Post by fuggingolliwog on Oct 19, 2015 18:58:20 GMT -5
Compton.
DMC strolls down a neighborhood street, basking in the glow of the California sun. It was nice getting a two week break from wrestling, a chance to get back to the warm weather of the west coast, and to get re-connected w/ those he considered his people. Stopping by the local bodega, he purchases an ice cream cone and gives daps to Amir, the sleepy man behind the register. Walking the tangled passageways of central Compton, hearing the catcalls in the street, the passing Cadillacs bumping that sweet G funk, enjoying an icecream cone, just another fuckin day in paradise...
A black SUV rolls to a slow stop in front of DMC, and the window to the backseat rolls down. Sitting there, an ashy black man wearing an Adidas tracksuit eyes DMC w/ a look of scrutiny. He harumphs, then hands DMC a folded slip of notebook paper before signalling the driver to proceed. DMC watches the vehicle pull away, in awe at the insane goings-on of this lively city. He unfolds the paper to see a simple note scrawled in Sharpie: Shriner's Temple #5, 4 pm.
...
Outside the Egyptian Temple No. 5 on Crenshaw Blvd, DMC waits and watches, hoping to catch a glimpse of who might have sent the mysterious inquery. At the stroke of 4, a young herald wearing a crimson robe opens the front door of the building and gestures for DMC to follow.
DMC enters the Shriner's temple to find a long corrider decorated in the accolades of the fraternal organization. At the far end, a heavy wooden door carved w/ symbols of Masonic power. DMC slowly pushes the door open into the inner sanctum.
Inside, a long table spread with a deep purple cloth adorned w/ the golden symbols of the Shriners. Behind the table sit a delegation of elderly black men all richly dressed in the robes of their Order. The herald proclaims DMC/s entrance:
Herald - Introducing the accused: Dustin M. Compton, alias: DMC.
DMC - Accused?!
Potentate - Son, you have been indicted on a charge of treason here before the High Council of Compton. Bring forth his accuser.
Herald - Call forth the accuser: Oliver P. Pollard, Junior Noble of the Egyptian Temple.
OPP enters from a side door wearing a plush maroon suit and a velvet fez.
Potentate - Noble, state your grievance to the assembly.
OPP - I brought this man in, to my home, broke bread w/ him, and entered into a pact in pursuit of gold. He then went behind my back in an attempt to take the gold for himself.
Potentate - Explain further, son.
OPP - As you all know, I/m a professional grappler. He and I, we/ve been a team for a couple years now. We recently got a gig in Maryland, a small organization lacking in talent. We had planned to go there to win tag team gold, but instead, D forced a series of events to put the singles championship spotlight on himself.
Potentate - Does the accused have any response?
DMC - Shit man... I wasn/t trying to be shady. I saw an oppertunity and ran w/ it.
Potentate - And what was the result?
DMC - Well, now we/ve been booked in a match. A sort of unofficial #1 contender's match.
Potentate - So, where is the problem? You two both have an oppertunity before you to forge your own destinys.
OPP - The problem is, it isn/t a singles match. We have been teamed up against two other wrestlers w/ the person scoring the pinfall getting the #1 contendership consideration.
The potentate takes a moment of concentration, then privately consults w/ his fellow high nobles.
Potentate - The High Council of Compton has heard enough and has decided on a verdict. You are both young and ambitious, but you have let those traits dominate your thinking, and thus your decision making has been rash. You say that you are a team, but you are divided. Now is the true test of your will. If you let the competition take precedence, then you may come out victorious, but it is more likely that you will fail. A partnership divided is no match for an organized team. If you are to succeed, you must rely on the traits that first brought the two of you together, and you must learn to trust eachother again, or you will surely be beaten. Now get out of here, we have to set up for bingo.
The potentate rings a large brass bell and the herald ushers the Pimps from the building.