Analyze This: oo1 [Five Way Fray RP]
Jul 18, 2013 19:17:24 GMT -5
Post by Bondo on Jul 18, 2013 19:17:24 GMT -5
“It isn’t easy being me, you know?”
He said with such disdain, the bitterness soured his mouth. He sat up from the laying position he was in and he reached for a glass of water from the very expensive looking glass pitcher. There was a slight amount of dew along the outside of the pitcher; the water chilled quite quenchingly. He pulled the glass to his mouth and quickly downed a sip or two.
“Well Thaddeus, whoever said it was?” SHE asked him, already knowing the answer. She peered at him out over her glasses; her age gave her wisdom most therapists could only dream of.
“Everybody. EVERYBODY assumes that my life is all peaches and cream. Like just because I’m wealthy I should have everything figured out. That fame and fortune equates to perfection and happiness. It’s just not like that. And these people, these imbeciles who constantly throw my family name in my face, they question my legacy, they question my very being, and they assume I’ve had every single opportunity handed to me.”
He takes another sip and sets it down. Leaning forward he assumes an almost defensive position. His body is huddled closer together, almost wrinkling his very expensive brown and blue Bordeaux Check Flannel Dylan jacket. His baby blue undershirt just barely containing his muscled frame. The inked skin of his peeks out from beneath the apparent wealth; his two personalities clashing.
She looks at him, her lips pursed. She quietly places her leather clad notebook on her lap. And without any words, she merely sits back and removes the glasses from her face. She quietly folds them and sets them atop her notebook and looks at him intently. Her charcoaled white hair styled perfectly. Her outfit designed to show off all of her best features, classy enough for a woman of her age, yet sexy enough to lead the mind into a dangerous place.
“Correct me if I’m wrong Thaddeus…” She began. He looked up from his position, his face resting on both of his index and middle fingers.
“But your family name brought you many opportunities. It lead you into schools that your grades alone would not have afforded. It brought you into organizations that someone of your youth and inexperience would never have even been given an opportunity at. Your name is your legacy Thaddeus.”
He looks at her this time, and shoots up from his seated position. His hand flails toward her direction, extended to emphasize a point.
“It may be my name, Doc, and it may be my legacy… but it is not my fucking identity!”
His face red with rage, shows that underneath the charm, the wealth, and the good looks lays an unstable individual.
She narrows her eyes and his eyes immediately dart to the various religious paraphernalia that dots her walls. He swallows hard and places a hand defensively.
“My apologies Doc. It’s just… It’s…” He sits back down and rubs at the back of his head, his styled hair moving from it’s designated place for only a moment, it’s product bringing it back. He breathes in heavily and exhales slowly.
She leans forward.
“It’s just what Thaddeus?” She brings her right hand to her face, her forefinger and thumb resting along the side of it, while her remaining three fingers all find themselves in front of her lips. While she may be one of the older and more experienced shrinks in Los Angeles, her looks have managed quite well. Many of her opponents in life have suggested she’s had some work done, a claim to which she has denied emphatically. Her slender face and her high, prominent cheek bones suggest a sophistication missing in the women of this current generation.
He looks at her, his face showing his relentless struggle with the constant expectations of what his name and legacy have placed upon him, and his own desires and ambitions in life. He licks his bottom lip, his slight stubble at the base of his lip tickling his tongue.
“It’s just that I’ve been living in a world where everyone has looked at me as the child of the great and powerful Maxwell and Evelyn Grey.”
The good Doctor offers a slight smirk at the mere mention of the Grey family.
He notices this and shakes his head.
“Listen Thaddeus. You hold such disdain for your family name. A name that has brought forth an immense amount of opportunities, opportunities that others would kill for. Can you tell me why you hold your family name with such ill refute?”
She leans in, replacing her glasses and opening her notebook. She readies her pen.
“I… I…” He starts to stumble over how he wants to say it, as if she may become offended by what he believes.
“Yes Thaddeus?” The look on her face indicates a sincere amount of interest in knowing.
He shakes his head. He really doesn’t want to acknowledge his logic. He pushes himself up from the relaxing leather sofa and heads over to one of the massive floor-to-ceiling window panes and stares out down across the city. For such a hot day, there are plenty of people on the street. Off in the distance, storm clouds begin to roll in.
“Thaddeus, why do you hold your family name with such disdain?” She asks once more, this time, a little hint of impatience works it’s way into her verbation.
