"Fear is not a weakness unless you allow it to be. Fear will destroy you. However, you can remain a burning ember, waiting to be snuffed out, or you can rise from these ashes like a beautiful phoenix." -Delia, darling if you must...
S.C.E.N.E. O.N.E. -- Judas
LOCALE: Paris, France
We come in to see a pair of black Louboutin heels with edgy spikes on the toes clicking against the cobblestone. Each step is more and more demanding than the last as we leave the cobblestone to the cracked blacktop of historic Paris. We move up the legs, covered mid calf in tasteful black sheer hose, moving up the milky flesh to a knee length tan khaki skirt, black corset, and white blouse. Bouncing on the woman's shoulders is a large beauty queen hairstyle indicative of Delia Darling. She lowers her sunglasses to peer around for a moment as she crosses the street, headed toward the park where she had spent much time in her younger years. The luscious greenery is in bloom on this sunny spring day, and Delia seems to truly feel at home. She walks along the path, passing housewives walking their dogs in their best fashions, showing off more than taking in the beauty of the day. Delia walks around a bend on the path, looking at the flowing geyser fountain. She watches the fountain for a moment as it seems to mentally wash away her normal demur facade. A crack in the foundation is as evident as the crack in her black half mask, covering her scars sustained just a few short months ago. She adjusts it nervously as she gulps. This was real. It was really happening. As soon as this reality washes over her, a masculine hand gently grips her shoulder, causing her to jump.
"Ne craignez pas , ma chérie . Il n'y a que moi...
Delia looks down at the rippling of the fountain, unable to force herself to look into the face of the man standing behind her. The brutishly charming man gently walks around her, his shaved head covered in a dark stubble that matching his five o'clock shadow nicely. He flashes a meek smile at her, even though she still doesn't acknowledge him verbally. He is wearing a white muscle shirt underneath a black and blue flame printed button up shirt, a humble cross hanging from a chain around his neck. He places his hand under Delia's chin, lifting it slightly as he winds around to look into her eyes. His dark eyes stare into hers for the slightest of seconds before she jerks her chin from his grasp.
"Ma petite... Maybe I should speak en Anglais to capture your attention, no?"
Delia closes her eyes, her jaw clinched tightly, though her anger is a very faulty cover for the fear bubbling within. She takes a deep breath and looks into his eyes.
Delia: Guillaume, I've come to listen, not to speak. You've gotten my ear, now use it.
Guillaume looks a bit hurt by the way she speaks to him. He leans in close to her, causing a small gasp to escape her mouth as she jumps back a few inches. He holds his hands up in surrender as he takes a step backward.
Guillaume: I do not wish to cause you... discomfort. I just wanted z'e opportunity to show you how I've missed you... how much you have changed me.
Guillaume nods his head to assure her, but she has not quite taken to this notion. He purses his lips as he takes a breath through his nose, as he pulls a long black velvet box from his pocket.
Guillaume: I've gotten you a gift...
He holds the box out toward Delia with a hopeful smile on his face. Her eyes lower to the box with contempt written across her face. She narrows her eyes as she folds her arms across her chest in an almost defensive manner. Guillaume sinks once more as he opens the box to reveal a white gold charm necklace, a pair of white gold angel wings in the center with the words "Mon ange" on them. He removes the necklace from the box and holds it out for her to see it in the glory of the bursting sun. He reaches over with his free hand to gently remove her blonde waves from her shoulders as he prepares to wrap the necklace around her neck. She rips it from his hands, turns around, and tosses it into the fountain, much like a penny into the wishing well. His heart practically sinks, and anger boils inside of him.
Delia: You do not get to give me gifts, you fils'y swine! Your charming lies do not affect me any longer, Gui.
Guillaume: Do you have an idea of how many euros z'at necklace cost?
Delia: Perhaps you should have used it to buy yourself a clue! I came here to listen to what you had to say, but under z'e condition z'at you not feed me your bullshit! Clearly you cannot handle z'e terms, so you've made me waste twice as many euro on z'e trip here. By my estimation, you still owe me.
