Post by Press1269 on Feb 20, 2020 16:51:05 GMT
The scene opens up inside of a makeshift office within the bowels of the Tunica Arena and Expo Center. On one side of the desk sits Lady Munin, her hands steepled in front of her, her eyes roaming her desk. On the other side of her is the PAW Heavyweight Champion, who leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, staring over at a WICKED banner that's been stretched out along the far wall. Both sit in an uncomfortable silence, before finally Press turns his gaze on the Lady, clearing his throat.
PRESS: So what are your plans going forward?
Munin's head lifts up to look the big man in the eyes, and an eyebrow arches at the question.
MUNIN: It's hard to plan for the unknown.
PRESS: That's how Deus want's you to feel. Like you don't have options. He, She, It...was sending us a message.
MUNIN: From the looks of you, that message was received loud and clear.
Press' jaw tightened, and before he could launch into one of his tirades, Munin cut the thought from his mind.
MUNIN: I received my own fair accounting of Deus' return.
Press eased back in his seat, face relaxing in thought. He waved a hand out in front of him for emphasis.
PRESS: There was a point behind those messages. One, to remind us of our past dealings, and two to show us all how easily we can be compromised. At the end of the day, however, it's the same old Deus, with the cheap theatrics and parlor tricks. She wants inside our heads.
MUNIN: Alright, then. What would you have me do?
PRESS: Make it even easier. Offer Deus a contract.
Both eyebrows shot up this time, and Munin blew out some air as she leaned back into her chair. The thought wasn't a pleasant one, evident by the look of disgust on her face, but soon the expression softened to one of contemplation, and when she spoke again it was obvious that the gears were already turning.
MUNIN: Are you sure that's the right thing?
PRESS: The BombTrax dealt with her once before, and it's the only way I see that gives us a legal opportunity to do so again. Besides, it'll be good for business.
Munin smirked at that last bit, this time shaking her head despite herself.
MUNIN: That, or the end of it. What makes you think Deus will take the bait in the first place?
PRESS: Simple. Deus doesn't believe that there are any vulnerabilities. There's obviously a plan at work here, and Deus probably believes that everything is going accordingly. Hell, maybe Deus is right. Maybe this is exactly what it wants, but you know what they say? Be careful what you wish for. You and I aren't the same as we were way back in Evolution Wrestling. To borrow the pun, we've evolved. You have been steering the ship, while I've been feeding the engines. It was only a matter of time before Deus took notice, and wanted a piece of the pie. Matter of fact, if I were a betting man, there are even bigger sharks out in the waters ahead.
Munin sits in thought, and then sighs before reaching down into a satchel beside the desk, and pulls out a stapled paper with words already printed on it. When the camera zooms in, it's a standard PAW contract. She signs and dates the bottom of the contract, and initials where necessary, before dropping the pen back to the desk. She looks across the desk at the champion with a resigned expression.
MUNIN: This could be the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end. I'm not so certain which.
Press nods before rising from his seat, tossing the PAW Heavyweight Championship back over his shoulder.
PRESS: We'll cross both bridges when we come to them if necessary.
MUNIN: Before you set out, you may want to snag a monitor and stick around. My announcement tonight may concern you. I don't think you'll like it.
Press stares at the woman suspiciously for a moment before nodding, and with a shrug turns to exit the room. The scene fades back to ringside.
PRESS: So what are your plans going forward?
Munin's head lifts up to look the big man in the eyes, and an eyebrow arches at the question.
MUNIN: It's hard to plan for the unknown.
PRESS: That's how Deus want's you to feel. Like you don't have options. He, She, It...was sending us a message.
MUNIN: From the looks of you, that message was received loud and clear.
Press' jaw tightened, and before he could launch into one of his tirades, Munin cut the thought from his mind.
MUNIN: I received my own fair accounting of Deus' return.
Press eased back in his seat, face relaxing in thought. He waved a hand out in front of him for emphasis.
PRESS: There was a point behind those messages. One, to remind us of our past dealings, and two to show us all how easily we can be compromised. At the end of the day, however, it's the same old Deus, with the cheap theatrics and parlor tricks. She wants inside our heads.
MUNIN: Alright, then. What would you have me do?
PRESS: Make it even easier. Offer Deus a contract.
Both eyebrows shot up this time, and Munin blew out some air as she leaned back into her chair. The thought wasn't a pleasant one, evident by the look of disgust on her face, but soon the expression softened to one of contemplation, and when she spoke again it was obvious that the gears were already turning.
MUNIN: Are you sure that's the right thing?
PRESS: The BombTrax dealt with her once before, and it's the only way I see that gives us a legal opportunity to do so again. Besides, it'll be good for business.
Munin smirked at that last bit, this time shaking her head despite herself.
MUNIN: That, or the end of it. What makes you think Deus will take the bait in the first place?
PRESS: Simple. Deus doesn't believe that there are any vulnerabilities. There's obviously a plan at work here, and Deus probably believes that everything is going accordingly. Hell, maybe Deus is right. Maybe this is exactly what it wants, but you know what they say? Be careful what you wish for. You and I aren't the same as we were way back in Evolution Wrestling. To borrow the pun, we've evolved. You have been steering the ship, while I've been feeding the engines. It was only a matter of time before Deus took notice, and wanted a piece of the pie. Matter of fact, if I were a betting man, there are even bigger sharks out in the waters ahead.
Munin sits in thought, and then sighs before reaching down into a satchel beside the desk, and pulls out a stapled paper with words already printed on it. When the camera zooms in, it's a standard PAW contract. She signs and dates the bottom of the contract, and initials where necessary, before dropping the pen back to the desk. She looks across the desk at the champion with a resigned expression.
MUNIN: This could be the end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end. I'm not so certain which.
Press nods before rising from his seat, tossing the PAW Heavyweight Championship back over his shoulder.
PRESS: We'll cross both bridges when we come to them if necessary.
MUNIN: Before you set out, you may want to snag a monitor and stick around. My announcement tonight may concern you. I don't think you'll like it.
Press stares at the woman suspiciously for a moment before nodding, and with a shrug turns to exit the room. The scene fades back to ringside.