Post by Deleted on Jan 24, 2021 22:33:18 GMT -5
Check out The End is Nigh and The End is Nigh Part I.I for the earlier parts if you so desire. For the first one just go the next day section of the rp for this tory and the second link skip to the end of the promo to the CD there. More to come!
Brooklyn, New York City, New York
January 18th, 2021
Late Evening
Scott Nash Strader was not a good man, and it was ever apparent as he laid in bed naked with his granddaughter’s, Victoria’s ex-girlfriend, Maxine Riggs. He was also managing the French Canadian destroyer that went by the Thunderdome Hoe, also known as Mad Max, and he was enjoying every minute of it. Did that make him a bad man? Oh definitely, 100% he’s a horrible human being, but that was also his charm. Maxine knew it was a bad idea to get between the sheets with her then girlfriend’s grandfather, but that wasn’t the case anymore after Victoria had walked in on them a few months ago, causing the whole break up, but that story wasn’t needed to be heard. As they laid there in their post-coital bliss, Scott reached across Max, grabbing a lighter off the bedside table to light the cigarettes he was grabbing as well. He lit his smoke, exhaling into the air above him, so he didn’t get it in her face, and he could tell she had fallen asleep. He takes a few drags from his cigarette before dropping it into an empty can of beer on the nightstand. He looks out the window to his right as he drifts asleep.
St. Joseph’s Hospital
London, Ontario Canada
August 24th, 2000
Scott Nash stood with the doctor outside his teenage daughter, Meghan Smyth, hospital room as she had passed out during delivery and hadn’t woken back up yet. Scott runs his right hand through his long blonde hair and scratches his goateed chin.
“Well, as I told you, Mr. Nash, your daughter had two healthy baby girls.”
“But the ultrasounds never picked up a second baby, doc,” the big man replied, as he was baffled.
“Well, sometimes, Mr. Nash, the babies can line up in the womb, and the heartbeats are in rhythm together. Plus, from her records, she only ever came in once to get looked at. If she had made all her appointments, we could’ve seen this before delivery,” the doctor said in a very clinical tone. His bedside manner was that of a man from the 1950s.
Scott shakes his head as the doctor walks away. He looks through the window to see his wife Amy in the chair beside his daughter’s bed. He was still whirring from the fact she was his daughter, but given that they had the same icy blue eyes, it was more old school denial that kept that truth hidden for fourteen years.
“I am going to go have a smoke.”
After a few minutes, Scott finds himself outside through the front doors and reaches into his Bandido kutte for his smokes and is annoyed to find his pack empty. He looks around, catching a man sitting in what looked to be a mint condition 1981 rusty brown coloured Firebird having a cigarette in the parking directly across the road from the front entrance. As Scott gets closer, he can see the man has been crying, and while he should’ve just left the man alone, he doesn’t and approaches him anyway.
“Excuse me, bro. You have an extra dart?” he asks the man with his southern Ontario Canada slang.
“Yeah, hear you go, bud” the man says, handing him a black pack with a gold JPS logo on it. He takes one and hands the smokes back to the crying man. Scott lights up.
“Thanks, bro, appreciate it; my teenage daughter just had twins,” he tells the man. The man looks up at him and smiles.
“Congratulations bud, that’s a great thing, eh!” the man tries to be as genuine as possible, but he is in pain, and Scott just can’t seem to stop himself.
“Are you alright, bro? I know I am probably intimidating,” he said, which would make him Captain Fucking Obvious as he stands at 7’0 in his custom made double-wide size 14 cowboy boot. Just over three hundred pounds of muscle and was wearing an American motorcycle club patch on his back with a Washington patch on the bottom. No shit he was intimidating.
“Honestly, bud, no, I am not. My wife had a stillborn baby earlier, and she had to be sedated because of her hysteria,” he said quietly as the gears were already running in his head.
If Meghan realizes there are two, she won’t want to separate them, and there’s no way in hell I am raising her demon offspring from that fucking monster… this guy could be the key to make sure she gives the one up for adoption, and make some scratch off the other. Win fucking win!
