Post by Deleted on Sept 26, 2013 15:37:13 GMT -5
Musty. The smell of the house is musty. Not because Grover Banks is a slob, there’s just so much house and so little he cares about it.
The two story with white painted brick overlooks the town of Bedford, TX on one of the taller hills in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. The neighborhood is quiet and the end of the street is dark. Even on the bright, sunny days of Texas, the mansion sitting on 3232 Richland Court seems to have a dark cloud overhead.
The melancholy almost seems like it’s contagious as people don’t venture down Richland Court anymore. Hyperbolic stories about the Banks family’s affinity for violence spread through the community, even after the tragic passing of Mr. and Mrs. Banks. The community wanted anyone else to move in, but instead they got Grover Banks back. The stories have started to die down, but the uneasiness of those in the community still haunts the old place.
The rumble of a motorcycle rattles down Richland Court and up the driveway of 3232. Dr. Wilkinson takes off his helmet and places it on the back of his bike and walks to the door of the home. He wipes the dust from his chaps grabs the giant brass ring on the front door and raps three times loudly. He can hear the echo through the house.
No one comes to the door.
He raps three time, the loud clanking now echoing through the neighborhood. The echos bounce off the houses as the repulsive attitudes of Grover’s neighbors bounced around the neighborhood. Dr. Wilkinson sighed and took his keys from his pocket and opened the giant oak door.
The closing of the door seemed to knock the dust from..well...just about everything. Wilkinson sneezed loudly and pulled a kleenex from his pocket and wiped his nose. He turned left from the main enterance and entered the large parlor. He walked up to a giant, dark, circular table in the middle of the room and pulled the folders from his backpack and laid them out.
Dr. Wilkinson: GROVER, I KNOW YOU ARE HERE. WHY DON’T YOU COME DOWN HERE?
For the past few weeks, Dr. Wilkinson would visit the Banks Estate once a week and the Grover would come to Wilkinson’s office once a week. Dr. Wilkinson didn’t get frustrated, he knew Grover would be on his way. He pulled the case file, which was pretty thick. Tore off the top sheet of a pad of paper and was ready for a clean counseling session. After a few minutes, Dr. Wilkinson expected to hear the slow clunk of footsteps down the stairwell and a lethargic plop on the old sofa. This usually induced another large sneeze and snot fest from Dr. Wilkinson.
...but this time...something different happened…
A quick trot down the stairs and appearance in the doorway let Dr. Wilkinson know that today was going to be diffferent than any of the other sessions. Standing in the doorway was Grover Banks...but not the same Banks that he’s been seeing...this was an invigorated Grover Banks. Dr. Wilkinson’s jaw dropped and the pen he was holding dropped on the table with a loud clunk.
Grover Banks stood before him, sweating profusely. Instead of the black hoody and black sweatpants, a black tank top and gym shorts were the attire of the hour. Grover had been exercising.
Dr. Wilkinson: Well...uh...Grover...uh...what have you been up to today?
Grover glares at Dr. Wilkinson
Grover Banks: I’ve been training.
The steely glare isn’t confrontational...Mr. Banks is in the zone. Dr. Wilkinson regains his composure and again speaks up.
Dr. Wilkinson: Alright, Grover...what have you done since last week?
Grover’s eyes are alive.
Grover Banks: I hired a Private Investigator...they found Matt Stone.
Dr. Wilkinson: What was the result of that?
Grover Banks: I called him. I offered him money to train me. He said yes.
The bullet pointed answers a fired off the tongue with a genuine excitement.
Dr. Wilkinson: Did anything else happen?
Grover Banks: I contacted Millenium Pro Wrestling, asked for a contract and made a generous donation to the charity of their choice. I was sent a contract and Matt Stone was sent a contract. We have a match this week.
Dr. Wilkinson: So is Mr. Stone going to train you any this week?
Grover Banks: No...he wants to see what I got before we start any training.
Dr. Wilkinson: Are you worried about that?
Grover Banks: Look in that big folder on your desk and ask if I’m worried about that...on second thought...look at this.
Grover gets up from the couch and clinches his fists and shows them to Dr. Wilkinson. They are covered in scars, busted up, weathered.
Grover Banks: I’m a big man. A strong man. Dad started using me to go “run errands” for him at about 15. It’s amazing what people will do when they are getting their heads caved in. I rarely had a problem in getting the money that was owed to my father.
Dr. Wilkinson: Do you feel any remorse for that?
Grover Banks: Absolutely not. They chose to take his merchandise, they needed to pay up. I was only doing what my father asked me to. We always traveled in twos, Doc...The other guy would talk to the person and I’d just come over and punch them in the jaw, I could usually nail at least three more punches as they fell to the ground. I spent two stints in a juvenile detention center for these dealings...Dad left me in the cold on both of them.
Dr. Wilkinson: How did that make you feel?
Grover snarls his nose for a second before going back to his blank stare.