He turns back from the window, staring back at her. His silvery-blue eyes narrow in and focus on her from the corner of his eyes. His face begins to distort with anger.
“I’m tired of living up to their expectations. Each and every day I have to live under this moniker. I don’t live, sleep, breath, and piss this business or this legacy. I have my own dreams, my own ambitions, my own goals in life.”
She leans back and closes her notebook.
“You’re referring to that juvenile heathen’s sport? Right? You’re talking about that barbaric, uncivilized “sport” that you gave up last year?”
She stands up and places her notebook in her chair. She slowly makes her way over to him, her pencil skirt flowing just slightly and her black high heels slightly piercing the floor as she walked. She reaches out, her glasses folded in her left hand, and places each hand on either one of his Gucci-covered shoulders.
“You listen to me, Thaddeus. You are a man of class. A man of great talent. You’re more than some last name or a pair of fists. You are a beautiful young man with the world at his finger tips, and you’re wasting your time with this childhood dream. You could rule the world!”
Her face is full of glee, full of hope. His mouth narrows. His face falls flat.
“I don’t want to rule the world, Doc. I want to be happy, and at this point in time, if it takes me getting thrown around the ring to feel a little something more than disdain for everyday life, I think I’m okay with that.”
This time it’s her lips that purse. Her green eyes focus in on him and she shakes her head slightly before turning away.
“Our time is up, Thaddeus.” She says coldly, her manner chantingly greatly from even five minutes ago. She slowly makes her way toward her desk and places her glasses down on the desk.
He looks back at her, he can easily feel her disapproval. He smirks slightly. It was like sometimes she was more of a mother than a doctor.
“I’ll see you next week, Doc.” He adjusts his jacket and makes his way towards the door, knocking on her desk twice to emphasize his intent.
She says nothing, letting him realize the extent of her disapproval. As he reaches the door, twisting the handle, she speaks up once more.
“Just remember this Thaddeus: with a name like Grey, you’ve got expectations to live up to and a reputation to uphold. Try not to sink your fortune with your attempt at forging your own legacy.”
He turns back just slightly, looking barely over his shoulder. His eyes close for a second, his face turning red with anger. He knew when to fight his battles, and waging war with the Doctor wasn’t worth it.
He twisted the handle and pulled in, walking through the door. He promptly made his way to the private elevator.
As the door behind him slowly swung shut, a single metal plate sat quietly on the front of the door. Etched into the silver plate, the name read quite plainly: Evelyn Grey M.D.
He said with such disdain, the bitterness soured his mouth. He sat up from the laying position he was in and he reached for a glass of water from the very expensive looking glass pitcher. There was a slight amount of dew along the outside of the pitcher; the water chilled quite quenchingly. He pulled the glass to his mouth and quickly downed a sip or two.
“Well Thaddeus, whoever said it was?” SHE asked him, already knowing the answer. She peered at him out over her glasses; her age gave her wisdom most therapists could only dream of.
“Everybody. EVERYBODY assumes that my life is all peaches and cream. Like just because I’m wealthy I should have everything figured out. That fame and fortune equates to perfection and happiness. It’s just not like that. And these people, these imbeciles who constantly throw my family name in my face, they question my legacy, they question my very being, and they assume I’ve had every single opportunity handed to me.”
He takes another sip and sets it down. Leaning forward he assumes an almost defensive position. His body is huddled closer together, almost wrinkling his very expensive brown and blue Bordeaux Check Flannel Dylan jacket. His baby blue undershirt just barely containing his muscled frame. The inked skin of his peeks out from beneath the apparent wealth; his two personalities clashing.
She looks at him, her lips pursed. She quietly places her leather clad notebook on her lap. And without any words, she merely sits back and removes the glasses from her face. She quietly folds them and sets them atop her notebook and looks at him intently. Her charcoaled white hair styled perfectly. Her outfit designed to show off all of her best features, classy enough for a woman of her age, yet sexy enough to lead the mind into a dangerous place.
“Correct me if I’m wrong Thaddeus…” She began. He looked up from his position, his face resting on both of his index and middle fingers.
“But your family name brought you many opportunities. It lead you into schools that your grades alone would not have afforded. It brought you into organizations that someone of your youth and inexperience would never have even been given an opportunity at. Your name is your legacy Thaddeus.”
He looks at her this time, and shoots up from his seated position. His hand flails toward her direction, extended to emphasize a point.
