3.01.2002
1) I was contacted today by Poi Pot, head of the famous underground Cambodian Improv Troupe, "The Laughing Fields," earlier today. It was a thrilling experience.
2) For every story Amanda at Validate This accepts, there are two to three hundred that she rejects. To protect them from ever being seen, I am going to post them here periodically. Here is the first one:
Episode One
A Teleplay by Joey Michaels
We are in some sort of warehouse. It is night. Various machinery for moving heavy crates, heavy crates, and some partially filled shelving units are visible as we pan by. Sounds of clanging - machinery? - are heard, as if in the distance. As we move on, we notice a hand poking out from behind a crate in the background. We can't be sure, but from the angle it is lying we guess that it is attached to somebody who is recently dead.
As we continue panning, we see a man lying face down on the ground in a pool of blood. This man apparently has big, white feathery wings. Other bodies soon become visible: a woman in mostly red with a tattoo (a snake?) on her arm is trying to struggle to her feet; a morbidly obese man wearing only bike shorts, his head crushed under a forklift; a teenage boy on his knees with obsidian black skin, his face a mask of grief, kneels over a similarly skinned girl, also in her own blood; a man in a business suit with a thin tie pinned to the wall by a spear. There are other bodies as well, but these are of minor minions and allies, while the ones described are major characters that we meet later.
The clanging sounds become clearer - they are now clearly weapons. We hear labored breathing as we see a shattered window. GAIAS stumbles back into view. He is handsome in a Gary Oldman in "Sid and Nancy" sort of way. He has a stunned look in his eyes as we zoom closer to him.
Mother…
A flash of steel, probably a sword, severs GAIAS' head. It comes flying at us in a spiral of blood. Perhaps we catch a look of stunned defeat on its face as it flies past us. The body, a fountain of blood, stands for a beat then falls to the ground. A 60ish woman, JOCASTA, comes into view from, partially coated with blood. She looks like the angriest bag lady in the world. She expertly re-sheaths the bloody sword in a sheath on her back as she speaks…
I have no children.
We zoom into her eyes. They are cold, remorseless.
CUT TO: Credits
CUT TO: Title: Weeks Earlier
CUT TO: We are close up on the same old woman's eyes. We pull back to see JOCASTA walking down a town street at dawn. It is spring. She wears an enormous, oversized backpack. She has a hat she likely found abandoned on the side of the road. She walks by a cheap diner with a name like ROSIE'S or something. She walks by, we go in. We zoom in on a table where the woman with the tattoo from the first scene sits. AGENT LAURITA TESORO is looking at a menu. She wears a business suit with a thin tie.
We see a shadow across her table. Presumably ROSIE, the proprietor.
More coffee?
It's swill.
Do you want more?
Yes.
LAURITA offers her cup. A huge, hairy arm with revolting skin blemishes, possibly oozing, pours some coffee.
You want to wait to order?
We hear a bell. LAURITA's eyes flash up.
CUT TO: The door of Rosie's diner opens. GAIAS walks in. He is wearing a flamboyant, light blue suit. Not quite clichéd pimp-wear, but pretty god damned close. He was a wide walking stick, a broad smile, and a thick head of curly, peroxide blonde hair.
CUT TO: ROSIE'S face. She has a face that is more than a match for her revolting arm.
Jesus H. Christ.
CUT TO: LAURITA at the table.
I'll order. I want Rosie's Omelet.
Sure.
CUT TO: GAIAS sitting down at the table. We see ROSIE from behind and immediately wish we hadn't. LAURITA smiles lazily at her guest.
The usual.
I don't know you.
Get me the usual, Rosie.
What would that be?
Rosie, I just want the usual. Go back to your little musty kitchen and heat up your grill. You can do that, can't you?
CUT TO: ROSIE looking perplexed
You've made it for me every time I've been in here. EVERY TIME. I want the same thing I had last time, and the time before that. I am not here for some sort of exotic culinary experience. I am here for comfort.
CUT TO: LAURITA watching with half interest.
