Anxiety Strikes (Cynthia Rose Ch 46 Promo)

(The camera opens inside of King Jones Bowling Alley, surprisingly still active while under renovations as men in gas masks, hard hats, and Ghost Organization branded jumpsuits chaotically strip select walls and work on sections of carpet around a dwindling patronage of bowlers.  Standing in the doorway of the place, somewhat overwhelmed by the activity stand Percy and Cynthia.  They look around, then at each other, roll their eyes in unison, and then head for the counter.  They awkwardly stand, waiting to pay as they look out of place in their civilian wear.  Percy leans against the counter, sporting a bowling shirt and baggy gray khaki's, while Cynthia rocks back and forth anxiously with her arms behind her back wearing a plaid button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of well worn jeans.  They try to avoid one another's line of sight as they impatiently look for the service clerk.)

Percy: So uh, it's been awhile since we've done anything like this.

Cynthia Rose: Yeah, well you had a point about strengthening my wrist now that it's basically healed up.

Percy: I noticed watching back the tapes that you've been clasping your good hand around your bad wrist during suplexes instead of locking your fingers.  That's bad technique.  It could lead to further injury if-

Cynthia Rose: I know, I just don't have the grip strength yet.  I don't trust that I'll be able to hold the bridge just yet.

Percy: Yeah? I guess uh...I guess I get that.

(The two awkwardly meet gazes, seemingly staring past one another as Percy impatiently wraps his fingers on the counter.  As if looking for any reason to look away and break the awkward silence, Percy snaps around and pounds his palms on the counter.)

Percy: Where the hell is the shoe guy?

Cynthia Rose: I-I don't know.  I wish he'd hurry up so we can get to bowling and strategizing.  

(As if a genie summoned from it's bottle, the counter worker pops up from behind the register and plops two pairs of bowling shoes on the counter while swiftly taking Percy's money out of his hand.  He turns and leaves almost as fast as he arrived, leaving the duo awkwardly standing once more, staring down at their bowling shoes.)

Percy: Yeah let's um...let's get to it.

(Cynthia sighs and grabs her shoes and heads for a nearby lane without uttering another word to Percy.  He stares off after her for  a moment, seemingly contemplating if he should follow or not, before picking up his shoes and heading for the lanes.  Percy reaches Cynthia just as she begins to remove her soft cast and put on a bowling glove with wrist support.  He watches silently as she picks up a ten pound ball with her bad arm, strains momentarily, before lobbing it down the alley and right into the gutter.)

Percy: You know...we could get a bumper rink.

Cynthia Rose: I'm not here to win, I'm here to get my arm muscles balanced and strengthened.  It'd kind of belie the point if I just ricochet the ball aimlessly down the lane, don't'cha think?

Percy: True, but there's nothing wrong with getting a little assistance now and again.

(Cynthia rolls her eyes as she stands next to the ball return, flexing her fingers as she anxiously waits to receive the ball.)

Percy: I'm glad you came out.

Cynthia Rose: Yeah, well, it's not like I have much else going on lately...

Percy: You have a lot going on lately.  Too much, even.  Still, it's been too long since we've taken some time outside of the gym to hang out.

Cynthia Rose: I thought you weren't all about that.

Percy: It's not like I have much going on in my personal life between sessions either.

Cynthia Rose: Whose fault is that?

(Before Percy can recover from this hard blow of a rhetorical question, the ball comes down the chute.  Cynthia hurriedly catches it and plunges her fingers in the holes and jerks it off of the return.  Just as she goes to swing back, her fingers give way and the ball lands with a hard thud against the hardwood floors.  Cynthia bends down, panting and clutching her wrist.  As Percy begins to rush over, she shoots him an annoyed stare that stops him dead in his tracks.  She gingerly bends down and picks up the ball in both hands, turns back toward the lane, and flings the ball down the aisle with a sloppy granny shot.  Still keeled over and seething with her hands on her knees, Cynthia forces herself to watch as the ball barely makes it all the way down the lane, only to veer right into the gutter upon approaching the pins.)

Percy: You can ask for help, you know?

Cynthia Rose: Why bother? You'll just interject yourself regardless to if I ask you to or not.

