Catharsis (Cynthia Rose Promo 1 for Ch. 30)

(The camera opens inside of Cynthia Rose's modest Eden studio apartment. Cynthia sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and sighing in tired frustration, her eyes averted and bloodshot as she lets out a beleaguered sigh and looks off camera.)

Cynthia Rose: Are we rolling?...good. Take...take whatever this is. Hopefully we can get through this one without any interruptions.

(Cynthia self-consciously glances over her shoulder at the singular door leading out of her room. After seemingly convincing herself no one is coming through it, she turns back to the camera, slapping her hands on her knees as she tries to put on a happy face.)

Cynthia Rose: Chapter 30 is a big deal to me, Colt. It's a big deal because it's my second chance to live up to my word. It's like some sort of reset button that takes us back to so many months ago where I was the bright eyed newcomer and you were the grizzled young veteran that I respected and aspired to become. There's no boiling over the brim rivalry with Kimberly Chase, no hurt feelings, no stolen victory or valor. It's just back down to you, me, and that European Championship. Nothing personal between us, no animosity or resentment of any kind; only healthy competition. I welcome it, Colt. I welcome it because there's been an entity in my life for the past few months that's just been giving me nothing but grief, physical and mental anguish, and...for lack of a better term...chase. For the longest time I thought this was over shoes, or professional jealousy, or simple mean spirited resentment, but the longer things go on the more I realize that it's all about you. In your eyes, when you look at me, you see a competitor that's perhaps on your level in the ring. You see promise in a burgeoning career, an outlook on life that you wish that you still had. Then your eyes look into mine and they see the innocence you lost, the passion you wish to rekindle. You see your sister's hunger for knowledge and experience, and the youthful exuberance and love for competition that you once had. When you look in Kimberly's eyes...you see a reflection of your own with a glint of blond just in the apple of your eye. She knows you aren't looking to her for answers anymore. She knows that her days are numbered with you because you're beginning to see what kind of person she is through the eyes of others. I'm not looking to take anyone's place, nor do I think I have, but my existence coupled with the growing resentment coming off of Lillie has set an expiration date on her usefulness. Now I don't know if you instructed her to cheat for you the last time we competed, nor do I know if you knew about the tarnished nature of your victory over me until after the bell rang and replays started to show up on weekly television but-

(Suddenly the door kicks open. Cynthia jumps in surprise momentarily, but then quickly slouches into a frustrated sigh of expectation. Her eyes roll as Percy storms through the door, staring her down with a mean mug on his face as he leans over the foot of the bed, pointing at Cynthia in enraged accusation.)

Percy: NO! OH HELLLLL NAW! UH-UH!

Cynthia Rose: for the love of...Percy, this is like the fifth take that you've barged in on.

Percy: AND I'LL KEEP DOIN' IT UNTIL YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM!

Cynthia Rose: I was just about to-

Percy: Oh I KNOW what'chu were about to do! You were about to rationalize what happened...again....

Cynthia Rose: but I was-

Percy: Then you were going to say Kimberly's actions aren't Colt's business...again...

Cynthia Rose: If you would jus-

Percy: And then you were going to forgive Colt...AGAIN!

(Percy makes his way around the bed and plops down with comedic anger next to his protege before lacing an arm behind her neck and pulling her in cheek-to-cheek with him as he side eyes her.)

Percy: Now am I right or am I right? TELL ME I wasn't right.

(Cynthia's eyes close into a frustrated and cramped half-slit as she stares down at her shoes and tries to speak with her cheek planted firmly against Percy's.)

Cynthia Rose:...you're right...Fine, take, sixteen or whatever.

Percy: Nope! We're going to continue from here, and I'm going to sit right next to you and make sure you speak your mind instead of politicking to get in that man's good graces.

(Percy takes his arm off of Cynthia and scoot hops down just barely out of the camera shot as he sits with his eyes peeled and his arms crossed judgmentally. Cynthia self-consciously glances over at him and then clasps her hands together, as if signaling for another take.)

