Post by Grimm on May 16, 2014 11:58:04 GMT -5
The silence was shocking. Unsettling. Even to the Lord of Misrule.
Stifling and airless. No wind in the trees, no birds singing or squawking. Just the shuffle of his boots through trash and bones. The thumping of his heart in his ears. Phinehas Dillinger picked his way through the innards of a derelict iron furnace. Dark save for the opening at the top of the chimney high above and the glow from the claustrophobic entrance. Crude attempts at witty graffiti splashed over the bricks and mortar. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and he checked the structural integrity, looking for even a hint of defect.
Although…it didn’t really matter if the impending conflagration was adequately contained or not. Phinehas preferred to avoid self-immolation if he could, though, so it would have to provide him with at least something of a head start before exploding in a shower of fire and stone.
This furnace was the first of many, those still standing in defiance of the cold engines of industry. And they had one last job to do.
Despite his reputation as calculating, unfeeling, Grimm knew he was a double-minded man, uncertain in all his ways.
As were they all. Otherwise, try as they might, they could not function within the confines of PCW.
On the one hand…
The recent match with Murdoc had turned the 2014 Icemann Invitational Tournament into yet another missed opportunity. Grimm would have to work his way through the ranks without the benefit of picking and choosing his next title shot at will. But that was nothing new.
All will be well, all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.
As such, Trauma 154 would provide certain opportunities. Grimm’s partner for the evening would be Andy D, who could always be counted on as a solid teammate. Not only was he more than capable of handling himself in and around the ring, but he was one of the dwindling few Grimm could honestly say he had no qualms trusting over the course of the match. And despite recent misgivings, Murdoc had shown an honorable side during Trauma 153. Perhaps he’d turned a corner.
Leaving, as usual, Whitey Ford as the wildcard in the match. Ford, who would just as soon turn on his partner as pin an opponent. Ford, who stood as World Champion with certain elements of the federation nipping at his heels. There was no love lost between him and, well, anyone in PCW. Murdoc in particular. And Loki. His return was a concern, or it could be. He and Murdoc were on each other’s bad sides immediately, and so Grimm would be more surprised if Loki didn’t try to insert himself into the fray.
Who could tell? And did it matter?
On the other hand…
Phinehas had hoped Ruth would have managed this…misunderstanding on her own. He knew Showtime would never hurt his sister, and he wanted to avoid at all costs the possibility of shocking Michael Wryght’s system to the point of shutdown. His was a delicate constitution under the influence of the powder. But it had gone on long enough. The time to move was now. The network of furnaces and underlying fungus tied together so perfectly it would be beyond foolish for Phinehas to wait any longer.
He bent down and picked up the skull of a fox. So thin. So brittle. He squeezed, and turned it to dust.
Everyone always claimed to be so confident about things. Victories. Titles. Alliances.
You people and your dreams.
Even though his own visions, his aims and means, insisted on receding from him as he went along, Grimm roamed the arena intent only on destroying their certainties. Win, lose, no contest, disqualification, et cetera, et cetera, the Abomination of Desolation’s precisions, geometries, and anticipations never failed him.
Stifling and airless. No wind in the trees, no birds singing or squawking. Just the shuffle of his boots through trash and bones. The thumping of his heart in his ears. Phinehas Dillinger picked his way through the innards of a derelict iron furnace. Dark save for the opening at the top of the chimney high above and the glow from the claustrophobic entrance. Crude attempts at witty graffiti splashed over the bricks and mortar. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and he checked the structural integrity, looking for even a hint of defect.
Although…it didn’t really matter if the impending conflagration was adequately contained or not. Phinehas preferred to avoid self-immolation if he could, though, so it would have to provide him with at least something of a head start before exploding in a shower of fire and stone.
This furnace was the first of many, those still standing in defiance of the cold engines of industry. And they had one last job to do.
Despite his reputation as calculating, unfeeling, Grimm knew he was a double-minded man, uncertain in all his ways.
As were they all. Otherwise, try as they might, they could not function within the confines of PCW.
On the one hand…
The recent match with Murdoc had turned the 2014 Icemann Invitational Tournament into yet another missed opportunity. Grimm would have to work his way through the ranks without the benefit of picking and choosing his next title shot at will. But that was nothing new.
All will be well, all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.
As such, Trauma 154 would provide certain opportunities. Grimm’s partner for the evening would be Andy D, who could always be counted on as a solid teammate. Not only was he more than capable of handling himself in and around the ring, but he was one of the dwindling few Grimm could honestly say he had no qualms trusting over the course of the match. And despite recent misgivings, Murdoc had shown an honorable side during Trauma 153. Perhaps he’d turned a corner.
Leaving, as usual, Whitey Ford as the wildcard in the match. Ford, who would just as soon turn on his partner as pin an opponent. Ford, who stood as World Champion with certain elements of the federation nipping at his heels. There was no love lost between him and, well, anyone in PCW. Murdoc in particular. And Loki. His return was a concern, or it could be. He and Murdoc were on each other’s bad sides immediately, and so Grimm would be more surprised if Loki didn’t try to insert himself into the fray.
Who could tell? And did it matter?
On the other hand…
Phinehas had hoped Ruth would have managed this…misunderstanding on her own. He knew Showtime would never hurt his sister, and he wanted to avoid at all costs the possibility of shocking Michael Wryght’s system to the point of shutdown. His was a delicate constitution under the influence of the powder. But it had gone on long enough. The time to move was now. The network of furnaces and underlying fungus tied together so perfectly it would be beyond foolish for Phinehas to wait any longer.
He bent down and picked up the skull of a fox. So thin. So brittle. He squeezed, and turned it to dust.
Everyone always claimed to be so confident about things. Victories. Titles. Alliances.
You people and your dreams.
Even though his own visions, his aims and means, insisted on receding from him as he went along, Grimm roamed the arena intent only on destroying their certainties. Win, lose, no contest, disqualification, et cetera, et cetera, the Abomination of Desolation’s precisions, geometries, and anticipations never failed him.