Scott looks the guy over, realizing he must have some money based on what he is driving. He takes a drag before casting the line off his manipulation rod.
“Listen, I will be razor straight with you, my daughter? She was raped, and that’s who the father of these beautiful twin girls is. We had decided to give the baby up for adoption, but my daughter doesn’t know she had two. If she realizes she won’t want to separate them and I can’t afford to raise her and two babies,” he says as he watches the man in front of him.
“Bud, I don’t even know your name,” he says, looking at him.
“Well, I will tell you when I know I can trust you. You can take a beautiful, healthy baby girl to your wife for five thousand dollars if you play this right. What’s that they say about nature versus nurture? And you seem like a better citizen than I am, right?” he asks, and the man can’t help but agree with him, and the thought of bringing a child to his devastated wife did sound ideal.
“What you are suggesting is very illegal, but bud, you make an excellent point. I would do anything to make my wife happy, and we were looking forward to a little girl to raise. We were going to name her after my mother, Cara Anne,” he says with the name trailing off. Scott is on him like a predator stalks its prey.
“Well, I am offering you a chance for just five thousand you can have that happy little family with Cara Anne nurture and love, bro,” he said, feeling the line tugging on the rod.
The man sits silently for thirty seconds, and he looks up at Scott, and the big man knows instantly.
Gotcha!
“It’s Thursday, so the bank shouldn’t be too busy. Give me forty-five minutes?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Scott, by the way.”
“Jim!”
“Alright, see you soon, Jim. Oh, can I grab another smoke from you?” he asks so casually after agreeing to sell one of his granddaughters for a measly five thousand dollars. Jim just tosses him the pack as he fires up his antique Firebird and Scott watches the snowflake rims spin-off down the road.
“Alright, let’s go make sure Anita is still in administration,” he says. He butts out his cigarette with the heel of his boot as he begins his ascent up the stairs to the front door.
Brooklyn, New York
January 18th, 2021
Scott’s eyelids lifted open like someone pulling on a projector screen cord when it rolls up. He is sweating profusely as he sits up and stands to go and open the window to help cool himself off. The chilly winter air hits his skin as he feels Maxine’s hands on his shoulder as she kisses him between his shoulder blades as he was a foot taller than the French Canadian destroyer.
“What’s wrong, Scott? You haven’t been sleeping well lately,” she asked in her slight French Canadian accent, and he could hear the concern in her voice. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and that dream didn’t help matters.
“Yeah, sorry kid, just been living in the past lately,” he said while closing the window. He turned around and took her head in his hands. He runs his hands, combing her hair back as he leans down and kisses his young lover and wrestling apprentice. The big man is turning fifty-six this year, but he’ll be lucky to make six months into what was supposed to be a better year for all, and maybe in this case of ending the life of Scott Nash Strader might actually be good for a lot of people. “Fuck, I never have told anyone this, and I swear to God Max if you tell anyone,” he says, not quite glaring at her but looking at her in a way that told her she should tread carefully, and she nods to appease his paranoia. “Victoria has a twin sister.”
“Tabernac! Caulis! Like my Vickie? She has a twin?!” Max can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth. “How do you know? Oh, wait…” she trails off, realizing that he does know, and she shouldn’t be surprised. “What happened?”
“Meghan only went to one Gyno appointment as the whole situation of the attack being made to watch on television, well it embarrassed her at the time,” he said with a note of sadness that that had happened to her; he wasn’t a complete monster.
“Right, and Meghan turned all that around and didn’t let it overcome her. It was the thing I admired most about her when she was training me.”
“Yeah, well, long story short is she passed out during delivery, so they did a c-section, even though you wouldn’t know as I did find my kid the best plastic surgeons, and they took out two girls.”
“So you are telling me that there are Deux Victoria’s?” she asks him holding up two fingers on her left hand. He grabs them gently and guides her to sit on the bed with him. She adjusts her purple robe as she crosses her legs and looks up into the icy blue eyes that have seen more than any man should.
