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Deacon Summers' Guide to Gambling: Lesson 6/7; 2007, SHOOT: Deacon Summers v. Trevor Worrens
Topic Started: Feb 5 2016, 12:58 AM (19 Views)
Deacon Summers

I was looking through the SHOOT boards for some LIHC stuff, and I ended up finding these from 2007 (man, didn't realize it was that long ago). Deacon was facing up with Trevor Worrens in what I believe was the World Heavyweight Title tournament. Pretty sure I lost this one, but still gives a good idea of what Deacon is/was all about. Also: the first appearance of Blacktooth, and the revelation that Deacon was bisexual. Anyway, here's what I got (caution: kinda long).

Lesson 6: Bad luck is still luck.


Deacon opened up the bathroom door, and the cloud of steam that came out nearly bowled him over in his half-hungover state. He swatted meaninglessly at the mist, listening to the shower drizzle down on who- or whatever was there at the time.

He didn't remember anyone staying the night... but then, he couldn't remember 90% of what had happened in the last four days or so. He took a deep breath, almost coughed, and pulled the shower curtain back.

The man in the shower jumped, turning around, nearly throwing the soap into the air with a start.

"Aaah! Jesus Christ, Deacon, don't scare me like-- holy shit, what happened to your face?"

The naked man was unashamed to be so in front of Deacon, making no attempt to cover up, and, more or less finished anyway, he shut the water off before stepping out and putting his fingers to Deacon's jaw.

To his credit, Deacon was able to eke out a pained grunt before realizing that talking may not be the best course of action.

"Sweetie, you definitely did not look like this last night. You were fine! Did you really drink that much that you couldn't feel this?"

Deacon nodded silently, unable to confirm or deny the assumption.

"What am I thinking, asking you questions? You can't talk right now. Damn... I really hope you didn't break anything..." The man grabbed the nearest towel, drying himself off and walking out of the bathroom, leaving the towel across the ring. He slid on a pair of blue pants, and grabbed a blue jacket, slinging it over his shoulder as he searched for his shirt.

"I wish I could stay and help, honey, but I'm due on a plane to Tokyo in two hours, I gotta get to the airport." He pulled out his cell phone, as Deacon obediently (and painfully) followed him into the bedroom of the suite. Punching in a few numbers, he finally found where his shirt had been hiding.

"Hey, Blacktooth, it's Jeffrey. Yeah, Deacon's here... listen, he can't talk right now. No, I mean, he physically can't talk, I think he's torn ligaments in his jaw. You dirty little fucker! I mean, I'm flattered, but that is absolutely false! Listen, I'm sending him over to you now, try and make sure he sees a doctor before the end of the day, OK? I would, but I gotta be on a plane in two hours. Yes, my stewardess job. Thanks, you're a lifesaver. Bye."

Jeffrey hung up the phone. "Prick. You know what he says to me? 'Oh, best news I've heard all week, now he can't get phone calls at my shop.' Where does he get off?" He walked over to Deacon, pulling a $50 bill out of his wallet. "Here, I know you could turn this into $1000 by the end of the night. Just hustle Blacktooth in poker again, god knows he's got a terrible poker face."

Deacon put it back in Jeffrey's hand, folding it around the bill. "It's fine," he said, without moving his jaw.

"No, I'm not gonna have you living in your car again, Deacon, just take it."

"It's fine. I'll be fine."

Jeffrey kissed him on both cheeks, softly so as not to hurt his jaw. "Such a macho man, Deacon, it's what I like about you." He headed for the door, checking his watch. "Oh, you should give that Maureen girl a call. Don't know what you see in her, but then, I guess I wouldn't, huh?"

Deacon sighed through clenched teeth as Jeffrey walked out the door. Men were such a hassle... he didn't know why he bothered sometimes.


(Deacon stands in front of the body of a black and red '65 Corvair, in the main work area of Phoenix Auto Body. Next to him is the proprietor, Blacktooth. Blacktooth, who looks like the bastard child of Lemmy Kilmister of Motorhead and Wes Studi aka Magua from Last of the Mohicans, holds a small piece of paper in his hand. Deacon just looks at the camera, as Blacktooth clears his throat.)

Blacktooth: Hey, Deacon's kind of having some issues, what with not being able to talk and all, so he wrote down what he wanted to say and I guess he's gonna have me say it.

Assuming I can read his handwriting. Seriously, Deacon, what the fuck is this shit? Whatever, anyway...

(It becomes extremely clear very quickly that there's a reason Blacktooth is not in a big-budget Hollywood movie. Well, besides the fact that he's uglier than sin, it has become apparent that he's not a very good actor, although that has not seemed to stop half of Hollywood. His reading is stilted, with poor meter, and terrible enunciation.)

"So, Trevor... you decided to talk to me about sacrifice and hopes and dreams, and most importantly, the subject you seem to loathe, luck.

"I gotta say, that dream sequence definitely had me a bit creeped out. But I figure that was the point? Artist's vision and all that. Psyche me out before I ever step in front of the camera." That seriously creeped you out, Deke? Pussy.

(Deacon glares at him, and Blacktooth smirks.)