Percy: Is that what this is about? I thought we were over this mess.  He was going to break your other arm.  You expect me to sit back there and watch while-

Cynthia Rose: When I ask you to do just that? Yes.

Percy: Oh so I'm just your little dog now? Tie me up to scaffolding in the back, tell me to sit and stay? Is that how it works?

Cynthia Rose: No, but you're also not my knight in shining armor and I'm not a damsel in distress.

Percy: You looked pretty distressed to me!

Cynthia Rose: Oh, and I guess I looked relieved when you showed up?!

Percy: What's this really about? Because I get the feeling that it isn't just Cynthia having one of her 'poor me' moments.  This feels deeper than that.

Cynthia Rose: Excuse me?!

Percy: You heard me.  I get it, you're a recovering alcoholic with a lot of hometown and bloodline baggage trying to pull you back down to the bottom of a bottle.  That's nothin' new.  That's you.  It's half of what makes you a likable human being.  You have put the weight of the world on your shoulders and you'd be damned if Little Miss Atlas shrugs! That ain't it this time though, is it?

Cynthia Rose: And what do you care?

Percy: Because I care about you, you dumb stubborn ass!

Cynthia Rose: Language.

Percy: I meant like a donkey.

Cynthia Rose: And I meant be careful what you say to the pretty little girl that the world thinks you're trying to groom into being your jail bait girlfriend.  

Percy: You don't understand man.  People see us and think that somethin's up.  I've got a rep.  I gotta keep my distance sometimes.

Cynthia Rose: You don't think people say stuff about me? I've been accused of fellating Architects.  I've been told that I only get where I am because of who my family is.  I'm called phony, weak, a prude, and a slut all in one breath to my back every time I turn around.  Do you think that bothers me? Do you think it changes what I do and how I carry myself? No, but you? You go from not wanting to even spend a holiday together at my parent's house because you're afraid people will talk, to running out and taking hits that you shouldn't  just because I get myself into trouble. So let's figure this out right now, 'coach'.  What are you to me? A father? a lover? a brother? or a stranger? because I'm sick of getting hot, cold, and lukewarm showers of emotion all in the span of one afternoon of training.

Percy: I'm your coach ya damn ninny! I care about you getting better.  I care about every win, loss, draw, and unforeseeable outcome and how it affects your body and mind.

Cynthia Rose: So what? I'm your race horse?

Percy: No! You're an investment of my time, sure, but you're my friend too.  I figured you'd get that by now considering all the asswhoopin's I've taken sticking up for your scrawny ass!

Cynthia Rose: Well I didn't ask you to!

Percy: FRIENDS DON'T HAVE TO!

Cynthia Rose:...

Percy: I invited you here as both your coach and your friend to roll with me.  I didn't get no invite to the pity party of the week, so shut it down.

Cynthia Rose: Yeah? well, you weren't invited.  It's a party of one.

Percy: Kid...

Cynthia Rose: Please leave, Percy.

(The two stare at one another, waiting for the other to budge.  Percy finally lets out a sigh and turns to leave, shaking his head as he exits.  Cynthia watches him go until the familiar sound of the ball coming up the return catches her attention.  She gives one last look toward Percy as he steps through the doors and then leans to pick up her ball.)

????: That wasn't just the biggest public meltdown I've ever witnessed.  Nope, definitely not what just happened here.

(Cynthia looks up to see a young man has taken a seat at her scorecard machine.  She gives him a blank stare, picks up her ball, and then turns to roll.)

????: Sorry, the name's George.  I didn't mean to intrude.  I just heard the argument and...well...

Cynthia Rose: You just thought you'd approach the hostile little pretty girl after she just threw another guy off of her lane?

George: Something like that.

Cynthia Rose: That's pretty dumb of you, George.

George: Don't I get points for boldness?

(Cynthia turns to roll her ball, giving George a covert once over before throwing the rock down the alley and grazing one of the pins on the far end.  She shakes out her wrist in pained frustration before turning back to George.)

Cynthia Rose: Maybe.  Do you know who I am?

George: Seeing as how we're on an island built for wrestling, and you yourself are in just phenomenal shape, I'm guessing you're...a limo driver?

