out to the rest of the Kingdom of Pride, having you have to represent them at WarGames, against Strike, who will destroy you.
Dru: I will catch no—
Lyn just laughs it up one more time as The Gangstar grimaces fiercely and stares down at his cousin. Lyn just relaxes back in his chair and eyes up Dru.
Dru: The fuck is so funny? Huh nigga? What’s the good laugh about?
Lyn: So Carolyn sucked him a little. So you got thrown into the Harlem Knights only because he made a say-so. What, you mad now that he’s getting in your head. You burned my bar, which was going to be HIS bar.
…Which still is.
Dru’s left eyebrow cocks as he gets in The King of Muay Thai’s face, but facing the likes of so many wrestlers in his day, Lyn doesn’t even blink.
Lyn: That’s right, Dru. The insurance picked up on the arson. They are rebuilding the Hydeout. I thought I didn’t have fire insurance, but apparently Allstate made sure I was in good hands. Hilarious ain’t it. In a few months, The Hydeout will be back again, and in Strike’s hands. Let me repeat myself… I am not going to be your manager or help you beat Strike.
…Get out of my office.
Dru snarls, visibly snarls and vocally at his cousin before he begins to turn his cheek and his entire body to leave the door of Lyndon’s office. The King of Muay Thai however… He can’t resist. He can’t resist to make a point.
Lyn: Answer me this. Do you realize what you are in for?
Dru: …The fuck you on about, sugartits?
Lyn slowly stands up as Dru turns to face him. As the Dallins cousins meet each other’s eyes, Lyn shakes his head with another meaningful laugh. Dru’s face, as much as it is a chocolate mocha complexion, begins to turn a more impressive burgundy, beginning to get infuriated with The King of Muay Thai’s laughs.
…Yet should he try to attack Lyn in his own office?
With Lyn fully healed and now facing him. This would not be intelligent, not with him having to face Somba…
That friggin’ Nazamoan.
Lyn: In the entire time I have ever known you, Dru. In the entire time we have been blood relatives since the day we were born, cousin to cousin. You have never beaten me in a match. You are the same loud, angry waste of insignificance and tirade that you always were. So now with that logic in mind, what makes you think you can beat Chris Strike?
No, no don’t answer that. Lemme send your guttah ass with something to think about.
You want to know why I teamed with Chris Strike in PWF, to take on Noble-Hart, as hopeless as that seemed in the beginning. So I wouldn’t have to face him, Dru. I have, to my career date… Never…
Ever…
Beaten Chris Strike.
We have wrestled in Japan, in Germany, England, Canada, the deep South, the frosty North. We have wrestled together many a time, but the very… Very few times that we have faced off, I always lost Dru.
We always lost.
Do you remember? Do you remember when you and I were tag-team partners, “The Dallins Gang”, facing off against Strike, and a man called Jeff Fury… The Dragon Alliance I believe they were called?
Go ahead, take a look.
As Dru blinks, he finds thrust into his hands, an old wrestling poster from some forgotten federation they had all been a part of. As Dru unfurls it slowly, his dishpan hands grip it with disgust. Main Event Match… Dragon Alliance v.s. Dallins Gang. Yet Lyn continues to talk, unphased, unhindered, unthinking.
Lyn speaks with the air of a man who had seen it so many times in his mind’s eye, almost incapable of getting away from it.
Lyn: Do you remember, at that event, at Soul Survivor, how you and I took the worst beatings of our natural lives? How you tried to fight Fury, until you turned around and I took three Dru…
Not one.
Not two.
….Three Crash Thunder Busters on a folded chair? Then I ate a swift… Swift Susano’o. I was unconscious by the time the match ended when they double-teamed the piss out of you. When we had single matches against them, you didn’t beat Strike, did you?
No?
Judging by your facial expression that makes you look like you have fuckin’ Down Syndrome, I assume not. What bothers me most Dru is that you think you have that kind of skill, that kind of ability. You just want to be a fool obviously. You want to pretend for just a minute that Strike hasn’t kicked around your nuts like a Squirrel for winter. You want to pretend it all never happened but face facts you little bitch.
