I’M RUBBER, YOU’RE GLUE

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Without acceptance of the invitation, Hayes Hanlon opens the door to the room backstage, his black slacks and button-up traded out for his black boots and tights.

Inside the room? The Financier. The Five Star Champ.

The mentor. 

Cecilworth Farthington.

Normally you’d expect a grand entrance to a room to set the other party slightly off-kilter, but Farthington remains leaned back on a small chair in his locker room, arms open in greeting, as if he was expecting this moment the whole night. 

Cecilworth Farthington: Why hello young Hayes! I think we’ve owed each other a little chat for a while now. Now before you get stomping mad again and start yelling about companies I’ve not wrestled in for two years, or making a mockery of my grief, I just wanted to reset our relationship. Get things off on a better footing, as it were. 

It is evident that Farthington is doing nothing to calm the situation, but it doesn’t seem to matter much to the man whose neck is as stable and strong as some string attached to tin cans. Cecilworth yanks out a small notepad from the back of his tights, with a pen attached and throws it at the feet of Hayes. 

Cecilworth Farthington: Just so I don’t cause anymore hurt and harm to your precious little soul, would it be too much to ask for you to write down which names can and cannot come from my mouth? I would like to discuss more of your failed idols, but I want to make sure that I cause no further harm.

Cecilworth gestures to the notepad that now sits at the feet of Hanlon.

Cecilworth Farthington: It can be as long as you like. I can’t be hurting one of the boys after all. Go on, pick it up my angsty friend, I promise to honour it.

Hayes, quiet and steadfast through the Financier’s monologue, lowers his eyes to the notepad. 

Hayes Hanlon: It’s a free country. Go ahead. Let’s discuss.

He smirks behind his ‘stache, then looks up to Farthington as he kicks the notepad across the floor to the Five Star Champion’s feet.

Hayes Hanlon: Don’t worry. I won’t get upset and hide back in the loading docks.

Farthington looks down at the notepad and has a lil chuckle to himself.

Cecilworth Farthington: You’re so worried about those corrupt pillars of virtue, all of whom have done horrendous things in the name of this sport… you cling to Youngblood and who he has cursed with his shaped based nickname. Maybe, just maybe, throwing this out there, you want to actually learn from a man who is extending a hand. A man who can, and HAS beaten Youngblood with just talent and ability. Maybe you need to kiss your past goodbye… become something more. I don’t know if you’re ready for that yet.

The Event Horizon lifts an eyebrow, and blends it with an incredulous scowl.

Cecilworth Farthington: Tonight, we step in the ring together, I don’t think you know who I am yet. I don’t think you know what I can, and will do. Win or lose, when that bell rings, I expect a changed man. 

Hanlon pushes an amused snort, and Farthington looks down, clearly holding himself in place, trying to evade being baited.

Cecilworth Farthington: And yet, you don’t give a shit. Maybe you should start giving a shit. 

Hayes Hanlon: I give a lot more than you’ll ever understand, buddy.

Home Run Hayes shifts his jaw, dark eyes locked to the Glueminati’s front man.

Hayes Hanlon: You do have an opportunity, though.

Farthington lifts an eyebrow to match his smirk, and Hayes takes two steps forward.

Hayes Hanlon: You think you’ve got me pegged. Got me allll figured out. Got every little detail about who I was, who I am, and where I should be going. But man, you don’t have a fucking clue. 

Farthington’s smirk has turned into a whole chuckle at this point.

Cecilworth Farthington: If we were on a playground, I’d be making a remark about rubber and well… glue… at this point. 

Hayes Hanlon: And whatever bounces off me, sticks to you. but I don’t cling to anyone, not even Glue. I’ve figured this shit out on my own for a while now, but like I said; you do have the opportunity tonight to prove me wrong.

Cecilworth Farthington: Hey, pal, buddy, friend… I don’t know if we’ve got some youthful hubris here or a Pluto sized ego… you know, not quite planet sized, close enough. When that bell rings for the second time, you’re going to find out that you were the one with the opportunity. You were permitted to join PRIME’s elite, I’m still not entirely sure why, but I’m still willing to roll with it… tonight though, tonight you make a choice. I want to know your reasons and a wrestling ring is very revealing.

Hayes Hanlon: So do I. And I’m hoping we find out tonight.

The Comeback Kid rights his posture with a long breath into his nostrils, and exhales slow.

Hayes Hanlon: Cecil, I’ve already decided that I’m gonna beat you tonight. But if I don’t? If you can beat me clean? Hell, if you can find the strength to take my neck? 

He takes one last step forward, and holds up an open palm. Not extended toward the Five Star Champ, just held to his side.

Hayes Hanlon: ..then maybe, maybe, I’ll reach out to that extended hand of yours.

Cecilworth stands up and dusts himself, looking up… directly… in the eye region to Hayes. Look there’s a height difference okay. 

Cecilworth Farthington: Presumptuous to assume my hand will be extended, dear friend. 

The Financier takes the opportunity to stride past Hanlon, making way toward the rooms’ exit. Hayes darts his eyes, then turns to address Cecilworth one more time.

Hayes Hanlon: Farthington.

The Five Star Champion pauses, and turns his head over his shoulder.

Hayes Hanlon: What happens when I beat you?

Farthington looks to Hanlon, uncertain the best way to respond. He settles for traditional British passive aggression in the end, walking towards the locker room door and holding it open for Hanlon.

Cecilworth Farthington: Best of luck out there, friend. 

A heavy pause, followed by a snort and a sneer from the Event Horizon. Without a word, he takes Farthington up on his hospitality, and exits into the hallway.

We then cut to a pre-tape.