Post by Grimm on Mar 14, 2016 12:14:20 GMT -5
I am Patrick, a sinner most unlearned, the least of all the faithful, and utterly despised by many.
---------
The hooley at the Owl and Eel was in full vigor. The tavern stood rowdy, but within prescribed limits. That being said, anyone requesting a mug of green beer was beaten to a pulp on the spot by those standing closest to the ignorant wretch, and tossed into the street. Into the very street, it must be said, where passers-by were known to deliver a swift kick to the offending party with impunity.
Ruth Dillinger sat in with the session, bow sawing across her fiddle, fingers tapping up and down the strings as she churned out jigs and reels, airs and marches, along with the guitars, bodhrans, flutes, accordions, and bones. Phinehas’s mandolin rested in its case in the corner behind his seat.
With a signal from one of the musicians, the dancers stepped up for their two hands and three hands. They exchanged sides and spun with their partners during the same ceili dances danced at funerals and wakes and birthdays and weddings. And nights like tonight. Flecks of fiberglass sparked off the hard shoes during the set dances. Three Sea Captains, Blackbird, St. Patrick’s Day itself.
Rise and grind. The trebles and rallies. No doubt about it: tonight’s craic was spot on.
Not all guests were welcome. Phinehas sensed him passing unnoticed and untouched throughout the crowd. Even now, with Billy Sadistic gone, the Man in Black insisted on frequenting Hangtown. He traveled in Phinehas’s blind spot. But he knew he was there. And he would make his intentions known.
Fortunately a waitress chose that moment to bring Phinehas another pint of the Black Stuff. After all, man cannot live on mud dauber nests and stump water alone.
He smiled in thanks. Sometimes Phinehas could be a little too cold. Too calculated. Too stoic. Everyone agreed to that, as if he was the result of a mass hallucination. And so tonight, other than the nods, a few raised glasses, and half-hearted waves, they left him alone. He was cordial enough to reply in turn, but he didn’t appreciate the way some of those same glances lingered on his sister. Before someone forced the Hangtown Horror’s hand, however, the set of tunes came to an end and Ruth wove her way through the crowd to her brother’s table. She put her chin in her hands and looked at him over a guttering tallow candle.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The thoughts of Grimm, eh? Mass Destruction. What else? The bookings for a pay per view were always an important matter, particularly when it came to title defenses. The upcoming show included some that might be described as unexpected. Surprising, even. But that’s what made for the most interesting events. Which led to higher buy rates. Which was what it was all about, after all, right?
Phinehas drank. In regards to his own match, he couldn’t help but grin as he licked the foam off his mustache. Pitting tag team partners against one another was one of the oldest tricks at the booking committee’s disposal. But when it had been a one-off partnership, and when said partnership had failed…well, it was almost as if they knew this would happen. Not that it was a stretch to anticipate such an outcome given the history between the two and Kaard’s, shall we say, occasional inconsistencies. It was as if they knew Grimm would have a reason to pursue a reckoning and had put their names on the schedule before the final bell had tolled.
For years backstage chatter would occasionally center around “feeding” newcomers to the Lord of Misrule. Some took exception to the notion, and Grimm did not begrudge them that. But it could not be denied that management looked the other way when those who had failed to fulfill their contractual obligations, or even live up to unproven expectations, were ushered out of PCW by way of the Brothers Gruesome. The two of them had committed some unseemly acts against their fellow PCW employees. Sometimes they committed them all by their lonesome.
The question was, could the Mass Destruction main event be such a wake-up call for the Adrenaline King? Could this be the fallout for his recent actions, or lack thereof? Or could it be nothing more than a World Championship title match between two of the more stylistically disparate members of the roster? The answer lay with Grimm’s opponent. At the end of all things, it would depend on which Justin Kaard decided to show up.
Because those familiar with Grimm knew who would be waiting in the ring.
For there was only one Grimm.
Not everyone understood that just yet. So many new faces at once…and so there would be more riding on this event than most. Mass Destruction would set the stage for the next few months. Shifts on a seismic level seemed possible.
One thing wouldn’t change, though.
Not yet.
Not if Grimm could help it.
Some may find themselves buried, but there would be a familiar face walking out with his World Title reign still intact.
But was this how Grimm answered? Nay.
“Phinehas.”
He took a deep breath of the sweet savor of the turf fire smoldering to his right. And took another drink.
“No thoughts tonight. Just taking all this in.”
Ruth did not believe a word of that. And yet…
“Good. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to enjoy yourself tonight, what with that match just a few days away.”
“Match? What, you mean that world title defense? That pay per view main event?”
“Yes, that would be the one.”
Phinehas bent under the table to pull off his boots. He put on his own pair of scuffed black shoes and tightened the leather straps across his ankles. Insufficient lighting meant it took several tries before he managed to fasten them.
“I’ve considered it. I’ve considered all the angles. And the answer is, there are no answers. This has too many variables, too many unknowns, to be too certain. This is all on Kaard.”
Phinehas pulled the laces tight.
“He treated our last match like it was a game, Ruth. But he’s facing the PCW World Champion this time. He should show it the appropriate amount of respect, or our past meetings will be nothing compared to this.”
Phinehas turned up his pint to get the last dregs of froth.
“I don’t know what Kaard is thinking, other than counting the ways in which to find his next rush. That next adrenaline fix. He has a great hole right through his middle that he cannot fill. Titles and Iceys come and go. Even the fans have short memories.”
What do you want, Justin?
No one hurried to raise a parting glass just yet. The musicians tuned and limbered up their fingers. Ruth took her spot in the circle and raised the fiddle to her shoulder.
