Bloodless Episode 13

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Oliver, consumed with guilt and concern over failing grades, tries to make amends with his friends and seek a new creative outlet. Roy becomes concerned that Jackie is manipulating him into having sex with her. Sheffield desperately tries to find a venue to screen his new movie in.

BLOODLESS

 

“NYMPHOMANIA”

 

TV-MA DLV

 

“I never thought I’d lead this restless life. I thought I’d wither down, a sacrifice. There’s nothing I can do to make it stop. It’s in my nature, it gives me chills”

  • Tim Macuga

 

(We start with a direct shot of Oliver Shine, as pale as ever, lounging on the bed in his childhood bedroom, staring listlessly in front of him, e-cigarette in hand, bag of chips to his left, laptop to his right, dressed in pajama pants. But he’s clean-shaven, of course. The camera slowly dollies in on him as the scene progresses)

 

KELLY SHINE: (OS) What the hell is wrong with you!!? What the HELL has gotten into you the last few months, shit, the last YEAR! You stay inside all day, you hardly ever sleep, you’re irritable, you suddenly started vaping, when I KEEP TELLING YOU how terrible it is for your health! All your sister ever wants to do is hang out with you and you turn her away!? (Oliver takes a drag on his e-cig) You flunk TWO semesters in a row?! And don’t give me that shit about Naomi, that was a year ago! What was she, Princess Di?! Were you gonna marry her?! Since when are you this, this romantic about anything, Oliver?! Jesus Christ! Let me tell you something! It’s last chance time! It’s do-or-die. This is the last chance you get, if you fail this semester, we’re cutting you off! It’s DONE! You can go work for your dad’s contracting firm. See how 60-year old white men love your stupid jokes. Is that what you want?!

 

(Cut to Oliver sitting in a therapist’s office. Quiet. Comforting. Table strewn with toys to fidget with. A simple clock ticking in the corner. Across from him sits Dr. Natalie Nestle, strawberry blonde, thin, late 30s. Oliver’s eyes scan the room and finally land a bowl of magnetic components. He reaches for it, grabs it, but immediately crushes it, sending the pieces flying every which way)

 

OLIVER: …Shit. I’m sorry.

 

DR. NESTLE: It’s okay. I’ll clean it later.

 

OLIVER: Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.

 

(Oliver sits back)

 

DR. NESTLE: …You don’t seem particularly, muscular.

 

OLIVER: First of all, rude.

 

DR. NESTLE: Sorry.

 

OLIVER: Secondly…I don’t even know what I want to talk about. (Beat) Well. I do, actually, but I don’t really want to talk about it.

 

DR. NESTLE: What do you want to talk about then?

 

OLIVER: …This semester is my last chance. I can’t fail again.

 

DR. NESTLE: …That’s what your mother says? (Oliver nods) Do you think you’re in the emotional state to accomplish what you need to accomplish?

 

(Oliver shrugs)

 

OLIVER: I don’t know. I don’t think so. (Sigh) The hardest part is they think it’s just Naomi still. I can’t tell them what it really is.

 

DR. NESTLE: …Can you tell me?

 

(Oliver looks down shamefully)

 

OLIVER: …My birthday is coming up.

 

(Dr. Nestle squints)

 

DR. NESTLE: Oh? I thought your birthday was in October? Just before our first session?

 

OLIVER: I have, uh…another birthday.

 

(Super quick, soundless shot of Charlie “turning” Oliver in the pilot)

 

DR. NESTLE: And what’s the significance of your other birthday?

 

OLIVER: …I changed after Naomi. Let’s just say that.

 

DR. NESTLE: Are you talking about the tendency toward seclusion? Secluding yourself from significant others? Keeping distance?

 

OLIVER: …That’s part of it, yeah.

 

DR. NESTLE: I told you, these are symptoms of depression. But you refuse to take Prozac.

 

OLIVER: Medicine doesn’t work on me.

 

DR. NESTLE: How many times have we been over how preposterous that is? You can’t know if it will work until you try it.

 

OLIVER: …You know, I’ve also heard I should try oxygen.

 

DR. NESTLE: …Pardon?

 

(Oliver stands up)

 

OLIVER: I’m sorry, Dr. Nestle, but this is pointless. I can’t tell you what’s really going on, so we’re just talking past one another.

 

DR. NESTLE: And why can’t you tell me, Oliver?

 

OLIVER: Because then, next time I would see you, you’d be wearing a white coat. And this room would be padded. (Beat) And it probably wouldn’t be you, now that I think about it.

 

DR. NESTLE: I’m sure that’s not true. Sit down, Oliver, we only have ten minutes left anyway.

 

(Oliver sighs and takes a seat. He glances at the clock on the wall)

 

OLIVER: …Wow, it’s 4am already?

 

DR. NESTLE: No, that clock’s fast by about ten hours. I need to get a new one.

 

OLIVER: It’s the 20s, you should get one of those iClocks.

 

DR. NESTLE: I don’t think, those exist.

 

OLIVER: I mean, they’re probably not called that, but still.

 

(Cut to later that night. Oliver, Jeff, Kelly and Stephanie Shine are in front of the Shine household, watching as Oliver slams his trunk shut)

 

JEFF: That all of it?

 

OLIVER: Yep. All of the porn I could fit into a few bags.

 

STEPHANIE: Gross!

 

(Oliver walks over to them)

 

OLIVER: Sorry, Steph.

 

JEFF: He’s just clowning, boys these days don’t have the physical smut that we used to have, you know? You young fellas get off to moving pictures!

 

KELLY: Jesus, Jeff, stop.

 

OLIVER: Yes, I’m sorry I brought it up.

 

JEFF: I’m just saying, when I was a kid, only time we ever got to do that was when Grace Kelly went on TV.

 

OLIVER: Okay, I’m leaving. Come here, Steph. (Oliver goes in for a hug, but Stephanie crosses her arms) Come on. Don’t Elizabeth Warren me.

 

(Stephanie tears up)

 

STEPHANIE: I don’t understand why you can’t just be my brother again.

 

(Stephanie rushes off, back into the house. Oliver sighs deeply and turns to Jeff and Kelly)

 

OLIVER: Keep an eye on her, okay. (They nod and Oliver goes to hug his mom. Cut to Oliver hauling two big suitcases into him and Roy’s apartment) Can I just put this shit anywhere?

 

(Roy ambles in, clearly annoyed)

ROY: No, you can put it in your room.

 

(Oliver looks back at his room and sighs)

 

OLIVER: Alright, if you insist. (Oliver hauls the stuff into his room and unzips the bags. Roy walks in and leans against the doorframe) Don’t act like you’re above leaving luggage unpacked for extended periods of time. Remember that ketchup plate you used to leave by your bed in case you wanted to dip stuff?

 

ROY: I would replace the ketchup regularly dude, get off my ass.

 

OLIVER: I’m just saying.

 

ROY: You’ve been back for less than three minutes and you’re already bitchin’, goddamn.

 

(Roy goes to leave)

 

OLIVER: Wait. (Roy turns back to Oliver) What’s it gonna take for us to be okay again?

