THE MEET YUTE… DID YOU SAY “YUTE”?
Backstage at the Amalie Arena, more specifically the craft services table. A rather nervous Mortimer Knightingale looks over his shoulder as craft services has not been very kind to him. Anna Daniels disrespected him. Tony Gamble assaulted him. Ivan Stanislav threw him into a wall. Yes, it is only right for Mortimer Knightingale to express some hesitance.
Mortimer, reluctantly (as always) donning the G.A.S. emblazoned tracksuit provided to him by Tony Gamble, looks to his left and his right and he pours packet after packet of sugar into his coffee (he lost count after eight). Mortimer takes three little red stirrers and he begins swirling it around before placing a lid on the cup. He takes the coffee and starts to leave, looking behind him as he does so, not realizing that a mere six feet away a young newcomer to PRIME is busy looking at her phone…..
Kohime Mori absentmindedly wanders down the hall, eyes fixed to her phone. With her match done and over with, she looks to decompress. Not only is her visual attention captured, but the earbuds occupying her ears have her audio concentration as well. While Mori has been incredibly polite to most of the roster, the truth is that she’s still a slightly irresponsible twenty year old that does slightly irresponsible things… Irresponsible things like walking down a potentially busy hallway while distracted.
Mortimer Knightingale looks forward a split second too late…..
BAM! POP! SPLASH!
Mortimer Knightingale: AHHHHHHHHHH! MOTHERCRAPPIN’ BALL SHIT!
Kohime Mori and Mortimer collide in the middle of the corridor. The lid pops off the coffee, the not-as-hot-as-a-McDonald’s-coffee-but-still-kind-of-hot, and spills onto his hand and tracksuit. Mortimer Knightingale, still holding the cup, coffee dripping from the bottom onto the floor, looks at Kohime and expresses his feelings.
Mortimer Knightingale: Why don’t you watch where you’re goin’?! What’s-a-matter with you?!
Kohime’s hands raise to her mouth in horror. She clearly must not have been paying attention, as Mortimer is not an easy man to miss. She looks around in a panic, her eyes wide in what must be a combination of embarrassment and worry.
Kohime Mori: Ohmygod-ohmygod-ohmygod! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?! Do you need a towel? Does that tracksuit need to be dry cleaned?! I don’t know any places that do that. I should give you a towel! I don’t have a towel, but I’ll get you one!
The young woman looks around, frantic concern fueling her as she scurries around the area. In doing so, Kohime almost bowls over a table. The surface contains some bottles of water and soda. Lesson learned, do not have drinks near this woman. She is a menace to liquids. Mortimer, for his part, looks down at the caffeinated liquid dripping off his tracksuit onto the floor. He looks at Kohime, there is something about her that seems like she is genuinely sorry. Almost….too…..genuine…..
Mortimer Knightingale: What the hell is this, huh? You fuckin’ with me, is that it? Who sent you? Was it Tony? Angelo? Flambergee? My cousin, Mikey? That Brandon Youngblod prick? You got some balls there, short stack!
Mortimer does not register the look of confusion on Kohime’s face (but if he does, he surely assumes it is all part of the act). Mortimer looks down at Kohime, there is anger and hurt in his eyes, months of being disrespected coming out…..yet again.
Mortimer Knightingale: What? You gonna be all nicey-nice, maybe offer me a happy endin’ in a broom closet only for the door to open and I get drenched with pig’s blood like Carrie while you and the rest of these lowlife pricks laugh like fuckin’ hernias at me? As if! You’re oobatz if you think I’m buyin’ what your sellin’.
Kohime’s confusion is quick to shift to hurt itself. Slight tears well up on her lower eyelids. She swallows hard, as if trying to force a rock down her esophagus. Her head dips, her focus down at her feet.
Kohime Mori: I didn’t mean… I’m sorry…
Despite being a super tough wrestler that was surely intimidating to all who interact with her, Kohime is still a fairly young woman. Sure, Mort had a right to be annoyed, angry even. Most people would be, coffee isn’t getting any cheaper. She tries to keep her composure.
Kohime Mori: I’ll get you another coffee… It was my fault.
Mori sniffles as she turns away from Knightingale.
Mortimer Knightingale (to himself): Aw geez…not the waterworks….
