Gonna Be Brighter

Mo va pas pre:e vous baton pu casse mo latete.


Pt Four:  Daisies
August 17th 2009


Genevieve Emilie Cross was lovely, even with that 'Southern Momma' stoicness in the face of tragedy.  It wasn't after all that they hadn't seen this coming but there was only so much they could do.  They had gone to court as a last resort to have Damon declared incompetent so that he could be signed into rehab by a family member without his permission and even gotten him into a locked facility.  He'd been smart enough to fool the doctors and stay clean during his stay, he'd even gone as far as claiming he'd 'found Jesus again' and gave mealy-mouth platitudes to his siblings and mother when they'd come to visit.  Momma Cross had chosen to believe him, even as Damon, Henri, and Cynthia had chosen not to.  But they respected her, and for her sake they'd kept their reservations to themselves.  Cynthia supposed that they should feel a little guilty for that, but it wasn't as if they hadn't stepped up as much as humanly possible for a brother that had professed his hatred of the family for trying to save him.

Now that particular speech of Damon's, they'd believed.

So used to his lies, that when the call came Henri had been more numb than grieved, more helplessly accepting than ready to rage against the universe.  Apparently Damon had within days of his release gone right back to his old associates and gotten his pills again, crushing and snorting thousands of dollars of product up his nose.  He'd been found dead, stashed behind a dumpster in the back parking lot of a really crappy Indian restaurant, stinking like curry from the kitchen trash and missing his jewelry, wallet, and shoes.  There were indications he'd been tampered with as well, something Cynthia thought was an extraordinarily polite way to put that he'd whored himself out to feed his addiction.  When the medical examiner had given the family the report Cynthia had taken Momma Cross for coffee so she wouldn't need to hear the details, knowing that Henri would tell her later and knowing she wouldn't be surprised no matter what she was told.

They'd released the body and promised that they'd stay on the case until the people that robbed him were found; they'd get time for stealing from a corpse because the medical examiner had made it clear that he'd died of an overdose long before he'd been robbed and stuffed behind that ignominious dumpster.  No one expected the cops to actually follow through on that, not because they were incompetent but because it wasn't a murder, just some opportunistic thieves robbing a dead drug addicted whore.  It was harsh, but it was the truth and what bothered Cynthia so much was the waste of what he could have been, if he'd have listened instead of bullheadedly going and doing the exact opposite of what he'd been told.

It was really, really hard to picture the bright eyed little boy that had wanted to wrestle just like the rest of his family in the face of the twisted grasping thing he'd become out of bitterness and failure.  To imagine that sweet boy that had promised his Momma he'd be just as good as his Daddy had crashed and burned so badly.  Agreeing to matches he was in no way built for had started the downward slope, and were a large part of the reason Cynthia hated 'hardcore' matches with so much burning vitriol.  She didn't respect garbage wrestlers who built their careers on the backs of garbage matches to satisfy the blood thirst of idiot fans that ate that shit up.  In the future, she'd be quite vocal about it, though she was never slow to swing a bat or a steel chair when it was needed.

But the other, she knew the cost of more intimately than those that habitually wrestled them would believe she did.

The cost being a goodly woman dressed in black lace, holding a parasol in her gloved hands while they lowered her baby boy into the hot baked Summer dirt.

==
March 5th 2015


“So have you thought about what you'll do after?  Where are you thinking of going?”

Aurora's breathy whisper of a voice rose in the kitchen of Cynthia's kitchen, homey and warm in the ranch house she shared with Shane Brooks.  The steaming mug of coffee in Aurora's hands was still nearly full, she sipped at it with her own bit of despondedness after sharing her news with her sister.  Cynthia was still in a bit of shock, she'd been unhappy with Aurora's decision though she understood it.  It was so dangerous, what she was trying for a baby that was little more than a small dot of cells that it blew her mind that she'd even try.  She agreed with the doctors but looking into her sister's amazing green eyes she felt the passion Aurora had.  Her baby, that could end up costing her more than just the time off of her white-hot career to even try to have it.  Aurora had hope that the things she was looking into could fix the ectopic pregnancy, even though most would have just given up hearing the initial diagnosis.  Cynthia attributed a lot of Aurora's stubborness to the dream she'd had of a child, and that child's important future even though it was totally irrational in Cynthia's mind.

But she knew her sister well enough that she bit those words back, and held her when she'd shed tears.  Sitting across from her now though all she could muster up was a wry shrug and a shake of her head.