 

ROY: We’re okay, don’t worry about it.

 

OLIVER: We’re obviously not, you’re clenching your first right now.

 

(Roy looks down at his clenched right first and looks at it)

 

ROY: Oh shit, I am.

 

OLIVER: …So what’s it gonna take?

 

(Roy shakes his head “no”)

 

ROY: I spent the last eight months being investigated in connection to a fuckin’ murder.

 

(Oliver grinds his teeth and looks down in shame)

 

OLIVER: …I know.

 

ROY: You know what that does to a dude’s reputation?

 

OLIVER: …I mean, it makes you more fearsome, right? (Roy stares) Sorry. I know someday we’ll laugh about it, but today is not the day.

 

ROY: It’ll never be the fuckin’ day.

 

OLIVER: You’re right. I’m sorry. Buuuuut-

 

ROY: Oh my God.

 

OLIVER: I just want to reiterate how much I appreciate you not, ratting me out. I mean, those guys starved me for days.

 

(Roy scoffs)

 

ROY: I covered up a murder. In return, I get a pat on the back from a demon. If my grandmother was around to see this, instead of being a groupie on Joel Osteen’s book tour.

 

OLIVER: I would’ve done the same for you.

 

ROY: Yeah, I’m not so sure about that, honestly.

 

(This cuts deep. Roy turns to go)

 

OLIVER: I’m doing an open mic thing Saturday. Come if you want.  (Roy pauses, but then keeps walking. Oliver scoffs and follows Roy into the living room, where he sits down and grabs his XBOX controller) A lot of people will be there- including Ryan Rivers and Dan “The Man” Lineweaver!

 

ROY: Who the fuck are they?!

 

OLIVER: They won bronze in the 2014 and 1999 Evanston Funny Fest competitions!

 

ROY: Wow, that’s…great.

 

(Oliver sits down next to Roy)

 

OLIVER: Whatever, come, don’t come, I don’t care.

 

(Oliver checks his phone)

 

ROY: I probably got a thing with Jackie anyway.

 

(Oliver looks over at Roy)

 

OLIVER: Still doin’ that, huh?

 

ROY: Yeah, you got somethin’ to say? (Oliver shakes his head “no”) Okay, good.

 

(Roy opens up Madden on his XBOX interface)

 

OLIVER: …She’s just wrong for you, is all.

 

(Roy drops his controller and throws his hands up in the air)

 

ROY: Holy shit. The demon has an opinion, listen up everybody!

 

OLIVER: Hey! That’s offensive, it’s infernal American.

 

(Roy turns to Oliver)

 

ROY: You know, everyone’s saying Warren’s a snake for doing Bernie dirty, but maybe YOU’RE the snake.

 

OLIVER: Dude, Jackie has a penchant for the dramatic. And the insane.

 

ROY: What are you talking about?

 

OLIVER: She constantly calls you, crying her eyes out about God knows what-

 

ROY: Yeah, but it’s usually legit stuff.

 

OLIVER: Like what?

 

ROY: Like…her dealer has a bit of being really late…like, REALLY late. (Oliver sits back and stares at Roy- “are you serious?”) Fuck off, dude, go suck a bird dick.

 

(Roy gets up and retreats to his room)

 

OLIVER: …THAT IS AN EFFICIENT METHOD BY WHICH TO INGEST BLOOD, FOR THE RECORD, SO…WHO’S THE FOOL NOW?!

 

(We cut to Roy, Shaw and other members of Roy’s faith group meeting in a spare study area in a Northwestern building. Each of them has bibles in their laps)

 

ROY: So yeah, basically, God’s test for Job was to keep the faith, even if your whole family dies-

 

SHAW: Can we just skip to the part where we play Werewolf already?

 

(Clamoring in agreement)

 

ROY: Yeah, sure- (Roy gets a call. He picks up his phone and sees it’s Jackie- who’s caller ID picture features her vomiting into a toilet) actually, uh, just go ahead and start, but give me a few minutes.

 

SHAW: Alright, cool.

 

(Roy gets up and steps out of the room, while answering the call)

 

ROY: Jackie? What’s up? (Jackie is sobbing over the phone) Babe, what’s wrong?

 

JACKIE: THIS PARKING ATTENDANT-

 

(Hiccupping sobs)

 

ROY: What’d he do?!

 

JACKIE: He didn’t do anything, he just-

 

ROY: What’d he say, then!?

 

JACKIE: IT’S NOT WHAT HE SAID, IT’S WHAT HE DIDN’T SAY!

 

ROY: …What…didn’t, he say?

 

(Cut back to Shaw and the rest of the faith group. Shaw checks his phone)

 

SHAW: That’s twenty minutes. We should just start. (They all nod) I’ll be the werewolf. So-

 

FAITH GROUP MEMBER: Do you know how the game works?

 

(Roy walks back in)

 

ROY: Hey, turns out there’s a leak at my…there’s a fire, my grandma is…I have to go.

 

(Roy rushes out)

 

SHAW: They’re gonna fuck. (A round of “WHOAS!”) Sorry, guys. Praise Jesus.

 

(Cut to Roy busting into his apartment and finding Jackie there, still sobbing on the couch)

 

ROY: Are you okay?

 

(Jackie gets up, runs over and starts making out with Roy. They get into it. Quick cut of a condom being ripped open, Roy riding Jackie, climaxing, and then the two of them in a refractory period on the bed. Jackie is giggling as she reaches for a lighter on the bedside table to light her joint with)

 

JACKIE: Goddamn, I needed that.

 

ROY: …Yeah…so wait, you’re fine now?

 

(Jackie exhales smoke an throws the lighter aside)

 

JACKIE: You shittin’ me? I’m great. Walkin’ on fuckin’ sunshine.

 

ROY: It was that easy?

 

JACKIE: Yo’ dick is therapy, you should be proud.

 

(Jackie sits up and rests her joint on an ashtray)

 

ROY: …Thanks. Where are you going?

 

JACKIE: The bathroom, I gotta throw up.

 

(Jackie runs into the bathroom, Roy sits up)

 

ROY: What?! Why!?

 

(Cut to Roy sitting in the waiting room of a legal office. The atmosphere is not dissimilar from Saul Goodman’s lobby. Crying babies, overweight people, casts and crutches. The gum-chewing, frizzy-haired, aging 80s teen receptionist at the front leans into her microphone)

 

RECEPTIONIST: ROY HANDLA!

 

(Roy Handler gets up and walks into the main office. Roy walks in and finds Edgar Huntsman, a bald, black lawyer of about 62, walking over to him in an exquisite pin-stripped suit)

 

ROY: Good to see you, Mr. Huntsman.

 

EDGAR: Great to see you, Roy, come on, I told you that you can call me “Edgar”!

 

ROY: No, you told me I could call you by your 70s nickname the “Poon Huntsman”, so I went with Mr. Huntsman instead.

 

(Edgar shrugs and sits behind his desk)

 

EDGAR: Suit yourself. Have a seat.

 

(Roy sits down across from Edgar)

 

ROY: So is this shit over with?

 

EDGAR: Well. It seems far less likely they’re going to bring charges at this point.

