Post by Lord Hastings on Oct 27, 2018 12:01:46 GMT -5
Phrixus Deimos stands before a set of wide double doors, his body relaxed and with his muscles smooth. Nothing bothered him here. Nothing troubled him here. This was his home. His sanctuary.
His library.
With the arrival of Necron, everyone was making much ado about the idea of journals. Information held close by those who would be observers and what might be within. But they never would suspect the truth, and if they did, they would be far more terrified than they currently were.
Fear reaches forward and takes the twin handles of the doors and, with a jerk, pulls them open wide. The doors reveal a brightly lit room which is empty of all but a single plain chair. Fear walks forward, his footfalls echoing in the room, his dark clothes piercing the brightness like a black hole at the center of a star cluster, seeming to suck all the warmth and joy from all the world. He smiles as he approaches the chair and places his hand on the edge of the back, feeling the worn wood and letting memory flood him. This chair had seen much in as it resided in the library which played host to his famed journals.
The fearful truth of those journals.
Deimos’ mind palace.
He sits in the chair, moving his two hundred plus pounds rest slowly, enjoying the experience. He sighs as he adjusts himself, his back straight against the chair, and closes his eyes. This as everything. His journals were everything. He raises his hands and, turning on upside down and curling his fingers, he pantomimes the opening of a drawer. He uses his fingers on his left hand to seemingly pluck through invisible files, smiles as he finds the right one, and pulls is it out.
Battleground is a test of endurance rarely seen in this world. I have entered into it five times, and while I have yet to walk out the victor of the punishing and unyielding endeavor, I have confidence in myself this year. I have momentum on my side, though many might not think so, as I have more victories this year than in a long time, which is not something many of my opponents might be able to say. Seven different people have been victors of the Battleground match, though that number includes Gabrielle Montgomery, so one must wonder how prestigious it truly is. After all, if one wished to roll their eyes at our former porn star’s ascension, far be it from me to take that away from them.
Five people stand between me and choosing my match at Horizons, and of being able to add yet another accolade to my career. Unfortunately for them, not only do all but Pierce not understand what they will be facing, they also do not understand the true enemy in this match. It is not me. It is not their opponents. It is themselves. Battleground will test everyone in ways they would not normally like to be pushed, and because of that, they will have to face something truly horrific should they fail:
Their own reflection.
In his empty room, his eyes shut, Deimos smiles wide as he fingers through the air and finds a file marked with a lock and chain. He pulls it out, brings it to his nose, and breaths in the smell.
Dear Bordy knows about mirrors. She believes herself to be the one who holds them up to show the world who they really are, but I believe that she is as afraid of her reflection as any other. Why else would she bleach her hair? Why else would she wear clothes to hide the scars on her arms? Why else would she try to disguise who and what she is behind a veil of confusion, regalia, and subterfuge?
It is no small task to accomplish what she has this year. New to the UGWC, she has become the Chaos Champion twice, and chère Reine has been a formidable opponent for the entire company all throughout the year. But she has made many missteps along the way, with her superior record being more through sheer stubbornness than quality of skill. One might think that the Battleground environment would suit her, a place where her tactics would give her an edge. But what the reflection she fears will be made plain to her:
The Chaos Championship is not the World Championship.
The Chaos Championship is not the Cross-Hemisphere Championship.
She can lay claim to the importance of her title being superior all she wants, but all it takes is someone who knows better than that to shatter her reflection.
That is where I come in.
The smile falls off Deimos’ face as he opens another drawer, placing the Bordy file within, and pulls out another. Eyes still closed, his mind firmly in the innards of his library of journals, he shakes his head.
Konrad Raab has found himself in a truly rare place for himself:
He won a match.
I suppose I could make comments, perhaps even a joke, about how the only person Raab could pin would be Travis Pierce, but I know better. Just about anything can happen in this business, as has been proven time again even just in this calendar year, and that includes my one-time tag team partner rising above his station. But like everyone else in this match, Raab will find himself looking into the mirror and seeing a reflection of his own inadequacies.
While I look in my own mirror and caution myself not to take anyone lightly, as even that proverbial clock will be correct twice a day, I still find it difficult to think of Raab as anything more than the first person to be eliminated in the match. Between rumors of his money troubles, his clear exhaustion from the marathon love-making sessions which keep at least one of the Grey-Lacklans in awe, and his own difficult schedule to keep, I doubt that Raab will be able to keep his wits clear enough to win two matches in a row.
Then again, he defeated Jet Somers a few months ago.
Apparently, anything can happen in this business, after all.