“No, they aren’t identical. This isn’t unusual, as John and Tamika, my set of twins, share similar looks, but I know for sure they aren’t because I know who it is.”
“You know where the other twin is? Why have you never told Meghan the truth?” she asks, in fear of what his answer could be.
“Yes, and she looks a lot like Meghan. Instead of wavy raven hair, she is almost chestnut brunette, but fucking dark like you easily mistake the colour if you aren’t looking close enough. She has our same Strader signature blue eyes. I am surprised no one questioned it, especially when Tamika promoted her to a play-by-play commentary on Chaos,” he said, reaching to his right on the nightstand for his pack of cigarettes. “To answer your question, Meghan already hates me as it is; why add to it?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do? And oh my god, it’s Cara Townsend?! She does look like Meghan, but denial is a powerful thing, I guess,” is all Max can say as she is stunned. “Why did you give her away? To who?”
Scott wasn’t about to tell the former apprentice and once considered surrogate daughter the whole truth.
“A man I knew quite well.”
Lying sack of shit.
“He and his wife had lost their child during delivery, and I wanted them to be able to raise one of my grandkids, so I knew where she was,” he said, feeding the young woman half-truths and lies. It was something he did very well. He had this ability to humanize himself, which lead to being an excellent narcissist and overall lying sack of shit as his eldest had once called him before. “Meghan was in no shape to raise two children, and I know my kid; she would’ve kept them if she knew there were two. I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, choking back those alligator tears.
“Oh Scott, it’s tres bien; you were doing what you thought was best. Maybe, just maybe, you should tell your children the truth, oui? Try to get ahead of it if you can, non?” she asked, hoping he would agree.
“Yeah, maybe. Right now, I have something else I need to talk to you about,” he said suggestively as he ran his left hand up her thigh.
She knew she should stop him and talk about this more, but she just couldn’t resist his charm or touch. She would need time to digest what her lover and manager just told her, but for now, a more primal itch needed to be scratched and god help her; it was his scratch that did it.
Brooklyn, New York City, New York
January 18th, 2021
Late Evening
Scott Nash Strader was not a good man, and it was ever apparent as he laid in bed naked with his granddaughter’s, Victoria’s ex-girlfriend, Maxine Riggs. He was also managing the French Canadian destroyer that went by the Thunderdome Hoe, also known as Mad Max, and he was enjoying every minute of it. Did that make him a bad man? Oh definitely, 100% he’s a horrible human being, but that was also his charm. Maxine knew it was a bad idea to get between the sheets with her then girlfriend’s grandfather, but that wasn’t the case anymore after Victoria had walked in on them a few months ago, causing the whole break up, but that story wasn’t needed to be heard. As they laid there in their post-coital bliss, Scott reached across Max, grabbing a lighter off the bedside table to light the cigarettes he was grabbing as well. He lit his smoke, exhaling into the air above him, so he didn’t get it in her face, and he could tell she had fallen asleep. He takes a few drags from his cigarette before dropping it into an empty can of beer on the nightstand. He looks out the window to his right as he drifts asleep.
St. Joseph’s Hospital
London, Ontario Canada
August 24th, 2000
Scott Nash stood with the doctor outside his teenage daughter, Meghan Smyth, hospital room as she had passed out during delivery and hadn’t woken back up yet. Scott runs his right hand through his long blonde hair and scratches his goateed chin.
“Well, as I told you, Mr. Nash, your daughter had two healthy baby girls.”
“But the ultrasounds never picked up a second baby, doc,” the big man replied, as he was baffled.
“Well, sometimes, Mr. Nash, the babies can line up in the womb, and the heartbeats are in rhythm together. Plus, from her records, she only ever came in once to get looked at. If she had made all her appointments, we could’ve seen this before delivery,” the doctor said in a very clinical tone. His bedside manner was that of a man from the 1950s.
