Exit To Eden (Cynthia Rose CH. 24)

(The camera opens on a top down shot of the massive and palatial poolside Eden. The camera zooms down just as Percy and Cynthia step through the gates. Percy's carrying a modestly sized silver Halliburton and wearing a rather formal blue silk suit that's been awkwardly paired with white running sneakers. Cynthia walks beside him, dragging her wheeled luggage and sporting a pastel pink "Oh Cynthia You're So Fine" ladies muscle tank fresh off of her merch table, high water yoga pants, and a pair of cheap flip flops. They take in their surroundings, nearly losing grip of their luggage as they're overwhelmed with the beautiful sight of Eden. Their eyes wander around the pool, the high rise rooms with balconies, and then find one another. They let themselves smile.)

Percy: You sure this is the place?

Cynthia: It matches the address on the brochure.

Percy:...and It's free?

Cynthia: That's what's implied. Let's try and find a front desk in this giant place and figure out how this all works.

Percy: I'll do it. I've got a bit more finesse and reputation around Wrestleworld than you do. Take a squat and enjoy the pool. You know I'll ruin it for you by making it part of your training regiment soon enough so you may as well enjoy it while you can. I mean, this thing's gotta be Olympic sized at least.

(Cynthia chuckles and rolls her baggage next to a nearby beach chair. As she kicks off her sandals and makes her way poolside to cool her heels, Percy makes his way toward an ornate double doorway and peers inside. Looking in at the multiple brochures and coupon books lining the foyer, Percy takes the hint and heads in to what can only be a check in. He approaches the desk, his Halliburton still in hand as he rings the desk bell to garner the attention of a busy looking maitre d. The maitre d' looks up from his books momentarily and studies Percy.)

Maitre D': Checking in?

Percy: Yeah, uh, I'm for Wrestleworld.

Maitre D': Of course! I should've known you'd eventually make it our way, but I assumed you were enjoying the island life.

Percy: I mean it's a nice place, but a guy's gotta bed down somewhere. Can't be crashing on the beaches like a bum.

Maitre D': I hear it gets pretty wild out there. I assure you that your reputation preceeds you and I must say, it's quite the honor to have you here in our presence finally.

Percy: Why thank you-

Maitre D': It's not often we get an Architect looking to shack up here. You guys usually have your own lavish abodes.

Percy: Wait, what?

Maitre D': Why you're Tiberius Jones aren't you?

(Percy's eyes narrow with an unsurprised level of disgust. He clears his throat, as if trying to force down his rage with a light cough.)

Percy: Nah man. That ain't me.

Maitre D': Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean-

Percy: Nah, you're fine...it's good. The guy's gotta be at least a decade younger than me, so I'll take the mistaken identity as a compliment.

Maitre D': Thank you, I didn't mean anything by it. So...who are you exactly?

Percy: Percival Jackson III.

Maitre D': Percival Jackson...Percival...let me check my books.

(The maitre d' begins poring over his records as Percy leans on the counter, gripping his Halliburton handle tight as he stares at his watch impatiently. Finally the maitre d' slams his book closed and starts sizing up Percy.)

Maitre D': We don't have a Percival Jackson III on record. Are you sure you're on the Wrestleworld roster?

Percy: Oh! Sorry, I'm here to check in with my client: Cynthia Rose. Is she in your books?

Maitre D': I'm sure you are. Listen, I know this island plays it fast and loose with what's law and what isn't, but identity thef-

Percy: IDENTITY THEFT!?!

Maitre D': SIR! I WILL CALL SECURITY IF YO-

????: What's going on here?

(Percy and the maitre d' snap around to find Cynthia walking through the door. The maitre d' studies Rose, his eyes stopping on her "Oh Cynthia, You're So Fine" shirt. He looks back to Percy as his cheeks flush. Percy turns to him and gives him an 'I told you so' smirk as the maitre d' double takes between the two.)

Maitre D': Miss Rose! I was wondering when you'd show up. This man tried to-

Cynthia: Is everything okay here, Percy?

Percy: Yeah, we're just hashing out a few details and exchanging information for check-in. Lord knows I don't want to forget this man's name when I'm talking to higher ups backstage...Mark, is it?

(Percy winks at the now trembling maitre d')

Cynthia Rose: I'm sure he'd appreciate the glowing review.