 

(Roy sits back and sighs with relief)

 

ROY: Thank God.

 

EDGAR: They only have one witness, that Kenny kid, who has a well-documented grudge against you. No jury would buy that, when you didn’t even know this Harold Lennon fella.

 

ROY: So, this shit is over?

 

EDGAR: All but. And even if it does come back, you always have the nuclear option. (Roy shakes his head) If you want this shit to go away completely, you could give them the real murderer.

 

(Roy shakes his head more)

 

ROY: Definitely not there right now.

 

EDGAR: Alright, alright. (Edgar leans forward) You can tell me, though.

 

ROY: …Why would I?

 

EDGAR: This is totally privileged.

 

ROY: I know, but why would I tell you?

 

EDGAR: I’m just hella curious.

 

ROY: That’s not a good reason, man.

 

(Edgar stands up)

 

EDGAR: You’re no fun. You want a drink?

 

(Edgar walks to his mini-bar. Roy shrugs)

 

ROY: Shit, okay.

 

(Cut to a lit cigarette resting on the side of an ashtray. A hand comes into frame and retrieves it. We follow the cigarette to the mouth of John Sheffield. He takes a long drag and exhales the smoke in a smooth stream. Zoom out to show him sitting in his dark bedroom, editing his movie using Final Cut on the computer. He deftly drags and cuts, creates J-cuts and L-cuts with ease, using one scene of Tricia and a ferret sitting on a hotel room bed, snacking on beef jerky. Time-lapse sequence where Sheffield’s cigarette is ashed to a stub and extinguished in the ashtray. Tricia walks in, wearing a leotard, and flips on the lights. Sheffield turns around)

 

SHEFFIELD: What the fuck, Trish?

 

TRICIA: “The fuck, Trish”?! You’ve been in here for five fuckin’ hours, you must have to take a shit or something!
 

SHEFFIELD: I haven’t eaten, so there’s no need.

 

TRICIA: Okay, well, you haven’t fucked either.

 

(Tricia plops down on Sheffield’s bed, takes a pack of cigarettes from her leotard and lights herself up as well)

 

SHEFFIELD: Maybe you can take your own advice and go fuck yourself.

 

TRICIA: Hmm, very clever.

 

SHEFFIELD: You know I get in the zone; this short film is almost done.

 

TRICIA: Do me a favor, stop calling it a fuckin’ short film. It’s three goddamn hours.

 

SHEFFIELD: Shorter than The Irishman!

 

TRICIA: Congrats. You don’t even know where you’re gonna show this thing.

 

SHEFFIELD: …Yeah, I was gonna talk to you about that.

 

TRICIA: Are you goddamn kidding me? The circus?

 

(Sheffield shrugs)

 

SHEFFIELD: I want the venue to be as uncomfortable as the viewing experience. So therefore, outdoor tent, terrible sound, thick smell of lion shit.

 

TRICIA: You really think you’re John fuckin’ Waters, don’t you?

 

SHEFFIELD: Nope, I am John Sheffield, I have no influences.

 

(Tricia sighs out a cloud of cigarette smoke)

 

TRICIA: I’m on thin ice with my boss ever since I itched my pussy while walking the tightrope in front of you know, all the guests, so at least try to find somewhere else to do this before you make me ask him.

 

(Sheffield shrugs)

 

SHEFFIELD: Fine, Trish, I’ll go to that second-run movie place in town and see what the deal is.

 

TRICIA: Steal me one of those tanks of popcorn butter, I wanna try it for when we fuck.

 

SHEFFIELD: Sure thing.

 

(Cut to Sheffield walking up to a box office outside of a second-run movie place called “STALE CINEMA- Catching up since 1976”. Some gruff, slack-jawed dude with curly hair is working the booth. Nametag says Seth)

 

SETH: Hello, sir, would you like to buy discounted tickets to a number of titles, such as Secret Life of Pets 2, Toy Story 4-

 

SHEFFIELD: Shut up. Animation is not cinema unless the Japanese do it. Now, listen. I want to speak to your boss.

 

(Seth freezes)

 

SETH: Why, what’d I do? Oh God…

 

(Sheffield shrugs, like he’s willing to take advantage of this. He leans in close)

 

SHEFFIELD: My kid saw “It 2” here a few weeks ago, and it gave him seizures, FUCKER.  (Seth yelps and runs away) TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER!
 

(Cut to Sheffield sitting in front of a balding, pudgy, middle-aged theatre manager in his office filled with old movie posters)

 

MANAGER: Listen, Mr. Sheffield, we are SO sorry-

 

SHEFFIELD: I lied about all that stuff, here’s why I’m really here-

 

(The Manager breathes a sigh of relief and dabs his forehead with a handkerchief)

 

MANAGER: Oh, thank Christ, I just leased a studio with my wife and seven kids…

 

SHEFFIELD: So, here’s the real- you leased a studio for your wife and seven- never mind. I have a movie coming out. I need to premiere it somewhere. YOU are that somewhere.

 

MANAGER: Well. That’s flattering, but we charge for that.

 

SHEFFIELD: Name your price.

 

MANAGER: 1500.

 

SHEFFIELD: Whoa. (Sheffield scoffs) What do you think this place is, Sundance? Cannes? The Arclight? Come on, name your real price.

 

MANAGER: We’d have to bump a midnight movie to do this, sir.

 

SHEFFIELD: What midnight movie?

 

MANAGER: The Room.

 

SHEFFIELD: Oh, come on! At least do a unique midnight movie! (Sigh) I can give you 50 bucks.

 

MANAGER: Get out.

 

(Cut to Oliver walking on Davis street, which is lined by bars, that night)

 

OLIVER: (Singing to himself) Get off my baaaaack…

 

(Charlie is thrown out of a nearby bar, right in Oliver’s path. The door slams behind him. Charlie stands up and laughs)

 

CHARLIE: YOU’RE LUCKY I’M A PACIFIST, MAN!

 

OLIVER: You are SO NOT a pacifist.

 

CHARLIE: Eating doesn’t count, bro.

 

OLIVER: Even by that definition, you’re not.

 

(Charlie chuckles)

 

CHARLIE: Shit, man, what are we doing fighting like this!? It’s so good to see you!
 

(Charlie approaches Oliver, but Oliver backs up)

 

OLIVER: What are you- stop!

 

(Charlie pulls Oliver into a hug, and Oliver reluctantly takes it, doesn’t hug back at all)

 

CHARLIE: Man, I missed you over the break, dude.

 

(Charlie lets Oliver go)

 

OLIVER: So did I. I’ve missed me for the last year, actually. Because remember, you killed the real me. Do you remember that?

 

CHARLIE: Holy shit! You’re right!

 

OLIVER: Do you-

 

CHARLIE: It’s been like a WHOLE YEAR! That’s crazy!

 

OLIVER: Not what I wanted you to get from this.

 

CHARLIE: January 20th, right?

 

(Oliver bites his lip)

 

OLIVER: That’s right.

