War of the Roses: Redux Edition
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 6158
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Caesar really folded like that? Crazy. Little losing streak he's on now.
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13869
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Last Hurrah
“Oh, this is nice!” Denyse said, holding up one of the many suit jackets that he’d thrown into the corner of his room. She rubbed the material between her fingers. “This got to be at least ten or twenty thousand dollars.”
Erik shook his head from his bed where he lay, one arm propped behind his head while he scrolled aimlessly on his phone. A deluge of packages had arrived over the last week, courtesy of Deion Jenkins, full of clothes he was expected to wear while in New York to look presentable while out on the town with the well-to-do “others” in the family.
He’d never been one for the glitz and glamour lifestyle – likely due to his absentee father – so he opted for dumping all of the designer clothes haphazardly in a pile. Instead, he’d ordered an off the rack suit and gotten some alterations done to it. Name brand, but a much lesser name.
He wasn’t ashamed to admit it was an act of rebellion.
Denyse dug through the pile and pulled out a shirt. “I know y’all get a good bit from those likeness deals, but this is a different kind of money. This is ‘fuck you’ money type of shit. I might have to lock you down before these white girls find out you got this kind of money.”
“Cat’s already out of the bag on that one. You forgetting the whole world found out that I’m related to that motherfucker in New Orleans who be all on social media buying a new car whenever he needs to get a recharge.”
“You right. I guess it’s a good thing that you be scaring the hoes sometimes.”
Erik laughed. “How do I scare the hoes?”
“They don’t like that you’re not a copy and paste of every other nigga playing football here,” she said as she took the pins out of the shirt and put it on. The fabric was much too big for her and hung off her body like a robe. “Most of them bat them pretty blue eyes at number five on the field and he got a case pending by the end of the night. You ignore them.”
“I enjoy my freedom. What can I say?”
Denyse rolled the sleeves of the shirt up and struck a pose. “You sure you couldn’t get used to this? I think I look much better in this than I do wearing one of those funky ass hoodies you go running in. Be having me smelling like outside.”
“I think you’d look better with that on the floor so it doesn’t matter whether it’s $10 from Goodwill or ten racks from some Italian who name I can’t pronounce.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, walking over to the edge of the bed, close enough that he could reach out and brush his fingertips against the shirt but too far for him to fully touch her. “I think you’re just saying that because you want some.”
Erik sat up so he could pull her toward him. She let out an exaggerated gasp of shock but fell into his arms willingly. He ran his hands up her arms and pushed the shirt off her shoulders. “I always want some from you. I don’t have to say some sappy shit to make it happen though because you want it just as much as I do.”
Denyse arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile as the shirt slid down her arms and crumpled onto the floor. “Oh, you just got it all figured out, huh?”
“Yeah,” Erik said, his tone low and confident. His hands settled on her waist, steady and warm, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of her tank top.
Denyse tilted her head, the smile never leaving her face, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. She seemed to be weighing his words, wondering if there was more behind them than the usual banter.
“You real smooth for somebody stressing about going on this trip,” she said, her voice softening just a touch. Her fingers played idly with the collar of his t-shirt, as though the fabric held the answer to some question she wasn’t ready to ask out loud.
Erik leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows as he looked up at her. “I ain’t stressing.”
Denyse gave him a pointed look, her hands pausing mid-fidget. “Boy, please. You got a pile of designer clothes sitting in the corner like they offended you personally. You don’t gotta go up there and say you love them. You just gotta go.”
Erik snorted. “It’s just… complicated. These motherfuckers been shitting on me since the moment I was conceived.”
“You can be the bigger man,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Show them that you’re better than that, better than them.”
“Who said I’m better than them? Maybe that shit runs in the blood. I can’t say I haven’t done my fair share of fucked up shit back in the day.”
“I say you’re better than them,” Her tone was gentler now, but there was still a firmness to it, like she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “You could’ve turned out like your br—Caesar, that’s his name right?”
