Post by Grimm on May 14, 2007 15:55:06 GMT -5
“You’ve discovered you’re not destined to become the harbinger of doom. The ultimate destruction of life as we know it won’t rest solely on your shoulders. In fact, everything you’ve been led to believe for the last few years regarding your past, present, and future has pretty much been proven bogus. Sure, you’ve still got the Brethren of the Coast, what’s left of it at least, but it’s become nothing more than a mere shadow of its former self. That once formidable organization of the cruelest of the cruel has been reduced to you and a handful of drunken fishermen. You’ve got yourself to blame for that, though, what with your indiscriminate purging of the ranks and all.”
“Is there a point to all this?”
“Of course. What I’m saying is that your world has been turned on its ear. Nothing is as it seemed. When you look in a mirror, the apparition looking back is nothing more than a professional wrestler. That’s it. How does a person deal with a revelation like that?”
Phinehas Grimm didn’t offer an explanation. Truth was, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer the question. He hadn’t yet come to terms with the recent disclosure that he was not marked as a literal abomination of desolation. He hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to let it sink in. Grimm’s upcoming battle with Ace Anderson was slightly more imperative than dealing with the information the old man had provided him. Why he had waited so long, Grimm didn’t know, but that was just another aspect of this whole scenario that he would tend to soon enough. That is, if his host would allow him the pleasure of addressing it in his own good time.
“Phinehas?”
“Yes?”
“…nothing. Never mind.”
Grimm turned his attention to the room in which they were sitting. It was his host’s study, or library, or den, or parlor, or whatever he chose to call it. Whatever it was, it was larger than any room that the ancient and most honorable House of Grimm had. The tin-plated ceiling must have been at least 15 feet high, and it actually glowed in the reflections of both the massive iron chandelier and the sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the sections of the walls that weren’t coated in books. Shelves and shelves of books. Grimm was just a little jealous of the man’s collection, but he doubted that his host had read even a fraction of them. He didn’t seem the type. Looking into the shifting grey hues of his eyes, Grimm thought he was more likely to spend his free time walling up unfortunate folks in the stone foundation of his cellar.
As soon as he had been ushered into the room, Phinehas detected the scent of pipe smoke and matches, but his host had yet to light up. They sat in silence, Grimm’s eyes wandering over the room, his host swirling a snifter of brandy and looking straight at him. He had a prominent handlebar moustache streaked with silver and wore what appeared to be a hand tailored houndstooth suit. He had impeccable taste but was not on the cutting edge of anything, it seemed. The closer Grimm looked, the less things made sense. It was a grand old home with the finest of antique furnishings, intricate carvings in all the exposed woodwork, and yet cobwebs hung in every corner and draped from any surface on which a spider could manage to lay claim. Dust floated in the beams of light streaming from the enormous windows. He’d never seen such a magnificent dwelling appear so neglected at the same time. It made him question the state of his host even more.
Grimm didn’t know why he’d been summoned, and was even less sure of why he accepted the invitation at all. The letter had seemed innocent enough, and deep down Grimm toyed with the idea that maybe the meeting would serve as a means with which to find answers to a list of questions that was growing by the day. All past meetings of such a random and peculiar nature had always ended with a shock, not all of which were unwelcome. However, so far Phinehas felt only that he was being mocked by a stranger. Instead of becoming enraged, though, he was focusing on making sense of it all. Maybe once he’d figured it out he would return to toss the man through one of his impressive windows and then burn the manor to the ground, but not just yet.
As the gears turned, Phinehas was also coming to the realization that, instead of sitting in a stranger’s estate, he should have been preparing for what he anticipated would be the first step back towards PCW prominence. The Pure Class Wrestling belt had been abandoned and there was now to be a tournament of sorts to name a new champion. Arguably the top two contenders for that title would be meeting each other in the very first round. One would think that the pairings would have been prepared such that the two most expected names would remain until the very end, but interestingly enough, that was not to be. And so, Phinehas Grimm would just have to eliminate the most dangerous competition from the onset. In order to do so, he would have to adjust his usual approach to the wrestling sciences. He knew that the longer the match lasted, the greater the chance there was of something going wrong. Be it Skylar Marshall’s doing or an unaffiliated someone wanting to make a name for themselves on live television, Grimm would have to do everything in his power to end it as soon as possible. Extending the beating out any longer than necessary would take the outcome out of his hands and place it into Ace or his co-workers, and that was something Phinehas was not about to risk. He would have to charge out of the gate with even more fury than usual and keep “Beyond Greatness” off-balance and on his heels. It wouldn’t be easy, but the Abomination of Desolation would be prepared.
Phinehas suddenly realized that his host had been pacing the room the entire time he had been pontificating to himself. And he hadn’t said a word. Grimm turned in his chair to face the man as he stood behind him, still swirling his drink and looking out a window over the rolling hills of his property. The man did not turn around, but he did finally break the silence.
“I think we’ve done enough for today, Phinehas. You’re free to go. I’ll contact you again in the near future.”