 

CHARLIE: Dude! You don’t have much time before your birthday-

 

OLIVER: It’s not my-

 

CHARLIE: I should’ve told you this before, but, you’re supposed to go on a pilgrimage to Transylvania within a year after you get sired. Or else, it’s like, 100 years of bad luck.

 

OLIVER: What?

 

CHARLIE: Yeah, you gotta get on a plane.

 

OLIVER: I don’t believe in, luck and all that shit.

 

CHARLIE: Bro. You live in a world that has vampires. And magic. And you don’t believe in luck?

 

OLIVER: Just leave me alone, Charlie.

 

(Oliver walks past Charlie)

 

CHARLIE: COME ON, BRO! IT’S A PARTY OVER THERE! LET’S GO TOGETHER!

 

(Charlie scoffs, but then focuses on Oliver as he walks away and casts something mysterious on him with the flick of his wrist. Cut to Kelly sitting on a spare stool over in the corner of a dive bar. A group of college dudes are taking up a table, watching their other friends play pool. Oliver walks in and Kelly flags him down)

 

KELLY: Oliver!
 

OLIVER: Kelly, hi.

 

(Oliver goes over and the two awkwardly hug)

 

KELLY: How are you?

 

OLIVER: I’m good, do we have a table, or?

 

KELLY: We did, but then these guys took it from us.

 

OLIVER: Did you tell them that I was coming?

 

KELLY: Yeah, but they insisted, and I didn’t want to be rude.

 

(Oliver looks over at them. One of them sinks a ball and they all go batshit crazy and high-five each other and one of them knocks over the table in excitement)

 

OLIVER: They’re not even using it!

 

KELLY: Let’s just go outside.

 

(Cut to Oliver taking two drinks from the outside portion of the bar and bringing them to Kelly, who’s shivering sitting at a picnic table next to a big outdoor heater. Oliver sits down)

 

OLIVER: Oh, you’re cold?

 

KELLY: Yeah! Fucking very!

 

(Kelly sips on her drink)

 

OLIVER: That sucks. You know what sucks even more? When your body temperature is only room temperature.

 

KELLY: Oh, fuck you! (Oliver chuckles and takes a sip of his drink) You know, I could’ve seen what that was like.

 

(Oliver sighs)

 

OLIVER: You know I couldn’t have gone through with that.

 

(Cut to May 2019, the last shot of the season one finale, when Oliver is draining Kelly of blood, and she’s acquiescing in rapturous delight. Oliver’s eyes flick open and he steps away from her. Kelly looks at him, confused)

 

KELLY: Wha- don’t stop! I’m trying to nut!
 

OLIVER: No, Kelly, I’ve already killed one person, I can’t- I can’t kill another, especially someone I care about!
 

KELLY: I LITERALLY asked for it!

 

OLIVER: Kelly. This is a curse. I’m not gonna do this. (Oliver sits down) This can’t happen. And I don’t just mean, this.

 

(Kelly wells up)

 

KELLY: …Fine. (Kelly storms out. Cut back to January 2020. Kelly is lighting a cigarette with her fingers, using black magick. She exhales smoke and looks down) I’m not gonna sit here and be mad at you for not killing me.

 

OLIVER: Well…then I guess that’s the end of that.

 

KELLY: BUT.

 

OLIVER: Of course.

 

KELLY: You rejected the entire idea of a relationship between us.

 

OLIVER: I know. But you have to admit, becoming an undead demon vessel for the sake of love is an incredibly early 20s thing to do.

 

(Kelly shrugs and ashes her cig)

 

KELLY: Well, I’m still in my early 20s, so. Can you blame me?

 

(Oliver chuckles and takes a sip of his drink)

 

OLIVER: I just want things to be normal between us. Lot of unspoken tension the last eight months.

 

KELLY: Unspoken? I’ve been, very vocal.

 

OLIVER: Hm?

 

KELLY: I would yell at you every time I saw you for the first month after you refused to turn me.

 

(Oliver nods)

 

OLIVER: …But now we’re good?

 

(Kelly nods)

 

KELLY: Yes. In fact, I’m glad we’re having this little get-together, because I wanted to tell you…I’m switching my major from psychology to art.

 

OLIVER: Oh.

 

KELLY: Yeah, just doubled my hours at Jitterbug, took out a couple student loans-

 

OLIVER: OH.

 

KELLY: I’m banking on Bernie Sanders cancelling my debt in about a year.

 

OLIVER: No risk there.

 

KELLY: Long story short, we’re gonna be seeing more of each other this semester.

 

OLIVER: So…friendship can resume as normal, then.

 

KELLY: As close to normal as we can get.

 

OLIVER: Cheers to “kind of normal”.

 

(Oliver and Kelly clink their glasses together and take sips. Kelly ashes her cig)

 

KELLY: …So you can include me in stuff. If you want. You know, if you have stuff to include me in.

 

OLIVER: I guess there are a few things. Got an open mic coming up. Doing my first stand-up set.

 

KELLY: What? Why?

 

OLIVER: Wow, that’s not the ideal reaction.

 

KELLY: I’m just wondering, what makes you think you’d be good at that?

 

OLIVER: Jesus, our friendship has been rekindled for twenty seconds.

 

KELLY: Sorry. What, uh, inspired this?

 

OLIVER: I think I’m funny! Do you not agree?

 

KELLY: Yeah, in like a, conversational sense.

 

OLIVER: Listen, if black comedians and female comedians are allowed to use their marginalized status to inform their comedy, I should be able to use my-

 

KELLY: You CANNOT compare those experiences.

 

OLIVER: WHY NOT?!

 

KELLY: You can’t even tell anybody about your affliction.

 

OLIVER: I’ll be subtle.

 

KELLY: Are you doing this just because Colton does stand-up sometimes?

 

OLIVER: Jesus Christ, Kelly, it’s been almost a year, have a little bit more faith, huh? (Kelly exhales smoke and shrugs. Cut to Oliver driving later that same night) Fuckin’ Colton- there’s no way that’s why I’m doing this, right? No fuckin’ way, fuck Colton. And! And this idea that I’m doing stand-up because of him!

 

(Oliver speeds up. Then, he slows down and comes to a stop at a light. He rubs his eyes and when he opens them back up, he sees a split-second image of Harold Lennon, his face white, bite marks in his neck, his eyes pried open and wearing a sickening smile. Oliver screams and swerves. He then refocuses and Harold is gone. He stares ahead with wide eyes. Cut to Oliver walking up to Sheffield, who’s smoking a cigarette next to the tarped pool that is Davie’s Sports Bar)

 

SHEFFIELD: Thanks for rushing, I’m fuckin’ freezing out here.

 

OLIVER: Christ, would you put that out, I swear all my friends are chain-smoking cat ladies.

 

(Sheffield rolls his eyes and crushes the cigarette under his foot)

 

SHEFFIELD: You’re so dramatic.

 

(Sheffield lifts a portion of the tarp and climbs the ladder down into the empty pool. Oliver follows. They get to the bottom and Sheffield walks over and turns on the floodlight in the corner, illuminating the pool, which features a table full of liquor and beer, a projector and screen and a slip-and-slide covered in codeine)

 

OLIVER: Beautiful as always.