Cynthia Rose: Back when I was a kid I lived next door to these two brothers; John and Michael. John was the eldest. He was very smart, very athletic too. Played basketball on a collegiate level for awhile after he graduated college, but he mostly got by on being tall and lanky. He wasn't a tough guy, and he didn't let his academics ride on some athlete's curve in high school. He put in work off of the court to stay on the team. Michael was his younger brother by at least three years. He was short, stout, and did well on the vocational wrestling side of things. I even faced him a few times, he had a great sprawl technique and-

(Percy coughs off camera. Cynthia turns to look at him, her mouth hung open with bemused agitation.)

Cynthia Rose: Would you just let me speak? So anyway, Michael was the baby. His mom and dad favored him quite a bit, which meant he got away with bullying his big brother. I'd go over sometimes in the summer with my family for barbecues and without fail, every year starting from 10 to 23, at some point or another Michael would shoot in and double leg John down to the grass. There was nothing malicious about it initially, other than the fact that Michael knew he could get away with it and that it annoyed the dickens out of John. Eventually after Michael had pinned his brother clean after tormenting him with hanging loogies and threats to fart on him, his father would step in and break it up. As years went on he'd get more aggressive with it though, especially after John made it to college playing and Michael lost his spot on the high school wrestling team due to poor grades. He'd start incorporating heel hooks and front face locks into the attacks, and wouldn't let go on the first warning from his dad. I remember the last time we went over there before I headed off to college myself. Michael was still living at home out of high school and working at the gas station down the road with no college aspirations in sight. He saw John with his new fiance hop in line for some chow. I think Michael must've been sweet on her too, or just jealous? I don't know. All I know is that when John went in for a kiss as his girl scooped coleslaw onto his plate, Michael hopped up off of the picnic bench and chop blocked him from behind. We all saw John's ankle twist, but even if we hadn't we would've heard the crack anyway. Before Michael could do any more damage his dad ran in and got between them. John got benched for the season and eventually cut.from the team. No more free ride in college, despite his GPA justifying a new grant. Some bureaucratic nonsense about not being able to apply for two in a year. There were no more barbecues. I never saw John over at his parent's house ever again. Part of me always wondered who he resented the most out of that family for what happened to him until one day I saw a nice Lincoln town car roll up to the curb next to their house and pick up Michael without pulling in to say hello to the folks.

Percy: Bo-ring.

Cynthia Rose: My point is that someone could've stepped in at any time and told Michael to leave John alone before he or his pride got hurt in an irreparable way. Someone could reprimanded Michael and told him to cut it out before this developed into an abusive relationship. The parents stood idly by for almost a decade and watched their youngest, their favorite, abuse their eldest until it drove him out of their lives. Colt, I've never asked you to be some shimmering knight in armor that comes to the aide of a damsel in distress. Your time for intervening in any constructive way shape or form has came and went. The damage is done. My pride has been bruised, my eyes have been ruined, and my career has been put in limbo because you didn't step in gracefully when you had the chance to make a difference without treating Kimberly and I like two little children. When you came out there last week after Stephanie pinned me with the unknown assistance of Kimberly Chase in the very same fashion in which you retained your European Championship the last time we faced one another, I wanted to deck you one more than I've ever wanted to hit Kimberly. The three of us stood in the same ring months ago as you drank in false celebration while Kimberly Chase explained to me exactly the kind of hell she wanted to put me through, and you sat back and did nothing. You can't pretend that this is some noble act, not when you did nothing when it directly effected you. I knew your moral compass was broken, but I'd never expect it to lead you back into my path after all that's went down since last we met. I don't want your hand in pity now when you wouldn't accept mine in friendship then. I've been made a fool of for far too long. You don't get to step in at the height of my embarrassment and play the fifties sitcom chauvinist pig breaking up a cat fight between his two lovers. You're in the wrong here, Colt. You've been in the wrong for months. You sat on your hands and made fun of two women fighting over shoes in the locker room while I suffered three major eye injuries within the span of a month. I've never been an impolite woman whose declined saying thank you when it was deserved, but I wont thank you for a title shot that you threw to me in sympathy after your manger won you our last match. I've also never been so rude as to accept something that she hasn't worked for, but you know what? I deserve this rematch. It's owed to me after all that I've earned and lost in your name. I've bled from my eyes in a battle that you dismissed as some kinky exhibition tantamount to mud wrestling. Well if this was all about shoes like you think it was, then there's a crimson shade of shoe polish on your hands for your involvement that doesn't wash off no matter how many title shots or invite to drinks after the show you throw my way."