Cynthia Rose: Cute.

George: Yeah, you are.

Cynthia Rose: Coming on a bit strong, are we?

George: Listen, I've complimented you like three times since I've sat down.  Can't a guy at least get a name?

Cynthia Rose: You really don't know who I am?

George: Nope.  I'm just here for the seafood and the sun.  I've never been one for overt violence, but hey I'll make an exception for you doll face.

(Cynthia's cheeks redden with a mixture of flattery and frustration as she walks over and plops down next to George on the bench.)

Cynthia Rose: Me neither, really...the overt violence thing I mean.

George: That must be utterly frustrating as a professional wrestler.

Cynthia Rose: Ohmygosh, you don't know the half of it.

George:...

Cynthia Rose:..OH! Oh, I'm Cynthia.  Sorry.

George: Artemis, eh?

Cynthia Rose: Beg your pardon?

George: Nothing, it was just a bad mythology joke.  Tell me about yourself.  Tell me about wrestling, so long as you don't show me wrestling that is.

Cynthia Rose: You know, I'd rather not right now? I'd rather talk about anything else in the world besides professional wrestling at this very moment.

George: Then that puts me at an advantage because I know nothing about professional wrestling.  Still, there's gotta be more to you than just wrestling, right?

(Cynthia begins to sputter with excitement, only for a sudden realization to cross her mind and sink her head between her shoulders.)

Cynthia Rose: I'm really not sure if there is.  I was born into it, trained for it through the amateur ranks throughout my academic career, rode a scholarship into college, and then came here.  This...wow, this might be my first actual job.  Like...like real job.  I don't think I exist without wrestling.  Heck, we're standing on an island with wrestling in it's name.

George: Sounds like you're having a mid-20's crisis.

Cynthia Rose: Nuts, right?

George: What did you like to do as a kid? Like...before school, I mean.

Cynthia Rose: Mostly just watch TV, read a book here or there, play football.

George: What'd you watch?

Cynthia Rose: My favorite show was Pee-Wee's Playhouse.  My uncle Tony...he's a wrestler too...he got me into it through reruns and VHS.  Looking back, it was quite the obnoxious and taboo little kid's show. Did you ever see it?

George: Yeah, wasn't Laurence Fishburn on that show? Weird.

Cynthia Rose: My parents would go nuts because my unc and I would make up secret words for the day like on the show, and if they said it we'd scream at the top of our lungs no matter where we were or what time of the day it was! Drove them up the walls.

George: Haha, I bet.

Cynthia Rose: I haven't thought about that in years...

(As Cynthia looks off with melancholic nostalgia, George ponders something to himself.)

George: Okay, here's a good thought experiment.  If you did that today, what would you make the word of the day based on how much mileage you think you'd get out of it.

Cynthia Rose: Gee, I don't know...

George: What'd a word your colleagues use incessantly to the point of it losing all meaning?

Cynthia Rose: I suppose it'd be integrity, although I'm probably guilty of that myself.

George: Oh?

Cynthia Rose: Yeah.  Everyone's worried about the value of titles diminishing, or their careers petering out without a noise, or even the entirety of Wrestleworld simply going up in flames spontaneously at any moment.

George: Sounds like an anxious existence.  

Cynthia Rose: No kidding.  Take my match this week for instance.  It's over the Shogun Championship.  That's like the title for people who like to kick and fight with honor and whatnot.  Japanese influenced, of course.  The opponents I'm facing is none other than a very talented and hard nosed woman named Emmanuelle and my own faction mate Chris Sabertooth.  

George: That sounds rough.

Cynthia Rose: It is for a lot of reasons.  For one, I really don't like striking in matches unless it's out of pure self-preservation.  Clearly this title isn't made for someone like me.  Chris Sabertooth knows this and he's a major proponent of the strong style ways of the Shogun Division.

George: You think he views you as unworthy of the gold?

Cynthia Rose: In a way, maybe.  I think he respects me as a competitor, but he knows this isn't my world.  If I were to hold that belt, it'd hurt it's true spirit and integrity.

George: AHHHHHHHHHHH!

