HWA Message Board: What Are You Doing?

The scene opens out into the foyer of the Climate Pledge Arena.

Havoc is still in progress, the final match of the evening taking place.

That leaves the foyer relatively empty barring concessionary staff, cleaners and security with the odd fan making their way past one of the stalls.

Hans ‘The Baron’ von Richtoven enters view, striding past the various HWA stalls and the Seattle Kraken store that’s been repurposed for more HWA merch.

He’s thrown a flat brimmed Seahawks cap on, something he’d picked up at a PR event the previous day at Lumen Field and a plain black hoody with a pair of well worn Levis. Some slight damp marks on his collar indicate he’s near enough stepped from the shower and thrown his clothes on immediately.

Walking in silence, he nevertheless nods his head towards the guard who swings one of the doors open for him to allow him out.

Pausing for a moment atop the stairs, he orients himself and locates the taxi rank before making a beeline for it.

Getting in the backseat of the first one, he’s quick to direct the driver.

(Hans): Virginia Mason hospital bitte.

Not quite getting the last word, but understanding the rest, the taxi driver nods and releases the handbrake, signalling to exit the ranks.

Hans settles back into the seat with a million and one thoughts going through his head. Par for the course really, they’re travelling well worn highways through his mind.

This time there’s unwelcome newcomers amongst them though.

Kai, his son… who knew? Why? The attack at the last show… the locker room now…

He slumps further back into his seat.

If not Erica…?

He thinks back onto the bloody mist that had descended as he’d stormed down that corridor towards her locker room. The venom that he’d drenched his words in and then sunk into her.

If not her, then who?

Herr Chaos? Possibly.

The newly returned Draconis?

He winces as he shifts in his seat, that daughter of his had certainly had something in her that made her practically unstoppable at times.

Perhaps.

Someone not on the roster?

Attempting to clamp down on these thoughts as the taxi speeds through the late evening, Hans resolves to curb what happens in whatever manner is needed. An example has to be made.

The scene fades out briefly, before returning on the reception of Virginia Mason hospital.

Hans greets the medical staff at the front desk, gets his Visitor’s badge and heads to her room where he happens upon two doctors discussing her case outside the room. He casually hugs the wall listening in.

(Male Doctor): ……at least she’s stable now. CT will give us a further look at things. What’s the patient’s name?

(Doctor #2): Erica Martinez, professional wrestler…you know HWA is in town this week…my kids watch that crap.

The first doctor chuckles.

(Male Doctor): Guilty pleasures, eh?

(Doctor #2): In any case, she’s had recent surgery given the nature of bruising an sutures in her sternum and surround area.

(Male Doctor): Are you kidding me? And they let her compete in that condition?

(Doctor #2): That’s just it, take a look at this.

She holds up a tablet with Erica’s information on it.

(Male Doctor): What am I looking at?

(Doctor #2): Her insurance verification from the recent surgery. I actually called my kids to go online so I could see it for myself….she was practically skewered like kabob. Man stabbed her right in the chest with a spear, I have thought it some stunt the way it looked, flashing lights and the things crumbled to pieces, that part may be all their special effects but there’s no doubt the impalement was real.

(Male Doctor): That doesn’t make any sense.

Her insurance shows all the authorizations for surgery in Charlotte, NC, we have the surgeon and doctors notes here as well but come to find out there a discrepancy between those notes and her discharge paperwork. Specifically, this woman wasn’t cleared for physical activity.

(Male Doctor): She forged her discharge papers?

(Doctor #2): I don’t know, we notified the hospital and they’re investigating but nothing like that is going to happen here, I can tell you that. Other than a little THC, there’s nothing remarkable in her bloodwork, so I don’t know how she even competed in her condition.

The doctors continue talking as they begin walking down the hall continuing to discuss her case. Hans lifts his head, face hidden behind the brim of his hat then turns into her room. She’s looking out the window into the night sky, the lights of a few nearby buildings is all there is to really see from her vantage point. The sound of someone coming in draws her attention and she sees Hans. Anger strikes her face but she tries to turn away too quickly and anger is replaced with searing pain. She clutches her chest and turns her head away grunting her next words.

(Erica): What the fuk do you want?

Hans slowly enters, grabbing the chair nearest to him and setting it roughly midway between the door and Erica’s bed.

Settling himself in, he removes his cap, ruffling his hair with the other hand and setting it on his lap.

A low sigh escapes him before he holds up three fingers in the typical German manner, thumb, ring and then middle finger.

He lowers the middle finger.

(Hans): Firstly, to check on you.

His ring finger lowers.

(Hans): Secondly, to…

He swallows quickly, forcing out the words.