Deimos shakes his head and dismissively tosses the Raab file to the floor. He pushes the drawer closed and opens another. He rummages through the files, eyes closed and traveling through the library in his palace, and pulls out yet another.
I must admit that I do not understand why people sigh and then say hello to Kem Dynamo. One would figure that the entire world would be used to her antics by now. To be upset at Kem butting in on conversations is the same as being mad about Eden tricking a man with the promise of a bedroom invite that never comes, or being double-crossed by Hastings, or having to pour over the Stephen King wiki fandom website in order to find out what a “thinny” is because you listened to Rogan for more that three minutes. These things just are.
But I do understand that Kem is at a crossroads. She can hold her head up high after following up 2016’s WrestleStock Cup victory by winning this year’s Massive Melee and adding her name to a list which includes mine, but her road has been difficult recently. I, myself, have deduced that many of her problems come from her own activities, and now I also wonder if they come from her actual ability level being far lower than what she perceives them to be. Hence, her crossroads. She has found success a rare thing as of late, and while that potential still seems to be there, I fear that her star might be too dim to shine through the dark she has found herself in.
I believe that she fears the mirror just as much as any other. When faced with having to come through on the big opportunities she has earned for herself, she has routinely allowed others to get in her head. And while she may wish to add the Battleground Match to her list of named UGWC matches accolades, she is unfortunate enough to run into me this year. Because in a story where everyone is afraid of their reflection, she will face the reality that I am not afraid of who I am, and will have her flame snuffed out.
Again.
Deimos places the file back into the drawer and closes it. He then turns his body and faces a wall of his mind palace dominated by a large bookshelf full of massive tomes, each thick and worn, many covered with dusk. He uses two hands to pull one down, plops it on his lap, and opens the hard cover. He lets his fingers flip through pages slowly, the wide tome casting off the dust of ages, until he finds the most recent entry.
Travis Pierce has done a disservice to himself. One would think that he would wish to have momentum going into his fifth Battleground, but instead of allowing his witty reporte pave his path to victory, he has allowed himself to be bested by a wide swath of people. His victories over Wallace, Vaughn, Necron, and Cotton seem a distant memory in light of recently losing the Chaos champion to my chère Reine, and perhaps the greatest indignity of all, being pinned by Konrad Raab.
Much has been made about which version of Kem will show up for a match. Or Vain. Or Eden. But much the same can be asked about Pierce. Will he be witty? Will he be serious? Will he be aloof? Will he be angry? I have seen many versions of Pierce over the years, often without reason or wont, and I feel that this has been his largest detraction. The mirror he stares into seems be a funhouse mirror from the carnivals of my early career, and it gives a garbled reflection which is not easily understood by the observer.
Unfortunately for my old friend, I will be a very focused observer on Monday. I will not let a repeat of 2012 happen, a night where neither one of us could answer the dual count of Burke and Green. I am here to win Battleground and, regardless of who prevails in the battle of Lockheart and Somers, reclaim my Cross-Hemisphere Championship at Horizons.
With an effort, Deimos closes the heavy book and sets it back into its place with a touch of reverence. But then he takes hold of an even larger book, brings it to himself with a grunt, and places it on his lap. The eyes beneath the closed eyelids move rapidly as Deimos opens the old tome and uses a hand to wave away the plume of dust that blows up, and delves into the thick history.
Is this man before me Zane Scott or not?
The Zane Scott I know would never allow himself to be a puppet, but that is what he has done for over a year. The Zane Scott I know would never allow himself to be rolled over, but that is what he has done for weeks. The Zane Scott I know would never let the actions of others dictate who he was or is, but that is what has occured. The Zane Scott I know would never allow Larry to be destroyed by Fear, or allow a beacon of goodness like Angie Vaughn have her name attached to a 4-on-1 Handicap Match, but that is what has happened over the course of this month.
But I know better.
This is NOT Zane Scott.
This reflection in the mirror is a lie.
We all have our own motivations for wanting to win this match. I wish to take back the championship which is synonymous with my name. Pierce no doubt wishes to take on whoever is World Champion at Horizons. I can see Kem wanting to wash out the bad taste in her mouth from Chill and show the business how her star shines through the dark against Sarah Lacklan on our biggest stage. Raab...well...he probably just does not want to be himself anymore, #BecauseRaab. But Zane Scott?
Zane Scott.
I believe his motivation for winning this match is meeting our Creative Director in Vahalla at Horizons.
It is a pity that I will have to take that away from him.
I would have brought the marshmallows.
Deimos closes the large tome with a clear amount of reverence. He places it back on the shelf and sits back in his chair. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his body finding rest and relaxation. He is at peace within his mind palace.