You won’t beat Strike when the time comes.
You won’t beat Somba when the time comes.
You will never be a champion.
Eventually, and I really mean this… Eventually, Dru. I will come out of retirement. I will come into Kingdom of Pride.
And my first act… Will be to lay waste to you and end your career.
Dru: …
Their faces are so close they could be kissing cousins at this point. They slowly pull away from one another, but Dru doesn’t make any motions for the door. He knows Lyn isn’t done. Sure enough…
Lyn: You think I’m talking shit. You think I’m trying to discourage you, but Strike has your number, Dru. He’s had your number for years, just like he had mine. In a singles competition match, I can’t beat him. He’s in my head, he knows what I’ll do when I’ll do it.
You don’t think I haven’t ever WANTED to beat him!?
HUH!?
DO YOU?!
ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU, PRICK!
Dru: Then why don’t you help me?! I don’t get your logic, nigga!
Lyn says it so quick and matter-of-factly, Dru Tha Merc almost swears he didn’t hear it right.
Lyn: You don’t deserve… To be the first person in this family who could say they beat The God of Thunder. You don’t deserve the right to say, ‘I got one down the God Of Thunder’. Unfortunately, Carolyn beat you to it. Listen, and listen good to me Dru.
You will fail.
You won’t succeed.
You will fail.
Because you are a bitch. You are the bitchiest of the bitch-mades, and I despise you more than anything on this earth. When I look at you I see an absolute waste of potential that could not mean any less. Eagles was right. You could be one of the best this federation, nay… This wrestling world has ever been. Yet nigga, you sit there trying to be something like a walking stereotype and what do you accomplish Dru?
Huh?
What do you accomplish? Tryna be a stick-up kid? We’re not teenagers anymore, Dru. You can pretend you’re a thug, that you’re ‘The Gangstar’ but you are the same person you were for decades now. You wanna act like you a hard boss, then go do what you think is necessary, but I won’t help you Dru.
Because no matter what any blood tests or family reunions say otherwise…
You and me?
We ain’t family.
And we are never gonna be family.
Like I said before. If I get to Kingdom of Pride… If I come out of retirement.
I’m ending your career, and taking your spot.
The silence and weight of everything the King of Muay Thai. Dru looks hurt, yet who should he be? He attacked his cousin only months ago. He burnt Lyn and Chris’s bar months ago. Why should he come now to ask for some form of help, of aid from a man who he burned bridges with for what is this…? The seventh time?
Dru makes a motion as though he wants to make a statement, or an attack, but he does nothing. Instead he leaves.
He simply leaves.
---
-Over The Phone-
: Hello?
Dru: I need a manager. A nigga is losing his grip, feel me? Tryna keep my grip iron-clad and I’m losing it. So I need a manager. I got this match, against this guy… His name is Somba. He’s a big nigga, real gorilla of the mist type, feel me?
: I totes get you. Go on.
Dru: A lot of people think I’m slipping. A lot of people see me on this end out, this nigga who ain’t gonna go nowhere and be nowhere.
I can’t handle that you know. I can’t deal with that. I need a balance, I need something to retire me, nigga.
: You say the n-word a lot there, pal.
Dru: If you trying to be my agent, my manager, I’mma probably need you to say the same.
: Eh… Hey, you see that new guy, Galen-what’s-his-name? Frack, if he was-
Click. Let’s try this other number. Dru shakes his head as he dials again. He knew he shouldn’t have tried calling that McBang kid as a manager.
Niles: Ayo. You’ve reached the services of Niles Markie, agent to the stars, manager and tender of bars. What’s the sitch?
Dru: Nigga really? This is Kim Possible now? What’s the sitch?
Niles: Aaah, Mr. Dallins. I’ve been expecting your call a while now. Saw you won that Harlem Knights thing a while back, but it seems you are on the losing end of a losing streak.
Dru stares at his wall and rolls his eyes. That didn’t even making any fuckin’ sense!
