Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Scene 7


(this time Aaron gets credit for his mad photo skills AND for some plot details)

Scene 7


(the scene begins with Maxim Afinogenov coming down the stairs of the Hotel Philips. He passes various pictures on the wall, most of them showing a younger version of hotel owner Jimmy Slates in all sorts of heroic situations: one of him fighting an alligator while holding a knife between his teeth, another one showing him lasso a huge bull, and another where he’s surrounded by saloon girls. Maxim passes through the lobby and comes to the hotel desk, where the current Jimmy Slates is reading a newspaper.)


MAXIM

Is that the town newspaper?


JIMMY

(without looking up) One of ‘em.


MAXIM

(a bit surprised) There’s more than one newspaper in Thrasherville?


JIMMY

Yeah, it’s strange for a small town like ours, but yessir, there are several. Could be the only booming industry in this one-horse town.


MAXIM

Which one is that?


JIMMY

This one? A little sheet called The Thrasherville Gazette. It’s not the best, but its editors are a little bit friendlier to me than the ones at the big daily we got here. That one is called Eyes on Thrasherville Anonymous.


MAXIM

The newspapers here have opinions on hotel owners?


JIMMY

(a bit mysteriously) Some do.


MAXIM

(clearly eager to change the subject) I saw those pictures of you on the wall. Looks like you’ve had all kinds of adventures.


JIMMY

In better days, I did. In better days. (reaches for the sign-in book, which is open at an early page, and presses some kind of button on the fat back part of the book. The sign-in book, we see, has a secret compartment in it. Jimmy Slates pulls from it a bottle of whiskey.)


MAXIM

Ah, you keep whiskey in....in your sign-in book.


JIMMY

(pouring himself a shot) Like a shot?


MAXIM

I suppose I might indulge, yes.


(Jimmy pours a shot for Maxim. Maxim downs it in one gulp, but looks horrified by the taste. He turns toward the large lobby window and looks out onto the street. Night has fallen in Thrasherville.)


MAXIM

Well, that certainly was good. Say, what’s your opinion on the fare on offer at Marty’s Party Saloon? Good, bad, indifferent?


JIMMY

(looking at The Thrasherville Gazette again) I’d say it’s pretty good, but I gotta admit I prefer the grub here at the hotel.


MAXIM

Which way to the dining room, then?


(There is no reply, because Jimmy Slates has suddenly passed out face-down on the newspaper and the sign-in book.)


MAXIM

Mr. Slates? Mr. Slates?


(Maxim lifts up Jimmy’s head and proceeds to slap his face a few times. His cheek is smudged with lettering from The Thrasherville Gazette. Suddenly Ten Gallon Dick appears out of nowhere.)


TEN GALLON

Alright now, Mr. ‘Finogenov. Just lay ol’ Jimmy’s head back down and let him rest. He does this just about every night, I tell you what.


MAXIM

(gingerly letting Jimmy’s head flop back down) Really? He seems...troubled.


TEN GALLON

Aw, he ain’t troubled, he’s just Jimmy. Come on now, let’s go get ourselves some grub at Marty’s.


(The two leave the hotel, Maxim looking back at Jimmy several times. The front of Hotel Philips is decorated for the coming Christmas holidays, as are most of the shops and bars along Thrasherville Main Street. Marty’s Party Saloon is no exception. The front is decked with holly and ivy, and candles burn in the windows.)


MAXIM

Very festive.


TEN GALLON

It sure is, but crime usually goes up ‘round this time of year. More headaches for me, but hopefully you’ll be able to help us with that.


(The two push open the doors into Marty’s. It’s a riot of color and sound. It seems like just about every denizen of Thrasherville is there. There’s a roar of conversation; sparsely-dressed ladies in blue sit at card tables, hang out on the staircase leading to the rooms above, and bring trays of overflowing mugs of beer from the bar to the patrons; a group of shifty-looking young men play darts in a corner. There’s also a piano playing, somewhere.)


TEN GALLON

(giving the place a good, wary once-over) Come on, Mr. Fins, let’s go see Marty.


(The two walk up to the bar. Ten Gallon puts his hat on the bar, Maxim keeps his on. The bartender, presumably Marty, comes over.)


TEN GALLON

Two whiskeys, Marty.


MARTY

Coming right up, Sheriff.


MAXIM

Does this place cause a lot of problems?


TEN GALLON

Not exactly. Marty’s a decent fella, and he runs this place well. But there’s always some rough fella that decides he’s gonna make trouble for everybody else.