“Yeah,” Erik nodded.
“You could’ve ended up like that, but you didn’t. That’s how I know that you’re nothing like them.” She straddled his lap and cupped his face in her hands. “You’re not defined by the people that made you, Erik. No matter how much people try to put you in that box.”
Erik laughed, but the humor was lacking in it. “Well, yeah, I ain’t turn out like him. I ain’t grow up rich as fuck.”
Denyse nodded over her shoulder, a small smile playing at her lips. “I know you didn’t, but you got some of them tendencies because only a rich man would throw hundreds of thousands of dollars of suits on the floor in a sloppy ass pile like that’s some SHEIN.”
“Just gotta get the coke and hoes now and I’ll be on my way,” Erik said, but the smile on his face said that he wasn’t serious.
“I’ll kill you, buddy,” she said, tapping him on the forehead before getting up and walking back toward the pile of clothes. “Now, get your ass up so I can figure out which of these you need to bring with you to New York.”
Erik watched her, the smile staying on his lips. “You just want to tell motherfuckers that you told me how to dress so you can take the credit when I’m all over everything.”
“You damn right,” she said, tossing a blazer at him. “Now, get your ass up. You’re not about to embarrass me.”
Anna turned her head from the passenger seat, her lips slightly parted as she took in the sprawling estate on the bayouside. “This is where you grew up?”
Ron glanced over at her, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. This is it.”
“You didn’t tell me it was… this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the grandeur as the car rolled to a stop in front of the wide steps leading up to double mahogany doors. “I mean, I knew your family had money, but this is next-level.”
“We’re hick royalty, baby,” he said, killing the engine. “It’s real easy to build something like this when the land is so cheap.”
Anna studied him for a moment, her brows knitting together. “You don’t sound happy to be here.”
He snorted. “Ain’t much here to be happy about.”
She hesitated, watching him as he pushed the car door open and stepped out. The gravel crunched under his shoes as he rounded the hood to her side, pulling open the door for her. “C’mon. Might as well take a look around while we’re here.”
Anna stepped out, her heels sinking slightly into the driveway. She glanced at the towering oaks draped in Spanish moss and the pristine landscaping, every hedge and flowerbed meticulously maintained. “Your parents aren’t home?”
“Nope,” Ron said shortly, fishing a key from his pocket as they climbed the steps. “One thing about being rich is that your parents are never home. I’m sure that’s something you can relate to being a congressman’s daughter.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet.
Anna followed him into the house, the cold air inside brushing her skin like a reminder of how empty this place was despite its size. Inside, the house was every bit as imposing as its exterior. Marble floors gleamed under a towering chandelier, and the walls were lined with oversized paintings and antique mirrors. The whole place smelled faintly of lemon polish, like it was cleaned for an audience that would never come.
Anna let out a low whistle as her heels clicked against the marble. “You know, when I looked up where you were from, I thought you would’ve grew up in a four bed at most, but this is something else, Ron. This shit is crazy.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he asked, laughing.
“It’s just… this is a lot.”
“It sure is,” he replied, his tone flat. He tossed his keys onto a side table and moved through the grand staircase without looking back. “C’mon. I’ll show you around.”
She lingered for a moment, taking in the sweeping staircase, the towering ceilings, and the quiet weight of the house. It didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a stage. She followed him up the stairs, her hand brushing the polished banister.
“This reminds me of home. We were old money so it wasn’t as big, but it was bag. I can remember the echoes in the house,” she said softly. “What was it like for you?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Lonely.”
The single word hung in the air between them. She didn’t press him as they reached the second floor where a long hallway stretched out with doors on either side. Ron stopped in front of one and pushed it open. Inside, the walls were covered with football memorabilia, shelves filled with trophies. A desk in the corner was cluttered with faded photos and a battered football.
