The scene opens out onto Santa Monica state beach, it’s early evening, the sun is still high but the heat is starting to drop a fraction compared to what it’s been sitting at at the height of the afternoon. (Hans): I like to take some time to unwind at the end of the working week, stretch the legs and let my lungs be filled with something other than the stale and sweat filled air of the Academy. Mein gelibte, Vanessa will be along shortly, we’ll go for drinks somewhere nearby. He looks down at his can of Sprite. (Hans): Back home, I could have had a bottle of beer with my pizza. I could stand outside and drink and no one would bat an eyelid. It’s socially acceptable, as a culture we can handle our drinking and can do it socially without excess… He takes a sip from his can, his head tilting to one side briefly as he concedes the next point. (Hans): Nothing stopping me going to Carmel Beach or Paradise Cove of course, but then, I can’t drive and my beloved prefers to be driven and not the driver of my McLaren… (Hans): First world problems mein freunds… He takes another bite of his pizza, savouring it. (Hans): But, I accept those rules. Just because I know I can do so differently at home doesn’t mean that what is decided on here isn’t valid… He nods at the camera, taking another small bite before carrying on. (Hans): How do you feel about that, Herr Chaos, hmm? Slowly, he resumes his walk up the beach, the camera ahead of him still. (Hans): Would you crack open a beer, just to show that you could? Given you went to an airport, went through security, sat outside a gate departing for Ireland, and yet somehow then ended up in Florida… and on that note, we’ve all been through plenty of airports in our time Maniac… international departures tend to be in their own terminal away from domestic… A smile is forming, hidden behind the can of Sprite being lifted to his lips. (Hans): Anyway, that got me thinking. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing Matt Miller work in my short time at the Academy, at least, when he’s been medically fit to train, no thanks to you. And while we’ve yet to face one another across the squared circle, we have been in this promotion at the same time long ago and of course you were someone I studied… I can’t help but think you both remind me of one of Ireland’s most famous… or infamous exports of recent years, Connor McGregor. The can of Sprite is again lifted to his lips, as he then nods at some passers-by who clearly recognise who he is. (Hans): Now while Matt reminds me more of the in-ring competitor of early years, the ferocity and focus and drive to succeed, you remind me of the less savory side of Connor, the more recent version we’ve seen, jah. You know, the side that sucker punches an old man because he doesn’t want to try your whisky, the side of the man that assaults people, the side of the man who, at least in his case, attacked someone inside of a bus, rather than with it… He finishes his can, with a final swig. (Hans): Perhaps you’re not a ‘victim’ Maniac, you’re no maestro but you are deluded mein freund. So you got let out, released from wherever they’d kept you these past few years… what knowledge would you have shared? How to hold a baseball bat? For all Red Dragon’s jokes to the students, I could have told them that. How to cause ‘chaos’? As much as it pains me, Butch and Wisdom and everyone else, that happens on it’s own even without you trying to grab it’s coat tails… Coming to a halt, Hans glances out at the pacific, the waves gently lapping off camera, the sound of revelry happening in the distance. (Hans): I told you some weeks ago that there are always bigger fish in the sea Maniac… Hans gazes over the camera, which pans round to catch a view of his wife; Vanessa von Richtoven walking across the beach towards him, waving as she does so. (Hans): Enjoy your weekend Herr Chaos. Train hard, you’ll need to. The scene fades to black as Hans steps away and towards his wife.
Walking along the beach barefoot, attired in a pair of faded denim shorts and a charcoal coloured sleeveless top marked with a washed out pop-culture-esque logo on the front is Hans von Richtoven.
In one hand, he holds an opened can of Sprite, while in the other, raised to his mouth, he is currently biting into a slice of pizza held in it.
He slowly meanders down the beach, taking in the pockets of activity as Californians start to bring in the weekend, avoiding the games of volleyball taking place and aiming for the quieter spots where possible.
He moves closer towards the water, letting his feet get touched occasionally by the advancing and then receding waves as he stares out, idly still munching on his pizza.
He clocks the camera, an imperceptible nod being given to it, as it pans around to face him head on.
A tug at one side of his mouth shows the amusement.
Stepping around the camera and beginning to move towards Vanessa, Hans glances at it one more time.
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