(Hans): … apologise to you. Butch und Wisdom told me you were in your locker room all night und couldn’t have set mine alight. I reacted wrong… I… you didn’t… verdammt, sorry.

He ploughs on, not giving her a chance to interject, his thumb lowering as he then stows his hand on his lap, gently rubbing the rim of his cap in an unconscious manner, like a child would use a fidget toy when trying to focus.

(Hans): Und lastly… I knew you weren’t 100%, jah… but das doctor there, I overheard him say you weren’t even signed off to compete. Ist das wahr?

Her eyes rolled as he said he wanted to check on her. He just wanted to fuking see her in pain like he did last time. Wanted to go call his #### wife at home and give her something to smile about. But his room being set on fire? Her eyebrows furrowed as he mentions this unable to mask her surprise. In truth she didn’t know anything about it, she wasn’t even aware it happened when he came into her room but something about this “apology” of his made her want to play the victim in the regard. At the same time, there was a part of her that still coveted him, felt some demented ownership over him. The thought of someone messing with him pissed her off. This was something she’d have to look into her self and she’d fuk them up for it. But her not being 100%? That’s when she looks like she’s got something to hide and the defensive words hit her.

(Erica): Bullshit…I’m fine! That bitch don’t know shit about me. I don’t know what they’re talking about, call the fukers in the office if you don’t believe me…they got my clearance paperwork. I just got a little banged up in the match, no biggie!

(Hans): Uh-huh...

Silence descends, barring the gentle tap of Hans' left foot and the slight scuffing sound as his fingers rap the edges of his cap.

(Hans): Uh-huh... so you didn't forge any discharge papers, jah?

She looks at him with a bit of shock, that kid’s hand in the cookie jar look then turns towards the door as if the doctors were still there.

(Erica): Who said that? I didn’t forge shit!

She cringes in pain trying to adjust herself and sit up a bit better and attempts to deflect.

(Erica): What do you care about some bullshit papers anyway? I showed up didn’t I? I did what I said I was going to do didn’t I, even after you came in an pinned me to the fuking wall? We won didn’t we?

(Hans): Jah, we won.

He ceases the tapping of his feet, now aware of it.

(Hans): Zwei gegen eins… not enjoyable odds, but I caught Wolfy out of nowhere, jah, got the pin. Und jah, you showed, you had my back und I had yours. No bullsh*t, no daggers, no tricks... just not the whole truth maybe...

He looks up at her, meeting her gaze.

(Hans): I know what I was trying to prove out there earlier tonight. What were you Erica?

(Erica): Nothing! I’m done trying to prove anything to anybody. I’m one of the best on the roster man or woman, I don’t need their fuking validation. I don’t need their friendship. I don’t need shit.

There’s a pain in her eyes, and not the physical kind. She’s such a damaged human being, jaded and guarded. She looks at Hans inquisitively.

(Erica): Why are you still here? You apologized or whatever, your damn family is waiting.

(Hans): Ich… scheiße… jah, they’ll be waiting. If I could snap my fingers und teleport then I would. But I can’t.

He gestures at her lying in the hospital bed.

(Hans): You don’t need validation or friendship… jah, fine… but maybe listen to the doctors this time, jah?

She couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t answer her question. Why was he there? Why was he still there? Damn him! Damn him for stirring up emotions she’s worked hard to suppress. There wasn’t enough booze to wash away her thoughts of him. Not enough meaningless fuks to quell the desire she still felt for him. He did this, the moment he touched her. He wants me, she thought. Fuking coward. I’m not crazy, she tells herself.

(Erica): Is that it?

(Hans): Jah.

He takes the hint, placing the cap back on his head.

(Hans): That’s it. I just wanted to check you were ok und, well…

He now slowly gets to his feet, placing the chair back where he’d pulled it over from originally.

Another small gesture takes in the whole room and the wider hospital around them.

(Hans): You’re in the right place to recover. I hope you take it.

She scoffs.

(Erica): I need a smoke! I’m outta this fuking bitch probably by tomorrow.

She involuntarily begins to cough, a splatter of blood sprays on the bedsheets. A horrid mix of embarrassment, sadness and anger all hit her at once. Anger wins and she lashes out.

(Erica): Just get the fuk out!

Without a word, the moment Hans begins to turn to do so, then sadness takes over. Her voice calls out to him in almost a whisper. Some desperate plea to be heard, or seen, or she didn’t know what.

(Erica): I died you know….he killed me!

She can’t turn her face to look at him. The tears are too close to the surface, the pain still to raw despite the weeks its been. Anger returns and she clenches the bedsheets in both fists.

(Hans): What?

Stopping in his tracks, he about faces albeit keeping his distance.

(Hans): Explain bitte.