Dru: That’s right, I am on a losing streak. I have a match this week, and I need some help.
Niles: Tell you what. Take my advice for this week and we’ll see what happens to you. Either way, you can come by my office, I’ll forward you my address, and reply to that e-mail you sent.
Dru: What’s your advice?
Niles: Well Mr. Gangstar… Whether you can or you cannot… You are absolutely right. See you next week.
Click.
Dru takes a seat in his armchair and sighs, visibly, visually perturbed. He tries to focus on the match, on the hopes of beating Somba this week, and yet…
Yet another thought occurs to him.
When did he start having to hope to beat people in matches?
---
To Be Continued…
“All I need nigga, is a min-”
“Get out.”
“Just give me a- ”
“Dru, I swear before god, I don’t care how much blood we share, I will cause yours to spill if you do not leave in the next few seconds.”
---
At current time, we have two men standing before each other, staring holes into one another, one man giving the other a lowly, sickened stare, and the other man… The other man is trying to hide his pride. He’s trying to push away any amount of disgust he may have. That one man… That one man is the one known as Dru Tha Merc. He’s staring right back at a young man who once donned the title of King of Muay Thai.
A man who once thought he could challenge the likes of Chris Hart and Kurt Noble, and teamed with the likes of Chris Strike.
A man known as Lyn Dallins.
---
Dru: My little sister, my little sister sucked CHRIS STRIKE off! He…
Lyn, he got me into the Harlem Knights.
It is then that the face of Lyndon Dallins twitched at that. Lyn happened to be an actual Harlem Knight, an actual Knight who had actually earned his title. Yet, he hated Dru. He hated him, despised him, and wished him the absolute of most deaths. That was his cousin though and Strike…
Strike was like a brother.
Just a brother who happened to commit incest.
…And a brother, who just made everything Lyn had worked for in the underground… Meaningless. Or had he. Lyn shook his head.
Dru: Don’t you care? Don’t you give two and a half-shits that Strike mouthfucked Carolyn!? Don’t you give two shits that Strike fucked up my pride and now I gotta call these niggas and tell ‘em I quit for the simple fact that Strike forced it on me!?
…I need a manager, and you are the only one who would be willing to do it, so man up and help me, cocksuckin’ ass nigga.
Lyn Dallins, The King of Muay Thai stares at his cousin. He stares at him a long time, from behind his corner mahogany desk. Lyn Dallins is wearing a solid black hoodie, with the words, “Hood Approved, Muay Thai affiliated”, etched in a ragged ‘shocked’ white. Lyn stares coolly, ever so coolly at Dru Tha Merc, before he gets to thinking, and he thinks some more… And Lyn thinks some more.
Then The King Of Muay Thai smiles.
He smiles wide and wickedly, a wide and reckless grin that never leaves him.
Lyn: You come asking my help like I’ll give it to you. You come asking my help like I’m supposed to help you out of a sudden slump you have, like I should give a shit you are starting to get your ass handed to you by guys the likes of Adam Abel, or other actually competent and capable wrestlers? I’m supposed to weep for you?
Not gonna happen Dru.
Not gonna happen.
This week I hear you’re fighting some sort of Samoan Juggernaut, and you can understand when I say that seeing you catch a fat thumb to the throat would give me no greater joy. My only sympathy goes out to the rest of the Kingdom of Pride, having you have to represent them at WarGames, against Strike, who will destroy you.
Dru: I will catch no—
Lyn just laughs it up one more time as The Gangstar grimaces fiercely and stares down at his cousin. Lyn just relaxes back in his chair and eyes up Dru.
Dru: The fuck is so funny? Huh nigga? What’s the good laugh about?
Lyn: So Carolyn sucked him a little. So you got thrown into the Harlem Knights only because he made a say-so. What, you mad now that he’s getting in your head. You burned my bar, which was going to be HIS bar.
…Which still is.
Dru’s left eyebrow cocks as he gets in The King of Muay Thai’s face, but facing the likes of so many wrestlers in his day, Lyn doesn’t even blink.