Phinehas stood to trip the light fantastic.
---------
The hooley at the Owl and Eel was in full vigor. The tavern stood rowdy, but within prescribed limits. That being said, anyone requesting a mug of green beer was beaten to a pulp on the spot by those standing closest to the ignorant wretch, and tossed into the street. Into the very street, it must be said, where passers-by were known to deliver a swift kick to the offending party with impunity.
Ruth Dillinger sat in with the session, bow sawing across her fiddle, fingers tapping up and down the strings as she churned out jigs and reels, airs and marches, along with the guitars, bodhrans, flutes, accordions, and bones. Phinehas’s mandolin rested in its case in the corner behind his seat.
With a signal from one of the musicians, the dancers stepped up for their two hands and three hands. They exchanged sides and spun with their partners during the same ceili dances danced at funerals and wakes and birthdays and weddings. And nights like tonight. Flecks of fiberglass sparked off the hard shoes during the set dances. Three Sea Captains, Blackbird, St. Patrick’s Day itself.
Rise and grind. The trebles and rallies. No doubt about it: tonight’s craic was spot on.
Not all guests were welcome. Phinehas sensed him passing unnoticed and untouched throughout the crowd. Even now, with Billy Sadistic gone, the Man in Black insisted on frequenting Hangtown. He traveled in Phinehas’s blind spot. But he knew he was there. And he would make his intentions known.
Fortunately a waitress chose that moment to bring Phinehas another pint of the Black Stuff. After all, man cannot live on mud dauber nests and stump water alone.
He smiled in thanks. Sometimes Phinehas could be a little too cold. Too calculated. Too stoic. Everyone agreed to that, as if he was the result of a mass hallucination. And so tonight, other than the nods, a few raised glasses, and half-hearted waves, they left him alone. He was cordial enough to reply in turn, but he didn’t appreciate the way some of those same glances lingered on his sister. Before someone forced the Hangtown Horror’s hand, however, the set of tunes came to an end and Ruth wove her way through the crowd to her brother’s table. She put her chin in her hands and looked at him over a guttering tallow candle.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
The thoughts of Grimm, eh? Mass Destruction. What else? The bookings for a pay per view were always an important matter, particularly when it came to title defenses. The upcoming show included some that might be described as unexpected. Surprising, even. But that’s what made for the most interesting events. Which led to higher buy rates. Which was what it was all about, after all, right?
Phinehas drank. In regards to his own match, he couldn’t help but grin as he licked the foam off his mustache. Pitting tag team partners against one another was one of the oldest tricks at the booking committee’s disposal. But when it had been a one-off partnership, and when said partnership had failed…well, it was almost as if they knew this would happen. Not that it was a stretch to anticipate such an outcome given the history between the two and Kaard’s, shall we say, occasional inconsistencies. It was as if they knew Grimm would have a reason to pursue a reckoning and had put their names on the schedule before the final bell had tolled.
For years backstage chatter would occasionally center around “feeding” newcomers to the Lord of Misrule. Some took exception to the notion, and Grimm did not begrudge them that. But it could not be denied that management looked the other way when those who had failed to fulfill their contractual obligations, or even live up to unproven expectations, were ushered out of PCW by way of the Brothers Gruesome. The two of them had committed some unseemly acts against their fellow PCW employees. Sometimes they committed them all by their lonesome.
The question was, could the Mass Destruction main event be such a wake-up call for the Adrenaline King? Could this be the fallout for his recent actions, or lack thereof? Or could it be nothing more than a World Championship title match between two of the more stylistically disparate members of the roster? The answer lay with Grimm’s opponent. At the end of all things, it would depend on which Justin Kaard decided to show up.
Because those familiar with Grimm knew who would be waiting in the ring.
For there was only one Grimm.
Not everyone understood that just yet. So many new faces at once…and so there would be more riding on this event than most. Mass Destruction would set the stage for the next few months. Shifts on a seismic level seemed possible.
One thing wouldn’t change, though.
Not yet.
Not if Grimm could help it.
Some may find themselves buried, but there would be a familiar face walking out with his World Title reign still intact.
But was this how Grimm answered? Nay.
“Phinehas.”
He took a deep breath of the sweet savor of the turf fire smoldering to his right. And took another drink.
“No thoughts tonight. Just taking all this in.”
Ruth did not believe a word of that. And yet…
“Good. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to enjoy yourself tonight, what with that match just a few days away.”
“Match? What, you mean that world title defense? That pay per view main event?”
“Yes, that would be the one.”
Phinehas bent under the table to pull off his boots. He put on his own pair of scuffed black shoes and tightened the leather straps across his ankles. Insufficient lighting meant it took several tries before he managed to fasten them.
“I’ve considered it. I’ve considered all the angles. And the answer is, there are no answers. This has too many variables, too many unknowns, to be too certain. This is all on Kaard.”
Phinehas pulled the laces tight.
“He treated our last match like it was a game, Ruth. But he’s facing the PCW World Champion this time. He should show it the appropriate amount of respect, or our past meetings will be nothing compared to this.”
Phinehas turned up his pint to get the last dregs of froth.
“I don’t know what Kaard is thinking, other than counting the ways in which to find his next rush. That next adrenaline fix. He has a great hole right through his middle that he cannot fill. Titles and Iceys come and go. Even the fans have short memories.”
What do you want, Justin?
No one hurried to raise a parting glass just yet. The musicians tuned and limbered up their fingers. Ruth took her spot in the circle and raised the fiddle to her shoulder.
Phinehas stood to trip the light fantastic.