Cynthia Rose: Exactly.  Meanwhile, he's worried about his legacy as his career begins to wind down.  Maybe he should be.  Men like Nas and Colt Montoya have came at me during the growing twilight of their runs in wrestling and I ended up being the last match for both in Wrestleworld.

George: So he's worried that you might pull out another career punctuating victory over him?

Cynthia Rose: Perhaps.  It's not my intention to do so, nor do I think he's got both feet in the grave by any means.  He's in his prime still and has proven to be a great leader and ally since recruiting me to World's Finest.  I really admire the man for the demons he's overcome and the obstacles in his career that he's conquered to get where he is today. He's a true icon of Wrestleworld, a cornerstone of the Shogun division he champions,  and a personal hero.

George: Pardon me for saying, but you're using a lot of words to describe this man that aren't 'friend'.

Cynthia Rose: I don't know if he views me as one.  I've kept my distance since joining World's Finest.  I don't know...I kind of feel like the last kid picked for kickball when it comes to those guys.  They're tenured veterans and legends of our sport.  Proven headliners and paragons of virtue. I kind of question what they want to do with me.  Am I just another warm body in their ranks? or do these well-traveled megastars somehow view me as a peer?

George: It sounds to me like you're trying to make that decision for them to spare your own feelings.

Cynthia Rose: You might be right.

George: You fear threatening the integrity of-

Cynthia Rose: Ahhhhh!...sorry.

George: No I started it.  It's fine.  But it honestly sounds like you don't want to find out because you've decided what the truth is in your head already.  Judging from our brief time together, I can't believe they'd view you as a lesser personally.

Cynthia Rose: Flattery will get you nowhere.

George: Yeah, no kidding? By the sounds of things you don't like accepting W's.

Cynthia Rose: Harsh.

George: You seem very reluctant toward success.  It comes off as almost resentful towards it for finding you.  That's just my read after like..five minutes of knowing you.

Cynthia Rose: Not to validate a stranger, but you're not the first person to insinuate such things.  All of this has just happened so fast for me.  I've put in work, I've tried networking with my peers to gain their respect, I've beaten titans of the industry and won gold and battle royals.  

George: Sounds pretty legit to me.

Cynthia Rose: None of it feels earned or deserved.  It's like following all of the steps to make a cake, only for it to taste like ash in the end.  Meanwhile others take slices freely and savor what they've put zero work into.  

George: Sounds like an inferiority complex.

Cynthia Rose: Yeah maybe. I just hope I can pull it together before they decide to replace me with Emmanuelle.

George: Is that something they're considering?

Cynthia Rose: They're trying to recruit her for sure, but she's almost as self-involved as I am. Just in the other direction.

George: She sounds pretty self-assured.

Cynthia Rose: And has every right to be. I respect her, but I really don't know what to make of her.  I'm sure if you asked her she'd say the same of me.

George: I'd be glad to.  Would you happen to have her number?

Cynthia Rose:...

George: It's a joke.  I'm joking.

Cynthia Rose: You know what they say about jokes...

George: That they're funny?

Cynthia Rose: Hardy har.  

George: A'thank you!

Cynthia Rose: Anyway, she might join us or she might join the other side.  Both possibilities horrify me.

George: Why?

Cynthia Rose: Like I said, she's very self-involved.  Not a team player, not a 'for the love of the game' sort.  She doesn't agonize or winge over matches like I do...well, am currently doing.  She just goes in headstrong and fully confident in her ability to win.  Usually she's right to think so.

George: Have you beaten her before?

Cynthia Rose: Once, I think.  

George: So this woman you hold such reluctant esteem for has lost to you at least once in the past? Why be afraid?

Cynthia Rose: That's not how it works.  She's miles away a better wrestler than I, and far more willing to do whatever it takes to win than I am.  

George: Cutthroat?

Cynthia Rose: Yeah, but oddly not malicious.  It's like she has her own code. It's all business between the ropes and nothing personal once we step out of the ring.  She's like the dystopian version of everything I want out of wrestling.  Her sense of sportsmanship is there.  It's twisted and lacks any sense of community, but it's there nonetheless.  The skill, the acumen, the technique? all on display.  Every match she has is an exhibition to show just how good at her craft she really is.  It's a true masterclass of martial arts, pugilism, and grappling.  Percy's had me watch tapes on her over and over again because of the effortless finesse she has.