 

SHEFFIELD: So you’ll be working the bar, per usual, but you also get to clean off the codeine slip-and-slide, as needed.

 

OLIVER: “As-needed” seems like it’s gonna be pretty often-

 

SHEFFIELD: Constantly, that’s correct.

 

OLIVER: Okay.

 

SHEFFIELD: Make me a gimlet. (Oliver squints) Just wanna see if you remember how!
 

(Oliver walks over to the bar and gets to work)

 

OLIVER: So, listen, I’m, having a stand-up show tomorrow night.

 

(Sheffield tenses up)

 

SHEFFIELD: …Your point being?

 

(Oliver puts bottle down)

 

OLIVER: I want you to come, Jesus, fill in some of the blanks yourself.

 

(Sheffield licks his lips and walks over to Oliver)

 

SHEFFIELD: Buddy- (Sheffield puts his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, and Oliver’s face vamps out and Sheffield retracts his hand) wow.

 

(Oliver shakes off the vamp face)

 

OLIVER: Sorry, just don’t touch me.

 

SHEFFIELD: Alright, alright, sorry. Listen. I’m your friend, and I’ve never been anything but supportive, and with you, 100%, no matter what.

 

OLIVER: Arguable, but continue-

 

SHEFFIELD: Just, don’t- sorry, don’t interrupt, alright, I don’t want to come to your open mic.

 

OLIVER: Right, do you see how that disproves your point-

 

SHEFFIELD: BECAUSE, BECAUSE! See? If you listen! BECAUSE, I don’t want to see you embarrass yourself.

 

OLIVER: No part of this is nice or supportive!

 

SHEFFIELD: I’m just saying, if the crowd starts booing, I have to join in, at a certain point, out of fear for my reputation. I mean, I have a movie coming out.

 

OLIVER: Fine, well, hey, I won’t come to your premiere if you don’t come to my open mic! How about that?!

 

(Sheffield sighs)

 

SHEFFIELD: That’s so manipulative.

 

OLIVER: …But what you just did is fine.

 

SHEFFIELD: Alright, I’ll do it.

 

OLIVER: Thank you, man, it means a lot to me. Even though I had to threaten you to get you to do it.

 

SHEFFIELD: Now, get going, I have a meeting with the head of the film department in the morning.

 

OLIVER: Actually, I had a little fright on the way over here, can I just chill at your place maybe?

 

SHEFFIELD: …Sorry, are you asking to sleep-over at my apartment because you got spooked?

 

OLIVER: I mean-

 

SHEFFIELD: You realize Tricia and I have loud, violent sex every night, right?

 

OLIVER: I can crash on the couch if you want, as long as there’s like a lamp in your living room we can keep on.

 

(Sheffield shakes his head)

 

SHEFFIELD: You’re a dumbass.

 

(Cut to an older gentleman waiting at the photo development section of Walgreens. Roy walks over with a manila envelope full of developed photos)

 

ROY: Alright, Mr. Coswick, there you go.

 

(Roy hands him the envelope)

 

MR. COSWICK: Thank you, can you tell me how to get these on my phone?

 

ROY: …Oh, God.

 

(Jackie walks over and tugs on Roy’s shirt)

 

JACKIE: Hey, could I talk to you in the closet real quick?

 

ROY: Oh, just one second, I’m working-

 

JACKIE: It’s URGENT!
 

(Jackie drags Roy away)

 

ROY: Be right, back sir! (Cut to Jackie and Roy in the closet. Jackie pulling off Roy’s shirt) That was real subtle, Jackie-

 

(Roy begins unbuttoning her blouse)

 

JACKIE: Fuck him, who still develops photos in 2020, anyway!? (Jackie and Roy start making out and slip down out of frame. Cut to Roy and Jackie standing behind the store. Jackie is smoking a joint) Man, it’s so sick this is legal now.

 

(Jackie hands the joint to Roy, who takes a puff)

 

ROY: Right, but not for you, because you’re under 21 and in public.

 

(Jackie shrugs)

 

JACKIE: What the fuck they gonna do, put me in jail?

 

ROY: Yeah, exactly. (Jackie rolls her eyes) Speaking of, you know when Kenny is supposed to get out?

 

JACKIE: Four months or something. Unless he gets paroled. He has a hearing this week.

 

(Roy hands the joint back to Jackie)

 

ROY: Think we’re in danger when he gets out?

 

(Jackie ponders this)

 

JACKIE: Shit, maybe. Why? You scared?

 

ROY: Nah, I can take him, I just wanna know.

 

(Jackie offers Roy the joint, but he waves it away)

 

JACKIE: Fuck you gonna do, punch him in the gun?

 

ROY: …Maybe I can get Oliver to back me up.

 

JACKIE: Oliver? That nigga weak as fuck, what you want to use Oliver for?

 

ROY: …Right…weak… (Jackie takes a hit of her joint) so what do you think, should I forgive Oliver?

 

JACKIE: Fuck no.

 

ROY: You don’t even know why I’m mad at him.

 

JACKIE: Well, since you won’t tell me, I assume he must’ve done something really fucked. Like, gave our sex tape to the Pope or some shit.

 

ROY: We never should’ve made that. (Jackie stamps out her joint and goes inside. Roy follows her in. Cut to Roy sitting in his living room, on his computer, the phone to his ear, doing the “Bernie Dialer” for Illinois) Hi, is this Steven Ford?

 

STEVEN: (On the phone) This is him.

 

ROY: This is Roy, I’m a volunteer with the Bernie Sanders campaign, Bernie wants to make an economy and a government that works for all of us, not just the 1%. Are you a Bernie supporter?

 

STEVEN: No, no, I supported him against Crooked Hillary in 2016, but now I’m all in for Tulsi.

 

ROY: Oh, I see. Is there someone who you would consider your second choice?

 

STEVEN: Yeah, who’s that oriental? Chang?

 

ROY: Ah. Wow. Okay. Yang, is his name.

 

STEVEN: Right, him.

 

(Jackie comes in)

 

JACKIE: Hey. Come on. Hang up.

 

(Jackie sits next to Roy and puts her hand on his thigh)

 

ROY: Okay, well, thank you for your time, Mr. Ford-

 

STEVEN: Thank you, Jamal.

 

ROY: What the fu- (Steven hangs up) how the fuck did he know?

 

(Jackie begins unbuckling Roy’s pants, but Roy removes her hand)

 

JACKIE: What?

 

ROY: Not right now, babe, I gotta do the dialer.

 

JACKIE: Oh my God, you’ve already been doing this shit for five minutes, isn’t that enough?!

 

ROY: No! I’m a poli-sci major, I need to do shit like this.

 

JACKIE: Come on, just take a break-

 

(Jackie starts kissing Roy’s neck, but he scoots over)

 

ROY: Nah. Stop. (Jackie backs up, surprised) Take “no” for an answer, a’ight? We can do it later.

 

JACKIE: …Fine, I’ll just go back to my place.

 

ROY: Great.

 

(Jackie stands up)

 

JACKIE: GREAT.

