Post by Grimm on Dec 4, 2017 10:04:02 GMT -5
Phinehas Dillinger walks through the house lighting candles. The scratch of a match and a whiff of sulfur and brimstone stings the nostrils. These candles, all bayberry and tallow and other manners of wax, serve as reminders. Their flames, compass needles pointing to the infernal.
Not so much for the calming effect as it is for…focus.
Phinehas moves from room to room. The matches and the candles reflect in waxy leaves and bring a midwinter luster to the clusters of red berries. Make knife-edged silhouettes of the evergreens strewn over the mantles. The candlelight cuts through the dark, but there is nothing reassuring about the shadows guttering in the darker corners.
Mr. Vivacious is not afraid of Grimm. And that’s fine.
Do you want to be?
He never said you had to be scared.
Unlike the notorious Club V empire, Grimm has left much unsaid. And he is not about to start now. He’s not one to beat anyone over the head with tired clichés like, “my record speaks for itself.”
But that record.
But those titles.
One can discuss parity amongst the roster and the strength of the schedule. Odds-on-favorites, overs and unders and whatnot. That is none of his business.
There is one thing that Grimm has said, and said more than once. A match was a match was a match was a match. True, ring psychology plays a part. And some will argue that different nights mean different things. But when two opponents rush into a tie-up, there is only so much that insights into the human condition can accomplish. At some point, you just have to unleash a grim furor and go from there. That means whether pay per view, take home show, fallout show, random Trauma, house show…any given night can result in tragedy. There is always the potential for a disturbing display even worse than the Kentucky Meat Shower of 1876.
Phinehas sits at the kitchen table. With his pocket knife he picks out clay from the treads of his boots. He puts the clay onto a hand towel, setting it aside for Granny to use in her poultices. Phinehas treats the boots to an application of neatsfoot oil and beeswax. He rubs it into the leather until his boots are ready for another few weeks’ worth of stomping. Then sits back with a stretch of the shoulders and inhales the scent of a job well done.
Some fighters prepare themselves through self-flagellation, or purging, or a good bleeding to balance the humours. It was difficult to face one’s opponents when one’s black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood was out of whack. Some wait until purification after the fact. Some recommend visualization. A blind-folded run-through of all conceivable possibilities. Grimm can look to be under a quiet meditation, but the eyes twitching behind his eyelids betray his mental calisthenics.
Others can’t handle that quiet. Those numbing silences broken only by the creak of a step on a floorboard. The tap of a bare branch on an attic window. A log resting in the fireplace, a pop and a spark as it settles into ash. Those types of people work to keep themselves busy. They are always on the run, because otherwise the only option is to be alone with oneself in the stillness. Alone in a cruel dark room with nothing to do but take a long hard look at who John Matthews really is.
And so this John Matthews works to build on his original challenge.
Johnny Vivacious versus Grimm!
After all, the anticipation is the key. For when the day comes when he’s no longer flashing those pearly whites at the cameras, out giving sound bites for the networks and the papers and the web shows – when he’s finished creating content, as they say – when the publicity stunts galore come to an end, all those distractions are over and done with, and when the match actually begins, well, he will find himself in Grimm’s realm. There in PCW Arena standing in the ring across from his opponent, who will be watching and waiting. Fists opening and closing, weight shifting from foot to the other. Spring-loaded. Johnny V. will look into his opponent’s eyes. He will see those two points of cold blue flame flicker just before they erupt into a great conflagration. And despite Johnny V.’s self-affirmations, this is outside his scope of practice. There will be cameras, yes, but no amount of media savviness will help him here. The bell will ring to signal a traumatic rupture between what his life had been only a few hours ago, and what it was about to become.
But in this moment, Phinehas stands over a bathroom sink trimming his beard. He kneads in his own recipe of shea butter and beeswax, allspice and cloves. Ruth steps in for a final inspection and clips any fly-aways that escaped her brother’s attention. She gives his hand a squeeze and leaves him to his affairs.
Mister Vivacious can strive to convince everyone, to convince himself, that what transpired between Trauma and Collision Course was an anomaly. He can explain it away with whichever extreme he prefers. Johnny V. was either, (a), off to find himself before a very serious challenge, or, (b), subject to an exercise in psychological torture. Grimm knows that he treated him no better or worse than any other opponent over the last umpteen years.
Grimm, the Lord of Misrule, stands as the model of composure as he emerges from the gloom of All Souls Hollow.
That won’t last long.
Soon enough, he will walk out to “Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums”, advancing evenly, stepping in time, without breaking order.
There is no rush.