Grover Banks: I disassociated myself from him emotionally. I was his employee, not his son. That’s how I’ve treated every relationship since. This week $tone and I face a guy named Zero and a guy named Mackey Boyd. I won’t think about their families. I won’t think about their lives. I think about them across the ring. They signed the contract just like I did. They put themselves in the situation. I make no apologies for what I’m about to do.
Grover cracks his knuckles and then cracks his neck. His eyes narrow as he wipes the sweat from his tattoo'd neck and wipes his calmly on his shorts.
Grover Banks: Mackey Boyd is the guy that is going to be the toughest out of the two. Checking out his profile, he doesn’t seem scared of much. That’s fine. I’m not scared of much. I don’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll say it, but he can know that our backgrounds truly don’t mean anything once that bell rings. What he will encounter is a fight the likes he’s never seen. I’m sure he’s been through some battles and he’s truly battle tough...but the rage that society tells me to contain, will be unleashed on Mr. Boyd.
Dr. Wilkinson: Who else are you facing?
Grover Banks: A guy named Zero. I’ve seen guys far more talented than him spew the same type of nonsense he does. He’s going to change the face of wrestling, right? He’s going to rid MPW of impurities and evil, right? He’s going to change the world? How is he going to change the world when he can’t get out of his debut match without being scarred. He’s aiming to make his mark on MPW...I’m just aiming to make a scar. My goals here are selfish at best. Zero is the dead weight for their team. He’s the weakest link. He’s the wounded gazelle...and he’s facing two lions...This match isn’t going to be pretty...I’m ready for a fight because that’s all I know how to do...Wrestling will come later.
Grover boxes at the air. He'd been giving the punching bag that hangs in his room a workout earlier. If the bag had feelings it would either be glad it is getting used again, the first time in a long time...or it would scream out in pain like any human that feels perfectly thrown punches of Grover Banks. His tall frame mixed with his tight muscular frame sends Richter shaking punches that shake you to your core. Grover is elated...This was a great idea!
Dr. Wilkinson: I like seeing you excited...but I have to ask...Why have you been so lethargic lately...outside of the incident that brought me to you.
Grover leans back on the couch and puts his hands behind his head...and doesn’t say anything. Dr. Wilkinson realizes what he’s done. He’s effectively shut down a good interaction. Grover isn’t going to come out of this until he’s gone.
Dr. Wilkinson loads his backpack up and zips the top. He slings it over his shoulder. He’ll kick himself for a week for shutting down communication...but he’ll sure be tuned into MPW Reloaded this week.
Dr. Wilkinson: Good luck, Grover.
Grover lifts one arm up and shakes hands with Dr. Wilkinson. Wilkinson smiles and opens the large oak door...all wasn’t lost...this is just a new beginning...
The two story with white painted brick overlooks the town of Bedford, TX on one of the taller hills in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. The neighborhood is quiet and the end of the street is dark. Even on the bright, sunny days of Texas, the mansion sitting on 3232 Richland Court seems to have a dark cloud overhead.
The melancholy almost seems like it’s contagious as people don’t venture down Richland Court anymore. Hyperbolic stories about the Banks family’s affinity for violence spread through the community, even after the tragic passing of Mr. and Mrs. Banks. The community wanted anyone else to move in, but instead they got Grover Banks back. The stories have started to die down, but the uneasiness of those in the community still haunts the old place.
The rumble of a motorcycle rattles down Richland Court and up the driveway of 3232. Dr. Wilkinson takes off his helmet and places it on the back of his bike and walks to the door of the home. He wipes the dust from his chaps grabs the giant brass ring on the front door and raps three times loudly. He can hear the echo through the house.
No one comes to the door.
He raps three time, the loud clanking now echoing through the neighborhood. The echos bounce off the houses as the repulsive attitudes of Grover’s neighbors bounced around the neighborhood. Dr. Wilkinson sighed and took his keys from his pocket and opened the giant oak door.
The closing of the door seemed to knock the dust from..well...just about everything. Wilkinson sneezed loudly and pulled a kleenex from his pocket and wiped his nose. He turned left from the main enterance and entered the large parlor. He walked up to a giant, dark, circular table in the middle of the room and pulled the folders from his backpack and laid them out.
Dr. Wilkinson: GROVER, I KNOW YOU ARE HERE. WHY DON’T YOU COME DOWN HERE?
For the past few weeks, Dr. Wilkinson would visit the Banks Estate once a week and the Grover would come to Wilkinson’s office once a week. Dr. Wilkinson didn’t get frustrated, he knew Grover would be on his way. He pulled the case file, which was pretty thick. Tore off the top sheet of a pad of paper and was ready for a clean counseling session. After a few minutes, Dr. Wilkinson expected to hear the slow clunk of footsteps down the stairwell and a lethargic plop on the old sofa. This usually induced another large sneeze and snot fest from Dr. Wilkinson.
...but this time...something different happened…
A quick trot down the stairs and appearance in the doorway let Dr. Wilkinson know that today was going to be diffferent than any of the other sessions. Standing in the doorway was Grover Banks...but not the same Banks that he’s been seeing...this was an invigorated Grover Banks. Dr. Wilkinson’s jaw dropped and the pen he was holding dropped on the table with a loud clunk.