The comfort of the same meal repeating itself again, and again, and again without the trouble of having to vomit it up and re-eat it like some sort of predator snake. I want you to make me the usual.
CUT TO: GAIAS, a forced look of mirth on his face.
I want you to look in my eyes. Then I want to bring me the usual.
CUT TO: ROSIE looking in his eyes. A look of profound horror passes over her face.
Holy shit. Little Boots.
CUT TO: GAIAS, even the forced mirth drained.
The usual Rosie.
CUT TO: The table view.
Two eggs, over easy. Toast. Brown. Apple juice. Coffee. Black. Bacon. Black.
That'll do, Rosie. That'll do.
ROSIE scuttles off, bumping into a chair in her hurry.
Little Boots?
A childhood nickname.
You Gaias?
Yes, Agent Tesoro.
Here's what I have.
CUT TO: LAURITA's skinny legs. She has a portfolio leaning on her chair, which she picks up.
CUT TO: LAURITA, front view, GAIAS' perspective. She rifles through her portfolio.
I am impressed with your speed.
That's why you hired us.
LAURITA finds the dossier she is looking for and pulls it out of the portfolio.
Yes, but I had no idea you were this fast.
LAURITA lays out the dossier in front of us/GAIAS. We see papers and little pictures, like police mug shots.
Ethel Mikaelson. Last known area of residence: Regina, Saskatchewan, at least as recently as last February. Last seen heading south, possibly as far as Montana or North Dakato.
CUT TO: GAIAS looking at the dossier.
Farther than that.
CUT TO: LAURITA
We doubt that. She seems to only travel by foot. Our satellite system has not been able to locate her, but it is only a matter of time.
Only a matter of time.
CUT TO: ROSIE delivering the food, GAIAS' first.
Shall I contact you when we've found her?
I want you to get her and bring her to me.
I'm not target retrieval.
Oh, but only you will do.
GAIAS takes a bite from his bacon and gags.
Are you all right?
I'm a vegetarian.
GAIAS continues to eat the bacon, gagging as he does.
I've seen some of your other agents. You are the only one that looks like the sort of person she would trust.
I'll need back up. It will cost…
No object. Mr. Schaeffer should have told you.
I am not trained…
GAIAS starts gagging heavily, almost choking. He stands up.
Get the bill please. Sorry. This revolting bacon. Just like old time.
Mr Gaias? I…
I hate to stick you with the bill, but I'm going to be sick and can only do it in my own toilet…
Pull back as GAIAS starts to stumble to the door.
Mr. Gaias… Sir…
(Yelling from somewhere)
That will be $12. In American money, please.
CUT TO: LAURITA looking perplexed.
CUT TO: A dingy motel room. LAURITA sits there on an unmade bed in her sports bra and granny panties eating a pint of ice cream from the container. She is watching some sort of cartoon, possibly Huckleberry Hound or something equally inane. Any illusions we had that she might be some sexy, Jennifer Lopez style heroine are pretty much shot. She is not unattractive, but she looks like a character straight out of a "Love and Rockets" story: big hair (now that it is down), enormous breasts, a slight belly and chicken legs.
She realizes the ice cream container is empty and sulks. She throws it expertly across the room to the trashcan and misses by two or three feet.
F-uck.
LAURITA gets up out of bed, pulling at the back of her panties as she rises - if we'd been looking from the correct angle, we would have gotten a cheap thrill. She walks over to the trashcan, which is beneath a window. As she bends over to get the container, we see a sudden streak of movement at the window. She stands, oblivious, and drops the container in the garbage. We see clearly that she has a snake tattoo on her right arm.
Suddenly, there is a knock at the door. She looks to the door, not even slightly startled. On her way there, she grabs a robe and tosses it on. She opens the door without hesitation.
Hello?
SHANKAR, a short teenage boy with obsidian black skin is at the door, his teeth gritted. He holds a wound up towel and immediately steps into the room. He wears robes that are suggestive of India.
Whoa - can I help you?
INDIRA talking from behind LAURITA. LAURITA spins around to face INDIRA, obsidian skinned girl also in robes that are suggestive of India. The window, which was apparently not locked, is wide open.
