Post by Grimm on Feb 1, 2006 16:45:31 GMT -5
Phinehas lost himself in the reflection of the lantern in the glass of water sitting in front of him. The flame danced on the wick and in turn shimmered in his drink. It was almost enough to make him forget his surroundings. That, unfortunately, wasn’t possible. He had made the move to the Outer Banks of North Carolina, at least for now, and had recently stumbled across an establishment known as the Rowdy Dwarf. It was an interesting place, to say the least. Grimm would stop by to hear the old sailors’ stories about storms and sea creatures, and he got a kick out of watching them get blind stinkin’ drunk off rotgut and fight one another until the wee hours of the morning.
At least that’s how it was at first. He couldn’t explain it, but it seemed to him that the tavern had fallen in disrepair overnight. The lanterns weren’t nearly as bright, as if the flames themselves had weakened. The shadows in the corners had grown more ominous and were beginning to take over most of the walls. The food appeared to be served rotten or undercooked. His fellow patrons weren’t nearly as jolly as they once were, instead preferring to sit alone, wasting away and snarling at anyone who dare make eye contact. And my Lord, the stench. A mixture of rot, must, expectorant, and the unclean would nearly knock a person off their feet the moment they opened to door and stepped into this foul abode. Perhaps the tavern was now under the influence of the Brethren of the Coast, as he too was. It appeared that everything they touched became corrupt.
Then again, maybe it was just as it had always been. Maybe this was all in Grimm’s head.
Nevertheless, he sat across from yet another representative of the Brethren at the Rowdy Dwarf in the middle of the night. His host was thin, jittery, and just as filthy and generally unpleasant as the others he had the displeasure of dealing with recently. Phinehas still wasn’t entirely sure what they wanted with him and he had the feeling he wouldn’t be getting many answers tonight. The man picked his teeth with the rusty hook that served as his left hand and spit something out onto the pine table. His lips curled up into a sneer. The few remaining teeth weren’t nearly clean enough to sparkle in the faint light.
Lackey: That was an impressive display at Trauma, what with the double pin and all. [He let out a high-pitched laugh that could only be described as a cackle. Phinehas couldn’t help but wince.] You’re a dirty rotten scoundrel, Grimm. You possess more of the qualities fundamental to the Brethren than you realize. Or will admit.
Grimm: Don’t give me that. You’ve seen the signs. I’ve been saying it all along…by any means necessary. I’m not here to make friends, or even become a fan favorite for that matter. The trail of bodies stacked ten high in my wake should be evidence enough.
The man shrugged his shoulders and briefly picked at a scab on the back of his hand.
Lackey: Whatever helps you sleep at night.
Grimm: And why even pretend that you’re concerned with my title hopes? I don’t have the foggiest what you or the people you represent want with me, but I find it hard to believe that you’re this interested in a wrestling championship. I’d appreciate it if you stopped patronizing me and tell me what it is you want.
Lacky: Suit yourself. [He leaned forward and lowered his voice. His eyes narrowed, giving him the appearance of one not to be trifled with] The Brethren of the Coast have been watching everything since you first showed up in the PCW, and they feel it’s time to, um, move things along.
Grimm: Move things along? I’ve only been here a few months. I don’t have that sort of pull backstage, and yet you think…
Lackey: No sense in denying the inevitable, is there? Mass Destruction, Grimm. We want you to do whatever it takes to win that match at Mass Destruction, regardless of whether or not the rules, or your conscience, tell you otherwise. You will win that title. The Brethren of the Coast have a stake in this as well, which you’ll find out about soon enough, but for now just make sure you annihilate Loki.
The man reached up with his one good hand and began scratching beneath his chin. Grimm couldn’t help but notice one of the rings decorating his filthy fingers, for it was identical to the one Phinehas wore on his right hand. Grimm reached over with his left and fiddled with it, glancing down at the black waves etched in the silver band. The man sat back in his rickety chair with yet another smirk. Grimm was growing tired of being strung along by these hooligans.
Grimm: What’s the significance of this ring? There’s obviously a story behind why we’ve both got one…so cut the crap and tell me what’s going on.
It almost looked like the messenger was nervous that Grimm had his ring out in view of the stragglers left in the tavern, but the arrogant grin immediately returned along with a low chuckle.
Lackey: All in due time, my good man. All in due time…
He drifted into silence. Seeing as how the conversation seemed to have ended for the moment they both looked out the grease-stained window at a handful of drunks staggering down the cobblestones. More than one eventually gave up and collapsed into the drainage ditch running the length of the street. Neither Grimm nor his visitor cared to trouble themselves with the thought of the foulness flowing over those wretched men. The moon reflected off the stream of bile and excrement that ran alongside the road and soaked the drunks’ clothes and washed through their beards.
Lackey: And what do you plan to do about your friend Mr. Showtime?
Grimm: Excuse me?
Lackey: Mikey Wryght. Not only did he bail on a very important match, he insinuated that you were not worth his time. We couldn’t believe it…like he is somehow more worthy of the heavyweight title than the Abomination of Desolation.
The man winked at Grimm, but he didn’t buy into the attempt at flattery. Grimm had no reason to trust this stranger.
Lackey: He insulted you, Grimm. And an insult against you is an insult against the Brethren of the Coast. One thing you’ll soon discover is that the Brethren do not suffer insults, or the fools who make them. You’ll have to remedy that before long.
Grimm: I’ll take care of it.
Lackey: Oh, we know you will, starting at Mass Destruction. You’re to put on an unholy display for the PCW, Grimm. Give them a glimpse of what they all have to look forward to. In other words, win or lose, title shot or no, you are to completely lose it on that poor soul long after the final bell rings. We want to you beat Loki within an inch of his life and not let up until security has to come down and drag you screaming to the back. Understood?