Grover Banks stood before him, sweating profusely. Instead of the black hoody and black sweatpants, a black tank top and gym shorts were the attire of the hour. Grover had been exercising.
Dr. Wilkinson: Well...uh...Grover...uh...what have you been up to today?
Grover glares at Dr. Wilkinson
Grover Banks: I’ve been training.
The steely glare isn’t confrontational...Mr. Banks is in the zone. Dr. Wilkinson regains his composure and again speaks up.
Dr. Wilkinson: Alright, Grover...what have you done since last week?
Grover’s eyes are alive.
Grover Banks: I hired a Private Investigator...they found Matt Stone.
Dr. Wilkinson: What was the result of that?
Grover Banks: I called him. I offered him money to train me. He said yes.
The bullet pointed answers a fired off the tongue with a genuine excitement.
Dr. Wilkinson: Did anything else happen?
Grover Banks: I contacted Millenium Pro Wrestling, asked for a contract and made a generous donation to the charity of their choice. I was sent a contract and Matt Stone was sent a contract. We have a match this week.
Dr. Wilkinson: So is Mr. Stone going to train you any this week?
Grover Banks: No...he wants to see what I got before we start any training.
Dr. Wilkinson: Are you worried about that?
Grover Banks: Look in that big folder on your desk and ask if I’m worried about that...on second thought...look at this.
Grover gets up from the couch and clinches his fists and shows them to Dr. Wilkinson. They are covered in scars, busted up, weathered.
Grover Banks: I’m a big man. A strong man. Dad started using me to go “run errands” for him at about 15. It’s amazing what people will do when they are getting their heads caved in. I rarely had a problem in getting the money that was owed to my father.
Dr. Wilkinson: Do you feel any remorse for that?
Grover Banks: Absolutely not. They chose to take his merchandise, they needed to pay up. I was only doing what my father asked me to. We always traveled in twos, Doc...The other guy would talk to the person and I’d just come over and punch them in the jaw, I could usually nail at least three more punches as they fell to the ground. I spent two stints in a juvenile detention center for these dealings...Dad left me in the cold on both of them.
Dr. Wilkinson: How did that make you feel?
Grover snarls his nose for a second before going back to his blank stare.
Grover Banks: I disassociated myself from him emotionally. I was his employee, not his son. That’s how I’ve treated every relationship since. This week $tone and I face a guy named Zero and a guy named Mackey Boyd. I won’t think about their families. I won’t think about their lives. I think about them across the ring. They signed the contract just like I did. They put themselves in the situation. I make no apologies for what I’m about to do.
Grover cracks his knuckles and then cracks his neck. His eyes narrow as he wipes the sweat from his tattoo'd neck and wipes his calmly on his shorts.
Grover Banks: Mackey Boyd is the guy that is going to be the toughest out of the two. Checking out his profile, he doesn’t seem scared of much. That’s fine. I’m not scared of much. I don’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll say it, but he can know that our backgrounds truly don’t mean anything once that bell rings. What he will encounter is a fight the likes he’s never seen. I’m sure he’s been through some battles and he’s truly battle tough...but the rage that society tells me to contain, will be unleashed on Mr. Boyd.
Dr. Wilkinson: Who else are you facing?
Grover Banks: A guy named Zero. I’ve seen guys far more talented than him spew the same type of nonsense he does. He’s going to change the face of wrestling, right? He’s going to rid MPW of impurities and evil, right? He’s going to change the world? How is he going to change the world when he can’t get out of his debut match without being scarred. He’s aiming to make his mark on MPW...I’m just aiming to make a scar. My goals here are selfish at best. Zero is the dead weight for their team. He’s the weakest link. He’s the wounded gazelle...and he’s facing two lions...This match isn’t going to be pretty...I’m ready for a fight because that’s all I know how to do...Wrestling will come later.
Grover boxes at the air. He'd been giving the punching bag that hangs in his room a workout earlier. If the bag had feelings it would either be glad it is getting used again, the first time in a long time...or it would scream out in pain like any human that feels perfectly thrown punches of Grover Banks. His tall frame mixed with his tight muscular frame sends Richter shaking punches that shake you to your core. Grover is elated...This was a great idea!
Dr. Wilkinson: I like seeing you excited...but I have to ask...Why have you been so lethargic lately...outside of the incident that brought me to you.
Grover leans back on the couch and puts his hands behind his head...and doesn’t say anything. Dr. Wilkinson realizes what he’s done. He’s effectively shut down a good interaction. Grover isn’t going to come out of this until he’s gone.
Dr. Wilkinson loads his backpack up and zips the top. He slings it over his shoulder. He’ll kick himself for a week for shutting down communication...but he’ll sure be tuned into MPW Reloaded this week.
Dr. Wilkinson: Good luck, Grover.
Grover lifts one arm up and shakes hands with Dr. Wilkinson. Wilkinson smiles and opens the large oak door...all wasn’t lost...this is just a new beginning...