“It may be my name, Doc, and it may be my legacy… but it is not my fucking identity!”
His face red with rage, shows that underneath the charm, the wealth, and the good looks lays an unstable individual.
She narrows her eyes and his eyes immediately dart to the various religious paraphernalia that dots her walls. He swallows hard and places a hand defensively.
“My apologies Doc. It’s just… It’s…” He sits back down and rubs at the back of his head, his styled hair moving from it’s designated place for only a moment, it’s product bringing it back. He breathes in heavily and exhales slowly.
She leans forward.
“It’s just what Thaddeus?” She brings her right hand to her face, her forefinger and thumb resting along the side of it, while her remaining three fingers all find themselves in front of her lips. While she may be one of the older and more experienced shrinks in Los Angeles, her looks have managed quite well. Many of her opponents in life have suggested she’s had some work done, a claim to which she has denied emphatically. Her slender face and her high, prominent cheek bones suggest a sophistication missing in the women of this current generation.
He looks at her, his face showing his relentless struggle with the constant expectations of what his name and legacy have placed upon him, and his own desires and ambitions in life. He licks his bottom lip, his slight stubble at the base of his lip tickling his tongue.
“It’s just that I’ve been living in a world where everyone has looked at me as the child of the great and powerful Maxwell and Evelyn Grey.”
The good Doctor offers a slight smirk at the mere mention of the Grey family.
He notices this and shakes his head.
“Listen Thaddeus. You hold such disdain for your family name. A name that has brought forth an immense amount of opportunities, opportunities that others would kill for. Can you tell me why you hold your family name with such ill refute?”
She leans in, replacing her glasses and opening her notebook. She readies her pen.
“I… I…” He starts to stumble over how he wants to say it, as if she may become offended by what he believes.
“Yes Thaddeus?” The look on her face indicates a sincere amount of interest in knowing.
He shakes his head. He really doesn’t want to acknowledge his logic. He pushes himself up from the relaxing leather sofa and heads over to one of the massive floor-to-ceiling window panes and stares out down across the city. For such a hot day, there are plenty of people on the street. Off in the distance, storm clouds begin to roll in.
“Five men walk in. One man walks out. Nothing on the line but pride and bragging rights.
I could not have asked for a better opportunity.
In a match that features drunks and egomaniacs, sycophants and hermits, what kind of contest can we expect? One word, and it is quite simple: war. I am not heading into this contest as the pretty boy, born into privilege looking for an easy way out. I came here to fight. And fight I fucking will. I do not care if Serena Raine jumps in my way; I will knock her block clean off.
This is not a game of friendship making. I am not here to build relationships. I am here to win. I am here to solidify myself a new legacy, one that does not rely on my family’s reputation. You can make all of your snide comments, every single one of you standing in the peanut gallery. But life is not all sunshine and unicorn shit.
I may wear a two-thousand dollar suit, but I will guarantee you a ten-dollar ass-whipping. If you think I am all fluff, just you wait.
I have been around the block in this business. I have faced indy-legends and names lit in bright lights and at the end of the night, they have all been struck down and left in a pile of matter in the center of the ring.
I do not care if you are an incoherent hermit rambling on and on and could not even bother to get your opponent’s name right in your first shoot piece, this match is not going to be what you expect.
I am not walking in expecting a cake walk. The FGA has some of the greatest talent in this industry, and hell, I am one of them. But what I do expect is a little class. A little dignity. Something lacking from each and everyone of my opponents.
This match is for the most part, meant as building a lasting impression.
It is the first shot in a months-long battle for a spot atop the mountain here in the FGA. You can pencil in your predictions, you can make your little remarks, but at the end of the day this match is about who is hungriest and who is going to fall to the wayside.
My name is Thaddeus Grey, and you are all on notice. I do not care if you are a legend of this industry, a green skin fresh out of wrestling camp, or a bonafide icon of this sport. If you step in my way, you had better be able to see through all of the bullshit.
I am not your run of the mill, cookie-cutter piece of garbage wrestler.
I will knock your fucking lights out, and enjoy ever single minute of it.
I do not see black, and I do not see white. The only thing of matter is a Grey matter.
And honestly, I really only care about myself.
I could not have asked for a better opportunity.