(Cynthia snaps her gaze around to Percy, which nearly makes him jump from it's intensity as she looks to him for acceptance. She slowly turns her head back to the camera, her usually beautiful smiling face contorted and scrunched, and her eyes glassed over with held back tears.)

Cynthia Rose: Hate is a strong word, Colt. It's a word that's been flushed from my system growing up around bible thumpers and holy men who tell me to love thy enemy as thy neighbor. It's a word that I don't use, Colt. It doesn't allow room for penance or forgiveness. It's an emphatic, unwavering, unchanging indictment upon someone that's very hard to overcome. I don't want to hate you Colt. I don't want to hate anybody, but right now out of all of the backstabbing and ambushing that I've suffered over my short time in Wrestleworld, I've come to resent you the most for doing nothing. I can respect Hana Nakajima and April Song for what they did because they had a reason to do it. I can understand why Kimberly Chase torments my every waking moment because I know that in her mind she can justify what she's doing and tell me to my face as she sprays mace directly into it. You Colt? I don't understand you. I don't know if you get your kicks out of watching women's fighting, if you're afraid of standing up to Kimberly, or if you just don't care what happens to me at the hands of someone you employ. No matter which brush stroke of forced assumption I make, it all paints the picture of an insecure man. Are you desperate Colt? If so, what for? It can't be relevance. You're a champion. It can't be love. You have a family and a manager who seems obsessed with you. What is it? Maybe you're unsure of yourself as a competitor after nearly losing to me in a match that you expected to take lightly? Maybe you're unsure of yourself as a man, so you let 'your woman' fight all of your battles for you? Whichever it is, it hurts my opinion of you greatly Colt.

(Cynthia pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs herself as she cuts a daring glance to Percy as he sits in silence off camera with his head hung. She then glances back down the lens with an unblinking intensity as the watery film disappears from her eyes, evaporated by the fire of her internal rage.)

Cynthia Rose: Hate's a strong word..It's a lonely place in my heart that's hard to escape once you've been placed into it, so change my mind while there's still a brittle splinter of respect left for you wedging the exit door open. I don't need to win this match to make things right between us, Colt. I don't even need a handshake and a pat on the back after it's all said and done. All I need is a clean match against you where you at least try to show me what you're really made of. Make me believe that the 'last outlaw' is still alive and kicking. Reinvigorate my faith in the "saint of the South". Let me feel the presence of "the great protector", because up until now he hasn't been manning his post. Fight me, Colt Montoya. Fight me by your lonesome without someone stepping in to win the fight for you. My capacity for hero worship has been twisted to it's breaking point, so give me faith in the idea that the wrestler I'm striving to be isn't a breed on the edge of extinction. You seem dead set on condemning people to gender roles, so how 'bout you be a man for once Colt and fight your own battle? You've ran down the clock on your salvation in my eyes. Chapter 30: Gold Rush is the zero hour for you to save your soul. Sell yourself to me. Convince me that you deserve that title that I'm going to try to take from around your waist. Sell me on the idea that you can bring the fight without Kimberly waiting in the wings like a sniper in the clock tower at high noon. I've come to see a man about a horse, so sell me Colt Montoya.

(Cynthia buries her mouth into her knees as she glances around the room.)