Guillaume: You act as if people cannot change, ma...
Delia's eyes flare up as she shoots daggers in his direction.
Delia: I have not been yours for eight years now, so you do not get to call me "ma" anys'ing! As a matter of fact, I have come to tell you z'at you no longer hold any power over me. My days of fearing you are over, and z'at was z'e last emotion z'at ever belonged to you. I have taken an interest in someone, and I wish to hopefully give z'em all of my emotions.
Guillaume: When you said you had matters of z'e heart to attend to... you did not wish to get back toges'er?
Delia chuckles, though there is a hint nervousness still present in this.
Delia: As much as I have hated and feared you, I never took back z'e piece of my heart I gave you nearly a decade ago. I have been unable to move on. Maybe it is z'at I have not wanted to move on? Z'is has now changed. I will no longer live in z'e shadow of... you. Wea'ser it be wi's Johnny, or...
This time, it is Guillaume that chuckles. Delia gives him an irritated questioning look.
Guillaume: You are leaving me for some in-bred Yankee named "Johnny"?
Delia: Z'e nerve of you! A man who courted a girl fifteen years younger z'an him... a pedophile... dares talk of anos'er man's character in such a way? Z'is proves you have not changed one bit, and z'at I am making z'e right call to leave you, fully.
Delia unfolds her arms as she turns to walk away. Guillaume grabs onto her wrist, spinning her around as he attempts to pull her into his arms in a romantic display for the ages. However, Delia rips her arm free and kicks him right in the crotch with her spiked heels. He practically cries from the pain as he sinks down to one knee. Adrenaline takes over Delia as she stares down at him. Through the pain, he gives one final attempt.
Guillaume: How to you expect people to believe you've changed when you cannot afford me z'e same?!
Delia glares at him for just a moment before she turns to walk away. She looks straight ahead as if she is on a mission now.
Delia: Because, unlike you... I actually have changed...
Delia pulls her phone from her pocket and goes through her contacts. She lands on a picture of SCW's latest signee, Johnny Tsunami, and she presses the dial button. She places the phone to her ear as she nervously fluffs her hair with her free hand, continuing to walk away as the scene winds down.
[*Fade]
"Be careful what you wish for, because it just might come true. When you wish for the wrath of Delia Darling, it is not a dream, but a nightmare." -Delia, darling if you must...
S.C.E.N.E. T.W.O. -- You Want War...?
LOCALE: Cathedral of St. Vincent de Paul; Tunis, Tunisia
"Silver and Cold" by AFI begins playing through the speakers, against a totally black screen. All other sound is drowned out as the screen fades into a foyer with double wooden doors to the left and right. In the center is a fountain, lightly trickling water from a stone spout on the wall. We pan around to see Delia walking through the doors. She is wearing a black dress suit that looks as if she were attending a funeral, sheer black stockings tracing up her thighs to a short but classy skirt. Her hair is black and done up in a side bun with a bonnet and veil that covers her face. Her crimson red lips parting as she straightens out her skirt, walking toward the door to the right. She walks through it, slowly removing her earbuds, causing the music to die down mostly. She tucks the earbuds away as she turns to a stoup of holy water. She dips her three inner fingers into it, signing the trinity before bowing her head, clasping her hands together. She turns around to stare down the aisle at the row of black and red chairs, leading to the never ending line of pews. Her eyes fall upon the altar, and the art surrounding it. The sun shines through the vaulted ceiling, as the only true source of light. The stone pillars leading down the sides of the room of worship seem to bring her closer and closer to the front without her even realizing it. Before she knows it, she is at the edge of the altar. In front of a thin wrought iron cross, she genuflects, bowing her head further before standing and turning toward a line of large wooden booths. She walks over to one of them, entering the darkness. She sits down on the bench, and opens a door that reveals a screen leading to another seemingly empty booth as the music fades out.
Delia: Forgive me fas'er, for I have sinned.
Delia pauses as she looks over to the screen. She reaches into her blouse slightly, pulling out her rosary beads, letting them slip between her fingers for a moment, waiting, only to go unanswered.
