Post by Lord Hastings on Jul 30, 2009 20:40:22 GMT -5
Donovan walks into the NiggaCave deep within the GIW arena, followed a moment later by Owen Peterson, who carries the bags.
Peterson: Whew! Good to be back.
Donovan looks back at him for a moment, and then scans the room. He walks to a shelf and picks up the neatly folded cloak.
Peterson: Just where you left it.
Hastings: Where I left it?
Donovan puts the cloak on.
Peterson: Where I folded it and put it after you threw it on the floor like you usually do.
Hastings: Indeed.
Donovan walks to the NiggaThrone and sits, his head in his hands. Owen starts unpacking their things and putting them away.
Hastings: What am I doing?
Owen gives him a puzzled look.
Peterson: You're sitting on your thone, Lord-Chief.
Donovan glares at him.
Peterson: Erm, you have returned in glory to preside over your kingdom, and all that you see before you, may the peasant bow in their unending praise.
Hastings: That's not what I meant.
Peterson: God, he bless da mighty Lord-Chief with muh beeotch?
Donovan rolls his eyes and leans back on the throne.
Peterson: I mean, you came up with a great plan. You explained to everyone how the draw at Break for the Border made you and Travis the co-Undisputed Global Champions. You'll be defending the premier championship in this industry together. It's everything you've been working for.
Hastings: It is, now?
Peterson: What's the matter? I would have thought you'd be happy to be back, happy to have done all this.
Donovan sighs.
Hastings: I'm just wondering...what's the point?
Peterson: The point?
Hastings: The point, of all of this. What have I achieved. What do I have. What's the point of any of this?
Peterson: What do you mean?
Donovan looks at him.
Hastings: What's the purpose of anything we do? You know, if you wash the dishes, they just get dirty again. If you eat, you get hungry again. If you win one battle, you just have to fight the next. We struggle through the day, just to have to do it all over again the next. What's the point?
Donovan leans back and closes his eyes.
Hastings: Maybe Declan had it all figured out.
Peterson: How so?
Hastings: Dropping off the map, becoming a bum.
Peterson: Are you suggesting Declan Prescott became a bum so he didn't have to wash dishes?
Hastings: I suppose that's as good a reason as any.
Donovan stands and walks to the window, gazing out it.
Hastings: Everything I've done, everything I've stood for, everything I am...what was the point? Why is it all so...empty?
He looks back at Peterson.
Hastings: What am I supposed to do now?
Peterson: Well, you do have a match on Sentinel, against a Mystery Opponent.
Donovan looks back out the window.
Hastings: And how is that different from any other week, really? How will that be different than the week after that, or six weeks in the past?
Peterson: What's really bothering you?
Donovan just stares out the window for several seconds.
Hastings: Is all our stuff unpacked?
Owen shakes his lowered head.
Peterson: There are a few more bags. I'll get them.
Owen leaves. After a few moments, Donovan looks back at the door. He slowly walks to his duffle bag and opens it, rooting through it. Donovan pulls out a tennis ball. He stands up and rotates the ball in his hand, studying it. He bounces it off the ground once, twice, and again takes a moment to study it in his hand. He throws it once against the wall.
THOCK.
Peterson: Whew! Good to be back.
Donovan looks back at him for a moment, and then scans the room. He walks to a shelf and picks up the neatly folded cloak.
Peterson: Just where you left it.
Hastings: Where I left it?
Donovan puts the cloak on.
Peterson: Where I folded it and put it after you threw it on the floor like you usually do.
Hastings: Indeed.
Donovan walks to the NiggaThrone and sits, his head in his hands. Owen starts unpacking their things and putting them away.
Hastings: What am I doing?
Owen gives him a puzzled look.
Peterson: You're sitting on your thone, Lord-Chief.
Donovan glares at him.
Peterson: Erm, you have returned in glory to preside over your kingdom, and all that you see before you, may the peasant bow in their unending praise.
Hastings: That's not what I meant.
Peterson: God, he bless da mighty Lord-Chief with muh beeotch?
Donovan rolls his eyes and leans back on the throne.
Peterson: I mean, you came up with a great plan. You explained to everyone how the draw at Break for the Border made you and Travis the co-Undisputed Global Champions. You'll be defending the premier championship in this industry together. It's everything you've been working for.
Hastings: It is, now?
Peterson: What's the matter? I would have thought you'd be happy to be back, happy to have done all this.
Donovan sighs.
Hastings: I'm just wondering...what's the point?
Peterson: The point?
Hastings: The point, of all of this. What have I achieved. What do I have. What's the point of any of this?
Peterson: What do you mean?
Donovan looks at him.
Hastings: What's the purpose of anything we do? You know, if you wash the dishes, they just get dirty again. If you eat, you get hungry again. If you win one battle, you just have to fight the next. We struggle through the day, just to have to do it all over again the next. What's the point?
Donovan leans back and closes his eyes.
Hastings: Maybe Declan had it all figured out.
Peterson: How so?
Hastings: Dropping off the map, becoming a bum.
Peterson: Are you suggesting Declan Prescott became a bum so he didn't have to wash dishes?
Hastings: I suppose that's as good a reason as any.
Donovan stands and walks to the window, gazing out it.
Hastings: Everything I've done, everything I've stood for, everything I am...what was the point? Why is it all so...empty?
He looks back at Peterson.
Hastings: What am I supposed to do now?
Peterson: Well, you do have a match on Sentinel, against a Mystery Opponent.
Donovan looks back out the window.
Hastings: And how is that different from any other week, really? How will that be different than the week after that, or six weeks in the past?
Peterson: What's really bothering you?
Donovan just stares out the window for several seconds.
Hastings: Is all our stuff unpacked?
Owen shakes his lowered head.
Peterson: There are a few more bags. I'll get them.
Owen leaves. After a few moments, Donovan looks back at the door. He slowly walks to his duffle bag and opens it, rooting through it. Donovan pulls out a tennis ball. He stands up and rotates the ball in his hand, studying it. He bounces it off the ground once, twice, and again takes a moment to study it in his hand. He throws it once against the wall.
THOCK.
