Post by Rachel on Apr 28, 2007 23:02:36 GMT -5
The sun is hanging in Florida-style, mid-day heat position, which leads to the conclusion that it is about noon. Men and women of many races walk the streets. Cubans, blacks, whites, and Asians clutter the sidewalk, heading for the famous Miami beaches that call to them so loudly. 'Come, tourists, spend your money in our fair city so that we can pretend to use it to improve our schools'.
Many people pass the automatic, sliding door entrance to the Hilton while others go in and out, comparing rates with other hotels, checking into their rooms and checking out. Deep into the heart of the hotel, about twelve stories up, is a room reserved for the wealthier guests who aren't afraid to pull just a little bit more cash from their pocketbook. Inside this room are several indivdual, private rooms.
We arrive at the third door on the left and gently it opens to reveal a woman lying faced down on a table. Her brown hair is pinned behind her head. She is wearing nothing but a towel, which is covering her bottom. A very tall, muscular man stands just behind her. He is working his fingers into her back, relaxing the muscles just around her shoulder blades. The familiar voice of Rachel begins to speak.
Rachel: Go down a little bit...The small of my back has been killing me for some reason. Ohhh...Perfect.
Rachel looks up an smiles contently.
Rachel: You know, its so funny. The stereotype is that women are the ones who run around like a chicken with their head cut off, worrying and suffering...But it seems that all of my opponents, who just happen to be men, are the ones doing that. Here I am getting a massage, having all the kinks worked out of my muscles so that I can be loose and ready for the match...And here is everyone else having terrifying yet inspirational nightmares, hearing voices, and aiding and abetting some poor man's suicide. What the hell is wrong with the world, when a woman who has less of an advantage can look at a match as brutal and hellacious as this one, and treat it like a bad manicure?
Rachel sighs, obviously enjoying the deep tissue massage.
Rachel: I know that you're thinking that I am not taking this match seriously enough. I cannot find a good way to express how wrong you are. I can see it in your eyes. You look at me and you think that it won't take more than the snap of your fingers, and I'm out of that match. Corporal Punishment says he's seen great women in his ranks and yet they paled in comparison to his men. Hmm...you may have seen great women before but you have yet to face THE woman. You have yet to come face to face with a woman brazen enough to bring you to your knees. Come Sunday, you will finally be able to say that you met her. Jordan has obviously seen his share of bitchy women, and I know that is going to drive him to attack me extra hard. Its a psychological thing, and believe me, the boy's got some psychological problems. I'm ready for you to bring it, Champ. Althought at first I did, now I'm not taking you so lightly. You've shown that you can stand in the face of adversity and spit in it's eye. That is admirable. But still, you've got some unresolved issues that you need to work through, because you're still not focused 100%. The only thing that is distracting me is what color dress to wear to my cousin's wedding next weekend. I guarantee that won't be on my mind when I climb into the squared circle.
Speaking of psychology, look who had a break through! Hey, Prozac, glad to see that you found yourself. I take it that you and Ritalin worked things out? Glad to hear that your relationship is going well. Maybe you can actually bring some of that fire to the ring Sunday, and give your fans something to stand behind. You're slipping, buddy. Yeah, you won the contendership, but it was so boring that Makaveli decided to steal your thunder and throw five other guys in the ring...I think that's saying something about your performance.
Man: Times up, Rachel.
The man exits the room and Rachel pulls the towel up to cover the rest of her body. She swings down off of the table.
Rachel: Sunday, it isn't going to matter who Calaz has training him or managing him; it won't matter that Corporal is Army strong, or that Prozac found some initiative. It won't matter that Jordan is coming in there a little off the hinges, or that Thor is a sick bastard. Because come Sunday its going to go like this:
I came, I saw, I conquered.
Rachel disappears behind a screen where we see her silhouette shedding the towel and stepping into a pair of pants. The scene closes just as she slips a t-shirt on over her head.
Many people pass the automatic, sliding door entrance to the Hilton while others go in and out, comparing rates with other hotels, checking into their rooms and checking out. Deep into the heart of the hotel, about twelve stories up, is a room reserved for the wealthier guests who aren't afraid to pull just a little bit more cash from their pocketbook. Inside this room are several indivdual, private rooms.
We arrive at the third door on the left and gently it opens to reveal a woman lying faced down on a table. Her brown hair is pinned behind her head. She is wearing nothing but a towel, which is covering her bottom. A very tall, muscular man stands just behind her. He is working his fingers into her back, relaxing the muscles just around her shoulder blades. The familiar voice of Rachel begins to speak.
Rachel: Go down a little bit...The small of my back has been killing me for some reason. Ohhh...Perfect.
Rachel looks up an smiles contently.
Rachel: You know, its so funny. The stereotype is that women are the ones who run around like a chicken with their head cut off, worrying and suffering...But it seems that all of my opponents, who just happen to be men, are the ones doing that. Here I am getting a massage, having all the kinks worked out of my muscles so that I can be loose and ready for the match...And here is everyone else having terrifying yet inspirational nightmares, hearing voices, and aiding and abetting some poor man's suicide. What the hell is wrong with the world, when a woman who has less of an advantage can look at a match as brutal and hellacious as this one, and treat it like a bad manicure?
Rachel sighs, obviously enjoying the deep tissue massage.
Rachel: I know that you're thinking that I am not taking this match seriously enough. I cannot find a good way to express how wrong you are. I can see it in your eyes. You look at me and you think that it won't take more than the snap of your fingers, and I'm out of that match. Corporal Punishment says he's seen great women in his ranks and yet they paled in comparison to his men. Hmm...you may have seen great women before but you have yet to face THE woman. You have yet to come face to face with a woman brazen enough to bring you to your knees. Come Sunday, you will finally be able to say that you met her. Jordan has obviously seen his share of bitchy women, and I know that is going to drive him to attack me extra hard. Its a psychological thing, and believe me, the boy's got some psychological problems. I'm ready for you to bring it, Champ. Althought at first I did, now I'm not taking you so lightly. You've shown that you can stand in the face of adversity and spit in it's eye. That is admirable. But still, you've got some unresolved issues that you need to work through, because you're still not focused 100%. The only thing that is distracting me is what color dress to wear to my cousin's wedding next weekend. I guarantee that won't be on my mind when I climb into the squared circle.
Speaking of psychology, look who had a break through! Hey, Prozac, glad to see that you found yourself. I take it that you and Ritalin worked things out? Glad to hear that your relationship is going well. Maybe you can actually bring some of that fire to the ring Sunday, and give your fans something to stand behind. You're slipping, buddy. Yeah, you won the contendership, but it was so boring that Makaveli decided to steal your thunder and throw five other guys in the ring...I think that's saying something about your performance.
Man: Times up, Rachel.
The man exits the room and Rachel pulls the towel up to cover the rest of her body. She swings down off of the table.
Rachel: Sunday, it isn't going to matter who Calaz has training him or managing him; it won't matter that Corporal is Army strong, or that Prozac found some initiative. It won't matter that Jordan is coming in there a little off the hinges, or that Thor is a sick bastard. Because come Sunday its going to go like this:
I came, I saw, I conquered.
Rachel disappears behind a screen where we see her silhouette shedding the towel and stepping into a pair of pants. The scene closes just as she slips a t-shirt on over her head.