“Non, haven't.  Lookin' at this match, I gotta wonder if any of us gonna be wantin' to do more than heal up a long time after it's over.  Ain't a match designed to make a longer career, if'n we ain't careful might end one though.”

She'd swiped a few tears of her own away, and heaved a bitter sigh.  “Hadn't wanted to believe it was done, you know?  I had so much I wanted t'do with the Rising Phoenix championship, wanted to face me Dexter Jacobs over his big ol' belt, or that damn Molly Reid over hers.  I'd had 'em both, eventually...was so sure of where I was goin' in IWF.  Laid all out ahead of me, like dominos...and now there's nothin'.  One more match, doors is closed, it's done.   Just...done.  I know Dex an' V, they got contracts with Sin City Wrestlin' and that's all good but...this was what I wanted.”

Cynthia tossed her hands up, a bit of helpless rage coming and going before she shook her head.  “Can't say how this'll go.  Me n' Beth, we're a great team an' we know how to beat them chiennes Molly n' Blyss...hell, last time them two was a team Blyss even done turned her back on Molly and walked on out.  I don't think she'll do that again though, not this time.  Not now, that this is the last one.  There's some pride on the line, pride in bein' on the last show and doin' what we love but damn.  You know how I hate shit like this t'start with, an' why.”

She waved her hand about almost dismissively.  “Ain't how I saw m'self goin' out of IWF I guess.  But I'll be there, damn straight.  Just...ain't sure what happens after. If there can even be an after.  This just feels s'damn final.  Feel the worst for Beth, she ain't the type t'get mad enough on her own t'stay afloat.  This is like tossin' a guppy in a shark tank and I ain't likin' that either.  But I got her back, so we'll see.  Just...damn, y'know?”

That soft, so soft breathy whisper.  “Yeah... I do.  Better than most, Cyn.  I know.”

==

I see skies of blue, and clouds of white,
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

==

March 15th 2015


“Turning points.  Everyone's gottem, oui?”

Cynthia Cross stepped out in front of the camera, dressed in jeans and her ubiquitous straw cowgirl hat and wrestling boots on instead of those worn cowgirl boots she wore around the ranch.  The muted colors of those made the violet of her off the shoulder top more vivid, and she paced a bit as her fingers toyed with the little gold daisy pendant around her neck.  Behind her over the mantle of the deep fireplace was her Rising Phoenix title belt, proudly on display and she glanced at it a brief moment before turning a serious expression back to the unblinking crystal lens.

“The very last IWF show, the very last time y'all will get t'see Cynthia Cross in the ring as an Insurgent.  Insurgents TLC Match, described on the poster as 'Our Women Kill All' an' I guess that's fair 'nough.  Me n' Beth Keaton against Molly Reid and Blyss Lockhart and this?  Gon' be good, but gon' be nasty too.  I ain't gotta get up here an' preach 'bout how I feel about the stipulations of this here match we got.  Ain't just a TLC, naw.  Tornado tag rules, pin fall or submission win only on top o' that, but wait! There's more!  As if that ain't enough, gotta make both members of the other team bleed with a chair or weapon, an' gotta put one of the other team through two stacked tables n' break 'em both...BUT that still ain't enough, non.  After that, gotta BREAK a ladder in half by smashin' a body through it...then either one can go for that pin or submission.”

Cynthia's eyes rolled.  “Walk in the park, aw hell naw.”

“There's a good chance all four o'us ain't gonna be leavin' the TD Garden in Boston under our own power.  Hell, there's a good chance one or more o'us ain't gonna have much of a life or career after this.  Because it's a fuckin' Sarlaac pit of a match, designed t'be as brutal as possible.  Hell only thing we ain't got is a cage.”  She paused, a sort of surprised expression on her face for a brief instant.

“Huh.  Wonder how come we didn't get that?  Eh.  Don't hardly matter now.  There's a lot of things comin' together for this.  People wonderin' if'n Beth maybe will sink'r swim but don't you worry none about Beth.  She's tough, she's gone through shit and I've got me faith in her.  Molly'n Blyss... lots o' folks wonder where the fuckin' hell Blyss got her head at, would be pointin' at what happened last time them two were a team and think it's gon' happen again... nah.  Not this time, cause see, it's the last time we're gonna all be IWF proud, and us bitches we ain't like other people.  Molly, she might be movin' on to MMA, Blyss... fuck.  I like me some Blyss but it wouldn't surprise me to see her ass FBI's most wanted, she that unpredictable...but no matter what, we're all IWF and well we got us a standard to uphold.