In a match that features drunks and egomaniacs, sycophants and hermits, what kind of contest can we expect? One word, and it is quite simple: war. I am not heading into this contest as the pretty boy, born into privilege looking for an easy way out. I came here to fight. And fight I fucking will. I do not care if Serena Raine jumps in my way; I will knock her block clean off.
This is not a game of friendship making. I am not here to build relationships. I am here to win. I am here to solidify myself a new legacy, one that does not rely on my family’s reputation. You can make all of your snide comments, every single one of you standing in the peanut gallery. But life is not all sunshine and unicorn shit.
I may wear a two-thousand dollar suit, but I will guarantee you a ten-dollar ass-whipping. If you think I am all fluff, just you wait.
I have been around the block in this business. I have faced indy-legends and names lit in bright lights and at the end of the night, they have all been struck down and left in a pile of matter in the center of the ring.
I do not care if you are an incoherent hermit rambling on and on and could not even bother to get your opponent’s name right in your first shoot piece, this match is not going to be what you expect.
I am not walking in expecting a cake walk. The FGA has some of the greatest talent in this industry, and hell, I am one of them. But what I do expect is a little class. A little dignity. Something lacking from each and everyone of my opponents.
This match is for the most part, meant as building a lasting impression.
It is the first shot in a months-long battle for a spot atop the mountain here in the FGA. You can pencil in your predictions, you can make your little remarks, but at the end of the day this match is about who is hungriest and who is going to fall to the wayside.
My name is Thaddeus Grey, and you are all on notice. I do not care if you are a legend of this industry, a green skin fresh out of wrestling camp, or a bonafide icon of this sport. If you step in my way, you had better be able to see through all of the bullshit.
I am not your run of the mill, cookie-cutter piece of garbage wrestler.
I will knock your fucking lights out, and enjoy ever single minute of it.
I do not see black, and I do not see white. The only thing of matter is a Grey matter.
And honestly, I really only care about myself.
“Thaddeus, why do you hold your family name with such disdain?” She asks once more, this time, a little hint of impatience works it’s way into her verbation.
He turns back from the window, staring back at her. His silvery-blue eyes narrow in and focus on her from the corner of his eyes. His face begins to distort with anger.
“I’m tired of living up to their expectations. Each and every day I have to live under this moniker. I don’t live, sleep, breath, and piss this business or this legacy. I have my own dreams, my own ambitions, my own goals in life.”
She leans back and closes her notebook.
“You’re referring to that juvenile heathen’s sport? Right? You’re talking about that barbaric, uncivilized “sport” that you gave up last year?”
She stands up and places her notebook in her chair. She slowly makes her way over to him, her pencil skirt flowing just slightly and her black high heels slightly piercing the floor as she walked. She reaches out, her glasses folded in her left hand, and places each hand on either one of his Gucci-covered shoulders.
“You listen to me, Thaddeus. You are a man of class. A man of great talent. You’re more than some last name or a pair of fists. You are a beautiful young man with the world at his finger tips, and you’re wasting your time with this childhood dream. You could rule the world!”
Her face is full of glee, full of hope. His mouth narrows. His face falls flat.
“I don’t want to rule the world, Doc. I want to be happy, and at this point in time, if it takes me getting thrown around the ring to feel a little something more than disdain for everyday life, I think I’m okay with that.”
This time it’s her lips that purse. Her green eyes focus in on him and she shakes her head slightly before turning away.
“Our time is up, Thaddeus.” She says coldly, her manner chantingly greatly from even five minutes ago. She slowly makes her way toward her desk and places her glasses down on the desk.
He looks back at her, he can easily feel her disapproval. He smirks slightly. It was like sometimes she was more of a mother than a doctor.
“I’ll see you next week, Doc.” He adjusts his jacket and makes his way towards the door, knocking on her desk twice to emphasize his intent.
She says nothing, letting him realize the extent of her disapproval. As he reaches the door, twisting the handle, she speaks up once more.
“Just remember this Thaddeus: with a name like Grey, you’ve got expectations to live up to and a reputation to uphold. Try not to sink your fortune with your attempt at forging your own legacy.”
He turns back just slightly, looking barely over his shoulder. His eyes close for a second, his face turning red with anger. He knew when to fight his battles, and waging war with the Doctor wasn’t worth it.
He twisted the handle and pulled in, walking through the door. He promptly made his way to the private elevator.
As the door behind him slowly swung shut, a single metal plate sat quietly on the front of the door. Etched into the silver plate, the name read quite plainly: Evelyn Grey M.D.
