Lounging in one of the cream coloured leather seats is Heinrich von Richtoven, engrossed in a magazine. With that, and the double combination of his iPod and pair of Bose sound cancelling headphones dampening out all around him; he’s oblivious to the camera as it moves past.
Towards the rear of the cabin reside the other two occupants of the room; Hans von Richtoven, and his fiancée Vanessa Lang, the latter lying out in her reclined seat, blanket pulled up over her as she rests peacefully. The former, however, is fully awake, engrossed in his thoughts as he gazes off into the distance out of the window to his left side, few indications besides the gentle drumming of his fingers on the arm rest and seeming unsettled posture gives rise to the turmoil going through his mind at the recent events he’s been party to.
After a few seconds, his eyes drift to the reflection of the camera in the window, and he slowly brings his head round, exhaling slowly, as he concludes his thoughts.
With a glance at both Vanessa, and then his brother and seeing that neither are disturbed, he allows himself to settle into a more comfortable seating position, crossing his right leg over his left, and making use of his left arm as a head rest of sorts as he makes a small kneading motion at the nape of his neck.
(Hans): Well, that was certainly an… interesting Havoc, shall we say.
He drops his left arm to his side.
(Hans): After what I witnessed, and experienced first hand, I’ve but no option to admit that you, Senester, can play me like a harp at times.
First, we have the latest apple of your eye; Talon, making his way down to the commentators table. That alone, gets my blood up… so to then find that I’ve got a dozen baton wielding ‘guards’ barring both sides of the corridor outside my locker room ‘for my own protection’ when I try to be as close to her as possible in case he pulls some sick stunt… well…
His eyebrows arch up briefly as the nostrils flare.
(Hans): Round one to you, Senester. And then, you come out with this ridiculous match for ‘Fatality’, where my Vanessa faces up against Ally. Victory for Vanessa means you ‘spare’ me, while victory for Ally means Logan gets his job back? Again, hackles raised at that, and round two to you.
Now I know that all of this wasn’t just for my own benefit, you’ve weaved your web to encompass as many others as possible into your actions, but given that we were facing off later that evening, it can hardly have been far from the forefront of your mind just how… unfocused on the match I’d be. I’ll admit… freely, in fact, that I’m a hothead at times, and during our match, it almost cost my brother and I the win at times.
But you see, this is where we cut to the chase, and focus on the shifting of the tides… for you see Senester, you can twist the media around your finger, play the scandals and stories like a maestro, wriggle your way into our thoughts and make us dance to your beat… and I have most certainly been a prime example of that in my time… but in the ring, no. In that squared circle, our God of the outside world walks amongst the mortals as one of them, with naught to distinguish his supposed station above them, while in return, his former disciple takes up the helm, and takes his place on the throne.
He kneads his fingers together, placing them in his lap.
(Hans): Our tag-match two days ago at Havoc didn’t truly matter in the long-term… although my brother would be the first to argue otherwise. I didn’t care whose names got called by the announcer first prior to the match, and I still don’t care now. I’ve not said that in a long time about any match I’ve been in, but it’s true, it didn’t matter. Next week, at ‘Fatality’, our singles match most decidedly does, however.
What we had, was a dry run of sorts. A test. Did I pass? Did you?
I guess we’ll find out at ‘Fatality’…
I’ve got one request for you Senester… or should that be a plea, considering I’m addressing you?
This match we’re about to have. You want to set an example of me, correct? You want to continue what you’ve begun with Dredge, Bridges and Parker, yes? You want to make me face up to all that I could have had before you crush it in front of my eyes, am I right?
Do it without your latest conquest hovering around the ring like a bad smell. Do it with your little masked terrier prowling the corridors and mouthing off that he’s even half-way as good as I am in the sack. Do it without resort to the usual fare that we’ve come to expect from you over the years.
Do it on your own.
If you’re ‘god’, surely it’s not beyond your capabilities?
Allowing the question to hang in the air, he fixes his gaze on the camera for a few moments, before glancing back off to the window, and the vista before it, as the scene fades to black.
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