George: She sounds like quite the warrior.

Cynthia Rose: She is, but like me she often distances herself from others.  For me, it's because I just don't want anyone to get hurt in my name or feel obligated to rescue me from binds I've put myself in. I barely feel worthy of any guidance or boost my career might get from sharing a locker room with these people.    With her? It's the opposite.  She's not going to do anything unless it benefits her.  She has no peers, much less betters.  Having two admittedly toxic and opposing views pulling the faction in two different directions threatens it's-

George: Ah-

Cynthia Rose:...durability.  

George: Aww...

Cynthia Rose: And the Wardens took all of that conflict, intrigue, doubt, and ego and poured it into one match for a top prize in Wrestleworld. What for? to stir up drama where there isn't any? To sway Emmanuelle with gold? To fortify their defenses while taking a chunk out of World's Finest? It all boils down to that one magic word on the tips of everybody's tongue.  The one that makes me scream even when I'm not playing some silly childhood game with a stranger in a bowling alley. I gave up my integrity awhile ago.  I gave it up when I let Layne Driver push me to do something I swore against doing.  

George: Funny thing about integrity is that it's harder than that to break.  You can put chips in the armor and backslide here and there and still stand for something.  I know I'm just some random dude that you don't know from Adam trying to shoot his shot, but the fact that you're sitting here and agonizing over failing to live up to your own irrational yet admirable expectations means you still believe in trying to live up to them.

Cynthia Rose: And what if I fail again?

George: It sounds to me like you've got an entire support system waiting to help pick you back up.  You don't have to rely on them to save the day at every sniff of trouble, but you can take their hand when it's extended to you and let them help you back up.  And, again, I know zilch about your situation and am just some guy trying to get them digits, but from where I'm sitting I see someone worthy of love.  

Cynthia Rose: You don't know the things I've done.

George: And I don't have to.  They do, and it sounds like they're still willing to put up a united front with you instead of for you. You talk about this Emmy girl being shut off from the locker room and self-reliant, but you're doing the same exact thing for all the wrong reasons.  Live a little.  Get hurt, make friends, risk having people say no to you instead of doing it for them. Let people decide for themselves if you're worth bleeding over.  And for the love of God treat yourself like you're somebody.  You list off all of these accomplishments that I can't even fathom and act like you're not worthy of breathing the same air as them. Take a chance on people.  If you really want to test it, what better way than beating that Chris guy and see how he reacts when you take his gold?  Win your way instead of worrying about hanging with those other people, and for once in your life enjoy a victory without wondering what comes next.  There seems to be a lot of mutual respect going on with the three of you, and a whole hell of a lot of integrity to boot.

Cynthia Rose: aaaa...and language.

George: Sorry.  My mother would be ashamed of me using such language in front of such a gorgeous beauty like-

Cynthia Rose: Stop stop! Fine, take my number.  Just...just stop lavishing me with undeserved compliments.

George: I will as soon as you learn how to accept half of them.

Cynthia Rose: Fine.  I'm pretty.  Not pretty enough to deal with my drama, but sure.  

George: Hey I just sat and watched as you bared every insecure bone in your body and I still think said body is hot.

Cynthia Rose: Ugh! I can already tell this is a mistake.

George: If that means you think about me for one night instead of whatever built up clique inferiority you have, then I'm truly honored.


(Cynthia tosses the thought around in her head for a moment, shrugs, scribbles her number down on her bowling receipt, and half-reluctantly hands it to George.)

Cynthia Rose: Pleasure meeting you George.  Maybe next time I'll let you get a word in edgewise and let you tell me about yourself.

George: Fine by me, so long as there's a next time.

(George gets to his feet, giving Cynthia a wink and a finger gun as he heads for the counter to turn in his shoes.  Cynthia stands up and heads back to the ball return, grabbing her ball she takes it under hand without bothering to slip her fingers in the holes.  She hucks it down the lane.  After two bounces it takes out the entire row of pins.  Cynthia pumps her fist victoriously and then goes to mark her score as the camera fades to black.)