Mortimer Knightingale drops his head down, there is an audible sigh. He speaks up, unable to look at the young girl in the face (or even the back of her head).
Mortimer Knightingale: Wait….
Mori stops. Mortimer looks down and drops the cup to the floor like a common litterbug. He opens his mouth to say something. There is a reluctance. Almost as if he cannot bring himself to get the words out.
Mortimer Knightingale: I’m, uh, I’m sorry, okay? It’s, uh, just that, this, um, it ain’t been a roller coaster full of wine and roses for me here. Some days, it feels like-like I got the plutonic plague or somethin’ the way I’m treated. No one acknowledges that I’m here most of the time and when they do, I’m constantly bein’ disrespected like I’m-I’m less than and such as if like, uh, that Charlie in the Box on the Rudolph special, the Island of Nitwit Toys. And with Tony Gamble bein’ a major hemorrhoid up my asshole lately, it, uh, the whole kittens cabootle, it wears on me. So, yeah, all things showin’ equality and all, I, uh, I may have had an overreactionary response to, what can only be manifested as one of them wrong place, wrong time situations. You, uh, you didn’t deserve it. Here….
Mortimer finally brings his head up to find Mori looking at him. He reaches into his pocket and offers up a twenty dollar bill. Kohime blinks away her tears. That confusion from earlier? It’s back and in full force. She looks down to the twenty dollar bill, then back up at Mort.
Kohime Mori: I don’t… I’m not… So is that to get you a new coffee?
The poor Japanese girl is visibly flummoxed by Mortimer’s actions. Maybe the money was to get him a new track suit? That didn’t seem likely. Where would she find one that cheap? Maybe it was for the dry cleaning she offered? He was still wearing the suit though, so that didn’t seem to make much sense either. While Mori silently contemplates the potential reasoning for the twenty dollar bill, Mortimer still holds the cash out, each passing second making the situation more and more awkward.
Mortimer waves the twenty in the air.
Mortimer Knightingale: Take it. It’s nothin’ more than a gesture. Don’t make it into somethin’ it ain’t.
Mortimer Knightigale shrugs before folding up the twenty and placing it into his pocket. He takes Mori’s hand in his and shakes it.
Mortimer Knightingale: Row—er—-Mortimer Knightingale. Nice to meet ya.
Mortimer releases his grip. Mori discovers a folded up bill in her hand. She stares at him for a moment before slowly reaching forward. With a gentle nature, she turns his forearm, palm now facing up. Mori then politely places the money back into his hand. Her eyes meet his and Kohime flashes Mort her best smile.
Kohime Mori: I’m Kohime Mori. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Knightingale.
Kohime gives Mortimer a courteous bow, as is tradition in her home country. Mortimer flashes an awkward smile of his own.. Coffee all over the floor, on his tracksuit, and his shoes.
Mortimer Knightingale: Mori? “You are NOT the father.”
Mortimer Knightingale laughs. Kohime’s eyes dart side to side, an obvious tell that this reference is totally lost on her.
Kohime Mori: Well, yeah… I’m a woman. Not that I’m trying to disrespect anyone’s gender identity. I try not to be rude like that. I’m also single and I haven’t even had se–
Mori’s eyes widen as she realizes the information she’s almost willingly offered. A light blush begins to spread across her face while her right hand shoots up to her mouth, as if such an action will stop her random streams of consciousness.
Kohime Mori: Sorry Mr. Knightingale, I have to go!
The words are muffled, thanks to the hands covering Kohime’s mouth. The girl promptly turns the opposite direction and skitters off, her embarrassment permeating throughout the hallway.
Mortimer Knightingale: Yeah! That’s cool! I gotta….do…things too…..
Mortimer’s voice changes from calling towards the humiliated young PRIME rookie to mumbling to himself, looking at the staining sleeve of his G.A.S. tracksuit and feeling the stickiness of the coagulating goo the coffee has become in his hands.
Mortimer Knightingale: ….like get out of these fuckin’ clothes.
Mortimer looks down the hallway to where Mori had run off. He shakes his head and smirks to himself before casually walking away, each footstep sounding like the peeling of Velcro as the scene comes to a halt. We then cut back to ringside for our next match.