ALL I GOT FER YA
A long night from the sidelines.
The Event Horizon, Hayes Hanlon, meanders down the hall backstage, eyes absently flicking to his phone. Perhaps the young man needs a few moments to himself, with no match to pour out his frustrations. Or maybe he’s just waiting for the main event to finish up so he can go home. Maybe his conversation earlier with Sykes and Colton left him with more questions than answers.
And as he turns a corner, he’s met with a gravelly, frustrated voice growling into a cell phone.
“No, god-damnit! I said NO onions! An’ no cream cheese!”
Hayes has rounded the corner to find an exacerbated Wade Elliott, pacing back and forth, apparently having trouble with his post-show dinner order.
Wade Elliott: Look, I ain’t kiddin’ here. If that burrito has a damn thimble-full’ve sour cream on it then I ain’t eatin’ it! An’ no, I don’t want it on the damn side! Throw it in the trash! Thank ya kindly!
Wade finishes the call with a stubby thumb to the screen. Hayes hangs back, giving the Blue Collar Brawler a minute to collect himself. Wade catches Hammerin’ Hanlon out of the corners of his sharp blue eyes, and turns to face him, shoving his phone in the back pocket of his worn out jeans.
Wade Elliott; Oh, shit, sorry ‘bout that, kid. I just can’t stand the stuff. Ruins the whole damn experience fer me.
Hayes, completely unsure of what to say, shifts his feet.
Hayes Hanlon: I mean, I like sour cream…
Wade Elliott: Well, that’s yer problem.
The Southern Sparkplug turns to head off in the opposite direction. For a moment, Hayes opts to let him do just that. But with the twitch of his ‘stache and an uncertain shine in his dark brown eyes, he pipes up.
Hayes Hanlon: Hey…Wade?
The Bad Dog stops, and turns his head over shoulder.
Hayes Hanlon: Have…have you seen, or heard from Nova? I haven’t got anything since his match with Hoyt. I heard something about him escaping from his doctors…and a boulder…
Wade breathes in through his nose, pivoting his size 14’s.
Wade Elliott: Hmm…sounds pretty…Jesus-y.
Elliott contemplates for a moment, for painfully obvious comedic effect, then snaps to.
Wade Elliott: But no, kid. I’m sorry, ain’t heard from him. But that’s sort’ve his style. I wouldn’t stress too hard.
Hanlon offers a slightly disappointed nod, and turns to leave. Wade watches, fully intent on letting him mosey away, until the better of part of his conscience gets the better of him.
Wade Elliott: (reluctantly) Hey…kid.
Hayes stops, and turns his head back to PRIME’s Son of a Bitch.
Wade Elliott: Fer a while you were standin’ a lot taller’n when I first met ya.
Hayes lifts an eyebrow, and keeps his eyes trained on Wade.
Wade Elliott: And…at some point we all gotta learn t’stand tall on our own.
A gentle gleam flashes over Hanlon’s eyes. He turns to face Wade, to approach him, intent on what other sage advice he may have to offer.
Unfortunately, we’re talking about Wade Elliott, and such things are in short supply. Wade furls his brow at Hanlon’s eager curiosity.
Wade Elliott: And…and that’s it! That’s all I got fer ya!
Hanlon flinches a touch, and shuffles to move away. Wade, caught off-guard with his own “wise-janitor moment,” grunts through his nose and turns quickly, stomping away down the hall.
Wade Elliott: Just go figure it out on yer own!
The Event Horizon, with exactly none of his questions answered, sighs heavily before heading back the way he came as we cut to another area of the backstage area.