Post by EmbodimentOfFear on Apr 27, 2010 16:30:24 GMT -5
Phrixus Deimos sits backwards on a chair, leaning onto it, staring into a mirror. He is lost to his gaze, oblivious to the world, seeing something which the rest of us cannot, something that the rest of us would never want to see. Something that would make the rest of us scream in horror.
His journal is tucked in his hand, pressed against the back of the chair. Its secrets are locked away from the world, although it kind of makes you wonder how people always seem to know what is written in it. They must be psychic or something.
A voice is heard from the hallway, but Phrixus is oblivious to it.
?: There he is. C’mon, let’s get him now.
It is Jason Reeves, backstage interviewer extraordinaire, former of Global Impact Wrestling, that enters the room. He waves in a cameraman behind him, and holds a microphone in his hand.
Reeves: Phrixus, can we get a word?
Deimos does not respond, too busy looking into his own eyes. What does he see, locked away, deep into the reflection?
Reeves: Excuse me, Phrixus?
Deimos breaks his stare, blinking several times, and he casts a quick and sharp sideways glance to the intruding interviewer.
Deimos: I don’t do interviews.
Reeves: Maybe you can make a special exception? We’ll consider it an exclusive.
Phrixus stares at him for several seconds, the unmistakable look of contempt on his face.
Deimos: You’re the one they call BitchTits, aren’t you.
Reeves: Uh…yeah…
Deimos: You’ve met Rob Cartwright?
Reeves: Show runner for The Piercing Truth, yeah.
Deimos: He used to work as an interviewer in LWF, was close friends with this kid named Colby Colt. Do you know what Hastings and I did to him?
Reeves: No?
Phrixus stands.
Deimos: We dragged him around the arena in chains, just to make a point. Now, in a few short days, I face another kid, this time in the Hall of Mirrors. The match that I pioneered years ago. I journeyed into the Hall and defeated the legendary Phoenix himself. I’ve faced the likes of Alan Fernandez and Matt Marauder in those twisted halls. Now I enter the Hall of Mirrors with Medos. Tell me, Jason, just what might I do to make a point?
Reeves looks nervously at the mirror, sweat glistening as it drips from his brow down to his cheek.
Reeves: I don’t know?
Deimos: Pray that you never find out. Fortunately for you, neither Medos nor, more importantly, Hastings, has any reason to care about you or what happens to you. As such, you are inconsequential. You’re a mild annoyance, as is Medos to be perfectly honest. A mild annoyance, like peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. Medos will step at No Holds Barred into an environment unlike any he has ever seen, an environment that I am all too familiar with. There are no surprises, no shocks, nothing that I haven’t seen before. Medos says that we should never ever put him in a situation where he can earn a possible shot at the World Title. Truth is, he isn’t all that bad at getting himself title shots. It’s actually winning them that has proven to be an insurmountable challenge. I don’t really see any reason for concern in regards to that changing in the near future. Nor am I concerned with the result of this other match with Dirge and JK. Hastings is mine.
Reeves: What if Fusion beats Hastings?
Phrixus smirks.
Deimos: Yeah, okay. Even if he did, it changes nothing. I’m not concerned with a championship. I’ve been a World Champion everywhere that I’ve been. My day will come. For the present, however…Hastings…is…mine.
Reeves: What is it with you two, anyway?
Deimos: You have to see the bigger picture, Jason. Always the bigger picture.
Phrixus turns his back to Reeves, walking back to the chair.
Deimos: All that know fear will know pain and suffering. Hastings knows fear.
He looks back at the interviewer, a sneer on his face, as Jason Reeves takes a step back, not knowing what to expect from the enigmatic figure before him.
Deimos: Do you?
Phrixus settles back into the chair, ignoring Reeves and looking back into the mirror. Reeves takes the cue to leave, heading to the door, but he leans in close to the camera man as he does.
Reeves: That guy is creepy as hell.
Phrixus is again oblivious to him, flipping open the journal, and he takes out a pen from his pocket and begins to write…
His journal is tucked in his hand, pressed against the back of the chair. Its secrets are locked away from the world, although it kind of makes you wonder how people always seem to know what is written in it. They must be psychic or something.
A voice is heard from the hallway, but Phrixus is oblivious to it.
?: There he is. C’mon, let’s get him now.
It is Jason Reeves, backstage interviewer extraordinaire, former of Global Impact Wrestling, that enters the room. He waves in a cameraman behind him, and holds a microphone in his hand.
Reeves: Phrixus, can we get a word?
Deimos does not respond, too busy looking into his own eyes. What does he see, locked away, deep into the reflection?
Reeves: Excuse me, Phrixus?
Deimos breaks his stare, blinking several times, and he casts a quick and sharp sideways glance to the intruding interviewer.
Deimos: I don’t do interviews.
Reeves: Maybe you can make a special exception? We’ll consider it an exclusive.
Phrixus stares at him for several seconds, the unmistakable look of contempt on his face.
Deimos: You’re the one they call BitchTits, aren’t you.
Reeves: Uh…yeah…
Deimos: You’ve met Rob Cartwright?
Reeves: Show runner for The Piercing Truth, yeah.
Deimos: He used to work as an interviewer in LWF, was close friends with this kid named Colby Colt. Do you know what Hastings and I did to him?
Reeves: No?
Phrixus stands.
Deimos: We dragged him around the arena in chains, just to make a point. Now, in a few short days, I face another kid, this time in the Hall of Mirrors. The match that I pioneered years ago. I journeyed into the Hall and defeated the legendary Phoenix himself. I’ve faced the likes of Alan Fernandez and Matt Marauder in those twisted halls. Now I enter the Hall of Mirrors with Medos. Tell me, Jason, just what might I do to make a point?
Reeves looks nervously at the mirror, sweat glistening as it drips from his brow down to his cheek.
Reeves: I don’t know?
Deimos: Pray that you never find out. Fortunately for you, neither Medos nor, more importantly, Hastings, has any reason to care about you or what happens to you. As such, you are inconsequential. You’re a mild annoyance, as is Medos to be perfectly honest. A mild annoyance, like peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. Medos will step at No Holds Barred into an environment unlike any he has ever seen, an environment that I am all too familiar with. There are no surprises, no shocks, nothing that I haven’t seen before. Medos says that we should never ever put him in a situation where he can earn a possible shot at the World Title. Truth is, he isn’t all that bad at getting himself title shots. It’s actually winning them that has proven to be an insurmountable challenge. I don’t really see any reason for concern in regards to that changing in the near future. Nor am I concerned with the result of this other match with Dirge and JK. Hastings is mine.
Reeves: What if Fusion beats Hastings?
Phrixus smirks.
Deimos: Yeah, okay. Even if he did, it changes nothing. I’m not concerned with a championship. I’ve been a World Champion everywhere that I’ve been. My day will come. For the present, however…Hastings…is…mine.
Reeves: What is it with you two, anyway?
Deimos: You have to see the bigger picture, Jason. Always the bigger picture.
Phrixus turns his back to Reeves, walking back to the chair.
Deimos: All that know fear will know pain and suffering. Hastings knows fear.
He looks back at the interviewer, a sneer on his face, as Jason Reeves takes a step back, not knowing what to expect from the enigmatic figure before him.
Deimos: Do you?
Phrixus settles back into the chair, ignoring Reeves and looking back into the mirror. Reeves takes the cue to leave, heading to the door, but he leans in close to the camera man as he does.
Reeves: That guy is creepy as hell.
Phrixus is again oblivious to him, flipping open the journal, and he takes out a pen from his pocket and begins to write…