Scott shakes his head as the doctor walks away. He looks through the window to see his wife Amy in the chair beside his daughter’s bed. He was still whirring from the fact she was his daughter, but given that they had the same icy blue eyes, it was more old school denial that kept that truth hidden for fourteen years.
“I am going to go have a smoke.”
After a few minutes, Scott finds himself outside through the front doors and reaches into his Bandido kutte for his smokes and is annoyed to find his pack empty. He looks around, catching a man sitting in what looked to be a mint condition 1981 rusty brown coloured Firebird having a cigarette in the parking directly across the road from the front entrance. As Scott gets closer, he can see the man has been crying, and while he should’ve just left the man alone, he doesn’t and approaches him anyway.
“Excuse me, bro. You have an extra dart?” he asks the man with his southern Ontario Canada slang.
“Yeah, hear you go, bud” the man says, handing him a black pack with a gold JPS logo on it. He takes one and hands the smokes back to the crying man. Scott lights up.
“Thanks, bro, appreciate it; my teenage daughter just had twins,” he tells the man. The man looks up at him and smiles.
“Congratulations bud, that’s a great thing, eh!” the man tries to be as genuine as possible, but he is in pain, and Scott just can’t seem to stop himself.
“Are you alright, bro? I know I am probably intimidating,” he said, which would make him Captain Fucking Obvious as he stands at 7’0 in his custom made double-wide size 14 cowboy boot. Just over three hundred pounds of muscle and was wearing an American motorcycle club patch on his back with a Washington patch on the bottom. No shit he was intimidating.
“Honestly, bud, no, I am not. My wife had a stillborn baby earlier, and she had to be sedated because of her hysteria,” he said quietly as the gears were already running in his head.
If Meghan realizes there are two, she won’t want to separate them, and there’s no way in hell I am raising her demon offspring from that fucking monster… this guy could be the key to make sure she gives the one up for adoption, and make some scratch off the other. Win fucking win!
Scott looks the guy over, realizing he must have some money based on what he is driving. He takes a drag before casting the line off his manipulation rod.
“Listen, I will be razor straight with you, my daughter? She was raped, and that’s who the father of these beautiful twin girls is. We had decided to give the baby up for adoption, but my daughter doesn’t know she had two. If she realizes she won’t want to separate them and I can’t afford to raise her and two babies,” he says as he watches the man in front of him.
“Bud, I don’t even know your name,” he says, looking at him.
“Well, I will tell you when I know I can trust you. You can take a beautiful, healthy baby girl to your wife for five thousand dollars if you play this right. What’s that they say about nature versus nurture? And you seem like a better citizen than I am, right?” he asks, and the man can’t help but agree with him, and the thought of bringing a child to his devastated wife did sound ideal.
“What you are suggesting is very illegal, but bud, you make an excellent point. I would do anything to make my wife happy, and we were looking forward to a little girl to raise. We were going to name her after my mother, Cara Anne,” he says with the name trailing off. Scott is on him like a predator stalks its prey.
“Well, I am offering you a chance for just five thousand you can have that happy little family with Cara Anne nurture and love, bro,” he said, feeling the line tugging on the rod.
The man sits silently for thirty seconds, and he looks up at Scott, and the big man knows instantly.
Gotcha!
“It’s Thursday, so the bank shouldn’t be too busy. Give me forty-five minutes?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Scott, by the way.”
“Jim!”
“Alright, see you soon, Jim. Oh, can I grab another smoke from you?” he asks so casually after agreeing to sell one of his granddaughters for a measly five thousand dollars. Jim just tosses him the pack as he fires up his antique Firebird and Scott watches the snowflake rims spin-off down the road.
“Alright, let’s go make sure Anita is still in administration,” he says. He butts out his cigarette with the heel of his boot as he begins his ascent up the stairs to the front door.