“This is your room?” Anna asked, stepping inside. She ran her fingers over the trophies, years showing Ron’s football journey from peewee football to TCU. She picked up one of the pictures from desk, one of Ron and Caesar at Vandebilt.
Ron walked over to where she stood, looking over her shoulder. “Me and him grew up the same, you know? These big houses, parents never home, no siblings, talking to housekeepers and cooks more than you did your own father. We were inseparable, though. All the dumb shit I did, he did with me. All the dumb shit he did, I did with him.”
“So, he’s joining the Marines with you?” Anna asked, putting the picture back, the sarcasm was evident in her tone.
Ron laughed. “No, this is where we’ll be going our separate ways. He thinks what I’m doing is pretty fucking stupid.”
“It is pretty fucking stupid, but I’m biased,” she said, looking up at him. “I’d rather you stay here, keep playing football, just do the normal shit you’ve been doing. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone—not to your parents, not to the world.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything.” His voice softened as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is about finding something bigger than myself.”
Anna’s throat tightened, but she nodded, knowing this wasn’t a decision he’d made lightly. “I’m proud of you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled then, a small, genuine thing that eased some of the tension in the room.
They stood there for a moment, the weight of the house and its history fading as they focused on each other. Finally, Ron straightened and glanced around the room.
“Come on. I’m hungry,” he said. “There’s a gas station down the road that has some fucking amazing po-boys.”
“Ron, I’m not eating food from a gas station,” she said, looking at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“You trust me, huh?” He held out his hand to her.
She looked at his hand, shaking her head, before slipping hers into his. As they descended the grand staircase and stepped back out of the door, she squeezed his fingers gently, knowing that he was leaving behind more than the house.
“Oh, this is nice!” Denyse said, holding up one of the many suit jackets that he’d thrown into the corner of his room. She rubbed the material between her fingers. “This got to be at least ten or twenty thousand dollars.”
Erik shook his head from his bed where he lay, one arm propped behind his head while he scrolled aimlessly on his phone. A deluge of packages had arrived over the last week, courtesy of Deion Jenkins, full of clothes he was expected to wear while in New York to look presentable while out on the town with the well-to-do “others” in the family.
He’d never been one for the glitz and glamour lifestyle – likely due to his absentee father – so he opted for dumping all of the designer clothes haphazardly in a pile. Instead, he’d ordered an off the rack suit and gotten some alterations done to it. Name brand, but a much lesser name.
He wasn’t ashamed to admit it was an act of rebellion.
Denyse dug through the pile and pulled out a shirt. “I know y’all get a good bit from those likeness deals, but this is a different kind of money. This is ‘fuck you’ money type of shit. I might have to lock you down before these white girls find out you got this kind of money.”
“Cat’s already out of the bag on that one. You forgetting the whole world found out that I’m related to that motherfucker in New Orleans who be all on social media buying a new car whenever he needs to get a recharge.”
“You right. I guess it’s a good thing that you be scaring the hoes sometimes.”
Erik laughed. “How do I scare the hoes?”
“They don’t like that you’re not a copy and paste of every other nigga playing football here,” she said as she took the pins out of the shirt and put it on. The fabric was much too big for her and hung off her body like a robe. “Most of them bat them pretty blue eyes at number five on the field and he got a case pending by the end of the night. You ignore them.”
“I enjoy my freedom. What can I say?”
Denyse rolled the sleeves of the shirt up and struck a pose. “You sure you couldn’t get used to this? I think I look much better in this than I do wearing one of those funky ass hoodies you go running in. Be having me smelling like outside.”
“I think you’d look better with that on the floor so it doesn’t matter whether it’s $10 from Goodwill or ten racks from some Italian who name I can’t pronounce.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, walking over to the edge of the bed, close enough that he could reach out and brush his fingertips against the shirt but too far for him to fully touch her. “I think you’re just saying that because you want some.”
