Post by Grimm on Jan 28, 2020 12:49:38 GMT -5
Granny scraped a match across a stone. It flashed in a spark of sulfur and she moved around the table lighting candles. Tallow, bayberry, beeswax, a menagerie of different tapers. She puffed out the match, watched the smoke twirl up towards the ceiling, then sat. And watched. She watched the flames. She watched the shadows. And when she’d watched long enough, Granny took up the candles one by one and dripped wax across the table. She crumbled dried rosemary and sage and sprinkled it on the puddles of green and white and yellow. She tossed a handful of salt across the display. And then she drug a fingernail through the concoction, leaving behind waves and spirals, symbols and sigils. More smoke rose upwards. She leaned in close, and made sense of the marks.
~~~~~~~~~
Odds were calculated, lots were cast, and the Anna and Simeon were chosen for another year. They led the Procession for Poor Biddy, blessing the multitudes of candles that had been lit and placed in every window of Hangtown. With a wave of rushes and a white birch limb these two, dressed in decades-old patchwork garb and papier-mâché old folks masks, wound their way through the streets of town, working to keep away evil spirits and bring about the new light.
They were halfway between the solstice and the equinox…they’d made it past the longest night of the year…but you couldn’t be too careful. Especially with some of the beasties lingering about, regardless of the precautions.
Did they know the Grimm moved among them? Did they sense him? Or did they just assume he was flitting in and out of the gloom, and found it more pleasant to pretend he was off brooding in the hills? He let them think whatever they wanted. The Hangtown Horror kept his own company and served his own purposes, and whether they acknowledged it, appreciated it, understood it, was none of his concern. Grimm did what needed to be done.
Because among the parade, alongside the stalls peddling hot spiced drinks, roasted nuts, and gingerbread cookies, within all the frivolity and festivities roamed the unsavory elements. The straw boys fit in well enough, what with the costumes of, well, straw, and the grotesque masks of leers and grimaces. But they were there for more than seasonal traditions and goodies. And though pranks were one thing, hooliganism, vandalism, and worse were something else.
And Grimm would not allow it.
He had his own way of making certain the light came back. It was called force of will. For as much as he thrived in, as much as he personified, fall and winter – the harvest, the withering, the freezing – he understood what must come to pass. Much like his beloved Christmastide. It began when it began, and it ended when it ended. For everything there was a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. Nothing was forever.
Mostly.
All that to say…Grimm may be the boogeyman, the Crimson Demon, the Lord of Misrule, and what have you, but he would also not suffer any undo harm to come to this place or its inhabitants. So he waited, and he watched, and he moved along the procession. He stood beside the chimneys on the rooftops. He saw Anna and Simeon and their attendants replace the wreaths still straggling on doors with Old Biddy’s Crosses woven from those very same rushes and corn shucks. Brushed his fingertips along scattered glass baubles still dangling from trees and lamp posts. Yanked those instigators into dark alleyways and gave them lessons on how to celebrate in the appropriate manner. For at the end of the day, all that going on out there along the cobblestone lanes were just folks making sure the light of the world was properly welcomed back. Grimm would not have it any other way, and so, he made sure there were no…distractions.
~~~~~~~~~
Granny squinted at the forms spread across the table. Divine hag she may be, but they relayed nothing beyond expectation.
Challenges exist.
There will be more to come.
You must stay the course.
Is this in regard to Dominator? Dominic had seemed rather….distracted. And with all that he had on his horizon, he could not afford for his focus to be too fragmented. He’d best sort things out.
Grimm? Maybe. He had been mentioned specifically by name during the Ninth Anniversary broadcast. Collusion Course, they’d said…as if the third time would be the charm for Gerard Angelo. Like those previous two encounters with the Hangtown Horror were flukes. How many chances did a person need? It was a poor craftsman who blamed his tools. A bad dancer blamed his trousers. And it was a weak fighter of any stripe who blamed conspiracies.
With a no-holds barred tag team triple threat match, with something of that nature, with those rules, Angelo would get his chance at blindside cheap shots. Would that make him feel better? Would it be the boost of confidence he needed for the days ahead? Goodness knows that’s how Holden Ross got his jollies. He’s no doubt chomping at the bit for the opportunity at Trauma.
Then again, the third team may have something to say about all of this, even if it could be argued they had a harder row to hoe at the moment. Ring rust or not, Cory Steel had seen better days. Eager to return to his former glories, yes, but he was a broken man, both physically and spiritually. This would not be easy, even with the current PCW World Champion in his corner. Stormm knew what kind of target that put on his back. And how the logistics of a booking like this would make it so easy for anyone who wanted to make a statement…to do so.
No one could be so ignorant as to think anyone would be getting out of this unscathed. The only thing that would be surprising on this night would be a clean victory for someone.
Everyone had stars in their eyes. Thing was, it’s so easy to make a mistake under these circumstances. And mistakes in PCW would only get you broken and tossed back in the box with missing pieces.
Granny paused as she began to stand. Where did that come from? Shrugging, she licked her thumb and forefinger and snuffed out the candles. Even there in the dark, the resulting smoke spelled out another omen for another time.
