The camera moves slowly around the pair of them from Heinrich’s side, coming to rest in front of them eventually; only a flicker of eye movement showing their realization of the camera’s presence as they focus on beating one another.
Hans’ fingers move ever more frantically, as the sound of a counter can be heard, culminating with a raucous cry of joy from Heinrich as Hans slumps backwards, half-heartedly throwing his controller onto the other half of his sofa as he sighs audibly in frustration.
(Hans): Scheiße…
Cackling with laughter, Heinrich leans across towards his brother, cupping his left ear as an expectant expression forms.
Still with his eyes fixed on the wall mounted screen, Hans’ face looks like he’s been forced to suck a lemon, rather than play a game.
(Hans): I hate Gymkhana…
Heinrich clears his throat loudly, drawing his brother’s attention to him, before he raises up his index finger and waggles it from side to side as he makes a tutting sound.
(Heinrich): No, you don’t hate it. You merely…
Trailing off, he waits expectantly. Several long seconds pass before his elder brother relents grudgingly.
(Hans): Alright fine, I suck at Gymkhana. You happy? Can we now go and eat lunch before it freezes any further?
Heinrich smirks with amusement, as he gets to his feet, and heads towards the kitchen segment of the open plan room, as Hans continues to speak, this time under his breath.
(Hans): And then maybe play a decent game mode…
Snapping his head round at the sound of his brother’s half-heard words, Heinrich’s smirk only grows wider.
(Heinrich): What was that Hans?
Getting to his feet as he responds, Hans pushes his brother forward into the kitchen segment as he himself moves for the dining table.
(Hans): Nothing. Go on, get the drinks.
With laughter as his response, Hans settles down onto one of the chairs, and gingerly prods his panini, gauging it’s heat. Satisfied, he picks it up, and takes a bite. His brother’s voice floats across from off screen.
(Heinrich): You wanting the orange, or the mango juice?
Swallowing hurriedly, Hans tilts his head around to look at his brother.
(Hans): Mango, danke.
The sound of liquid being poured into glasses filters through, shortly afterwards, followed by the screwing of a bottle cap, and the noise of a fridge door shutting gently. Heinrich steps into view carrying the two glasses, one of which he places down next to his brother.
(Heinrich): Hey Hans, guess what? I’m back.
(Hans): You’re wha… Excuse me?
(Heinrich): I’m back.
(Hans): How could you be…
An expression of mild bewilderment forms across Hans’ face, as he gestures at the kitchen section.
(Hans): You were there. You weren’t gone!
(Heinrich): I know. But I’m back.
(Hans): And that’s important, because?
(Heinrich): It’s not important, no-one really cares. But I’m back… and what’s more…
He drains his glass of juice, and settles down into his own chair facing his brother.
(Heinrich): … is that I‘m not reinvented, not repacked, and not re-hyped…
He winks in an exaggerated manner at his brother, flashing him a winning smile that causes his brother to roar with laughter, the blocks of realization falling into place.
Joining in the laughter, Heinrich takes a bite out of his own panini, before, with a mouth full of food, continues to speak.
(Heinrich): Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.
(Hans): Careful you don’t antagonize him too much…
A dismissive tone enters his younger sibling’s voice.
(Heinrich): Oh please. If that boy gets wound up any more he’ll burst a blood vessel.
Taking another bite of his panini, he this time waits to swallow before adding…
(Heinrich): Besides, this match is going to end up in one giant clusterf*ck regardless of what I do or say in the run-up to it. No bookmaker in the land will give you odds on the rednecks or the Buff Brigade coming out to try and f*ck with things.
A few seconds pass.
(Hans): What are the odds on neither of them coming out?
(Heinrich): *Laughing* You’ll never get better!
(Hans): Well, Butch and I will be hanging around, so if… sorry, when things kick off, you won’t be out there on your own.
(Heinrich): See that’s what annoys me Hans, you shouldn’t have to do that.
He puts his panini down onto the plate.
(Heinrich): I should be able to go out there and have the result of my match determined by how both my opponent and I fight. It should be about who out-wrestles who, not about who’s friend can get a sneak attack in while the ref’s not watching.
(Hans): You’re preaching to the choir here Heinrich.
(Heinrich): *Sighs* I know, I know…
The pair fall silent, Hans continuing to demolish what’s left of his lunch, while Heinrich brood before, unable to contain himself, continues…
(Heinrich): Scheiße. I’m just going to go in and look to get a measure of revenge on those two. Fallen for stealing that title away from me when I had Logan wore down, and Talon for being an obnoxious git. Among other things.
To be continued…
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