Post by George Duke on Mar 3, 2007 14:49:53 GMT -6
Newspapers and phone books spread over the table in the kitchen. Duke has been looking for a place in the Kansas City area since he got home. Now that POW has a fair sense of stability and has offered to help with housing costs, George wants to strike while the iron is hot. He hates to leave Philly, but business is business. He can always come back home. Frank Christian has offered to rent George's home, so he won't have to move everything, and he can hold on to the property. It's really a no-loss situation for George. In the mean time, he has to find a place. A few things look promising, so they are circled in red pen and he will scout them out next week when he comes to fight.
George has calmed himself down a bit, but he's still hot. He is calmed enough to go about his day, but it's still on his mind. He has long since put down the pen and papers and has been staring at the wall. He turns and stares ahead with glassy eyes.
"God damn Kansas City. POW better stay around. I've already gone through this mess in Dayton California. I lived in an apartment for a month before everything exploded and I had to come back home. This time is different, I have a hunch. This time it will be worth it. I know it will be the right move... even if I have to be in Kansas City the whole time..."
George gets to his feet and grabs his coat and hat. As he puts his coat on, one sleeve at a time, he speaks again, but this time with a little bit more agitation in his gravel voice.
"Danny Danielson. Listen to me, you little bastard! I don't know who you think you are, but you do NOT do that to George Duke. I don't care if the attack was for Stevens - you do NOT do that to George Duke. You think by making a splash that you're going to shoot to the top of this company. You think by making a splash that you're going to shoot to the top of this company. You're wrong. The moment you swung that chair, you signed your death warrant, boy. You've made the worst enemy you can have around here. You'll get yours, Danny. Someday, somewhere - ol' George will give you what's coming to you."
Duke heads out the door onto the city streets. He's been training all morning, he only stopped to house-hunt an hour earlier. He's already had enough of that, there is plenty of other things on his mind at the moment. As he turns the corner onto Ritner, he breaks his silence once more.
"Last week, I suffered my first POW loss. I was sneak attacked by some schmuck who hit me in the head with a chair and I had to sit next to some cow on the plane home. Then there was the dick with the yo-yo at the bar. See that kid over there?"
George points to a skinny guy with shaggy hair and a tie-dye shirt.
"He pisses me off, too. Guess who I'm going to take all my frustrations out on? That's right, fellas. It always seems like I have special reasons to be pissed off. I guess this time is no different. In fact, this is one of the most important reasons I've had. Macros and Maverick - I know you're really sure of yourselves. Maybe you're right. Maybe you will function more effectively as a tag team. But Dread and I still want to win this match. It can only help our singles careers if we leave you schmucks beaten and broken in the ring. You may work together well, but there are ways to overcome that..."
Duke continues on his way down to Snider Ave. He crosses over to it and glares at the Pagan Motorcycle Club House as he passes by. He's earned their respect by beating a California Hell's Angel half to death for calling Bruno Sammartino a pussy. George still isn't a fan of theirs, though and he's reminded of it every time he passes by the ramshackle clubhouse. Duke pulls a thick cigar out of his shirt pocket. He always has a ready reserve, though he rarely smokes more than two whole ones a day. He chews on the end of the stoagie and leans against the church wall on 3rd Street. He pulls the cigar out from between his teeth and looks down at it. He spits on the pavement. It lands with a sickening sound.
"Now, Jason Dread and I can form a simple but effective strategy. Dread - I expect only two things from you next week. I expect you to pull your weight and watch my back. In return, I will do the same. Use everything we have over them to defeat them. More than that - let's hurt them. Eh? I want t o break the ninja's chest. I want to crack his friggin' sternum. Let's break Macros' leg. It's simple, but effective strategy - let's have at it."
George again bites down on the cigar. He strikes a match on his boot and lights his stoagie. Thick puffs of smoke bellow from his lips as he smiles in satisfaction. Out for his afternoon walk, George Duke's mind will be swelling with mayhem.
George has calmed himself down a bit, but he's still hot. He is calmed enough to go about his day, but it's still on his mind. He has long since put down the pen and papers and has been staring at the wall. He turns and stares ahead with glassy eyes.
"God damn Kansas City. POW better stay around. I've already gone through this mess in Dayton California. I lived in an apartment for a month before everything exploded and I had to come back home. This time is different, I have a hunch. This time it will be worth it. I know it will be the right move... even if I have to be in Kansas City the whole time..."
George gets to his feet and grabs his coat and hat. As he puts his coat on, one sleeve at a time, he speaks again, but this time with a little bit more agitation in his gravel voice.
"Danny Danielson. Listen to me, you little bastard! I don't know who you think you are, but you do NOT do that to George Duke. I don't care if the attack was for Stevens - you do NOT do that to George Duke. You think by making a splash that you're going to shoot to the top of this company. You think by making a splash that you're going to shoot to the top of this company. You're wrong. The moment you swung that chair, you signed your death warrant, boy. You've made the worst enemy you can have around here. You'll get yours, Danny. Someday, somewhere - ol' George will give you what's coming to you."
Duke heads out the door onto the city streets. He's been training all morning, he only stopped to house-hunt an hour earlier. He's already had enough of that, there is plenty of other things on his mind at the moment. As he turns the corner onto Ritner, he breaks his silence once more.
"Last week, I suffered my first POW loss. I was sneak attacked by some schmuck who hit me in the head with a chair and I had to sit next to some cow on the plane home. Then there was the dick with the yo-yo at the bar. See that kid over there?"
George points to a skinny guy with shaggy hair and a tie-dye shirt.
"He pisses me off, too. Guess who I'm going to take all my frustrations out on? That's right, fellas. It always seems like I have special reasons to be pissed off. I guess this time is no different. In fact, this is one of the most important reasons I've had. Macros and Maverick - I know you're really sure of yourselves. Maybe you're right. Maybe you will function more effectively as a tag team. But Dread and I still want to win this match. It can only help our singles careers if we leave you schmucks beaten and broken in the ring. You may work together well, but there are ways to overcome that..."
Duke continues on his way down to Snider Ave. He crosses over to it and glares at the Pagan Motorcycle Club House as he passes by. He's earned their respect by beating a California Hell's Angel half to death for calling Bruno Sammartino a pussy. George still isn't a fan of theirs, though and he's reminded of it every time he passes by the ramshackle clubhouse. Duke pulls a thick cigar out of his shirt pocket. He always has a ready reserve, though he rarely smokes more than two whole ones a day. He chews on the end of the stoagie and leans against the church wall on 3rd Street. He pulls the cigar out from between his teeth and looks down at it. He spits on the pavement. It lands with a sickening sound.
"Now, Jason Dread and I can form a simple but effective strategy. Dread - I expect only two things from you next week. I expect you to pull your weight and watch my back. In return, I will do the same. Use everything we have over them to defeat them. More than that - let's hurt them. Eh? I want t o break the ninja's chest. I want to crack his friggin' sternum. Let's break Macros' leg. It's simple, but effective strategy - let's have at it."
George again bites down on the cigar. He strikes a match on his boot and lights his stoagie. Thick puffs of smoke bellow from his lips as he smiles in satisfaction. Out for his afternoon walk, George Duke's mind will be swelling with mayhem.