 

(Jackie leaves in a huff. Roy shakes his head and gets back on the phone)

 

ROY: Hello?

 

PERSON: (On the phone) Sorry about your relationship troubles, my man.

 

ROY: Wait, you were on the line this whole time?

 

PERSON: Bitches be cray, am I right?

 

(Roy rolls his eyes and hangs up. Cut to Kenny, in an orange jumpsuit, sitting in front of a parole board consisting of three men and two women, all with name plaques. The head of the parole board leans into the microphone)

 

CHAIRMAN CROSS: Mr. Franklin, you’ve been in prison for eight months of a one-year sentence for possession of an unregistered firearm. During your incarceration, you’ve gotten into at least three known fights. Why should we consider you for parole?

 

KENNY: I got people willin’ to vouch for my character.

 

CHAIRMAN CROSS: What witness would you like to call?

 

KENNY: Here’s the English teacher I used to fuck.

 

(They bring in a crazed 40-year old woman in an orange jumpsuit)

 

ENGLISH TEACHER: HE UNDERSTOOD THE TEMPEST BETTER THAN ANY OF THE KIDS!

 

CHAIRMAN CROSS: Yes, I remember reading about you in the papers.

 

KENNY: See? She’s famous.

 

CHAIRMAN CROSS: Mr. Franklin, that’s just not gonna do it. Do you have any real witnesses?

 

(Suddenly, Jackie walks in)

 

JACKIE: I can vouch for him, your honor.

 

(They all look at her. Kenny smiles wide as soon as he lays eyes on her)

 

CHAIRMAN CROSS: No need to call me “your honor” but go ahead.

 

(Cut to Sheffield and the director of Northwestern’s media arts department, a chubby dude with a mustache named Bernard Gere. They’re in a dark screening room watching Sheffield’s movie, which fades to black and displays the words “DIRECTED BY JOHN SHEFFIELD”. Sheffield flips the lights on as the credits roll)

 

SHEFFIELD: May the Q&A session commence.

 

(Sheffield picks up a bottle water and takes a swig from it)

 

BERNARD: Why does the ferret become a circus attraction?

 

SHEFFIELD: Well, working with Tricia Patterson was- wait, what?

 

BERNARD: Why do people come by the dozens to see a Ferret jump through a hoop?

 

SHEFFIELD: Because, it’s impressive, it’s a talent, what are you talking about?

 

BERNARD: Did the ferret have telepathy or?

 

SHEFFIELD: No! NO! Amanda projected her thoughts ONTO the ferret! I-I mean that’s so obvious!

 

BERNARD: Sorry, I just thought it was confusing, the whole thing.

 

SHEFFIELD: Don’t you GET IT?! (Sheffield stands up) She’s lost her faith in humanity because of the abuse she’s received at the hands of her customers, so she turns to an innocent creature with nothing but love in its heart to restore her faith in humanity!

 

BERNARD: But, if her faith in humanity is restored, why does she kill the circus owner at the end?

 

SHEFFIELD: You- because she needs a dead body to fulfill a new role in her life, that of father! The ferret is the lover, the dead body is the father, that’s what Mr. Scroggins could never do for her!
 

BERNARD: So, her faith in humanity isn’t restored at all-

 

SHEFFIELD: You know what, FUCK YOU! I DON’T WANT MY MOVIE SHOWN HERE!
 

(Sheffield discharges the DVD and storms out of the room)

 

BERNARD: YOU REALIZE I’M GONNA BE YOUR ADVANCED PRODUCTION TEACHER, RIGHT?!

 

(Cut to Tricia in the circus tent, swinging from hanging rings, swinging from ring to ring with expert precision. Sheffield enters, hands tucked in his pockets. Tricia sees him and drops on to a cushion and slides off)

 

TRICIA: What the fuck, Sheffield, you broke my concentration.

 

SHEFFIELD: Sorry, Trish, but it’s important.

 

(Tricia kicks open a cooler, grabs a Mountain Dew, takes a big swig of it and walks over to him)

 

TRICIA: Is it about the movie.

 

SHEFFIELD: You’re goddamn right it is! (Tricia sighs) There is NOTHING more important than this right now, Tricia, not you, not my schooling, not impending war with Iran, NOTHING!

 

TRICIA: So do you want to screen the movie here?

 

SHEFFIELD: Yeah, nothing else works.

 

TRICIA: Fine, let’s go ask Lord Fuckface.

 

SHEFFIELD: Don’t call him that when we ask him, okay?

 

TRICIA: Come on, do you really think I’d do that?

 

SHEFFIELD: Yeah! Obviously!

 

(Cut to Jeremy working in a shitty little disorganized back office with worn paint and a single light. Tricia and Sheffield walk in. Tricia walks in finishing off her Mountain Dew and throwing it right near Jeremy’s trash can)

 

TRICIA: Hey fuckface.

 

(Tricia and Sheffield sit down in front of them)

 

JEREMY: What is it?

 

(Tricia lets out a fart as she crosses her legs)

 

TRICIA: Can this fuckhead over here use your tent for his movie premiere?

 

SHEFFIELD: God, I can’t help but love you.

 

(Tricia shoots Sheffield a look, but then looks back at Jeremy)

 

JEREMY: Hm. (Jeremy sits back) How long is the film?

 

SHEFFIELD: Three hours.

 

JEREMY: Fuck me! Can we at least serve cotton candy during it?

 

SHEFFIELD: What?

 

JEREMY: Yeah, charge about $15 a head.

 

SHEFFIELD: A head?

 

JEREMY: Yeah, the cotton candy would be mandatory.

 

SHEFFIELD: What if you don’t want to eat it?!

 

JEREMY: Then you’d have to hold it at the very least. And hey, Trish, you could do your act during intermission!

 

(Sheffield stands up)

 

SHEFFIELD: INTERMISSION!?

 

TRICIA: Sheffield, sit.

 

SHEFFIELD: NO! THIS MOTHERFUCKER WANTS TO SCREW WITH THE PACING OF MY MOVIE! YOU NEVER MESS WITH A MAN’S PACING! THAT’S IT, DEAL’S OFF!

 

(Sheffield storms out. Tricia sighs and sits back in her chair, lighting up a cigarette)

 

TRICIA: Nice job.

 

JEREMY: It’s not my fault he doesn’t get how capitalism works. How is he planning on making a profit on this movie?

 

TRICIA: He embezzled money from his college fund to pay for it.

 

JEREMY: Jesus!

 

TRICIA: I’ll get him on board, don’t worry.

 

(Tricia ashes on Jeremy’s desk and exits the room. Cut to Roy sitting in his apartment on his laptop. Oliver walks in from his room)

 

OLIVER: Hey, I forgot to invite you, but my open mic at the Guffaw Gala is tonight, if you want to go.

 

ROY: …Uh, yeah, I don’t know.

 

OLIVER: …Do you have any plans tonight, or?

 

ROY: …Yeah, I think I got, fuckin’, an appointment or some shit.

 

OLIVER: You THINK you have a doctor’s appointment? At night?

 

ROY: Fine, I’ll go, can I bring Jackie?