Erik sat up so he could pull her toward him. She let out an exaggerated gasp of shock but fell into his arms willingly. He ran his hands up her arms and pushed the shirt off her shoulders. “I always want some from you. I don’t have to say some sappy shit to make it happen though because you want it just as much as I do.”
Denyse arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile as the shirt slid down her arms and crumpled onto the floor. “Oh, you just got it all figured out, huh?”
“Yeah,” Erik said, his tone low and confident. His hands settled on her waist, steady and warm, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of her tank top.
Denyse tilted her head, the smile never leaving her face, but there was a flicker of something deeper in her eyes. She seemed to be weighing his words, wondering if there was more behind them than the usual banter.
“You real smooth for somebody stressing about going on this trip,” she said, her voice softening just a touch. Her fingers played idly with the collar of his t-shirt, as though the fabric held the answer to some question she wasn’t ready to ask out loud.
Erik leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows as he looked up at her. “I ain’t stressing.”
Denyse gave him a pointed look, her hands pausing mid-fidget. “Boy, please. You got a pile of designer clothes sitting in the corner like they offended you personally. You don’t gotta go up there and say you love them. You just gotta go.”
Erik snorted. “It’s just… complicated. These motherfuckers been shitting on me since the moment I was conceived.”
“You can be the bigger man,” she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “Show them that you’re better than that, better than them.”
“Who said I’m better than them? Maybe that shit runs in the blood. I can’t say I haven’t done my fair share of fucked up shit back in the day.”
“I say you’re better than them,” Her tone was gentler now, but there was still a firmness to it, like she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. “You could’ve turned out like your br—Caesar, that’s his name right?”
“Yeah,” Erik nodded.
“You could’ve ended up like that, but you didn’t. That’s how I know that you’re nothing like them.” She straddled his lap and cupped his face in her hands. “You’re not defined by the people that made you, Erik. No matter how much people try to put you in that box.”
Erik laughed, but the humor was lacking in it. “Well, yeah, I ain’t turn out like him. I ain’t grow up rich as fuck.”
Denyse nodded over her shoulder, a small smile playing at her lips. “I know you didn’t, but you got some of them tendencies because only a rich man would throw hundreds of thousands of dollars of suits on the floor in a sloppy ass pile like that’s some SHEIN.”
“Just gotta get the coke and hoes now and I’ll be on my way,” Erik said, but the smile on his face said that he wasn’t serious.
“I’ll kill you, buddy,” she said, tapping him on the forehead before getting up and walking back toward the pile of clothes. “Now, get your ass up so I can figure out which of these you need to bring with you to New York.”
Erik watched her, the smile staying on his lips. “You just want to tell motherfuckers that you told me how to dress so you can take the credit when I’m all over everything.”
“You damn right,” she said, tossing a blazer at him. “Now, get your ass up. You’re not about to embarrass me.”
-*****-
The gravel driveway stretched out in front of them like a timeline, every crunch under the tires marking a memory Ron would rather forget. At the end of the drive, the house stood like a monument—pristine white brick, tall columns and wraparound porches so polished they seemed to gleam in the fading sunlight. It wasn’t just a house. It was a declaration. The kind of place that whispered money and demanded respect.Anna turned her head from the passenger seat, her lips slightly parted as she took in the sprawling estate on the bayouside. “This is where you grew up?”
Ron glanced over at her, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. This is it.”
“You didn’t tell me it was… this,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the grandeur as the car rolled to a stop in front of the wide steps leading up to double mahogany doors. “I mean, I knew your family had money, but this is next-level.”
“We’re hick royalty, baby,” he said, killing the engine. “It’s real easy to build something like this when the land is so cheap.”
Anna studied him for a moment, her brows knitting together. “You don’t sound happy to be here.”
He snorted. “Ain’t much here to be happy about.”
She hesitated, watching him as he pushed the car door open and stepped out. The gravel crunched under his shoes as he rounded the hood to her side, pulling open the door for her. “C’mon. Might as well take a look around while we’re here.”