MAXIM

I see.


(Nik and Pavel appear at the bar.)


TEN GALLON

You boys get a good rest?


NIK

Oh yes. A very good rest. The hotel owner seems to be getting a better one right now though.


MARTY

(polishing some glasses) Fellas, can I help you?


PAVEL

Beer of whatever kind.


NIK

The same.


PAVEL

Any of you up for a game of Faro?


NIK

I am.


MAXIM

Sure.


TEN GALLON

(shouting over the bar) Marty, bring the beers to my usual table. We’re gonna play some Faro.


MARTY

Anything you say, Sheriff.


(Ten Gallon, Maxim, Nik, and Pavel find a table near the piano player. The piano player is unshaven, and plays with a bottle of wine on the top of his piano. One of the blue-wearing girls sits on the piano stool with him, smoking a cigarette and humming along with his melodies. Ten Gallon starts arranging the cards.)


TEN GALLON

(to the piano player, while sorting the cards) How is it, Ronnie?


RONNIE

(without interrupting his playing) Pretty good. Got a lotta people here tonight, so best be at my best.


TEN GALLON

Play us some of that Franz Liszt.


RONNIE

Shoot, I’m gonna some ten-gallon songs tonight.


(The two share a laugh. Marty personally delivers the beer to Nik and Pavel. Mayor Waddell comes in and sits down at our heroes’ table.)


MAYOR WADDELL

The saviors of Thrasherville! Deal me in, Sheriff.


NIK

I have to say this town doesn’t seem that dangerous so far. Economically lagging, perhaps, but not crime-ridden.


TEN GALLON

(still dealing cards, the brim of his hat obscuring his face) Let’s hope it’s a quiet night.


(Deputy Colby and Little Little enter the bar. Little Little spots Ten Gallon and starts walking towards his table, but the Deputy grabs his arm and shakes his head to say no. They sit at the bar, with their backs to it so Colby can watch the suspicious newcomers.)


MAYOR WADDELL

You fellas are going to help this town out quite a bit, I can tell already. Why, in just one year we’ll be as flourishing and thriving as Sharkville or Penguinland.


PAVEL

Seems like a tall order, Mr. Mayor.


(at that instant, there’s a scream from the other side of the saloon. Ten Gallon stands up immediately. Deputy Colby and Little Little grab their guns. Ten Gallon sees that the shifty-looking, dart-playing young men are behaving ungallantly towards one of Marty’s blue crew. The largest of them has her in his grip and won’t let go. Ten Gallon walks over to them and grabs one of the youngins by the shoulder.)


TEN GALLON

Alright boys, that’s enough. Leave the lady alone.


LITTLE LITTLE

Yeah, leave her alone!


TEN GALLON

Say, I recognize you boys. You’re that group that came over Wolftown, thinkin’ you were gonna make it big here in Thrasherville. (looking at each one as he identifies them) You’re Tim Stapleton. And you’re Spencer Machacek. And you’re Josh Gratton. Well boys, you gotta learn to pick on someone your own size. Unhand that lady, now.


GRATTON

I hate you Thrasherville Police varmints. I come over and prove myself, but you still won’t let me have a job in your force.


TEN GALLON

Nothing I can do about it, son. Chief Kovalchuk made the final decision.


GRATTON

I hit two bull’s eyes in one day! Doesn’t that prove I’m a damn good shot?


TEN GALLON

Not really.


STAPLETON

And what about me? Ain’t I cop material?


TEN GALLON

Maybe in the minor leagues.


(Stapleton roars his disapproval and breaks a whiskey bottle on a table. He holds the jagged bottle edge up to Ten Gallon Dick’s neck.)


STAPLETON

You best mind your own business, lawdog.


GRATTON

Yeah, mind your own business.


LITTLE LITTLE

Put the bottle down! (lifting his gun)


STAPLETON

(laughs) I don’t think so, peckerhead. What are you gonna do with that gun, anyway?


DEPUTY COLBY

(slowly, and through gritted teeth) You son of a bitch.


(Stapleton continues to point the jagged bottle at Ten Gallon Dick. Gratton has let the girl go, but he’s drawn his gun and points it at Little Little.)


GRATTON

I think you fellas don’t know what you’re missin’ in studs like us. And I think it’s time for you to find out. I think I just might try some target practice right now, on this overrated Little Little dickmuffin. (cocks pistol, the entire bar gaps)


TEN GALLON

Not now you ain’t.


