Hans von Richtoven, the current HWA World champion gently lifts his left leg up, crossing it over his right, as he laces his fingers together; placeing them in his lap. His eyes drift over the room, one corner of his mouth turning up as he surveys all before him.
He remains quiet for several long moments, his head slowly drooping down as his attention drifts off. Lightly drawing the fingers of his left hand across his stubble briefly, he leans back, straightening his shoulders out, and begins to speak.
(Hans): Well Ronnie. I guess you NWO guys really do bring in the money compared to me…
He makes a gesture encompassing the room around him with his left hand.
(Hans): I mean let’s compare promo’s. Here I am, the reigning HWA World champion… in a room backstage where I could just about, with everyone behind camera taking a step back, swing a cat, whereas you…
Waggling his finger at the camera, a look of mild respect flowering.
(Hans): …you, get Michael C. Hall himself to play me in a short video. Really, I’m actually quite honoured. I’m not too keen on the dialogue it has to be said, but what a coup in getting an actor of his calibre to portray me!
A flabbergasted expression crosses his face, as he ruefully shakes his head, going over what he’s referring to in his head.
(Hans): I just wish I could have been there to see it happen. Give the man some tips and pointers. After all, I make a point of not allowing cameras to be even in the same building, let alone room, when I’m training…
He stops, before allowing making a conciliatory gesture at the camera with both hands.
(Hans): But then, I do understand the concept of artistic license. And that was certainly taken with ‘my’ words and the voice over.
Not to mention the accent… Now I know that people can understand me. I don’t get people asking me over and over to repeat what it is I’ve just said, so I don’t see why I’m suddenly coming across like I’m a born and bred guy from the Midwest…
I was half expecting Hall to cease punching that bag for a moment, and spit out a lump of chewing tobacco…
Seriously though, that script. ‘F*ck this’ and ‘f*ck that’… I don’t turn the air blue, in public or in private, so I’m a little bit hurt that this fine piece of cinematography should be sullied by such a thing I know to be blatantly misdirecting. And that part when he snapped at that poor kid?
He makes a loud tutting sound, again, waggling his fingers at the camera.
(Hans): Not at all like me my friend.
But nevertheless, I enjoyed it for what it was. And I made sure that my lawyer will be contacting yours in the morning regarding the use of my likeness without my permission.
A serene smile forms, as he keeps going.
(Hans): Now then, moving on from that beginning, I managed to stay away through your long walk through that park, kept from falling asleep only by your occasional words. I’ve always laughed at how Deas times that minute long wait that he does so perfectly, but I was beginning to feel like I did when Butch and I got drunk some years ago, and took that free test that Scientologists give out in the hope of snaring you into their web when watching yours. It was fun at first, but it didn’t last long…
Round three it surely is though. Third time lucky for myself? Hmm. I’m certainly feeling that that might indeed be the case. I’ve been training hard. Pushing myself further than I normally would in order to be at my peak, when that bell rings for the first time. I’ve been forced to adapt in order to improve my chances against you… something which, I get the feeling, you won’t think will matter very much; you having a low standard of my skills anyway.
But I do so love popping people’s perceptions of me. And your perception that I’m looking to make my legacy by beating you, is frankly very wide of the mark. Like it or not Ronnie, I’ve brought a measure of prestige and honour back to this title after it’s year in the doldrums. I’ve fought whoever was drawn out of that tumbler… your name was always in it incidentally, week in, and week out. I’ve shown that I am not in the least bit worried at the thought of losing my title to anyone on the roster, irrespective of what division they may be in. And I prove that I am rightfully entitled to the World title with my behaviour, work ethic, and…
Oh who cares, it’s not like you NWO types will actually admit that this talk of ‘shadow champions‘ when referring to me, is a load of nonsense. The simple thing is Ronnie, that with respect, I’m looking past you. You’re right in that I didn’t want your name drawn from that hopper. I wanted Butch Parker’s name. Sadly, it’s not the case, so I guess I’ll just have to ensure that I stick around long enough to get to the prize draw in my eyes. Hans von Richtoven versus Butch Parker. The reigning World champion versus the man he’s never beaten one-on-one…
I’ll use this as a practice run, no?
No more bulls*it? You’re better now, than you were when I last faced you? Good. So you’ll have no excuses when I retain my belt then, yes?
Next time, try to keep the promo a bit more snappy Ronnie. The scenery was lovely at the end, but the content was poor.
The scene fades to black gently, as Hans gets out of his seat, and walks off camera.
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