To the side of him, draped carefully on the back of a chair are both a shirt, and a matching Roberto Cavalli suit jacket. In the background, a vague hint of steam can still be seen wafting through the half open door leading to the washroom.
The camera comes to rest just behind Hans, and off the right of his body, looking at the mirror as he engrosses himself with getting prepared for a dinner date with Vanessa. Noticing the camera as he reaches down to the dress table for his watch, he mutes his iPhone, currently sat in a speaker system, and as he tightens the watches strap, begins to speak.
(Hans): I guess it’s a good thing that Vanessa and I are going on this date tonight. Seeing my best friend ki…
He pauses, swallowing visibly as he forces out the words.
(Hans): Kill somebody, however unintentionally, has me…
He shrugs, at a loss for words.
(Hans): Well, you know. What’s a man to say? I get no response to my calls, I saw him down the corridor at Havoc before the show, my path barred by security… and at the end of the show, well, we all know what happened there.
As he speaks, his right hand grasps his watch, and begins to turn it on his wrist In an absent minded manner.
(Hans): No one in his life can answer why he’s done this, and yet, I feel that were he simply to sit down with me, it could be resolved oh so easily.
A ghost of a smile passes across his face, as he dismisses his previous statement in a low whisper of a voice.
(Hans): Naïve, but so be it.
He falls silent, pulling on his white shirt, doing the buttons up deftly before undoing the top button of his trousers so as he can tuck in the lower portion of his shirt. His mind obviously moving on to different things, forcibly it seems, judging by the intense look in his eyes, eventually forces him to look back up at the camera via the mirror. A quiet ‘Aaaah’ sounding at the back of his throat as he finds something to focus on.
(Hans): Five months. Astute observation Ronnie. But how many months did it take before you 'accepted', and how long have we been in Australia, where people other than myself can dictate the card?
A knowing look flashes across his face.
(Hans): From what I recall, it took you several events before you ceased your whining about ‘roadblocks’, and restrained yourself from another cheap attack long enough to actually respond with a ‘yes’. The other wrestlers of HWA are more than capable of verbally responding Ronnie, why weren’t you?
He cuts himself off, before launching immediately back into a different topic, his left hand moving across his body, palm open in a brushing movement, to emphasise his next statement.
(Hans): But let's not get distracted here.
His eyes flash towards the mirror, and at the reflection of the camera.
(Hans): What we’re focusing on is that now that you’re in a match that matters, you come out of the woodwork to play. You’re anonymous Ronnie. The polar opposite of a man such as myself. Perhaps that’s why there’s such a bitterness towards me…
He does up the top button of his shirt, and grabs a comb from the dresser, running it through his hair several times until satisfied with the outcome, before place it back where it was.
(Hans): You accuse me of boring speeches Ronnie. Well if such a thing came to trial my friend, you'd find yourself in the dock alongside me then. You strung a good few words together for 'letting in the darkness', and hinting that you're some sort of beast, but never really elaborated on why you've been pushed to such a drastic resolution.
He reaches for the jet black tie draped across the back of the chair, placing it around the nape of his neck and settling it into position. Eyes following his hand motions, as he ties the knot, he continues to speak, turning his body to face the camera so his voice is still clear.
(Hans): But why would you elaborate when you're thin on the ground when it comes to justifying it. What are you actually angry about Ronnie? What's the cause of this hatred? The way I see it, it’s nothing more than a hissy fit at not getting a title shot as quickly as you’d like, and that, to your peers, you’re generally dismissed and overlooked as someone with a chip on his shoulder. Going by what you’ve said recently, I guess there’s also every chance that there’s troubles at home, a lack of marital bliss; but I’m not the type to slander the fairer sex in search of a verbal blow, so I’ll leave it at that. Unlike you.
With a steel glint in the eye, he tightens the knot on his tie, settling it into position.
(Hans): You’re quite the petulant little individual Ronnie. Ever since you’ve returned, your complaints about not getting a shot have grown ever louder, while your attacks on those not only in the title frame, but out of it too, have grown ever more frequent. ‘I want a shot, and I want it now’. That’s essentially it, isn’t it Ronnie. You’re like a child told to eat his greens before dessert, and who throws his plate onto the ground in response. No regard for those who had earned their shot before you, no regard for the simple merits of competition. Is it that I put others ahead of you because they’ve earned it, that so angers you? Is it because I’ve been tied into other matches without alternative options by Senester and the other champions that so boils your blood? Is it because you’ve had to wait your turn, that gives you access to this TRUE HATE?
He snorts loudly with derision, his facial expression etched with disdain.
(Hans): In any case, it's rather drastic to declare that’s what you have, given what's happened. But when we're dealing with a petty, malicious and resentful little individual like yourself, perhaps it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. Words are all I have to fight you with? My intelligence wasn’t enough to save me the last time we fought? Au contraire, I think if you cast your mind back to my last title defence, I think you’ll find that I had much more in my arsenal that just a grasp of the English language.
Once more reaching for the back of the chair, he picks up his suit jackets, and with a brief check to ensure a lack of creases, puts it on. Circling his shoulders several times, he allows the fitted jacket to fit snugly into position, accentuating his physique with its sharp cut.
(Hans): Now I’m sure you’ll stamp your feet, pout, and holler for all you’re worth, that Buff Bridges was also involved, and how it ‘doesn’t matter’, but the simple fact is, it does. You were beaten by Bridges in the tournament, and couldn’t hold a candle to the pair of us in the triple threat. Huff and puff all you wish to the contrary Ronnie, come down to the ring garbed in the blackest robes you can find to match this ‘hatred’ you have of me, continue to spit out with such venom that you loathe what I have to say, relish the inevitable countdown of days until our meeting, train with every fibre of your being so that you’re ready to face me. It won’t be enough. I’ve entertained your petulant hankering for my All-Star title for too long.
As he continues to talk, he picks up his wallet and car keys from the table top, sliding the former into his jacket pocket, while keeping the latter in his hand.
(Hans): You look at the HWA and see ‘patheticness’ do you McNeil? I disagree. What you see isn’t the HWA, it’s yourself. *Smirks* I’ll see you on Monday Ronnie.
The scene fades to black as he steps out of the room, having lifted his iPhone out of it’s cradle, and placing it into his other pocket.
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