Nova
Just Like Law-Jesus
(FADEIN: A hazy close-quarters studio apartment living room/kitchen/closet/bathroom. Amidst the cluttered low-lying couch surfaces and extra blankets coating the floor, a mass of arms and legs signal a smorgasbord of late-night bad decision-making. And what emerges from this cesspool of totally legal, gender-neutral hippie ass?)
(CUTTO: An arm exploding through the body, outstretched hand grasping dramatically at nothing. Faded white text on the out-of-place (and quite muggerly) wrist-wrap reads "F-U.")
NOVA (V/O): (Gasping for air) "Guuuuuuuggghh!!!"
(His eyes dart about wildly, obviously unable to place his surroundings. He immediately goes quiet as he observes the legion of drunken co-eds scattered about like meatballs in a homemade ragu of stoned love.)
NOVA: (Lighting a cigarette) "Where's my f*cking phone?"
(He locates his ancient tear-gas canister of a mobile phone, sliding it out from under the grasp of a nearby dread-headed barista and extending the absurd two-foot antenna line. He punches in numbers on the touch-tone surface.)
AUTO-VOICE: "Good morning, user."
NOVA: "Mobile telephone...what time is it?"
AUTO-VOICE: "The time is 9:21 P.M...."
NOVA: "Oh, my God. Ohmigod, ohmigod...I think I'm late...there was a show, or something..."
AUTO-VOICE: "...December 31, 2012."
NOVA: "OH MY GOD, IT'S NOT SEPTEMBER ANYMORE?!"
(The Frontier Hall-of-Famer's hands instinctively shoot down to his stomach, where they clasp the outlines of an Everette Memorial Tag Championship Belt, which has somehow begun to develop an organic viscous attachment to his skin. The EAGLEstar sighs with relief.)
NOVA: "Whew...well, if I've still got this...where's..."
(JACK HARMEN explodes out of a mound of sweaty party-flesh, clad in floaties and a snorkel and goggles.)
JACK HARMEN: "Dude, you will not BELIEVE the shots I got last night on this water-proof camera! I thought OUR generation had no self-esteem!"
NOVA: "WHERE ARE WE?!"
JACK HARMEN: "Relax. I've taken care of everything."
NOVA: "DID WE STILL WIN?!"
JACK HARMEN: "What a ridiculous question. No one can ever take BRAWLAPALOOZA away from us."
NOVA: "I FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN SLEEPING FOR A LONG TIME."
JACK HARMEN: "You're probably still very drunk...from the last four months. And you have to understand, that [BLEEP] must've F*CKED you up. Like, Ozzy-style."
NOVA: "Am I the Godfather of Metal?"
(HARMEN pulls his goggles up over his forehead and lays a hand on his partner's shoulders.)
JACK HARMEN: "Of course you are. And we're gonna be okay, dude."
(NOVA takes a long drag from his cigarette, then exhales.)
NOVA: (Eyes narrowing) "Then rouse these b*tches. 'Cuz I smell a New Year's party a-brewin'."
JACK HARMEN: (Grinning) "Welcome back, player."
(FADETOBLACK.)
(CUTTO: An arm exploding through the body, outstretched hand grasping dramatically at nothing. Faded white text on the out-of-place (and quite muggerly) wrist-wrap reads "F-U.")
NOVA (V/O): (Gasping for air) "Guuuuuuuggghh!!!"
(His eyes dart about wildly, obviously unable to place his surroundings. He immediately goes quiet as he observes the legion of drunken co-eds scattered about like meatballs in a homemade ragu of stoned love.)
NOVA: (Lighting a cigarette) "Where's my f*cking phone?"
(He locates his ancient tear-gas canister of a mobile phone, sliding it out from under the grasp of a nearby dread-headed barista and extending the absurd two-foot antenna line. He punches in numbers on the touch-tone surface.)
AUTO-VOICE: "Good morning, user."
NOVA: "Mobile telephone...what time is it?"
AUTO-VOICE: "The time is 9:21 P.M...."
NOVA: "Oh, my God. Ohmigod, ohmigod...I think I'm late...there was a show, or something..."
AUTO-VOICE: "...December 31, 2012."
NOVA: "OH MY GOD, IT'S NOT SEPTEMBER ANYMORE?!"
(The Frontier Hall-of-Famer's hands instinctively shoot down to his stomach, where they clasp the outlines of an Everette Memorial Tag Championship Belt, which has somehow begun to develop an organic viscous attachment to his skin. The EAGLEstar sighs with relief.)
NOVA: "Whew...well, if I've still got this...where's..."
(JACK HARMEN explodes out of a mound of sweaty party-flesh, clad in floaties and a snorkel and goggles.)
JACK HARMEN: "Dude, you will not BELIEVE the shots I got last night on this water-proof camera! I thought OUR generation had no self-esteem!"
NOVA: "WHERE ARE WE?!"
JACK HARMEN: "Relax. I've taken care of everything."
NOVA: "DID WE STILL WIN?!"
JACK HARMEN: "What a ridiculous question. No one can ever take BRAWLAPALOOZA away from us."
NOVA: "I FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN SLEEPING FOR A LONG TIME."
JACK HARMEN: "You're probably still very drunk...from the last four months. And you have to understand, that [BLEEP] must've F*CKED you up. Like, Ozzy-style."
NOVA: "Am I the Godfather of Metal?"
(HARMEN pulls his goggles up over his forehead and lays a hand on his partner's shoulders.)
JACK HARMEN: "Of course you are. And we're gonna be okay, dude."
(NOVA takes a long drag from his cigarette, then exhales.)
NOVA: (Eyes narrowing) "Then rouse these b*tches. 'Cuz I smell a New Year's party a-brewin'."
JACK HARMEN: (Grinning) "Welcome back, player."
(FADETOBLACK.)