Brooklyn, New York
January 18th, 2021
Scott’s eyelids lifted open like someone pulling on a projector screen cord when it rolls up. He is sweating profusely as he sits up and stands to go and open the window to help cool himself off. The chilly winter air hits his skin as he feels Maxine’s hands on his shoulder as she kisses him between his shoulder blades as he was a foot taller than the French Canadian destroyer.
“What’s wrong, Scott? You haven’t been sleeping well lately,” she asked in her slight French Canadian accent, and he could hear the concern in her voice. He hadn’t been sleeping well, and that dream didn’t help matters.
“Yeah, sorry kid, just been living in the past lately,” he said while closing the window. He turned around and took her head in his hands. He runs his hands, combing her hair back as he leans down and kisses his young lover and wrestling apprentice. The big man is turning fifty-six this year, but he’ll be lucky to make six months into what was supposed to be a better year for all, and maybe in this case of ending the life of Scott Nash Strader might actually be good for a lot of people. “Fuck, I never have told anyone this, and I swear to God Max if you tell anyone,” he says, not quite glaring at her but looking at her in a way that told her she should tread carefully, and she nods to appease his paranoia. “Victoria has a twin sister.”
“Tabernac! Caulis! Like my Vickie? She has a twin?!” Max can’t believe the words that just came out of her mouth. “How do you know? Oh, wait…” she trails off, realizing that he does know, and she shouldn’t be surprised. “What happened?”
“Meghan only went to one Gyno appointment as the whole situation of the attack being made to watch on television, well it embarrassed her at the time,” he said with a note of sadness that that had happened to her; he wasn’t a complete monster.
“Right, and Meghan turned all that around and didn’t let it overcome her. It was the thing I admired most about her when she was training me.”
“Yeah, well, long story short is she passed out during delivery, so they did a c-section, even though you wouldn’t know as I did find my kid the best plastic surgeons, and they took out two girls.”
“So you are telling me that there are Deux Victoria’s?” she asks him holding up two fingers on her left hand. He grabs them gently and guides her to sit on the bed with him. She adjusts her purple robe as she crosses her legs and looks up into the icy blue eyes that have seen more than any man should.
“No, they aren’t identical. This isn’t unusual, as John and Tamika, my set of twins, share similar looks, but I know for sure they aren’t because I know who it is.”
“You know where the other twin is? Why have you never told Meghan the truth?” she asks, in fear of what his answer could be.
“Yes, and she looks a lot like Meghan. Instead of wavy raven hair, she is almost chestnut brunette, but fucking dark like you easily mistake the colour if you aren’t looking close enough. She has our same Strader signature blue eyes. I am surprised no one questioned it, especially when Tamika promoted her to a play-by-play commentary on Chaos,” he said, reaching to his right on the nightstand for his pack of cigarettes. “To answer your question, Meghan already hates me as it is; why add to it?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do? And oh my god, it’s Cara Townsend?! She does look like Meghan, but denial is a powerful thing, I guess,” is all Max can say as she is stunned. “Why did you give her away? To who?”
Scott wasn’t about to tell the former apprentice and once considered surrogate daughter the whole truth.
“A man I knew quite well.”
Lying sack of shit.
“He and his wife had lost their child during delivery, and I wanted them to be able to raise one of my grandkids, so I knew where she was,” he said, feeding the young woman half-truths and lies. It was something he did very well. He had this ability to humanize himself, which lead to being an excellent narcissist and overall lying sack of shit as his eldest had once called him before. “Meghan was in no shape to raise two children, and I know my kid; she would’ve kept them if she knew there were two. I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, choking back those alligator tears.
“Oh Scott, it’s tres bien; you were doing what you thought was best. Maybe, just maybe, you should tell your children the truth, oui? Try to get ahead of it if you can, non?” she asked, hoping he would agree.
“Yeah, maybe. Right now, I have something else I need to talk to you about,” he said suggestively as he ran his left hand up her thigh.
She knew she should stop him and talk about this more, but she just couldn’t resist his charm or touch. She would need time to digest what her lover and manager just told her, but for now, a more primal itch needed to be scratched and god help her; it was his scratch that did it.