on January 11, 2025, 7:38 am
It’s an interview room crammed with reporters and camera crew.
Centre view of the camera is a HWA branded podium on which several microphones have been placed.
Off stage enters Tobias Clarke. He’s well dressed, suited and booted, with the arm that was so brutally mauled by piranhas in a sling.
Walking up to the stand, he’s trailed by two HWA employees manhandling a large TV to be placed behind and off to one side while a third places a bottle of Evian on the podium for Tobias.
A scathing glance has them moving off as soon as their work is complete.
A quick glance around the room has Tobias taking stock before launching into whats been on his mind.
(Tobias):First off, I want to draw attention to a travesty that occurred tonight, a scar on this landscape that we call HWA, nay, the wrestling world itself. It’s prejudice… f*ck, it’s blatant buddies, f*cking blatant prejudice.
It’s on top of favouritism… no, racism even. I’m here to call it out like I call out Monkey’s attraction to kids and how he murders animals at his so-called-zoo.
He takes a swig of his bottled Evian to whet his throat for the vocal tirade about to begin.
Everyone else in the room braces themselves.
(Tobias): What that referee tried to pull out there that night? Lawler called it perfectly. He singled me out.There is some conspiracy going on around here, only trouble is, f*ckwit there made it obvious. He’s so dense, light bends around him. That sh*t Price pulled. How the f*ck did he not call it? That hold was illegal! Even that blind b*tch out of Deadpool would be able to tell that!
This hoser makes it obvious that he’s got an agenda. Patting me down, disrupting me, picking on me. Blatant favouritism as the Nepo-Prince practically had the red carpet rolled out for him on the undercard earlier. Did he get a pat down? Did he f*ck. Did he get the ref trying to imitate a goddamn glacier when tapping for him? Duh, no he did not!
Makes me sick.
Initial outrage over for now, Tobias takes a swig of his Evian.
(Tobias): Anyway, I’m here to do media duties but because you all suck, I’m going to do your jobs for you. You’re welcome. First up, lets do a history lesson.
He hits play on the remote, causing the TV that was wheeled in and placed to one side of the table he’s at to flare into life and play out a promo from last July following Ringmaster.
It’s of Tobias, naturally. Who else.
(Tobias): All I want is cold Evian, fresh towels, a skilled masseuse on standby, not someone with hands like a gorilla for f*cks sake… and for people to knock three times on the bloody door. Is it too much to ask to also not have some unwashed vermin constantly trying to harass me like a ####ing tramp would some discarded food?!?!
I am the future of this company. Price is simply someone who fate smiled on and who lucked out while yours truly was having to carry Maniac through and then get ganged up on by people who don’t deserve to be here come ringside and show up. Who else is there? Sean is hiding in rafters and all pissy that he didn’t have Butch gift him the title. Newsflash Sean, you’re not Batman so get the f*ck down from there and secondly, if your uncle can’t keep me safe from that unwashed and rabies filled bast*rd, then how do you think he’s got time for you? You’re not the center of the universe buddy, suck it up.
That last part is said entirely without irony or any hint of introspection.
(Tobias): Hans is on his last legs and more concerned with being a dad… or snapping and going crazy… one or the other at this point… and Branson…
He pauses. Not to throw up more liquid, but to genuinely pause and consider.
(Tobias): Branson I actually like… he’s doing things now, finally… he’s progressing. That’s what I want to see. He’s had a fire lit under him and he’s showing that he deserves to be here. Don’t get me wrong, his form still sucks at times, he could stand to spend a little less time watching film and spending time practicing instead… but still…
With a practiced flourish, not only is the scene paused, but the remote is casually discarded over one shoulder.
Leaning back to the mics, Tobias gesticulates towards the assembled reporters and camera crew.
(Tobias): All of that was true then and all of that is true now. I am the future of this company. Price got lucky then, he got lucky again, no thanks to a bought ref this time out.
(Nameless Reporter 1): Aren’t you going to comment on what happened last night with Laney?
(Tobias): Who now?
He looks quizzical and genuinely baffled.
Likely an equal mixture of being stopped mid-flow and then by a name he doesn't recognise… or care to have remembered at any real point.
(Tobias): What the f*ck are you on about? Ask proper questions or get the f*ck out numbnuts!
(Nameless Reporter 1): Laney Price. Daughter of Stu-E Price. She injured herself after hitting the ground after the match trying to stop you taking the title belt.
A moment of realisation crosses his face at that.
(Tobias): Ah, the little brat who broke her arm… gotcha…
Trailing off, it’s an awkward silence that follows as the reporters wait.
All Tobias can do is look around the room and just mildly shrug his shoulders.
(Tobias): What? Classic case of f*ck around and find out, eh?
There’s a commotion at this, as you’d expect.
(Nameless Reporter 1): We’ve got some reports that say her arm wasn’t broken.
Another shrug and a look of ‘why are we having this conversation?’ from Tobias follows this piece of information.
Leaning forward, he looks to nullify this conversation as only he can.
(Tobias): Listen, Price has the market cornered for those that had kids while they were in school, never kept their man for god-knows what reason and just crave stability. They see him being a doting father… that’s something that they never had and want. They see his drinking, that reminds them of the men that they went after originally… or their fathers… it’s a weird comfort kinda thing, I get it, y’know buddies, I do.
As for the wee hoser, it’s nothing I’ve not said ever since I got here. Some people don’t deserve to be in the HWA, some people shouldn’t be anywhere near this f*cking roster. She’s one. But oh ’she’s cute and a little girl’. And? AND?! Are you people f*cking retarded?
She f*cked up. She should be in school and not trying to land tornado DDT. Which, by the way, was so poorly executed that it made my eyes hurt from having to process it. I’ve had to deal with two injustices caused by others that night. Firstly, that referee being out there to screw me over and then that little twerp offending my senses with that abortion of a DDT. I didn’t wake up and go take a sh*t in her cornflakes, did I? No, so why did she leave a big steaming pile of ineptitude on the ground in front of me?
An ‘urgh’ is drawn out as he slumps back.
A dismissive wave of the hand. End of topic. Moving on.
(Tobias): Next question, make it good.
(Nameless Reporter 2): What’s next for you Tobias?
(Tobias): Losing another 5 or so minutes of my life that I’ll never get back. Besides that, a spa day. Then dealing with whatever management decides to throw my way instead of another title shot.
Another dismissive wave of the hand.
He jabs towards one of the other reporters.
(Tobias): You. Make it good.
(Nameless Reporter 3): Any thoughts on the Senester situation?
(Tobias): Only that I hope it’s better than that Vince McMahon series they did. Though management these days could stand to be a bit more like ole’ Senester and get an actual decent spa put in at that slum Academy of theirs. I heard Dark Horse had a really nice one back in the day. Man knew how to treat his staff.
Another dismissive wave of the hand.
He doesn’t feel like elaborating on that one beyond what he’s said. Frankly, he’d probably struggle to.
(Tobias): You. The one with the stain above your lips. Make it good.
Taking offence, the reporter fires back.
Tobias just brushes it off.
(Tobias): Listen buddy, I’ve not insulted you. I’d love to insult you, but I wouldn’t do as well as what nature did in the first place.
He looks around, sighing as he doesn’t see anyone worth speaking to.
(Tobias): Right f*ckers, I’m out. Peace. Be better. Come see me show up yet another wrestler at the next show.
With a haughty air of arrogance, he about faces and steps off the stage.
End scene.
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