Sorry, now you know how I feel when you fuck with my work. Where was I? Right, psyche out...

"It's definitely weird that your dream of dreams is SHOOTing yourself in the head. If it were me, having a dream that you admit should creep you out but doesn't? I'd probably be seeing a shrink soon, but then, I'm just the lucky guy, so what do I know?

"Well, for one, I know what my hopes and dreams are. You interested?

"I hope, when I wake up in the morning, that I'll wake up the next morning. See, the way I live and the way I think of the world, that ain't exactly guaranteed, know what I mean? Shit, I went to bed last night and woke up this morning to find that I couldn't talk, didn't remember the last 4 days, and had a naked man in my shower. Granted, I knew the guy, have for a while, but maybe you see where I'm going with this." If you do, Trevor, clue me in, because I have no idea.

"See, Trev, whether you want to look at it that way or not, luck, chance, fate, whatever you want to call it, plays a lot bigger of a role in any of our lives than we think. There is a 77 to 1 chance that tomorrow, you will wake up, get a cup of coffee or whatever you do in the morning to wake up, and be killed in a transportation accident that you have absolutely no control over. Think about that for a second, Trev, I'll wait.

"How fucking low is that number? Seriously? 77 to 1? I mean, I wouldn't put money down that you'll die tomorrow, but you gotta wonder... am I due?

"But that's luck, Trev. It's not under anyone's control, it's not something any of us can alter... it's pure random chance. On the same note, 80 million to 1 says you win the lottery. It could happen.

"Now, I'm not saying either of them will happen, but they could. That's luck. It's not on anyone's side, and anyone who tells you different is fooling themselves.

"You say that luck is something I don't understand, but quite frankly, Trev, it's the sole deciding factor in my life. I make some of my biggest decisions based on a coin flip. I'd say I understand luck pretty well.

"As for my dreams, Trevor, I'm gonna let you in on something: winning that big belt? It's a prize. It's the end result of the tournament. But... it's not the end result of this match, so I'm really not looking that far ahead. It's not my dream. On that note, my dream is not to win the World Series of Poker, it's not to break a million at a casino, it's not any of that. You know what my dream is, Trevor?" I know I gotta hear this.

"My dream is to wake up in the morning. Sound familiar?

"I've been living my dream for my whole life. I do what I want when I want, and that kind of freedom... that's the only thing I've ever dreamed of.

"But I will agree with you on one thing, Trevor. I don't know a damn thing about true sacrifice. Because, to be honest with you, I haven't ever owned a single thing that held that kind of value to me. You're right. Money can be won and lost. Easy come, easy go.

"That said, I would say I know quite a bit more about gambling than you, because, whatever it is you sacrificed... you say you put a life on the line? Any way you look at it, you ignored one of the biggest rules there is to the game:

"Never put up anything you can't afford to lose.

"I put my life up against the world every day, and every day that probability shrinks. Eventually, that probability will be zero. Is Saturday that day?

"Personally, I'm willing to wager against that.

"And for the record, the odds of my being shot and killed are 1 in 24342 or so. If you think you can beat those odds, more power to you." Ballsy.

The last part of this says he'll see you in the ring, but that's lame and I really don't want to say it. So I won't. Not like he can do much about it.

(Deacon glares at Blacktooth again, before sighing through his clenched teeth, and silently hoping he doesn't have to ask for his help again. Cut to black.)

Where's the reality, Trevor? I'll give you a hint: it's not on that side of the camera lens, no matter how much you might want it to be.


Lesson 7: Appearances can be deceiving. Refer back to Lesson 3.

Deacon massaged the base of his jaw a little more. The bruises had gone away, but the pain was definitely still there... the doctors said the kick from ROGUE hadn't done any actual damage to the ligaments, just really bruised the crap out of him. On the plus side, that meant he could speak again.

On the minus side, it meant he had to have this conversation with Maureen.

"Fuck you, Deacon." Apparently, she wasn't happy.

"What the hell did I do?" Deacon was understandably confused. Last he remembered, he was picking her up and driving her around Vegas having a hell of a time, and now she damn near hated him.

"Oh please. You're a liar, and you lied to me. That's what you did." She turned to walk away from him, but he followed her down the Strip a ways.

"When did I lie to you?"

"Like you don't know."

"Honey, if I knew, I wouldn't be asking. Look, I really don't remember much of the last few days. If I did anything to upset you, I'm sorry. I sure as hell don't remember lying to you."

She swung back around at him, fast enough to make him jump. "You could've just told me you were gay instead of leading me on for three weeks. What do you think that does to a girl?"

Deacon stood, wide-eyed. After a few moments of speechlessness, he squeaked out, "I'm not gay, Maureen."

"Fuck you, Deacon." It was becoming the phrase of the moment. She turned around to walk away again, and again he chased after her.

"What, I'm not!"

"So that wasn't a man you were making out with all night last week? Sorry if I thought the mustache was a hint."

"No, it most definitely was. You're not--"

"So when he answered the phone in your hotel room, he was just staying the night to watch movies and play video games?"

"No, he was--"

"Don't even finish that, I know why he was there. Leave me alone." She started to walk away again, Deacon trying to match her speed to talk to her.