Anna stepped out, her heels sinking slightly into the driveway. She glanced at the towering oaks draped in Spanish moss and the pristine landscaping, every hedge and flowerbed meticulously maintained. “Your parents aren’t home?”
“Nope,” Ron said shortly, fishing a key from his pocket as they climbed the steps. “One thing about being rich is that your parents are never home. I’m sure that’s something you can relate to being a congressman’s daughter.”
“Yeah,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet.
Anna followed him into the house, the cold air inside brushing her skin like a reminder of how empty this place was despite its size. Inside, the house was every bit as imposing as its exterior. Marble floors gleamed under a towering chandelier, and the walls were lined with oversized paintings and antique mirrors. The whole place smelled faintly of lemon polish, like it was cleaned for an audience that would never come.
Anna let out a low whistle as her heels clicked against the marble. “You know, when I looked up where you were from, I thought you would’ve grew up in a four bed at most, but this is something else, Ron. This shit is crazy.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he asked, laughing.
“It’s just… this is a lot.”
“It sure is,” he replied, his tone flat. He tossed his keys onto a side table and moved through the grand staircase without looking back. “C’mon. I’ll show you around.”
She lingered for a moment, taking in the sweeping staircase, the towering ceilings, and the quiet weight of the house. It didn’t feel like a home. It felt like a stage. She followed him up the stairs, her hand brushing the polished banister.
“This reminds me of home. We were old money so it wasn’t as big, but it was bag. I can remember the echoes in the house,” she said softly. “What was it like for you?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Lonely.”
The single word hung in the air between them. She didn’t press him as they reached the second floor where a long hallway stretched out with doors on either side. Ron stopped in front of one and pushed it open. Inside, the walls were covered with football memorabilia, shelves filled with trophies. A desk in the corner was cluttered with faded photos and a battered football.
“This is your room?” Anna asked, stepping inside. She ran her fingers over the trophies, years showing Ron’s football journey from peewee football to TCU. She picked up one of the pictures from desk, one of Ron and Caesar at Vandebilt.
Ron walked over to where she stood, looking over her shoulder. “Me and him grew up the same, you know? These big houses, parents never home, no siblings, talking to housekeepers and cooks more than you did your own father. We were inseparable, though. All the dumb shit I did, he did with me. All the dumb shit he did, I did with him.”
“So, he’s joining the Marines with you?” Anna asked, putting the picture back, the sarcasm was evident in her tone.
Ron laughed. “No, this is where we’ll be going our separate ways. He thinks what I’m doing is pretty fucking stupid.”
“It is pretty fucking stupid, but I’m biased,” she said, looking up at him. “I’d rather you stay here, keep playing football, just do the normal shit you’ve been doing. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone—not to your parents, not to the world.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything.” His voice softened as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is about finding something bigger than myself.”
Anna’s throat tightened, but she nodded, knowing this wasn’t a decision he’d made lightly. “I’m proud of you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He smiled then, a small, genuine thing that eased some of the tension in the room.
They stood there for a moment, the weight of the house and its history fading as they focused on each other. Finally, Ron straightened and glanced around the room.
“Come on. I’m hungry,” he said. “There’s a gas station down the road that has some fucking amazing po-boys.”
“Ron, I’m not eating food from a gas station,” she said, looking at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“You trust me, huh?” He held out his hand to her.
She looked at his hand, shaking her head, before slipping hers into his. As they descended the grand staircase and stepped back out of the door, she squeezed his fingers gently, knowing that he was leaving behind more than the house.
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Soapy
- Posts: 13745
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
be fucking for real nigga
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13869
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 6158
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
Heisman (if i remember correctly) to the Marines is crazy
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Caesar
Topic author - Chise GOAT
- Posts: 13869
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
War of the Roses: Redux Edition
No Heisman but National Championship winning QB going for a second straight. Pat Tillman vibes