So much as I hate this kinda shit, as much as I hate hardcore, I do know that for this one night we're all gonna bring all the dark n'evil shit in our souls out and shake it for the world t'see.  We're gonna do things we ashamed of in that ring, that too.  But fact is, we gonna do it and there ain't no right or wrong in a match like this.”

Cynthia squared her shoulders and nodded.  “Already got both y'names on my boots, ladies.  I know we gotta win by pin or sub, and we got to haul through a lot of shit t'get there, but when the time comes, superkicks for errybody.”

The Creole Lovely gave the camera a crooked smile then.  “I'd like t'say that after this, me n'Molly could maybe bury the hatchet but ah think we both know that's a lie.  We both know this might be our last crack at each other.   So Molly, let's burn it down.  Blyss, don't worry, ain't forgot about you, non.  Both us, we gonna do the dark shit that maybe our partners can't and well..  I'm okay with that.  Ain't too sure 'bout you, but hey.  Beth... you just trust in me.  Gon' be okay.  Somehow.”

She shrugged, and bent at the waist to reach for the camera.  “So that's it...ain't got much else t'say...”

**click**

==

Amarillo, Texas – two weeks ago

"Here honey - have some cocoa."

Cynthia handed the lid of the thermos that served as a cup over to Beth, who looked positively miserable even in her Carhartt coat with the warm sherpa lining.  It was cold, snow on the ground and the wind made the 'reasonable' 25 degrees feel more like negative fifteen; but they were outside on this particular morning because as Cynthia had put it That asshole horse Butterscotch got out and kicked a hole in the pen on his way.  The ranch near Amarillo Texas had about ten horses, some working and some show and as Beth had noted most of them were named after types of pie:  Peaches, Blueberry, Blackberry, Apple, Sugar, Butterscotch, Chocolate, Pecan... some of whom had the sense to stay in the warm ass barn, but the ones that didn't were what they were out retrieving.  It certainly wasn't what Beth had thought they'd be doing, they had a big match coming up as a team and while most wrestlers would be training their brains out Cynthia and Beth were rounding up horses.

Cynthia had a twinkle in her pretty eyes as she looked at Beth, her voice staying low but firm enough not to let the wind sweep her words away.

"We just need to find Buttons and Sugar, then we can go warm up."

Beth nodded, her lower lip jutting out just a bit before she looked up plaintively at Cynthia.  Most people couldn't wrap their heads around why Cynthia liked Beth; Cynthia was wicked, had a sharp temper and a sharper tongue and had once told Molly Reid that she'd need to up her fiber intake because she'd need to take a T-Rex sized shit to cover the roster members in IWF better than her in the ring.  But time and again she'd stepped in when people made fun of the happy-go-lucky Beth on Twitter, and she'd had her to her house more than once even when they weren't actively in a tag match together.  There was just something about the girl that Cynthia had cottoned to, and she displayed a patience with her that she gave very few people - hence she waited while Beth crafted her question.  She wasn't stupid, she just had a radically different way of thinking was all.

"Howcome we're not training?  Like...this Insurgents match, shouldn't we be..."

"Non."  Cynthia held up her hand, forestalling the rest of it and reached to pat Beth on the shoulder.  "We ain't gotta, not more than to just be in shape honey.  See, ain't take no wrestlin' skill t'put a chienne through a fuckin' ladder an' make it break.  This ain't wrestlin' sugar it's a gotdamn blender of hot garbage.  All we gotta do really t'win is hurt Molly and Blyss afore they can hurt us."

Beth seemed pained, as Cynthia looked to the horizon, gaging from the lightening up right where sky met ground it would be pre-dawn very soon.

"Ah know, you ain't the type t'want to hurt people on purpose jus' t'win a match.  It ain't in ya, to be so set to break someone.  S'okay."  For a brief instant, Cynthia Jillaine Cross had a very bleak expression on her lovely face.  "Ah'm gonna pick up ya slack here.  Don't worry, Beth.  Don't you worry t'all."

==

Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world.

==


Lyrics: Louis Armstrong, Kenny G “What a Wonderful World”
OOC NOTE:  Yeah yeah, the song is the ultimate in cheese but you know – it's also a lovely goodbye.  Honestly, when I brought back Cynthia I had no idea how it would go, and I'm glad to say that I enjoyed my time in IWF.