Percy: Oh he's getting one...one glowing so bright, you'd swear it was toxic with radioactivity.

Maitre D': M-miss Michaels arranged for your room months ago, Miss Rose. I hope the accommodations suit your needs. She was very adamant that we put you on the basement level in a room between the laundry mat and the billiards room. We've never even bothered to furnish this room 'til now. Usually we use it as a supply closet on account of all the noise.

Cynthia: I'm sure it'll be fine. What about Percy?

Percy: Yeah, what about Percy?

Maitre D': She didn't give any directions for your accommodations. Maybe she didn't expect you.

Percy: Oh she did, but if she thinks I'm going to shack up with Shirley Temple here for another night on the good ship lollipop, then she's outta her mind!

Cynthia Rose: Percy...

Percy: I didn't say anything vulgar!

Cynthia Rose: Well...true...

Percy: However, I will be dropping some obscenities in gorilla position at Chapter 24 while explaining to Jaywalker how his boy at the front desk treated me.

Maitre D': I-I-I'm sure we can wrangle up a nice room for you on the third flo-

Percy: PENTHOUSE? Did I hear penthouse? You better hope that I heard you say penthouse.

Maitre D': Right. Penthouse. Fully furnished with snacks, drinks, and all of the accouterments you desire Mr. Jackson.

Percy: Ya damn right!

(The maitre d' reluctantly hands over the keys to the penthouse to Percy. Percy greedily snatches it from his hand and heads for the door.)

Cynthia Rose: Wow, that sounds really nice. I might come up and crash on-

Percy: NO!

Cynthia Rose: Aw c'mon!

Percy: UH-UH!

(Cynthia lets out a huge, shoulder shrugging, sigh and then turns to the matire d', who smugly holds out a key with an orange tag on it reading 'Utilities'. She lets another massive sigh of frustration wave through her body, takes the keys, and walks out of the lobby with her head hung in pouty dejection as the camera fades to black.)

"Five Minutes Earlier..."

(The camera comes back to life, revealing Cynthia sitting at poolside with her feet dipped in the water. She wipes her hair out of her eyes, letting the sun beam down on her tan and dimpled smiling face.)

"Respect hasn't come easy for me in Wrestleworld so far, but with every match I feel as if I get a little bit closer to making waves. It shouldn't take much. I'm on TV every week, I've gotten a fairly well-contested title shot under my belt, and this week I find myself pitted against two people I greatly look up to with high admiration and esteem. I don't expect to change this sport over night, but you have to admit that this little pebble made quite the ripple. While true it's not the biggest, strongest, or most noticeable, it's seemed to reach a few people and done enough to disturb their existence. Take my tag partner for example, a woman I'm really trying to get along with despite a lasting first impression that I can't seem to overcome. Pair that with her recent involvement in my biggest loss to date, and even an optimistic young woman such as myself doesn't give us a snowball's chance as tag partners. It doesn't help that we're going against a technically proficient and demonically driven veteran like Chris Sabertooth, a man who seems to be perpetually in an identity crisis. Why it wasn't that long ago that you held the very European Championship that I competed for just last week. Our names were almost on the same page of Wrestleworld's history books, if not for my tag partner's pathological obsession with shoes. I didn't think she'd fancy wrestling boots, but my preconceived notiond certainly didn't stop her from trying to grab Colt's. I honestly don't know what to say about you Sabertooth, other than that I respect you and hope you find peace. None of that changes my desire to pin your shoulders to the mat, but once that bell rings I'll be happy to shake your hand come win, lose, or draw. You're a standard bearer for the European Division, with or without the title, so if I can manage to so much as hang with you in that ring, I'll be happy for it."

(Cynthia stares down at her feet in the water as the surface of the pool ripples and sloshes, warping her submerged legs like a grotesque fun house mirror.)