"Look, you've got it wrong. I'm not gay. I mean, Jeffrey's gay, yeah, he is a flight attendant, but I'm not."

Maureen took a deep breath, before turning to Deacon once more, pointing her finger like a knife. "So what are you then, Deacon? Someone who isn't gay, but has sex with guys? Because I'm pretty sure that's the definition of gay."

"Or the definition of a hedonist and sex addict. I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm pretty sure what you think happened is what happened that night. But that definitely doesn't mean I've lied to you, or led you on. Shit, that couldn't be further from the truth. I think you're possibly the most gorgeous woman I've ever met and I would love to get you between the sheets, but that's not something you can just up and tell someone, y'know?"

Maureen half-smiled, looking down to her feet. Her fair Irish skin made it extremely obvious she was blushing. "You kind of just did."

"Yeah... I guess I did. So... any chance of taking me up on that?"

She scrunched her face in mock annoyance, poking his nose.

"I'll think about it."


(Deacon stands, pool cue in hand, in front of a felt-lined pool table. It looks fantastic, the table made of mahogany, the pockets and braces gold-plated. Deacon's sets the cue ball, aiming steadily at the racked and ready triangle of billiard balls at the other end of the table. With a clack, the cue goes rolling into the 1 ball, sending all the others flying off the break. One or two find their way to the pockets as Deacon starts to speak.)

Deacon Summers: Sorry about not talking to you personally earlier, Trev. Had some issues with my jaw, probably should've cleared them up earlier, but hey, I took a chance and it bit me on the ass, right?

I mean, you didn't really think I was ashamed to talk to you, did you? It should be obvious by now that I really don't have any shame.

(Deacon makes another shot, sinking another ball, with the cue spinning off in an odd direction afterwards... beautifully setting up the next.)

To answer your question, no, I really couldn't help myself. It's a compulsion, I guess. They say talk about what you know, and when it comes down to it, I know gambling, and games, and chance.

So yeah, I don't know why you expected me to change up my game just because you called it. I like the way I play. It's worked for me so far. And, from the sounds of things, it's working just fine now.

I mean, even Sato seems to agree with what I'm saying. A game for high stakes. That's all life really is, Trevor. Just a big game, the object of which is to enjoy one's self as much as one can before the game is over. I remind myself that every day, because if I don't... well, I'd probably mope around all the time like you seem to.

(Deacon sinks two with one shot, the cue knocking them into separate corner pockets. Now there's only two solids left, along with the 8 ball, and a table full of stripes.)

See, you think that this tournament is less about luck and chance than skill and talent, and honestly, that's probably true. But let's think about this for a second, Trevor. Allow me my metaphor just this once, okay?

(Deacon lines the cue up with the cue ball, aiming toward the 5 ball. One can clearly see a beautiful ricochet that would sink the 3 ball with the same shot.)

Now, I'm a pretty decent pool player. I'm not great, I wouldn't want to try the pro circuit, but I know the game, and I know what I can handle. But there's so many variables, Trevor, even in what should be a cut and dry shot like this.

I could easily put too much power behind this, and send the cue ball right into the pocket after the 3, and scratch.

I could hit the ball just a millimeter too far left or right, and put the wrong kind of english on it.

Hell, it's entirely possible that I don't have enough chalk on the end of my cue, or that there's a dead spot somewhere in the bumper, or that there's a tiny, minute little snag in the felt that I don't see that will completely alter the course of this shot.

I don't think anyone's gonna say that pool isn't a game of skill. But quite frankly, anyone who says there's absolutely no luck involved in this game is fooling themselves.

(Deacon smacks the cue ball, sending it into the 5 and the 3 exactly as expected, sinking both, and finishing with a beautifully lined-up shot for the 8 ball, save for the small problem of the 13 ball and the 9 ball being directly in the way.)

You can say the same about the tourney, Trev. Even more so when you consider that the next round is just as randomized as this one was. Yeah, skill has something to do with it... but chance is always a factor, Trevor, and the more you deny it, the more apparent chance will become.

In the end, Trevor, you've already made several bets with other people's money, so to speak. You're into your second debt with Sato, because unexpected circumstances, i.e. you not winning, threw you into a tailspin. You ignored the chance that you could lose the first time, offering Sato something you didn't yet have... and rather than face the music, you did it again. How many more "unexpected circumstances" do you need smacking you in the face?

You say you're more driven because you see your end result... that your dream is to be finished with everything. But the fact is, Trevor, I see that end result, too. In the end, we all share the same result. I just enjoy the ride a little more.

I do talk a lot about chance, Trevor. Chance is a big part of my life. I let the chips fall where they may because, hey, why the hell not? Leaving things to chance lets me go with the flow, and adapt a little better. But there's still one thing you've managed to ignore, Trev...

(He stands behind the cue ball, and with a crack, he pops it up and over the 9 and the 13, knocking the 8 into the corner pocket.)

Despite what I say about chance, I've still got some modicum of skill. Tom Quinn found that out, and I guess it means you're gonna have to, as well. I mean, you could still win this...

...but what are the odds?

(Cut to black.)
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