Delia: Before z'is turns into a scene from Easy A, I assume I'm all alone in here... and it is perfectly fine. I've always felt I have a deeper connection to z'e Lord in private. I don't need some old man full of rhetoric to tell me you forgive me. I just need to feel z'at you have...
Delia slowly removes her beads from around her neck, gently wrapping them around her hand in a very traditional manner.
Delia: I have sinned against my fellow man... many times over z'e last year and a half. I know violence and brutality is in my job description, but I've been... utterly contemptuous. I was blind and ignorant to z'e fact. I just s'ought I was defending myself, when I was practically asking for it. After a year of tormenting, and even encouraging a young man to commit suicide just to fit in wi's my supposed friends... I feel...
Delia purses her lips as her eyes lower to her hand. She tries her best to fight it, but a deep sob escapes her lips as tears trickle down her chin. She stumbles for a moment, but picks back up where she was.
Delia: I feel ashamed of myself. I've done so, so many despicable s'ings, I couldn't even begin to list z'em all here, but you know. You know every detail. I've come here because I seek forgiveness.
Delia sniffles and pulls a tissue from the inner pocket of her dress jacket. She dabs at her eyes, adjusting her face just enough to ditch the stinging within her cheeks.
Delia: I know I am supposed to admit to each s'ing I wish to be forgiven for, but unfortunately, I do not seek your forgiveness for my past actions. I feel it defeats z'e purpose of confession to only go out and repeat z'e same actions. No, z'is is but a mere promise z'at I shall come and seek repentance. If I am going to sin, at least I shall use it to become a martyr. You see, Mean Girls have declared a war on z'e Bombshell division, and z'e Bombshells have answered in a less z'an effective manner. Being blinded by power, I couldn't see z'e serpants tightening around me, controlling me. My eyes have opened...
Delia's eyes clinch as she takes a deep breath, pursing her lips. As she opens her eyes back up, there is a look of anger and conviction.
Delia: Mean Girls are as z'e girls in z'e locker room call z'em... a disease. Unfortunately, you can't s'row random pills at an ailment and expect it to go away. No, you can't hope for a miracle cure. Sometimes, you have to cut into z'e matter and get to z'e root of z'e problem. Consider me an x-ray to every broken inner workings of z'e Mean Girls. Z'ey want war, and I will give it to z'em. I will be part of a two woman army, and it starts on Sunday, it will all begin...
Delia's eyes lift slightly as she narrows them, looking right into the camera.
Delia: Amanda Cortez has offered herself up as z'e hero to show Veronica her loyalty. It shows bravery, and quite honestly, I am impressed. Oops, sorry Lord... I shouldn't lie in church. I'm mildly intrigued at best. Amanda calls everybody and z'eir sister out on Twitter. Unfortunately, she is but a fool. She is z'e jester and she doesn't even realize it. I used her own ignorance to pull her into z'e Mean Girls, so it is my job to take care of her.
Delia nods her head, sure of herself as she clinches the rosary beads between her fingers tightly. She hisses in a deep breath of conviction before continuing.
Delia: I've created z'is monster, so I must be z'e one to defeat it. I am z'e one who unleashed z'e Mean Girls on z'e world, but I am personally responsible for Amanda Cortez. Hopefully by my taking her down, z'e girls in z'e locker room will see exactly how sorry I truly am for everys'ing I've done. I know it is only z'e beginning, but one has to start somewhere, no?
Delia sighs as she loosens up a bit. She rests her eyes on the beads between her fingers, gently sliding each bead between them as she pauses for a moment.
