An absent pair of dark eyes glances at the latest Anna Daniels shenanigannery via a backstage monitor.
Possessor of said dark eyes? The Event Horizon.
He reaches back, grabbing a foot to stretch his beefy quads, alternating back and forth. The ‘stache isn’t its usual, spritely self. It’s a bit more…menacing. Like Don Frye staring down Takayama. We’re not gonna link it, go find it on YouTube.
Whether or not our young former champion is excited for this match against Jonathan-Christopher Hall is anyone’s guess, but no one can say he isn’t ready. Perhaps looking forward to someone more clean. Less messy than his experience at Tropical Turmoil. Less likely to deal with shady characters looking to spoil the fun.
Ah, nevermind. Look who’s here.
Thankfully for Hanlon, the fun arrives immediately before his match. Well, fun for The Glueminati’s Cecilworth Farthington and FLAMBERGE, who seem to be in the middle of a “polished-belt-off” when they arrive in front of the focused and frustrated Event Horizon. Hanlon looks as both FLAMBERGE and Farthington quietly bicker at WHOMST have the shiniest title before they turn their eyes towards Hanlon himself. As Hanlon sees Cecilworth open his mouth, his eyes roll towards THE GODS before a syllable is uttered.
Cecilworth Farthington: Why, look at this FLAMBERGE, my dearest friend, it’s the man I think who once implied through video vignette he was going to murder us or some such. You know what they say, life is full, full of surprises. Hello Hayes! Love the facial hair and career trajectory, keep it up big guy!
FLAMBERGE: Do not change the subject, Cecilworth, you know as well as I that the INTENSE championship belt is the more visually powerful of the two…
FLAMBERGE finally registers a certain type of thought after turning his visual attention towards Hanlon. FLAMBO blinks for a moment, and you would be forgiven for wondering if he (as the conspiracy theory suggests) might be blinking multiple sets of eyelids as de facto lizard gills, but alas, he only has the single dumb human set. And these eyelids have wiped away any coherent argument he might have made about the merits of white metals versus yellow metals and diverted them to the understanding that he never truly visually “drunk in” Hayes Hanlon before now.
Hayes Hanlon: “Murder” is kind’ve a strong word. You’re thinking of Jared and his forklift. I just intend to beat the piss out of you…
Hayes emphasizes with a rigid finger pointed at the Five Star Champion, then turns it toward FLAMBERGE.
Hayes Hanlon: …and the rest of whatever this glue bullshit is. And hey, sorry to see Tyler go. What are you guys weighing-in at, now that he’s gone? Combined weight of like, 250?
Cecilworth Farthington: Oh cool, whoever that is, it all sounds great! Anyway, good luck with the Love Shack or whatever it is. Now, more importantly, who has the shinier belt. I really think I’ve nailed the polish this week but me and my good buddy and pal FLAMBERGE need an impartial judge.
FLAMBERGE: There is the polish and there is the over-polish, in my opinion, and this man, he disagrees!
Cecilworth Farthington: Over-polish isn’t a thing, stop making up things that aren’t things just to razzle dazzle this simple mustached fella.
FLAMBERGE sarcastically raises his hands to the sides and wiggles his wrists and fingers, mouthing “razzle dazzlllllllllllle”.
Hayes lifts an eyebrow at FLAMBO and his waggling hands.
Hayes Hanlon: You’re a weird dude, you know that?
FLAMBERGE: …no, you.
The frustration brewing, Home Run Hayes turns glaring eyes back to Farthington.
Hayes Hanlon: I haven’t forgotten ReV 27, buddy. I haven’t forgotten you putting your boots to me while Bitch-Boy Best and the Lizard King here were flexing their twenty-inch chests.
FLAMBERGE looks down towards his pecs and gives a little flex-flex. It’s no Terry Crews-level flex-flex, but it’ll do to amuse the Frenchman. Very much a “there are many pecs but these pecs are mine” sort of vibe. He’s clearly not paying much mind to the jabs and goes back to looking back and forth between his and Farthington’s respective championship belts. Noticing this, Hayes points to Farthington’s Five Star strap.
Hayes Hanlon: Oh, and the Five Star is shinier.
Farthington grins, turning to FLAMBO with a “told you so” smirk.
Hayes Hanlon: But it doesn’t matter. They’re not Universal. That’s more my speed.
FLAMBO’s eyes do the “BWOM” thing that you might hear if you were inside his head Inception-style, but all we can see is that something Hanlon just said crashed over him like a wave and the Frenchman is left speechless.
Hayes Hanlon: Watch close. You’re about to get a real good preview.
With that Hayes throws back the curtain and rolls deeper into Argyle, waiting for his entrance while Aerosmith rises on the speakers inside the arena. Farthington and FLAMBO continue their debate as we leave the scene.