The fundraiser would be over before he knew it, Hunter reminded himself for what felt like the millionth time and yet it did nothing to ease the growing tension. Time, it appeared, had given him the middle finger and began to slip by ever so slowly. And he was quickly beginning to lose his patience. Especially with the man before him and that slimy smirk that graced his lips as he not so subtly attempted to not only berate him by going on about the wrongs of violence, but he had the audacity to bring up the fighter’s injury. The one that may very well be the end of the career he poured his blood, sweat, and tears into. Literally. “Look, I –” He began only to be brought to a halt by the man waving his hand in Hunter’s face in a quick dismissal. Oh, how the fighter wanted nothing more than to smack that hand away and – No. He couldn’t. Balling his hands into fists, he attempted once more to slip out of the conversation, “Excuse me, I see – ” And for the fifth time he was interrupted, this time with a quick, “I have one more thing to add,” That was the last straw for Clarington. “No,” he growled out, stepping closer with his eyes narrowing angrily. “We’re done here.” The was, evidently, unfazed at first, his lips parting as though preparing to speak once more but Hunter took advantage of their height difference by squaring his shoulders and taking another step closer to look down at the man. “You’re done, you got me? Now turn around, scamper back to wherever you came from.”