 

(Oliver sighs)

 

OLIVER: Yeah.  I’ll see you then.

 

(Oliver walks out the door, where darkness has fallen outside. Jackie runs into the apartment, past Oliver, and is sobbing her eyes out. Roy stands up)

 

ROY: Jackie, what is it!?

 

JACKIE: I’M SCAAAAARED!!!

 

(Roy walks over and holds her)

 

ROY: What is it!!? Just breathe.

 

(Jackie is hyper-ventilating, but begins to compose herself)

 

JACKIE: Kenny made parole. He’s out.

 

ROY: Oh my God. Come here.

 

(Roy holds Jackie tight as she cries into his chest. Cut to a quick shot of Roy and Jackie fucking in his bed)

 

JACKIE: UH-UH-UH-I’M-SO-SCARED!!!!

 

(Cut to Jackie and Roy lying in bed)

 

ROY: …What are we gonna do…

 

JACKIE: Probably gotta get you a piece.

 

(Roy sits up and rubs his temples)

 

ROY: I don’t want to be that dude…

 

JACKIE: Then be the dude who gets me a shot of whiskey, let’s start the night early.

 

ROY: We gotta go to Oliver’s open mic, by the way.

 

JACKIE: UGH. Do we really have to? Shit is fucked up right now.

 

ROY: …You’re right, fuck it. (Roy stands up) We outta liquor though, I’ll make a run.

 

(Jackie takes out her phone and scrolls through it)

 

JACKIE: A’ight, nigga, I’ll be here.

 

(Roy throws on pants and a shirt and then turns to Jackie)

 

ROY: We’ll get through this, Jackie.

 

(Jackie looks up and blows him a kiss. Roy catches it and leaves. Jackie smiles deviously and scrolls through her Instagram feed. Cut to Roy starting his car and leaving his parking lot. A car in an adjacent parking lot, driven by Kenny and with Roscoe in the passenger seat, starts up and begins to follow Roy. Cut to Roy parking outside of a liquor store. He emerges from his car and suddenly Kenny’s car pulls up and Kenny and Roscoe jump out. Kenny draws a gun on Roy)

 

KENNY: WHAT’S UP, MY NIGGA?!

 

ROY: Jesus Christ- (Roy raises his hand) Kenny, what the fuck!?

 

KENNY: Have you met Beretta? She my main bitch.

 

ROY: Kenny, you just got out for a gun charge, do you really-

 

KENNY: Say hi to Beretta, MOTHERFUCKER, don’t be rude.

 

ROY: Hi-hi, Beretta. (Kenny points the barrel of the gun at his ear) What the fuck!?

 

KENNY: Uh-uh. Oh, I see. (Kenny points the gun back at Roy) She don’t like you, NIGGA, you didn’t even ask about her day!
 

ROY: That was so dangerous- what the fuck do you want?!

 

ROSCOE: You owe us, motherfucker.

 

KENNY: If you gonna fuck my ex-girlfriend, you might as well be dealin’ on my fuckin’ block. Except your dealing your dick to her pussy.

 

ROSCOE: So you gotta pay the pussy tax.

 

ROY: Fine, what do you want?!

 

KENNY: It’s a percentage of your income, so, what’s your income?

 

ROY: Are you fucking kidding me!?

 

KENNY: THE FUCK IS YOUR INCOME!?

 

ROY: It’s 15k a year, alright?!

 

KENNY: A’ight, but what’s your taxable income!?

 

ROY: Are you serious?!

 

ROSCOE: Yeah, if you make less than 25k, yo’ taxable income is every dollar past 5,000, we ain’t do no regressive tax, NIGGA!

 

ROY: Fine, it’s 10,000 dollars then!
 

KENNY: A’ight, what’s 17% of 10,000?

 

ROSCOE: It’s 1,700 dollars.

 

KENNY: Hand it over!

 

(Roy takes out four twenties)

 

ROY: I got eighty bucks, that’s it!

 

KENNY: Just give it, we’ll get the rest later! (Roy throws the money at Kenny) Oh, and say “thanks” to Jackie for me.

 

ROY: What?

 

KENNY: How you feel knowin’ your bitch testified to get me out?

 

(Roy’s eyes go wide. Kenny flips him off and they jump in the car and speed off. Roy gets incredibly angry and kicks his tires. Cut to Oliver backstage at the open mic. He takes a deep breath as he hears the MC introducing him)

 

MC: (OS) Alright, give it up for Louis C.K., everyone!

 

(Sparse applause)

 

OLIVER: What?!

 

MC: Next up, give it up for Oliver Shine.

 

(Oliver walks on stage as the MC hands him the microphone. He looks over the crowd as mild applause sounds. Sheffield and Tricia have their own table, Kelly is sitting in the back, Roland and Charlie are there, and Colton and Naomi have a seat way in the back. They look annoyed. No sign of Roy and Jackie, however. There are also a number of unknown persons. The applause dies and Oliver clears his throat)

 

OLIVER: What’s up everyone, this is my first time, so I promise I’ll be gentle. (Dead silence) I hope my parents don’t hear! (Dead silence) I’m kidding, they’re not here, they don’t support me in any way. (Few spare laughs) …Anyway, I spend a lot of time indoors- (Charlie laughs way too hard) I am, I have not even come close to making a joke.

 

CHARLIE: THAT’S THAT REAL SHIT!
 

(Charlie takes a drag on a joint)

 

OLIVER: Alright, anyway, I don’t go outside a lot, and I’m beginning to wonder why I ever did, because honestly, what is there to do? (Dead silence) Have we bought into the premise here?

 

(Sheffield rubs his eyes. Cut to Roy and Jackie walking toward the Guffaw Gala)

 

JACKIE: Why are you making me go to this?!

 

(Roy stops dead in his tracks and turns to her)

 

ROY: Because I support my friends.

 

(Roy stares at her)

 

JACKIE: …Fine, nigga, Jesus.

 

(Roy and Jackie duck into the comedy club. Cut to Jackie and Roy walking in during Oliver’s set. He sees Roy and his eyes light up)

 

OLIVER: Welcome! This guy that just came in is the butt of my next joke. (Mild laughter. Roy looks around uncomfortably) I’m just kidding, I love this dude, one of my best friends. But he is the subject of this joke, so I guess I’m not really kidding. (Laughter) I was not raised religious, but I’m often fascinated with the wide variety of different beliefs through Christianity, all the different denominations and such. My friend Roy had a belief all his own, he didn’t get it from any primary or secondary religious text, he just sort of, assumed it. (Laughter) He thought that we when you die, before you go to Heaven or Hell, you have a sit-down with God, in like a meeting room. I’m not talking about some opulent, heavenly chamber, I mean like a Marriot hotel conference room. (Laughter, including from Roy) And what happens is you sit before God, who’s wearing a pair of reading glasses, of course- (laughter) and Jesus is in the corner with a pen and clipboard- (laughter) and he lists all your sins, and asks why you committed them. (Laughter) Not even, like, broad questions, like “why did you masturbate?” He’ll ask you about every, single, solitary, time you masturbated. (Laughter) “Um, so why did you masturbate on Monday, September 21st, 2015 at 4:27 PM?” “Uh….” (Laughter) “I was…bored?” “So, not even really turned on?” “No, I was just bored”. (Laughter and applause. Oliver smiles) And you have to go through this for, probably a few thousand years. (Laughter) Every single sin, are you kidding me?! That would take- (Oliver suddenly spots Harold standing in the back, blood coming out of his eyes and smiling wide and he stops suddenly and gapes) …

 

(Clamor in the audience)

 

CHARLIE: You okay, bud?