Phinehas sighed and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and nearly choked on the heavy air that hung in this den of thieves.
Grimm: Yes, I understand. Beat Loki like a rented mule. Got it.
Lackey: Good. Now that we have that taken care of…wench! Drink! Now!
At least that’s how it was at first. He couldn’t explain it, but it seemed to him that the tavern had fallen in disrepair overnight. The lanterns weren’t nearly as bright, as if the flames themselves had weakened. The shadows in the corners had grown more ominous and were beginning to take over most of the walls. The food appeared to be served rotten or undercooked. His fellow patrons weren’t nearly as jolly as they once were, instead preferring to sit alone, wasting away and snarling at anyone who dare make eye contact. And my Lord, the stench. A mixture of rot, must, expectorant, and the unclean would nearly knock a person off their feet the moment they opened to door and stepped into this foul abode. Perhaps the tavern was now under the influence of the Brethren of the Coast, as he too was. It appeared that everything they touched became corrupt.
Then again, maybe it was just as it had always been. Maybe this was all in Grimm’s head.
Nevertheless, he sat across from yet another representative of the Brethren at the Rowdy Dwarf in the middle of the night. His host was thin, jittery, and just as filthy and generally unpleasant as the others he had the displeasure of dealing with recently. Phinehas still wasn’t entirely sure what they wanted with him and he had the feeling he wouldn’t be getting many answers tonight. The man picked his teeth with the rusty hook that served as his left hand and spit something out onto the pine table. His lips curled up into a sneer. The few remaining teeth weren’t nearly clean enough to sparkle in the faint light.
Lackey: That was an impressive display at Trauma, what with the double pin and all. [He let out a high-pitched laugh that could only be described as a cackle. Phinehas couldn’t help but wince.] You’re a dirty rotten scoundrel, Grimm. You possess more of the qualities fundamental to the Brethren than you realize. Or will admit.
Grimm: Don’t give me that. You’ve seen the signs. I’ve been saying it all along…by any means necessary. I’m not here to make friends, or even become a fan favorite for that matter. The trail of bodies stacked ten high in my wake should be evidence enough.
The man shrugged his shoulders and briefly picked at a scab on the back of his hand.
Lackey: Whatever helps you sleep at night.
Grimm: And why even pretend that you’re concerned with my title hopes? I don’t have the foggiest what you or the people you represent want with me, but I find it hard to believe that you’re this interested in a wrestling championship. I’d appreciate it if you stopped patronizing me and tell me what it is you want.
Lacky: Suit yourself. [He leaned forward and lowered his voice. His eyes narrowed, giving him the appearance of one not to be trifled with] The Brethren of the Coast have been watching everything since you first showed up in the PCW, and they feel it’s time to, um, move things along.
Grimm: Move things along? I’ve only been here a few months. I don’t have that sort of pull backstage, and yet you think…
Lackey: No sense in denying the inevitable, is there? Mass Destruction, Grimm. We want you to do whatever it takes to win that match at Mass Destruction, regardless of whether or not the rules, or your conscience, tell you otherwise. You will win that title. The Brethren of the Coast have a stake in this as well, which you’ll find out about soon enough, but for now just make sure you annihilate Loki.
The man reached up with his one good hand and began scratching beneath his chin. Grimm couldn’t help but notice one of the rings decorating his filthy fingers, for it was identical to the one Phinehas wore on his right hand. Grimm reached over with his left and fiddled with it, glancing down at the black waves etched in the silver band. The man sat back in his rickety chair with yet another smirk. Grimm was growing tired of being strung along by these hooligans.
Grimm: What’s the significance of this ring? There’s obviously a story behind why we’ve both got one…so cut the crap and tell me what’s going on.
It almost looked like the messenger was nervous that Grimm had his ring out in view of the stragglers left in the tavern, but the arrogant grin immediately returned along with a low chuckle.
Lackey: All in due time, my good man. All in due time…
He drifted into silence. Seeing as how the conversation seemed to have ended for the moment they both looked out the grease-stained window at a handful of drunks staggering down the cobblestones. More than one eventually gave up and collapsed into the drainage ditch running the length of the street. Neither Grimm nor his visitor cared to trouble themselves with the thought of the foulness flowing over those wretched men. The moon reflected off the stream of bile and excrement that ran alongside the road and soaked the drunks’ clothes and washed through their beards.
Lackey: And what do you plan to do about your friend Mr. Showtime?
Grimm: Excuse me?
Lackey: Mikey Wryght. Not only did he bail on a very important match, he insinuated that you were not worth his time. We couldn’t believe it…like he is somehow more worthy of the heavyweight title than the Abomination of Desolation.
The man winked at Grimm, but he didn’t buy into the attempt at flattery. Grimm had no reason to trust this stranger.
Lackey: He insulted you, Grimm. And an insult against you is an insult against the Brethren of the Coast. One thing you’ll soon discover is that the Brethren do not suffer insults, or the fools who make them. You’ll have to remedy that before long.
Grimm: I’ll take care of it.
Lackey: Oh, we know you will, starting at Mass Destruction. You’re to put on an unholy display for the PCW, Grimm. Give them a glimpse of what they all have to look forward to. In other words, win or lose, title shot or no, you are to completely lose it on that poor soul long after the final bell rings. We want to you beat Loki within an inch of his life and not let up until security has to come down and drag you screaming to the back. Understood?
Phinehas sighed and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and nearly choked on the heavy air that hung in this den of thieves.
Grimm: Yes, I understand. Beat Loki like a rented mule. Got it.
Lackey: Good. Now that we have that taken care of…wench! Drink! Now!