Everyone in this match is afraid of exposure, afraid of who they really are. But at the end of Battleground, I will remind them all of what they should be afraid of.
Fear himself.
His library.
With the arrival of Necron, everyone was making much ado about the idea of journals. Information held close by those who would be observers and what might be within. But they never would suspect the truth, and if they did, they would be far more terrified than they currently were.
Fear reaches forward and takes the twin handles of the doors and, with a jerk, pulls them open wide. The doors reveal a brightly lit room which is empty of all but a single plain chair. Fear walks forward, his footfalls echoing in the room, his dark clothes piercing the brightness like a black hole at the center of a star cluster, seeming to suck all the warmth and joy from all the world. He smiles as he approaches the chair and places his hand on the edge of the back, feeling the worn wood and letting memory flood him. This chair had seen much in as it resided in the library which played host to his famed journals.
The fearful truth of those journals.
Deimos’ mind palace.
He sits in the chair, moving his two hundred plus pounds rest slowly, enjoying the experience. He sighs as he adjusts himself, his back straight against the chair, and closes his eyes. This as everything. His journals were everything. He raises his hands and, turning on upside down and curling his fingers, he pantomimes the opening of a drawer. He uses his fingers on his left hand to seemingly pluck through invisible files, smiles as he finds the right one, and pulls is it out.
Battleground is a test of endurance rarely seen in this world. I have entered into it five times, and while I have yet to walk out the victor of the punishing and unyielding endeavor, I have confidence in myself this year. I have momentum on my side, though many might not think so, as I have more victories this year than in a long time, which is not something many of my opponents might be able to say. Seven different people have been victors of the Battleground match, though that number includes Gabrielle Montgomery, so one must wonder how prestigious it truly is. After all, if one wished to roll their eyes at our former porn star’s ascension, far be it from me to take that away from them.
Five people stand between me and choosing my match at Horizons, and of being able to add yet another accolade to my career. Unfortunately for them, not only do all but Pierce not understand what they will be facing, they also do not understand the true enemy in this match. It is not me. It is not their opponents. It is themselves. Battleground will test everyone in ways they would not normally like to be pushed, and because of that, they will have to face something truly horrific should they fail:
Their own reflection.
In his empty room, his eyes shut, Deimos smiles wide as he fingers through the air and finds a file marked with a lock and chain. He pulls it out, brings it to his nose, and breaths in the smell.
Dear Bordy knows about mirrors. She believes herself to be the one who holds them up to show the world who they really are, but I believe that she is as afraid of her reflection as any other. Why else would she bleach her hair? Why else would she wear clothes to hide the scars on her arms? Why else would she try to disguise who and what she is behind a veil of confusion, regalia, and subterfuge?
It is no small task to accomplish what she has this year. New to the UGWC, she has become the Chaos Champion twice, and chère Reine has been a formidable opponent for the entire company all throughout the year. But she has made many missteps along the way, with her superior record being more through sheer stubbornness than quality of skill. One might think that the Battleground environment would suit her, a place where her tactics would give her an edge. But what the reflection she fears will be made plain to her:
The Chaos Championship is not the World Championship.
The Chaos Championship is not the Cross-Hemisphere Championship.
She can lay claim to the importance of her title being superior all she wants, but all it takes is someone who knows better than that to shatter her reflection.
That is where I come in.
The smile falls off Deimos’ face as he opens another drawer, placing the Bordy file within, and pulls out another. Eyes still closed, his mind firmly in the innards of his library of journals, he shakes his head.
Konrad Raab has found himself in a truly rare place for himself:
He won a match.
I suppose I could make comments, perhaps even a joke, about how the only person Raab could pin would be Travis Pierce, but I know better. Just about anything can happen in this business, as has been proven time again even just in this calendar year, and that includes my one-time tag team partner rising above his station. But like everyone else in this match, Raab will find himself looking into the mirror and seeing a reflection of his own inadequacies.
While I look in my own mirror and caution myself not to take anyone lightly, as even that proverbial clock will be correct twice a day, I still find it difficult to think of Raab as anything more than the first person to be eliminated in the match. Between rumors of his money troubles, his clear exhaustion from the marathon love-making sessions which keep at least one of the Grey-Lacklans in awe, and his own difficult schedule to keep, I doubt that Raab will be able to keep his wits clear enough to win two matches in a row.
Then again, he defeated Jet Somers a few months ago.
Apparently, anything can happen in this business, after all.
Deimos shakes his head and dismissively tosses the Raab file to the floor. He pushes the drawer closed and opens another. He rummages through the files, eyes closed and traveling through the library in his palace, and pulls out yet another.