"As for Hana Nakajima? Hana is someone I've wanted to work with since landing in Wrestleworld. We have a lot in common. We're young, but disciplined. We're both viewed as being aesthetically cute, but still manage to get respect between the ropes. We have mentors who are our best friends that we prop up and keep in line almost as much as they try to keep us on the straight and narrow. We're also viewed as being nice, which is a sweet sentiment, but it's also one that people have tried to take advantage of in the past. Being cordial is viewed as a reason to be treated like a doormat to some. They wipe their feet and then try to step over us, usually only to find that they've made a grave error in dismissing our charming candor for weakness. I think we're both tired of that treatment and mentality being thrust upon us by others looking to get ahead. I'm not going to overlook you like so many have tried to before in the past, Hana. Even if I wanted to, you've got three inches on me in height, so it'd be kind of hard for me to do. You've also got around fifteen extra pounds on me, which means for once you're not the underdog in a match. How does that make you feel? Does it worry you? I doubt it. You've disciplined yourself to treat every match with the same level of effort and severity. That's quite admirable, especially coming from a seventeen year old. It's also quite reckless, and I say that coming from a place of experience. Far be it from me to tell you to try less in this match, but in general that sort of breakneck, zero-sum, high risk for high reward mentality will land you a penniless and abrupt retirement before you even reach your twenties. Pushing yourself to be the best is one thing, but trying to be the best all of the time will take it's toll. It's like NASCAR. Those cars are built for speed and tanking damage, but that doesn't mean they're not going to pit every once in awhile during a five-hundred lap race, or following the pace car when someone else crashes. I hope you give me your all, Hana. I really do because I think I could learn a lot from a seventeen year old veteran who just gets better and better with every passing month, but I also know that you can't be seventeen forever. I know that the spry and loose sensation in your joints that you probably take for granted inevitably goes away. Bones break, joints sprain, and cartilage deteriorates..."

(Cynthia finds herself looking down at the faint line of a surgery scar on her knee. Somberly, she runs her finger across it, as if ensuring that her psst injury wasn't some freakish nightmare that she'll wake up from in her college dorm.)

"...and once it all leaves your body for good, you'll forever be reminded of it with phantom pains and arthritic mornings that will leave you questioning if it was all worth it. That's if you're lucky...Hana, you kick hard. You kick really hard, and I have no doubt you'll target my knee. It's what a smart wrestler would do, but we both know you're going to feel those kicks just as much as I will. Your shin will ache no matter how many kick pads you layer on. Your ankle will swell, no matter how much you wrap it. Your knee will pop, no matter how many stretches you'll do. Micro fractures will turn your toes into stubby little toadstools at the end of your foot. You wont come out of this feeling the way you did going in. Is it worth it? Is it worth it to stunt your ability to stand permanently just to set up for a submission? Part of me asks this rhetorically, while the other asks as a student sitting under your tree of knowledge as she contemplates her own career, but deep down I feel like I know the answer is 'no'. I get it, you have a chip on your shoulder to prove to those who doubt you that you're a tough little lady who shouldn't be sold short, but it saddens me to think you'll go as far as to unnecessarily tear yourself apart just to make them attach pain and respect to your name. That's not how I wish to think of you, Hana. I wish to think of you as a polite young prodigy whose capable of taking on anyone and raising up the people she loves in ways that make her come across as far wiser than her age would suggest. Hana Nakajima you're amazing, but I wonder how polite you'll be to a girl who wont reciprocate in this pain game you so selflessly and self-destructively play. I'm not asking you to be someone you're not in the ring, but I am curious as to how you'll react when I eat every dropkick, shining wizard, and roundhouse you have in your arsenal and refuse to answer back with a strike of my own. You want to shake that perception of being the nice girl? You want to show the world that you're not just some kindhearted competitor with a petite build and a cute face? Go ahead. Do so at my expense. Show the world that Hana Nakajima's more than some kawaii manic pixie dream girl, but just know that I'm not afraid to fight back in my own way. I like you, Hana. I really do. I want you to do well, have a long and acclaimed career that's heavy with gold and peer respect. At the same time I'm also hoping that you don't just reserve your most brutal fights for Maverick. Show me your mean side. Show the audience that you're not afraid to lay into someone whose almost as well liked as you are. Take all of that pent up aggression over Mav, April, Nobi, World's Finest, and Claudia, and lay into me. Treat me like the doormat that so many others have accused you of being. Give me everything until there's nothing left. This isn't me having a victim complex or a sadomasochistic side, this is just me telling you what it's going to take to put me away. I wont settle for less than the best and the worst that Hana Nakajima has to offer. I'll do the same for you, because it's what we both have to do in order to get them to take us seriously. We're not sidekicks or second bananas in our own story. We're not crutches to be used by those around us fighting their own personal demons. We're the future of Wrestleworld, and the future starts at Chapter 24. I'm not a doormat, Hana. Neither are you, but I wont give up the fight until you leave a boot print on the side of my face."

