It’s into this, and the crowd of reporters milling around outside that Hans von Richtoven steps into several short seconds later, attired in clothes suitable for a brisk morning’s jog.
The overlapping shouts of his name drown out any chance of separating their individual words apart as the reporters flock round the HWA World Champion, who can’t help but roll his eyes, and resignedly raise up his hands in an attempt to silence them.
After a few moments, they realize that Hans isn’t going to run for it, and that they will get something, and hence simmer down.
(Hans): Right people, it’s seven in the morning. I thought I was being ridiculous by being up this early, but this takes the biscuit.
He gestures at the street in front of him.
(Hans): I’ve got about three to four minutes before my taxi get’s here, and forgive me for being a little blunt, but I’m not in the mood to take questions…
He holds up his hands as he says this, to stall any dissent.
(Hans): … but since you’re all here, we’ll play it like this.
Nodding his head at the reporter directly in front of him, he begins.
(Hans): What an excellent question to start us off with. I’m of course delighted to retain my World title against Fallen, not to mention come out of our match in better shape than, I’m not afraid to admit, hoped for.
He points at the reporter standing right next to the first.
(Hans): Yes, champion versus champion fights really do bring out the best in us when we get the opportunity. Proving that I’m still capable of competing at a high level despite my injury is matched only by the sweetness of proving Fallen’s little pep talk to himself about me underestimating him wrong. In emphatic style.
He looks at a reporter off to the left, pauses dramatically for a second, and then chuckles with laughter.
(Hans): I know right! I didn’t get a ‘beating’, and I’m still holding my belt!
Turning back to the centre, he looks at another reporter, gesturing at her, before cutting across her words. One reporter behind her snickers with laughter at this, causing her to blush somewhat, the others pay it no heed though, caught up with what Hans is saying.
(Hans): Yes, I watched his match against Butch. I didn’t see him come up to me at Havoc to give me this challenge ‘face to face’ however. Next.
Pointing at another reporter, he allows a few seconds to pass, and with it, a slow smirk to form on his face; although it quickly vanishes as he begins speaking again.
(Hans): You’re right, it does puzzle me. Two weeks in the company of his fractured Brigade, and he’s dismissing me as ‘Euro trash? Really. I thought there was a mutual respect between us, I truly did. An appreciation for what the other has achieved, not only over one another, but in their careers. I’ll admit, there have been times when I’ve been lined up to face him that I’ve said words about the latter stages of his career, and how it paled into insignificance compared to the Buff I knew during my first tenure with the HWA. But I certainly never ever dropped to the levels that certain individuals in his new team have. I believe I was one of the first to congratulate him when he took the All-Star title off Ronnie, not to mention my sorrow when he announced his leaving.
Shrugging his shoulders, he carries on, a somewhat melodramatic look flourishing on his face.
(Hans): Still, if that’s how he feels about me, so be it. If he wishes to lump me into a prejudiced stereotype created by jealous team mates; too enamoured with themselves to realize that saying something, and actually doing it, are entirely different matters, then I guess I’ll have to live with it.
Sighing, he points at another reporter.
(Hans): Yeah, I heard what he had to say… or rather, his latest set of accusations and ‘I’m back… again… seriously this time’ related talk.
Chuckling with amusement, he shakes his head from side to side.
(Hans): I’d like to actually know what exactly he’s referring to when he says that me and Butch ‘use our status as faces to get away with things’. I’d just love to hear some actual examples… besides the sob story they trot out about the Lottery of course at any opportunity of course. That said, I’m not holding out on that, but I’ll console myself with the hypocrisy of him raking Buff over the coals for being a ‘glory hog’ and a ‘spotlight #####’.
He leans in close to the reporter.
(Hans): What’s that? Ah yes.
He clasps his hands in front of him, returning to his previous position and posture.
(Hans): No, I see no reason why I should refute him being ‘The Reflection of Perfection’ if that’s how he chooses to refer to himself as. What I would enquire though, is where’s the evidence been over the past few months to support a claim to such a moniker?
The sound of a taxi horn can be heard, and Hans attention naturally is drawn to it.
(Hans): Time for one more… You…
Stabbing his index finger at a reporter off to the side, he ploughs on.
(Hans): Yes, I’m champing at the bit to get this deficit I have to McNeil narrowed down somewhat. I couldn’t have asked for a better set of incentives really. My World title on the line, for it to take place at ‘The Other Side’…
He leans in, as if to confess.
(Hans): Which has always been up there in my favourites I’ll admit.
Leaning back again, he carries on.
(Hans): And not to mention that I’ve got a list the length of my arm, of all the things Ronnie McNeil has done to piss me off since I got this belt back in November.
He falls silent for a moment, before nodding his head.
(Hans): Yes, I’ll agree, he’s been the silent one lately. But, if there’s anything guaranteed to get him talking besides AC James, it’s me… for whatever reason, no doubt only known to him that’s nevertheless meant that I’m essentially the lowest form of life on Earth in his eyes.
Again, he shrugs his shoulders, as he pushes through the crowd of reporters towards the taxi.
(Hans): Still, as he’ll no doubt say, he feels he’s had everything, including the kitchen sink thrown at him…
He trails off, as he enters the taxi, throwing a smile and a jaunty wave at the reporters as he shuts the door.
The scene fades to black.
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