(Erica): Maniac. He did this.

She looks down at her chest, hands still clenched in the bedsheets a trickle of blood runs down her chin.

(Erica): I’m not like you. I’m not going to spend 20 years turning the other cheek. Everybody who’s wrong me is going to get what they have coming. And I don’t believe in second chances, you’re not gonna sell me on that. How can I have a second chance, when nobody ever gave me a first one? Fuk this!

She grabs the IV and yanks the line from her arm, turns to the side of the bed and stumbles out of it as the monitors start blinking and beeping. She nearly hits the floor clutching at her chest but grabs on to the railing.

(Hans): Erica! Scheiße! Stop it.

He catches a monitor that's about to topple over her, pushing it back and pulling out another pair of lines that are still connected to her.

(Hans): Verdammt!

Hans takes in the scene before him, seeing Erica fighting to keep a hold of the railing and dragging air into her lungs in spite of the obvious pain she's in that looks like they'd send anyone else into the peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness.

(Hans): Stop it! Depp! Stop being such a martyr!

One hand goes to his head, the other waves at the mess before him.

(Hans): What was this proving?

She staggers past him ignoring his question to the tiny closet where they stashed the wrestling gear she came in. A paltry and thin hospital robe hangs inside and she pulls it down, putting it on as the nurse comes into the room, spying the little droplets of blood on the floor.

(Nurse): Jesus! Miss, where are you going? What are you doing? You can’t do that.

(Erica): Watch me!

Erica grabs for her bag.

(Nurse): I’m getting the doctor!

The nurse looks at Hans then rushes out of the room. Erics turns, her voice hoarse and ragged, arm laid tight across her chest as she slowly steps to the door and looks up at Hans.

(Erica): You coming?

(Hans): And go where Erica? A gust of wind would blow you over right now. Scheiße, get back in that hospital bed. You don't want to spend 20 years turning the other cheek? Jah, I wish I'd not spent that long either... but I made it to 20... at this rate, you won't see half that.

Erica cuts him a look. There’s such defiance in her eyes. Her will is much stronger than her body, and she staggers forward towards the door as the nurse rushes back in, the doctor and two orderlies behind her.

(Erica): I’m leaving.

(Doctor #2): Not according to this chart you’re not. You’re a pretty injured woman Ms. Martinez.

(Erica): I know my rights bitch, I can leave against orders if I want to, now move before I move you.

The doctor turns looking at the orderlies who step forward and grab Erica gently, yet firmly by the arms and she begins to struggle.

(Erica): Get you fuking hands off me. Hans?

She looks to Hans for help. The doctor turns to Hans assuming some relationship between them, then turns where she can face them both.

(Doctor #2): Ms. Martines, we can’t in good conscience allow you to leave in this condition. It’s clear from your medical record that you also have a history of mental illness, given the circumstances here I have no choice but to initiate a 1799, you’ll be held here for 72 hours for a full psych evaluation and medical attention.

(Erica): You can’t do that! I’ll fuk you up bitch. Get your fuking hands off me.

Erica’s legs buckle and she coughs up blood again, and grunts out in pain. The orderlies hold her up and guide her back to the bed where the begin to strap her down as she struggle. The doctor turns to Hans.

(Doctor #2): I know this can be unsettling, but it is for the best. I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name. You’re her?

Not wanting to assume husband, boyfriend or anything else the doctor looks at Hans inquisitively.

A small grimace appears on his face, memories of the last 18 or so months emerging from the depths of his mind. Hans clamps down though, even if a small tic is still seen.

(Hans): Herr doctor... scheiße… a co-worker. A concerned co-worker.

As a nurse begins to administer a sedative to Erica, still struggling to escape their clutches, Hans tries to watch, but can't hold his gaze.

(Doctor #2): It's ok sir, she's in the best hands possible this side of the country.

(Hans): I believe you herr doctor... I'll leave you my number, I'd appreciate an update. Erica... well, I'm not sure she'd tell Butch... her boss...

He adds that quickly for clarity.

(Hans): I'm not sure she'd tell the full story of her health if it's down to just her, jah?

(Doctor #2): Not a problem sir. Leave your number with the nurse at the ward desk along the corridor, I’ll be sure to give you an update.

(Hans): Danke herr doctor.

The doctor nods before making his way to the head of the hospital bed, Erica’s eyes now glazed over and her body limp, the drugs taking effect and the straps no longer being taut with the need to stand fast against her efforts to break out.

Sighing to himself at just what he’s seen and taking no pleasure from it, something he’d consider quite remarkable while in the taxi ride to his hotel given their shared history over the last year and a bit, Hans makes for the exit of the room and towards the nurse at the ward desk.

The scene fades slowly to black.