Lyn: That’s right, Dru. The insurance picked up on the arson. They are rebuilding the Hydeout. I thought I didn’t have fire insurance, but apparently Allstate made sure I was in good hands. Hilarious ain’t it. In a few months, The Hydeout will be back again, and in Strike’s hands. Let me repeat myself… I am not going to be your manager or help you beat Strike.
…Get out of my office.
Dru snarls, visibly snarls and vocally at his cousin before he begins to turn his cheek and his entire body to leave the door of Lyndon’s office. The King of Muay Thai however… He can’t resist. He can’t resist to make a point.
Lyn: Answer me this. Do you realize what you are in for?
Dru: …The fuck you on about, sugartits?
Lyn slowly stands up as Dru turns to face him. As the Dallins cousins meet each other’s eyes, Lyn shakes his head with another meaningful laugh. Dru’s face, as much as it is a chocolate mocha complexion, begins to turn a more impressive burgundy, beginning to get infuriated with The King of Muay Thai’s laughs.
…Yet should he try to attack Lyn in his own office?
With Lyn fully healed and now facing him. This would not be intelligent, not with him having to face Somba…
That friggin’ Nazamoan.
Lyn: In the entire time I have ever known you, Dru. In the entire time we have been blood relatives since the day we were born, cousin to cousin. You have never beaten me in a match. You are the same loud, angry waste of insignificance and tirade that you always were. So now with that logic in mind, what makes you think you can beat Chris Strike?
No, no don’t answer that. Lemme send your guttah ass with something to think about.
You want to know why I teamed with Chris Strike in PWF, to take on Noble-Hart, as hopeless as that seemed in the beginning. So I wouldn’t have to face him, Dru. I have, to my career date… Never…
Ever…
Beaten Chris Strike.
We have wrestled in Japan, in Germany, England, Canada, the deep South, the frosty North. We have wrestled together many a time, but the very… Very few times that we have faced off, I always lost Dru.
We always lost.
Do you remember? Do you remember when you and I were tag-team partners, “The Dallins Gang”, facing off against Strike, and a man called Jeff Fury… The Dragon Alliance I believe they were called?
Go ahead, take a look.
As Dru blinks, he finds thrust into his hands, an old wrestling poster from some forgotten federation they had all been a part of. As Dru unfurls it slowly, his dishpan hands grip it with disgust. Main Event Match… Dragon Alliance v.s. Dallins Gang. Yet Lyn continues to talk, unphased, unhindered, unthinking.
Lyn speaks with the air of a man who had seen it so many times in his mind’s eye, almost incapable of getting away from it.
Lyn: Do you remember, at that event, at Soul Survivor, how you and I took the worst beatings of our natural lives? How you tried to fight Fury, until you turned around and I took three Dru…
Not one.
Not two.
….Three Crash Thunder Busters on a folded chair? Then I ate a swift… Swift Susano’o. I was unconscious by the time the match ended when they double-teamed the piss out of you. When we had single matches against them, you didn’t beat Strike, did you?
No?
Judging by your facial expression that makes you look like you have fuckin’ Down Syndrome, I assume not. What bothers me most Dru is that you think you have that kind of skill, that kind of ability. You just want to be a fool obviously. You want to pretend for just a minute that Strike hasn’t kicked around your nuts like a Squirrel for winter. You want to pretend it all never happened but face facts you little bitch.
You won’t beat Strike when the time comes.
You won’t beat Somba when the time comes.
You will never be a champion.
Eventually, and I really mean this… Eventually, Dru. I will come out of retirement. I will come into Kingdom of Pride.
And my first act… Will be to lay waste to you and end your career.
Dru: …
Their faces are so close they could be kissing cousins at this point. They slowly pull away from one another, but Dru doesn’t make any motions for the door. He knows Lyn isn’t done. Sure enough…
Lyn: You think I’m talking shit. You think I’m trying to discourage you, but Strike has your number, Dru. He’s had your number for years, just like he had mine. In a singles competition match, I can’t beat him. He’s in my head, he knows what I’ll do when I’ll do it.