Delia: Amanda is a pest. She is a sickness, and I have no option but to put her down. She is a walking pestulance, and I will not let her off z'e hook so easily. She s'inks she will walk right over me wi'sout any problem, but do you know who else s'ought it would be so simple? Misty... Necra Octavian Kaine... Amy Marshall... Roxi Johnson... practically every person I've faced over z'e last year and s'ree mon's. Why should I expect z'e biggest idiot of Sin City Wrestling to be any different. She reminds me of a Nicki Minaj song... "Starships"? No... "Anaconda"? Bitch please... I have her beat in z'e rear view, darling... Why, isn't it obvious? "Stupid Hoe"... She could have accepted z'e mercy I was kind enough to grant her, being a good Cas'olic girl. She could have just stepped aside when we decided to part ways, but no. She couldn't do z'at, and it is why she has to be z'e dumbest Bombshell to ever grace z'e roster, and z'ey've employed Liz Smalls... sorry, Lizzy...
Delia bows her head in regret for having to go there, almost as if giving an immediate apology to Liz for this. She then lifts her head to look back into the camera.
Delia: Mercedes and I gave Veronica what she wanted. We gave her control of Mean Girls. We allowed her to take control of z'e ship to inevitably crash it into an iceberg and sink z'at it. But neis'er of z'em could accept z'at. Z'ey have taken one of my golden rules, targeting z'eir biggest competition to take z'em out. Sadly, z'ey are way out of z'eir league on z'is one, because... Delia Darling? Mercedes Vargas? Need I say more?
Delia lets out an arrogant laugh, though she quickly tries to stifle it by placing a hand over her mouth. She quickly recomposes herself as she looks over toward the screen to her side.
Delia: My point is z'at we bowed out gracefully, leaving z'em to have z'eir fun wi'sout taking part in it any longer. Z'at wasn't enough as Veronica and Amanda decided z'ey wanted to take away my runway. Z'e one I paid for? Z'ey insist on using my taglines? Enough is enough! I can only turn z'e os'er cheek so many times. I mean, I'm not Jesus... Now, before Mercy and I really stick to z'is war, I am going to give Veronica and Amanda one last warning... "Back off bitches!" Accept your defeat on Sunday, and maybe I can talk Mercy into calling it even. But...
Delia holds her index finger up very pointedly as she glares into the camera, pausing silently for dramatic effect. She purses her lips for a moment before licking at her bottom teeth, savoring the moment.
Delia: But, if Veronica or Angelica so much as sticks z'eir nose into z'is match, it will go from a mere punishment, to all out attricion. Amanda, I would advise you to spread z'e warning to your sisters, because if Veronica so much as sticks a finger inside of z'e ring to tickle me... it's going beyond, hunty... Grow a pair of lady balls, Amanda, because you do not want to truly see my bad side. It's all fun and games when you watch it happen to os'ers, but I assure... you will not be laughing. Z'is is not some tickle fest as you might s'ink, Mandy. Z'is is real. Real anger. Real violence. Real betrayal. It's like a Catfight Cocktail, a murderous moltov of bitchiness just waiting to explode. See, you will bleed, Mandy. Z'at is a guarantee. However, you can accept it z'is once, or you can truly get on my bad side, and we can make it a regular s'ing. You know I am good for my word, deep down. I will leave z'e decision to you... meaning Veronica, since she s'inks for you. Let's just hope she makes z'e right one, because it really would be a shame to see everys'ing I created go to a total waste... Sorry bout it...
Delia smirks almost wickedly, letting out a slight chuckle as she neatly stands up from her seat. She un folds her hands from over her lap as she stretches out. She seems as if a weight has been lifted from her shoulders, despite not having a true confession. She presses her hand against the wooden door, ready to leave before she gasps.
Delia: How perfectly impolite of me... in z'e name of z'e Fas'er, of z'e Son, and of z'e Holy Spirit... Amen.
Delia signs the Trinity in correspondence with her words. She does a polite curtsy before opening the door. Light floods the once dimly lit confessional as she slowly exits. As the door slams, we see a hand touch at the screen from the other side. Peeking through the screen in confusion, there is a priest.
Man: What... what is a hunty?
He slowly shakes his head as he ponders what has just taken place in his confessional booth. He slowly retracts his hand from the screen, disappearing back into the shadows. We pause for a moment inside of the confessional before the screen slowly goes back to black.
[*Fade*]