(Cynthia nearly jumps into the pool as Percy's voice suddenly shouts in anger from the check-in office behind her and startles her nearly out of her own skin. She looks toward the office, pulls her legs out of the pool, slides on her flip flops, grabs her bag, and heads for the door. A short time lapse later and Percy storms out of the office with Cynthia hot on his heels.)

Cynthia: C'moooon. I've never been in a penthouse.

Percy: NOPE! NOT EVEN TO VISIT!

Cynthia: Will you at least help me take my things down to my room?

Percy: Fine, but only to see what horrendous accommodations Claudia might have in store for you. Could make for a good laugh.

Cynthia: Percy...

(The two step into a nearby elevator as the doors open and then close behind them. They stand in silence as they watch the elevator lights flash. They watch in horror as the elevator passes one basement level and keeps going down. Cynthia and Percy share a look of concern as the elevator finally stops. The doors slowly open to reveal a poorly lit and barren hallway. They step out together and nearly get stuck trying to walk side to side in the narrow corridor. After turning her shoulder, Cynthia pulls free and walks ahead of her mentor. She stops and looks at her key, then up at a door reading "Utilities". She looks back at Percy, who holds up crossed fingers as Cynthia jams the key into the knob and pushes the door open. They both walk in and look around with flabbergasted expressions on their faces. The camera turns to follow their gaze, only to find a small studio apartment style room complete with mini fridge, a stove range, and a bed. Cynthia planks and lets herself fall face first onto the bed.)

Cynthia: Wow, I thought Claudia hated me. This is nice.

Percy: She probably does, but living like this would be punishment to a decadent woman like herself. This is probably her idea of hellish living conditions, the pampered bi-

Cynthia: Language!

Percy: Right, right, sorry...there's not a window in here. That kind of sucks.

Cynthia: Yeah, but this place is still nicer than the hotel.

Percy: I'm sure the penthouse suite will be twice the size of the damn hotel.

Cynthia: How did you swing that, by the way?

Percy: Front desk guy thought I was Tiberius Jones.

Cynthia : Ohmigosh, really?

Percy: Yeah, so I corrected him and told him I'd have his job if he didn't accommodate me with the best room in the place. Claudia didn't bother to tell them that I was coming, that bi-

Cynthia: Percy!

Percy: Bitcoin miner. I was going to say Bitcoin miner.

Cynthia: Uh huh...but you look nothing like Tiberius Jones. I mean, TJ's handsome, in shape, thicc with two c's

Percy: Okay, but-

Cynthia: -young, has better facial hair, a better afro

Percy: Understood!

Cynthia: I mean, a better hairline in general. Yours is kind of receding a little but it looks distinguish-

Percy: I UNDERSTAND! NOW PLEASE QUIT DRIVING THE POINT HOME!

Cynthia: I'm just sayin'.

Percy: It didn't have to be said. I get I look nothing like the man, but I'm not quite fond of some of your descriptors for him.

Cynthia: What? the guys a snack

Percy: He's a psychopath. All Wrestleworld Architects are.

Cynthia: Jeez, I'm not asking for the man's hand in marriage, I'm just...you know...taking in the scenery.

Percy: Whatever. I don't need to hear you ogling that psycho. Keep it in your diary, little girl. Just...just stay away from him, okay? Claudia too.

Cynthia: Got it...

Percy: And if someone comes by and offers you a day at the spa...don't take it.

Cynthia: Ohmigosh, quit being so paranoid and head up to your beautiful penthouse. I figured you were sick of being around me anyway. Surprised you haven't bolted up the stairwell to get away from me.

Percy: I'm just sayin'.

Cynthia: Don't trust architects. Got it. Message received. Now go relax without a pang of guilt in your stomach knowing that I'm not going to get a massage or whatever it is you're afraid of...

Percy: It's not that I hate you or anything, it's just-

Cynthia: There's nothing wrong with being sick of my company. Go upstairs and enjoy a little downtime by yourself for once, Percy. You've more than earned it.

(Percy starts to walk out the door, but stops in the frame and gives a worried peak back at Cynthia on the bed. She smiles back at him reassuringly. Percy smiles as his body visibly relaxes. He slowly shuts the door, making sure not to slam it, and makes his way toward the elevator as the camera fades to black.)