(Ten Gallon kicks the gun from Gratton’s hand. Stapleton lunges for Ten Gallon’s jugular but TGD has already moved out of the way. Stapleton falls over a table. Deputy Colby grabs Gratton’s gun from the floor and holds it up to the sinister minor-leaguer. Machacek just stands there.)


TEN GALLON

Jealousy’s the most corrosive of emotions, cock-faces. Marty, get me a rope!


(Bartender Marty disappears behind the bar and finds a rope. He tosses it to Ten Gallon. Ten Gallon, Deputy Colby, and Little Little find a rope and tie the three resentful minor-leaguers together. They drag them to a corner and stuff handkerchiefs in their mouths.)


TEN GALLON

You gentlemen just sit here for a while until you learn to act civilized towards the ladies and everyone else. Now if you’ll excuse me, I got a game a’ cards to finish.


(The young men from Wolftown make muffled curses. Ten Gallon, Deputy Colby, and Little Little walk away. The saloon erupts in applause.)


LITTLE LITTLE

Aw shucks.


DEPUTY COLBY

This gives me a chance to talk about my bravery with the Blue Crew!


(Little and Colby head for the bar. Ten Gallon re-takes his seat at the Faro table with Nik, Pavel, Maxim, and Mayor Waddell.)


NIK

This is a strange little town.


(Back at the bar, Little Little and Deputy Colby are discussing their exploits with Marty and the Blue Crew)


LITTLE LITTLE

And then he was gonna shoot me!


MARTY

I think I’m gonna dispose of these varmints. Boults, Thor, get over here!


(Two large gents, clearly Marty’s goons, appear out of nowhere.)


MARTY

What the hell do I pay you boys for? You’re s’posed to be the bouncers here. You’re s’sposed to keep order and prevent nonsense like that from happ’nin.


BOULTS

Sorry, boss.


THOR

Yeah, sorry. I was distracted by Ronnie’s music.


BOULTS

Wont’ happen again.


MARTY

I’m sure it won’t. Now make yourselves useful and get on over there and drag those tied-together-good-for-nothin’s outta my saloon!


BOULTS

Yessir.


(Boults and Thor walk over to the darts corner, pick up the Stapleton-Machacek-Gratton trio, and drag them outside)


(Back at the Faro table, Pavel seems to be winning. Ronnie the piano player takes a break from his playing and takes a seat.)


MAXIM

How do you keep winning?


PAVEL

I have, let’s say, experience with this game.


RONNIE

Experience with magic powers, maybe.


PAVEL

One could say that.


RONNIE

Ha ha, a magic Czech! I hear there’s---well, I read a book once all about magic in Prague. It said something about---


PAVEL

Alchemy?


RONNIE

Why, yes.


PAVEL

And the golem?


RONNIE

Yessir, that too, and uh---


PAVEL

I know all about those things.


(Ronnie takes a swig from his wine bottle.)

8 comments:

aaron said...

but what i really want to do is direct...

epic, mort. truly epic.

Loser Domi said...

wooo magic Czech!

Mr. Speaker said...

Haven't read it yet, but damn aaron! Those last two pics, especially the one of Jimmy Slates are amazing...you cannot tell they've been photo-shopped at all.

Surprised Ron Hainsey hasn't shown up on the blog to give you props cuz this shit is off the "chain-sey"...oooo yeeeeaahh! To quote, Randy Savage.

Mr. Speaker said...

"Dickmuffin"!!!!

Bwaaaahaaahaaaahaaaa...I think I just peed myself. And there's nothing you can do about it!

krisabelle said...

Aaron - JUST WOW!!! HOLY CHEEZ NIPS! I haven't even read this yet but needed to express my adoration for your PhotoShop SUPREMACY at the sight of Slingin' Slates in his western regalia! AMAZING WORK!!! Going to read this now. Loves!

Mortimer Peacock said...

Aaron has repeatedly stated his ambitions to become the next Uwe Boll.

Mr. Speaker said...

As long as he doesn't long to become the next Uwe Krupp or Uwe Blabb (oh mon dieu!), then aaron is just fine in my book. ;-)

Actually, I am quite humbled to the brink of fear and exhiliration to have met and now experience such photoshopping (aaron) and writing (Morty) greatness.

I. AM. NOT. WORTHY.

mutton said...

That photoshopping is phenomenal. I dont think it could be any better had his picture actually been taken 150 yrs ago.

Jimmy Slates died of dysentery on the Oregon Trail.