HWA Message Board: Early Morning Thoughts

The scene opens onto the Delta lounge inside of Seattle Tacoma airport.

It’s the morning after Havoc has aired, and it’s time to spend just shy of three hours in the air getting back down the west coast to LA.

With it being a Tuesday a lot of the business travelers have gone through the previous day, so the lounge isn’t as rammed as it could have been otherwise.

Not that you’d have heard the low volume talking and murmuring that would otherwise fill the air; your headphones are placed atop the Saint’s flat brimmed snapback and nestled comfortably over your ears.

You’re in comfortable attire, muted cargo pants, a hoodie that’s seen you through many mornings just like this one with a splash of colour from your sneakers flitting in and out of the bottom of your eye line as you stride towards one of the empty booths, one hand holding the tray on which your choice of breakfast is currently balanced, the other maneuvering the wheeled luggage case behind you.

Lowering yourself into the seat with your back to the lounge and a view of the tarmac beyond, you slowly tilt your head back and and forth a few times, loosening the muscles there before gently moving it round in a circle.

Cracking the lid on the fresh orange juice bottle you’ve taken, one hand raises it to your lips while the other makes an attempt at massaging the back of your neck, probing, squeezing, pushing.

A noise escapes you, not quite a grunt, but it’s paired with some air being forced from your nostrils. That was the spot.

One final rotation of your head and a quick shudder of your shoulders and you’re done.

’I’ll speak to Fiona at the Academy about that…’

You’re referring to one of the health and wellbeing specialists employed at the Academy. She helps run the rehabilitation sessions.

’Or I can ask Tobias for a spa he’d recommend.’

That thought has a quiet chuckle of amusement following swiftly behind as you pick up a fork and stab it into the omelette on the plate before you.

Taking a bite, you savour the taste. That chef had indeed put that dash of paprika in as you’d asked.

You’d had better, but you’d had far far worse when it came to airport cuisine.

Washing it down with a sip of the coffee you’d had poured for you by the lady on the counter, you stretch your feet out, letting the steam waft upwards and directly into your nostrils, as if seeking to maximise the caffeine intake somehow by doing so.

Out across the glass facade and the tarmac below, the airport is in full flow, jets seeming to jostle for space and to make their way to the gates or for the runway further out.

There was a structure to it all though, a conductor was in control.

’How I wish HWA could say the same.’

The barbed words that come to mind don’t shock you. That they come so quickly to the forefront of your mind…? Perhaps. if you’re being honest.

As another bite of the omelette takes place, your thoughts go to the chaos of last night.

Not to that pathetic excuse for a man that you’d wanted to take apart… no, you’d spent enough of last night after you’d got back to the hotel still amped on adrenaline.

Being on a knife edge now in the airport wasn’t advisable. You’d walled off that part of you that wanted to tear the natal unit apart back in LA to find out just how Hoff had gotten those scans…

’NO! Leave it.’

Wrenching your thoughts onto another track for your own good right now, you shut things off. You’d dealt with Hoff. If he knew better he’d not show his face in your presence again. If he had sense he’d not breathe in your general direction lest it give you an excuse to have a further go at shattering his teeth. That he’d get out of whatever custody the local police had him in was a given. Scum like that always found a way.

’But they find it easier when they’re enabled, no?’

You place the knife and fork down for a moment, muting your music with a tap of one earphone.

This thought needs to be processed with your fullest attention.

It’s a tough pill to swallow, but what exactly is the reason that your long time friend Butch can’t simply cut ties with people who’d bring the HWA into such disrepute?

You have no immediate answer.

But you do know you want one.

’I’m not the only one sick of it… Jeremy is too…’

That had been one of the genuinely enjoyable parts of your evening last night, sitting in the locker room with Jeremy Branson and sharing both their thoughts on one another’s matches but also confiding in their respective worries and experiences outside of the ring.

Yes, you had all the time in the world for the younger man. One day soon you’d hope to face him again in the ring.

’Can’t have it being 2-0 in his favour for ever now.’

Another smile before you resume your assault on the omelette.

Then there’s the thought of being in a title match at Road to Ruin.

’Finally Price has to defend, about time.’

You don’t doubt the challenge, if only as all three of you in that match with aspirations on the title will be tripping over one another to land the final blow on Stu-E while he just had to navigate whoever seemed the bigger threat in the moment and keep them off that final rung of the proverbial ladder.

’Yes, Price won’t want to be a champion who lost in his first title defence. Sean… well, that will be interesting how he handles me and vice versa given… well…’

Another wry smile as you chew on the last bite of your omelette.

And then last but not least. Herr Chaos.

Who may or may not be in the match. You’d not seen the card being announced as yet, but the lasting memory of him from last night beyond his cruel prank on Jeremy was of him seeing his world collapse.

’Now he has a taste of how I’ve felt. Doubt he’ll truly learn though.’

Yes he wanted Erica. He wanted revenge.

He wanted to end it.

Did he?

More importantly, could he?

’Herr Chaos? No.’

But you could.

That though lingers long after you’ve drained your coffee, eyes staring out ahead as you await your flight back home.

Where you had work to do.

The scene fades to black.