I must admit that I do not understand why people sigh and then say hello to Kem Dynamo. One would figure that the entire world would be used to her antics by now. To be upset at Kem butting in on conversations is the same as being mad about Eden tricking a man with the promise of a bedroom invite that never comes, or being double-crossed by Hastings, or having to pour over the Stephen King wiki fandom website in order to find out what a “thinny” is because you listened to Rogan for more that three minutes. These things just are.
But I do understand that Kem is at a crossroads. She can hold her head up high after following up 2016’s WrestleStock Cup victory by winning this year’s Massive Melee and adding her name to a list which includes mine, but her road has been difficult recently. I, myself, have deduced that many of her problems come from her own activities, and now I also wonder if they come from her actual ability level being far lower than what she perceives them to be. Hence, her crossroads. She has found success a rare thing as of late, and while that potential still seems to be there, I fear that her star might be too dim to shine through the dark she has found herself in.
I believe that she fears the mirror just as much as any other. When faced with having to come through on the big opportunities she has earned for herself, she has routinely allowed others to get in her head. And while she may wish to add the Battleground Match to her list of named UGWC matches accolades, she is unfortunate enough to run into me this year. Because in a story where everyone is afraid of their reflection, she will face the reality that I am not afraid of who I am, and will have her flame snuffed out.
Again.
Deimos places the file back into the drawer and closes it. He then turns his body and faces a wall of his mind palace dominated by a large bookshelf full of massive tomes, each thick and worn, many covered with dusk. He uses two hands to pull one down, plops it on his lap, and opens the hard cover. He lets his fingers flip through pages slowly, the wide tome casting off the dust of ages, until he finds the most recent entry.
Travis Pierce has done a disservice to himself. One would think that he would wish to have momentum going into his fifth Battleground, but instead of allowing his witty reporte pave his path to victory, he has allowed himself to be bested by a wide swath of people. His victories over Wallace, Vaughn, Necron, and Cotton seem a distant memory in light of recently losing the Chaos champion to my chère Reine, and perhaps the greatest indignity of all, being pinned by Konrad Raab.
Much has been made about which version of Kem will show up for a match. Or Vain. Or Eden. But much the same can be asked about Pierce. Will he be witty? Will he be serious? Will he be aloof? Will he be angry? I have seen many versions of Pierce over the years, often without reason or wont, and I feel that this has been his largest detraction. The mirror he stares into seems be a funhouse mirror from the carnivals of my early career, and it gives a garbled reflection which is not easily understood by the observer.
Unfortunately for my old friend, I will be a very focused observer on Monday. I will not let a repeat of 2012 happen, a night where neither one of us could answer the dual count of Burke and Green. I am here to win Battleground and, regardless of who prevails in the battle of Lockheart and Somers, reclaim my Cross-Hemisphere Championship at Horizons.
With an effort, Deimos closes the heavy book and sets it back into its place with a touch of reverence. But then he takes hold of an even larger book, brings it to himself with a grunt, and places it on his lap. The eyes beneath the closed eyelids move rapidly as Deimos opens the old tome and uses a hand to wave away the plume of dust that blows up, and delves into the thick history.
Is this man before me Zane Scott or not?
The Zane Scott I know would never allow himself to be a puppet, but that is what he has done for over a year. The Zane Scott I know would never allow himself to be rolled over, but that is what he has done for weeks. The Zane Scott I know would never let the actions of others dictate who he was or is, but that is what has occured. The Zane Scott I know would never allow Larry to be destroyed by Fear, or allow a beacon of goodness like Angie Vaughn have her name attached to a 4-on-1 Handicap Match, but that is what has happened over the course of this month.
But I know better.
This is NOT Zane Scott.
This reflection in the mirror is a lie.
We all have our own motivations for wanting to win this match. I wish to take back the championship which is synonymous with my name. Pierce no doubt wishes to take on whoever is World Champion at Horizons. I can see Kem wanting to wash out the bad taste in her mouth from Chill and show the business how her star shines through the dark against Sarah Lacklan on our biggest stage. Raab...well...he probably just does not want to be himself anymore, #BecauseRaab. But Zane Scott?
Zane Scott.
I believe his motivation for winning this match is meeting our Creative Director in Vahalla at Horizons.
It is a pity that I will have to take that away from him.
I would have brought the marshmallows.
Deimos closes the large tome with a clear amount of reverence. He places it back on the shelf and sits back in his chair. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his body finding rest and relaxation. He is at peace within his mind palace.
Everyone in this match is afraid of exposure, afraid of who they really are. But at the end of Battleground, I will remind them all of what they should be afraid of.
Fear himself.