“And good luck on Tuesday.”
Grimm rose from the wingback and made his way to the double doors leading out to the foyer. His steps echoed off the hardwood floor and resonated off the rest of the cavernous dimensions of the room. He paused and looked back at the man before exiting. Finding only a silhouette at the window, Grimm departed with more questions than when he arrived.
“Is there a point to all this?”
“Of course. What I’m saying is that your world has been turned on its ear. Nothing is as it seemed. When you look in a mirror, the apparition looking back is nothing more than a professional wrestler. That’s it. How does a person deal with a revelation like that?”
Phinehas Grimm didn’t offer an explanation. Truth was, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to answer the question. He hadn’t yet come to terms with the recent disclosure that he was not marked as a literal abomination of desolation. He hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to let it sink in. Grimm’s upcoming battle with Ace Anderson was slightly more imperative than dealing with the information the old man had provided him. Why he had waited so long, Grimm didn’t know, but that was just another aspect of this whole scenario that he would tend to soon enough. That is, if his host would allow him the pleasure of addressing it in his own good time.
“Phinehas?”
“Yes?”
“…nothing. Never mind.”
Grimm turned his attention to the room in which they were sitting. It was his host’s study, or library, or den, or parlor, or whatever he chose to call it. Whatever it was, it was larger than any room that the ancient and most honorable House of Grimm had. The tin-plated ceiling must have been at least 15 feet high, and it actually glowed in the reflections of both the massive iron chandelier and the sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the sections of the walls that weren’t coated in books. Shelves and shelves of books. Grimm was just a little jealous of the man’s collection, but he doubted that his host had read even a fraction of them. He didn’t seem the type. Looking into the shifting grey hues of his eyes, Grimm thought he was more likely to spend his free time walling up unfortunate folks in the stone foundation of his cellar.
As soon as he had been ushered into the room, Phinehas detected the scent of pipe smoke and matches, but his host had yet to light up. They sat in silence, Grimm’s eyes wandering over the room, his host swirling a snifter of brandy and looking straight at him. He had a prominent handlebar moustache streaked with silver and wore what appeared to be a hand tailored houndstooth suit. He had impeccable taste but was not on the cutting edge of anything, it seemed. The closer Grimm looked, the less things made sense. It was a grand old home with the finest of antique furnishings, intricate carvings in all the exposed woodwork, and yet cobwebs hung in every corner and draped from any surface on which a spider could manage to lay claim. Dust floated in the beams of light streaming from the enormous windows. He’d never seen such a magnificent dwelling appear so neglected at the same time. It made him question the state of his host even more.
Grimm didn’t know why he’d been summoned, and was even less sure of why he accepted the invitation at all. The letter had seemed innocent enough, and deep down Grimm toyed with the idea that maybe the meeting would serve as a means with which to find answers to a list of questions that was growing by the day. All past meetings of such a random and peculiar nature had always ended with a shock, not all of which were unwelcome. However, so far Phinehas felt only that he was being mocked by a stranger. Instead of becoming enraged, though, he was focusing on making sense of it all. Maybe once he’d figured it out he would return to toss the man through one of his impressive windows and then burn the manor to the ground, but not just yet.
As the gears turned, Phinehas was also coming to the realization that, instead of sitting in a stranger’s estate, he should have been preparing for what he anticipated would be the first step back towards PCW prominence. The Pure Class Wrestling belt had been abandoned and there was now to be a tournament of sorts to name a new champion. Arguably the top two contenders for that title would be meeting each other in the very first round. One would think that the pairings would have been prepared such that the two most expected names would remain until the very end, but interestingly enough, that was not to be. And so, Phinehas Grimm would just have to eliminate the most dangerous competition from the onset. In order to do so, he would have to adjust his usual approach to the wrestling sciences. He knew that the longer the match lasted, the greater the chance there was of something going wrong. Be it Skylar Marshall’s doing or an unaffiliated someone wanting to make a name for themselves on live television, Grimm would have to do everything in his power to end it as soon as possible. Extending the beating out any longer than necessary would take the outcome out of his hands and place it into Ace or his co-workers, and that was something Phinehas was not about to risk. He would have to charge out of the gate with even more fury than usual and keep “Beyond Greatness” off-balance and on his heels. It wouldn’t be easy, but the Abomination of Desolation would be prepared.
Phinehas suddenly realized that his host had been pacing the room the entire time he had been pontificating to himself. And he hadn’t said a word. Grimm turned in his chair to face the man as he stood behind him, still swirling his drink and looking out a window over the rolling hills of his property. The man did not turn around, but he did finally break the silence.
“I think we’ve done enough for today, Phinehas. You’re free to go. I’ll contact you again in the near future.”
“And good luck on Tuesday.”
Grimm rose from the wingback and made his way to the double doors leading out to the foyer. His steps echoed off the hardwood floor and resonated off the rest of the cavernous dimensions of the room. He paused and looked back at the man before exiting. Finding only a silhouette at the window, Grimm departed with more questions than when he arrived.