Boys don't talk.
SHANKAR has suddenly wrapped the towel around LAURITA's neck from behind and is pushing her towards the bed. She is too stunned to make any sound.
We are not here to kill you, but we must have the file. Point.
Without hesitation, LAURITA points to the portfolio on the chair. INDIRA heads for it. We hear the sound of breaking wood. All heads spin to the door, where AGENT SCHAEFFER has just kicked it in. He is the man pinned to the wall in the first scene. He fires something at INDIRA through a pipe and she swats her neck like a bug has bitten her.
Brother!
SHANKAR yanks the towel away from LAURITA, who starts coughing, and whips it, locker room style, at SCHAEFFER. The blowpipe flies from his hands. SHAEFFER lunges towards SHANKAR, who deftly, and in defiance of gravity, leaps at the wall and runs along it. SCHAEFFER lands on the still choking LAURITA.
Home.
INDIRA, holding the portfolio, passes out into SHANKAR's arms. He effortlessly picks her up and leaps out the window.
SCHAEFFER struggles to his feet on the bed and trips over the bedspread on his way to the window, landing head first between the bed and the window. He struggles up and looks after the departing duo.
LAURITA is still on the bed, her robe open, and her bra in serious danger of earning this show a TV-MA rating, but not quite. Thank goodness there is only gratuitous violence and no evil, sin inducing nudity in this episode!
What the fuck just happened, Schaeffer?
Agents of Ravena.
What?
Doomsday cult from Calcutta… or Bombay… or some other fucking place in India.
Did you shoot them?
SCHAEFFER is picking up his blow tube, which has snapped.
Standard issue blow dart.
If it's standard, why don't I have one?
Standard issue covert ops. You're not safe here.
Well thanks for the fucking warning. I'll let you know if anyone tries to strangle me in my hotel room in broad daylight.
SCHAEFFER is looking around.
They got your portfolio. That should slow them down for a little while. They'll be back.
I think they got what they wanted.
You mean this?
SCHAEFFER flips the file from the restaurant over onto the bed.
Put some clothes on.
How did you get this?
You left it in a diner. An ogre of a waitress asked me to drop it off at the hotel for you.
LAURITA is getting dressed. She puts on a sleeveless red shirt and struggles into some jeans.
Oh, shit, I'm sorry, Schaef.
Your incompetence saved the day. They can't get this file. If this file falls into their hands, it could mean the end. The end of everything.
Frighteningly portentous music plays. SCHAEFFER grits his teeth at the camera. His chiseled face would not look out of place on Mt. Rushmore.
Why don't we destroy it?
Destroy it?
Like this.
LAURITA takes the file and rips it in half.
No!
I got the information once; I know where to get it again. If these Agents of Ravena were so competent, they could get it again, too.
SCHAEFFER looks a little perplexed. LAURITA sets the file on fire.
Right?
You can get it all again?
I'm information retrieval.
Oh.
LAURITA is putting on some sneakers.
Thank god these Agents of Ravena aren't some more modern cult. Anyone with access to the Internet and a small amount of hacking skill could have gotten this without attacking anyone. I guess we're lucky they were from India and not from Japan, huh?
SCHAEFFER is looking uncomfortable.
Not that I don't appreciate the save, but what brings you here, Schaef.
Oh. Yes, well, we found Ethel Mikaelson. Mr. Gaias asked me to take you to her. He said you'd know what to do.
Bullshit I'll know what to do!
He assured me it wouldn't be a problem.
Whatever. Where is she.
Follow me. She's behind the hotel.
LAURITA and SCHAEFFER exit the room. She has put on her jacket, and carries an unzipped duffel bag, probably a prize from a gold tournament.
CUT TO an alley behind the hotel. JOCASTA is sitting next to a dumpster, her pack leaning on the wall next to her. A cat rubs against her legs and purrs. Her hands fly like lightning behind her as she catches a rat and breaks its neck. She feeds it to the cat.
Soon. Soon.
We zoom in on her placid, dead eyes.