 

(Oliver sees that every one he knows in the audience looks like a vampire with bite marks in the neck. Except for Colton, who just has the bite marks, no vamp-face. Oliver looks horrified)

 

ROY: Oliver?

 

(Oliver gulps)

 

OLIVER: …Sorry…

 

(Oliver runs off stage. A clamor of confusion. Charlie smiles. The MC returns to stage)

 

MC: Okay, give it up for Oliver Shine, everyone. (Mild applause) How avant-garde. Next up, Colton Ludic everyone!
 

(Colton walks toward the stage. Sheffield, Tricia, Roy, Jackie, Roland and Kelly all get up to leave)

 

 

COLTON: Come on!

 

(Cut to Oliver outside the Guffaw Gala, sitting on the ground, trying to take deep breaths. Roy, Sheffield and Kelly all walk outside and look down at Oliver)

 

KELLY: Are you okay?!

 

ROY: What happened in there, bro, you were killing it!

 

OLIVER: …I don’t… (Oliver looks up at them) …do you guys forgive me?

 

KELLY: For what?

 

ROY: I guess so?

 

KELLY: What do I mean, “for what”? I know exactly “for what”.

 

SHEFFIELD: You haven’t really done anything to me, so.

 

OLIVER: And you actually forgive me? For leading you on, Kelly? For making you cover for me, Roy?

 

ROY: …Yeah, man, I forgive you. Honestly. Despite your condition, I should listen to you more often. You’re right about Jackie.

 

OLIVER: Really? Wait, where is she?

 

ROY: Inside doing body shots.

 

OLIVER: Of course.

 

ROY: I’m gonna break up with her. I should’ve listened to you. She’s insane. You see things that I don’t. And you tell me things I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear them.

 

(Oliver nods)

 

KELLY: I agree, I mean, you’re the one who told me to pursue art. I should’ve listened to you earlier. (Beat) And honestly, I can forgive you for not murdering me.

 

SHEFFIELD: What?!

 

KELLY: It’s a long story.

 

ROY: Get up on your feet, huh?

 

(Roy helps Oliver up)

 

OLIVER: Thanks. (Sighs) Listen, I thank you for your kind words, but I don’t know if I deserve your forgiveness.

 

SHEFFIELD: Again, you didn’t do anything to me. You killed Harold, but that didn’t directly affect ME.

 

OLIVER: First off, lower your voice. (Sheffield shrugs) Anyway. Apparently if I don’t pilgrimage to Transylvania within my first year of vampirism, it’s bad luck for 100 years. So that’s where I gotta go, just for a few days.

 

ROY: Are you dropping out?

 

OLIVER: …I don’t know. Probably not. My grades are terrible, but I have one more shot, I don’t want to throw it away. I just need some time.

 

KELLY: Where the hell did you even hear this pilgrimage thing from?

 

OLIVER: Trust me, you don’t want to know.

 

SHEFFIELD: Because it would make you seem really gullible?

 

OLIVER: HEY! I’ve been having shit luck the last few days! So lay off me! (Beat) But, yeah, kind of.

 

(Oliver heads back inside. Tricia walks outside, lighting up a cigarette)

 

TRICIA: What are you fuckheads gossiping about? Your girl’s vomiting, by the way.

 

ROY: Goddamnit…

 

(Roy rushes inside. Sheffield and Kelly take out cigarettes and light them up)

 

SHEFFIELD: Oliver’s being a drama queen, as always.

 

TRICIA: Yeah, and you’re not?

 

SHEFFIELD: Jeremy is RUINING my (Wild gesticulations) ARTISTIC VISION!!!!!

 

KELLY: Wow. Not theatrical at all, you’re right.

 

TRICIA: Honestly, John, grow the fuck up. Unless you want to show your movie to five people in a drained people, where you have to change the portable battery every fifty minutes, grow the fuck up and accept the deal Jeremy offered. He’ll cut you in on the cotton candy, that’s all he’s willing to do.

 

KELLY: I’m gonna smoke over here.

 

(Kelly walks away and smokes on her own)

 

SHEFFIELD: I’m not gonna just sell out lying down!

 

TRICIA: What are you, eighteen years old!? You have to recoup SOME of your money, shithead! You COULD’VE showed it on campus if you could take even a LITTLE BIT of constructive criticism, but NOPE, BABY SHEFFIELD NEEDS TO BE CODDLED!

 

(Sheffield rotates his cigarette as he stares at her. He blinks rapidly a couple times and turns away. He takes a drag and turns back to her)

 

SHEFFIELD: I want your intermission performance to be weird as fuck. Be covered in spinach or something.

 

(Tricia sighs and throws up her hands)

 

TRICIA: Whatever! (Sheffield and Tricia shake hands. And then start making out, dropping their cigarettes to the ground. Kelly stamps out her cigarette, then both of theirs. Tricia comes up for air) Fuck off, you little pervert!
 

KELLY: I’M GOING!

 

(Kelly goes inside. Cut to Roy holding Jackie’s hair back as she vomits into the toilet in a bathroom stall)

 

ROY: How did this even happen!?

 

JACKIE: I did seven SHOT-

 

(Jackie vomits again. Roy shakes his head)

 

ROY: We’re done.

 

JACKIE: WHAT?!

 

(Cut to Oliver drinking blood from his fake e-cig lookalike at the Guffaw Gala’s bar area. Kelly walks over and sits next to him)

 

KELLY: You’re really going?

 

OLIVER: Yep. Gonna book my trip to Cluj-Napoca tonight.

 

KELLY: …I wanna come.

 

OLIVER: …What?

 

KELLY: I’m serious about reigniting our friendship, Oliver. What’s a better way than this?

 

OLIVER: …Kelly, I have a weird series of red-eye connections that I have to orchestrate so I can avoid the sun, you sure you can keep up?

 

KELLY: I’ve seen “Last Lovers Left Alive”, I know the deal.

 

OLIVER: …That’s a fuckin’ movie.

 

KELLY: Let’s do it, huh? (Kelly punches Oliver’s shoulder) See? We’re friends! I punched you in the shoulder.

 

(Oliver laughs and shrugs)

 

OLIVER: Alright!

 

KELLY: Yes!

 

(Pan over to Charlie standing in the door frame of the adjoining room. He looks angry. He pulls up his phone- there’s an Expedia page open with the cheapest connecting flights to Cluj-Napoca. He looks at this and smiles. His face vamps out, and he quickly covers it with his hand)

 

CHARLIE: Fuck.

 

(“Defenestration Song” by Have a Nice Life plays as we cut to credits)

 

THE END


Submitted: January 20, 2020

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