Johnny Vivacious isn’t going anywhere.
But fear not. For, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. And that good news is that the Hangtown Horror is nothing if not pragmatic. When a match is over, it is done.
Not so much for the calming effect as it is for…focus.
Phinehas moves from room to room. The matches and the candles reflect in waxy leaves and bring a midwinter luster to the clusters of red berries. Make knife-edged silhouettes of the evergreens strewn over the mantles. The candlelight cuts through the dark, but there is nothing reassuring about the shadows guttering in the darker corners.
Mr. Vivacious is not afraid of Grimm. And that’s fine.
Do you want to be?
He never said you had to be scared.
Unlike the notorious Club V empire, Grimm has left much unsaid. And he is not about to start now. He’s not one to beat anyone over the head with tired clichés like, “my record speaks for itself.”
But that record.
But those titles.
One can discuss parity amongst the roster and the strength of the schedule. Odds-on-favorites, overs and unders and whatnot. That is none of his business.
There is one thing that Grimm has said, and said more than once. A match was a match was a match was a match. True, ring psychology plays a part. And some will argue that different nights mean different things. But when two opponents rush into a tie-up, there is only so much that insights into the human condition can accomplish. At some point, you just have to unleash a grim furor and go from there. That means whether pay per view, take home show, fallout show, random Trauma, house show…any given night can result in tragedy. There is always the potential for a disturbing display even worse than the Kentucky Meat Shower of 1876.
Phinehas sits at the kitchen table. With his pocket knife he picks out clay from the treads of his boots. He puts the clay onto a hand towel, setting it aside for Granny to use in her poultices. Phinehas treats the boots to an application of neatsfoot oil and beeswax. He rubs it into the leather until his boots are ready for another few weeks’ worth of stomping. Then sits back with a stretch of the shoulders and inhales the scent of a job well done.
Some fighters prepare themselves through self-flagellation, or purging, or a good bleeding to balance the humours. It was difficult to face one’s opponents when one’s black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood was out of whack. Some wait until purification after the fact. Some recommend visualization. A blind-folded run-through of all conceivable possibilities. Grimm can look to be under a quiet meditation, but the eyes twitching behind his eyelids betray his mental calisthenics.
Others can’t handle that quiet. Those numbing silences broken only by the creak of a step on a floorboard. The tap of a bare branch on an attic window. A log resting in the fireplace, a pop and a spark as it settles into ash. Those types of people work to keep themselves busy. They are always on the run, because otherwise the only option is to be alone with oneself in the stillness. Alone in a cruel dark room with nothing to do but take a long hard look at who John Matthews really is.
And so this John Matthews works to build on his original challenge.
Johnny Vivacious versus Grimm!
After all, the anticipation is the key. For when the day comes when he’s no longer flashing those pearly whites at the cameras, out giving sound bites for the networks and the papers and the web shows – when he’s finished creating content, as they say – when the publicity stunts galore come to an end, all those distractions are over and done with, and when the match actually begins, well, he will find himself in Grimm’s realm. There in PCW Arena standing in the ring across from his opponent, who will be watching and waiting. Fists opening and closing, weight shifting from foot to the other. Spring-loaded. Johnny V. will look into his opponent’s eyes. He will see those two points of cold blue flame flicker just before they erupt into a great conflagration. And despite Johnny V.’s self-affirmations, this is outside his scope of practice. There will be cameras, yes, but no amount of media savviness will help him here. The bell will ring to signal a traumatic rupture between what his life had been only a few hours ago, and what it was about to become.
But in this moment, Phinehas stands over a bathroom sink trimming his beard. He kneads in his own recipe of shea butter and beeswax, allspice and cloves. Ruth steps in for a final inspection and clips any fly-aways that escaped her brother’s attention. She gives his hand a squeeze and leaves him to his affairs.
Mister Vivacious can strive to convince everyone, to convince himself, that what transpired between Trauma and Collision Course was an anomaly. He can explain it away with whichever extreme he prefers. Johnny V. was either, (a), off to find himself before a very serious challenge, or, (b), subject to an exercise in psychological torture. Grimm knows that he treated him no better or worse than any other opponent over the last umpteen years.
Grimm, the Lord of Misrule, stands as the model of composure as he emerges from the gloom of All Souls Hollow.
That won’t last long.
Soon enough, he will walk out to “Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums”, advancing evenly, stepping in time, without breaking order.
There is no rush.
Johnny Vivacious isn’t going anywhere.
But fear not. For, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. And that good news is that the Hangtown Horror is nothing if not pragmatic. When a match is over, it is done.