Down the hollow and deep in the shadows of a storefront’s alcove, Grimm stood watching as one of the straw boys lifted a wallet out of some poor soul’s coat pocket right there in the midst of the procession. The Hangtown Horror turned his head this way and that in a stretch, then shook out his shoulders and fingers. The candles in the shop’s windows guttered from a breeze under the windowsill.
Here we go.
~~~~~~~~~
Odds were calculated, lots were cast, and the Anna and Simeon were chosen for another year. They led the Procession for Poor Biddy, blessing the multitudes of candles that had been lit and placed in every window of Hangtown. With a wave of rushes and a white birch limb these two, dressed in decades-old patchwork garb and papier-mâché old folks masks, wound their way through the streets of town, working to keep away evil spirits and bring about the new light.
They were halfway between the solstice and the equinox…they’d made it past the longest night of the year…but you couldn’t be too careful. Especially with some of the beasties lingering about, regardless of the precautions.
Did they know the Grimm moved among them? Did they sense him? Or did they just assume he was flitting in and out of the gloom, and found it more pleasant to pretend he was off brooding in the hills? He let them think whatever they wanted. The Hangtown Horror kept his own company and served his own purposes, and whether they acknowledged it, appreciated it, understood it, was none of his concern. Grimm did what needed to be done.
Because among the parade, alongside the stalls peddling hot spiced drinks, roasted nuts, and gingerbread cookies, within all the frivolity and festivities roamed the unsavory elements. The straw boys fit in well enough, what with the costumes of, well, straw, and the grotesque masks of leers and grimaces. But they were there for more than seasonal traditions and goodies. And though pranks were one thing, hooliganism, vandalism, and worse were something else.
And Grimm would not allow it.
He had his own way of making certain the light came back. It was called force of will. For as much as he thrived in, as much as he personified, fall and winter – the harvest, the withering, the freezing – he understood what must come to pass. Much like his beloved Christmastide. It began when it began, and it ended when it ended. For everything there was a season, and a time for every matter under heaven. Nothing was forever.
Mostly.
All that to say…Grimm may be the boogeyman, the Crimson Demon, the Lord of Misrule, and what have you, but he would also not suffer any undo harm to come to this place or its inhabitants. So he waited, and he watched, and he moved along the procession. He stood beside the chimneys on the rooftops. He saw Anna and Simeon and their attendants replace the wreaths still straggling on doors with Old Biddy’s Crosses woven from those very same rushes and corn shucks. Brushed his fingertips along scattered glass baubles still dangling from trees and lamp posts. Yanked those instigators into dark alleyways and gave them lessons on how to celebrate in the appropriate manner. For at the end of the day, all that going on out there along the cobblestone lanes were just folks making sure the light of the world was properly welcomed back. Grimm would not have it any other way, and so, he made sure there were no…distractions.
~~~~~~~~~
Granny squinted at the forms spread across the table. Divine hag she may be, but they relayed nothing beyond expectation.
Challenges exist.
There will be more to come.
You must stay the course.
Is this in regard to Dominator? Dominic had seemed rather….distracted. And with all that he had on his horizon, he could not afford for his focus to be too fragmented. He’d best sort things out.
Grimm? Maybe. He had been mentioned specifically by name during the Ninth Anniversary broadcast. Collusion Course, they’d said…as if the third time would be the charm for Gerard Angelo. Like those previous two encounters with the Hangtown Horror were flukes. How many chances did a person need? It was a poor craftsman who blamed his tools. A bad dancer blamed his trousers. And it was a weak fighter of any stripe who blamed conspiracies.
With a no-holds barred tag team triple threat match, with something of that nature, with those rules, Angelo would get his chance at blindside cheap shots. Would that make him feel better? Would it be the boost of confidence he needed for the days ahead? Goodness knows that’s how Holden Ross got his jollies. He’s no doubt chomping at the bit for the opportunity at Trauma.
Then again, the third team may have something to say about all of this, even if it could be argued they had a harder row to hoe at the moment. Ring rust or not, Cory Steel had seen better days. Eager to return to his former glories, yes, but he was a broken man, both physically and spiritually. This would not be easy, even with the current PCW World Champion in his corner. Stormm knew what kind of target that put on his back. And how the logistics of a booking like this would make it so easy for anyone who wanted to make a statement…to do so.
No one could be so ignorant as to think anyone would be getting out of this unscathed. The only thing that would be surprising on this night would be a clean victory for someone.
Everyone had stars in their eyes. Thing was, it’s so easy to make a mistake under these circumstances. And mistakes in PCW would only get you broken and tossed back in the box with missing pieces.
Granny paused as she began to stand. Where did that come from? Shrugging, she licked her thumb and forefinger and snuffed out the candles. Even there in the dark, the resulting smoke spelled out another omen for another time.
Down the hollow and deep in the shadows of a storefront’s alcove, Grimm stood watching as one of the straw boys lifted a wallet out of some poor soul’s coat pocket right there in the midst of the procession. The Hangtown Horror turned his head this way and that in a stretch, then shook out his shoulders and fingers. The candles in the shop’s windows guttered from a breeze under the windowsill.
Here we go.