You don’t think I haven’t ever WANTED to beat him!?
HUH!?
DO YOU?!
ANSWER ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU, PRICK!
Dru: Then why don’t you help me?! I don’t get your logic, nigga!
Lyn says it so quick and matter-of-factly, Dru Tha Merc almost swears he didn’t hear it right.
Lyn: You don’t deserve… To be the first person in this family who could say they beat The God of Thunder. You don’t deserve the right to say, ‘I got one down the God Of Thunder’. Unfortunately, Carolyn beat you to it. Listen, and listen good to me Dru.
You will fail.
You won’t succeed.
You will fail.
Because you are a bitch. You are the bitchiest of the bitch-mades, and I despise you more than anything on this earth. When I look at you I see an absolute waste of potential that could not mean any less. Eagles was right. You could be one of the best this federation, nay… This wrestling world has ever been. Yet nigga, you sit there trying to be something like a walking stereotype and what do you accomplish Dru?
Huh?
What do you accomplish? Tryna be a stick-up kid? We’re not teenagers anymore, Dru. You can pretend you’re a thug, that you’re ‘The Gangstar’ but you are the same person you were for decades now. You wanna act like you a hard boss, then go do what you think is necessary, but I won’t help you Dru.
Because no matter what any blood tests or family reunions say otherwise…
You and me?
We ain’t family.
And we are never gonna be family.
Like I said before. If I get to Kingdom of Pride… If I come out of retirement.
I’m ending your career, and taking your spot.
The silence and weight of everything the King of Muay Thai. Dru looks hurt, yet who should he be? He attacked his cousin only months ago. He burnt Lyn and Chris’s bar months ago. Why should he come now to ask for some form of help, of aid from a man who he burned bridges with for what is this…? The seventh time?
Dru makes a motion as though he wants to make a statement, or an attack, but he does nothing. Instead he leaves.
He simply leaves.
---
-Over The Phone-
: Hello?Dru: I need a manager. A nigga is losing his grip, feel me? Tryna keep my grip iron-clad and I’m losing it. So I need a manager. I got this match, against this guy… His name is Somba. He’s a big nigga, real gorilla of the mist type, feel me?
: I totes get you. Go on.Dru: A lot of people think I’m slipping. A lot of people see me on this end out, this nigga who ain’t gonna go nowhere and be nowhere.
I can’t handle that you know. I can’t deal with that. I need a balance, I need something to retire me, nigga.
: You say the n-word a lot there, pal.Dru: If you trying to be my agent, my manager, I’mma probably need you to say the same.
: Eh… Hey, you see that new guy, Galen-what’s-his-name? Frack, if he was-Click. Let’s try this other number. Dru shakes his head as he dials again. He knew he shouldn’t have tried calling that McBang kid as a manager.
Niles: Ayo. You’ve reached the services of Niles Markie, agent to the stars, manager and tender of bars. What’s the sitch?
Dru: Nigga really? This is Kim Possible now? What’s the sitch?
Niles: Aaah, Mr. Dallins. I’ve been expecting your call a while now. Saw you won that Harlem Knights thing a while back, but it seems you are on the losing end of a losing streak.
Dru stares at his wall and rolls his eyes. That didn’t even making any fuckin’ sense!
Dru: That’s right, I am on a losing streak. I have a match this week, and I need some help.
Niles: Tell you what. Take my advice for this week and we’ll see what happens to you. Either way, you can come by my office, I’ll forward you my address, and reply to that e-mail you sent.
Dru: What’s your advice?
Niles: Well Mr. Gangstar… Whether you can or you cannot… You are absolutely right. See you next week.
Click.
Dru takes a seat in his armchair and sighs, visibly, visually perturbed. He tries to focus on the match, on the hopes of beating Somba this week, and yet…
Yet another thought occurs to him.
When did he start having to hope to beat people in matches?
---
To Be Continued…