Cynthia Rose: For your sake I hope this pitch is one for the angels, because you're on the verge of losing that sainthood in my eyes. I feel a bit sanctimonious in saying this, but I'll go head and say it anyways because you need to hear it coming from me; impress me Colt Montoya. Impress this down home girl from the boonies who hasn't even been wrestling a year. I'd feel foolish for asking it of you if I didn't think you wanted me to. I don't want to hate you. I don't want to write you off like so many, including you, have written me off. I want to be impressed by you. I want to be proud to call you the champion of what I believe to be the purest and truest wrestling division in all of Wrestleworld. I want this match to be the resurrection of a savior, but my hands have gone raw in vain attempts of clapping you back to life. It's up to you to raise my opinion of you from the dead. So do it. Please.

(Cynthia peers over her knees as Percy leans back into the shot, placing a firm hand on her shoulder.)

Percy: Don't you feel better now?

(Cynthia's body tightens up even more into it's fetal position as she lets out a woeful and cracked groan.)

Cynthia Rose: No...

Percy: C'mon. I can tell you at least feel relieved.

Cynthia Rose: No, I feel naked and self-conscious.

Percy: Yeah, but I can see it on your eyes. A weight has been lifted from your heart.

Cynthia Rose: Not quite...some...but I'm still not willing to let it all go just yet.

Percy: You know you don't have to like or look up to everyone that came before you in this industry, right?

Cynthia Rose: Yeah, but it'd be nice to like or look up to someone around here.

Percy: You like and look up to me.

Cynthia Rose:...

Percy: Say it.

Cynthia Rose: No...

Percy: Say it!

Cynthia Rose: I don't wanna...

(Percy shoves Cynthia onto her side, causing her erupt from her cocoon of limbs with a giggle as her mentor prods her in the side in faux anger.)

Percy: Say you like me!

Cynthia Rose: Stahahp!

Percy: Say it.

Cynthia Rose: I hahahate yohohohou!

(Percy stops and stares down at his splayed out protege looking up at him with her guard up, like a cat on it's back daring someone to pet it's belly.)

Percy: I thought hate was a strong word?

Cynthia Rose: It is...

Percy: Okay, have it your way.

(Percy gets up off of the bed with a fake mopey expression on his face as he heads for the door. Cynthia, not taking the bait, sticks her tongue out at him. Percy grabs the comforter at the foot of the bed and snaps it, sending Cynthia sailing and crashing to the floor with a laugh. Percy smirks as he opens the door and slams his hand over the light switch.)

Percy: Shoot's over. Rap it up, AV monkey boys.

Cynthia Rose: Hehehey! I didn't say I was done.

Percy: Sorry!

(Percy shrugs and turns the lights off. Cynthia rises from the floor and lunges for him just as he slams the door in her face and leaves her in the darkness, giggling to herself as she tries to twist the slick brass doorknob and pull the door open.)

Cynthia Rose: I know you're holding it closed on the other side you jerk!

Percy: (from the hallway) Sorry, can't hear you. I'm in the hate room part of your heart and a small breeze knocked the splinter out of the door.

Cynthia Rose: Thahat's not funny!

Percy: Why you laughin'?

Cynthia Rose: (hiccuping and wheezing) I'm nohohot.

Percy: Damn, I done and went and broke a perfectly good white girl.

Cynthia Rose: Lahahahanguage!

(Cynthia snorts as her body crumples in the darkness. She holds her sides and tugs at the knob with zero strength or force behind her attempts as she tries to pull herself from the ground still laughing.)

Percy: Cut the cameras off. I can't let my hateful client's mental breakdown be caught on camera. My goodness, Mallory Montana would have a field day.

Cynthia Rose: Eheheheeh! shut uhuhup! I can't breathe!

Percy: On second thought, keep filming! I'll save a copy for blackmail purposes just in case she tries to ditch me as a trainer. I mean she hates me, right? My job lacks security!

(Cynthia swallows her laughter down and struggles to her feet. She falls into the door and flips on the light switch, revealing her happy smiling face damp with tears of laughter.)

Cynthia Rose: Dohohn't

(Cynthia dives over the bed toward the camera as the scene cuts to black.)