Post by Sylver Morrigan on Nov 11, 2009 19:26:00 GMT -6
OOC: I wrote this with the intent of posting it November 3rd, but wanted 'Juggernaut' to be able to proofread it.. and he got sick that night with the flu. Then I got the flu. So pretend it's 11/03. Thanks.
The scene opens on a quite residential street. The trees are all but bare at this time of year, what leaves are left are all crinkly, red and brown. We pan across a wide driveway, showing a front door... We can see through the storm door, down a hallway floored with a warm hardwood, the walls a buttery color. A white cat skitters across the hall, her claws sliding against the floor...
We see the kitchen, recently remodeled, high cabinets and new appliances. A large, deep cast iron sink is set into the counter top, and a sky light lets in the weak fall sun. Sitting at a large, worn butcherblock table is none other than Sylver Morrigan, nursing a steaming mug of mulled mead and sighing as the white cat streaks across the kitchen.
She sips from her mug, staring around the kitchen, as a male voice shouts from outside. Smiling, Morrigan gets up and grabs another mug from a dark wood cabinet, then uncovers a large pot that’s been bubbling away on the stove. She ladles the hot drink into the mug, and replaced the lid just as Jack ‘Juggernaut’ stomps in the side door, stomping his feet and removing a Yankees cap from his head. He accepts the mug with a smile.
Jack: Thanks. It’s getting chilly out there, finally.
Morrigan: I’ve always thought Vegas ruined your internal thermometer. It’s perfect outside.
Jack: Fifty six degrees and blustery is not ‘perfect’ weather.
Morrigan: Good for baseball, though.
She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out an envelope, tossing it down on the counter. Jack sets his mug down, and opens the envelope. Out fall two tickets to the next night’s World Series game at Yankee Stadium. Jack looks stunned.
Jack: How did you get these?!
Morrigan: Way too many people owe me favors. Huge favors. Consider it a late anniversary present..
They smile at each other, sharing a moment, and a clang breaks the silence: the mail’s just arrived. Morrigan jumps up, pecks Jack on the cheek, and opens the front door, walking down the driveway to the mailbox.
Reaching in, she grabs it all in one hand and slams the mailbox shut. Morrigan flips through the mail as she walks back to the house...
Bill... bill... junk.... hmm, big manila envelope... bill... Hot Rod magazine... eh, not much.
Walking in the house, Morrigan tosses the mail on a side table by the front door, except for the Hot Rod magazine. She locks the front door, then rejoins Jack in the kitchen. The camera pans in on the manila envelope, addressed to Ms. Sylver Morrigan. Postmark: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania....
Fade to black...
The scene opens on a quite residential street. The trees are all but bare at this time of year, what leaves are left are all crinkly, red and brown. We pan across a wide driveway, showing a front door... We can see through the storm door, down a hallway floored with a warm hardwood, the walls a buttery color. A white cat skitters across the hall, her claws sliding against the floor...
We see the kitchen, recently remodeled, high cabinets and new appliances. A large, deep cast iron sink is set into the counter top, and a sky light lets in the weak fall sun. Sitting at a large, worn butcherblock table is none other than Sylver Morrigan, nursing a steaming mug of mulled mead and sighing as the white cat streaks across the kitchen.
She sips from her mug, staring around the kitchen, as a male voice shouts from outside. Smiling, Morrigan gets up and grabs another mug from a dark wood cabinet, then uncovers a large pot that’s been bubbling away on the stove. She ladles the hot drink into the mug, and replaced the lid just as Jack ‘Juggernaut’ stomps in the side door, stomping his feet and removing a Yankees cap from his head. He accepts the mug with a smile.
Jack: Thanks. It’s getting chilly out there, finally.
Morrigan: I’ve always thought Vegas ruined your internal thermometer. It’s perfect outside.
Jack: Fifty six degrees and blustery is not ‘perfect’ weather.
Morrigan: Good for baseball, though.
She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out an envelope, tossing it down on the counter. Jack sets his mug down, and opens the envelope. Out fall two tickets to the next night’s World Series game at Yankee Stadium. Jack looks stunned.
Jack: How did you get these?!
Morrigan: Way too many people owe me favors. Huge favors. Consider it a late anniversary present..
They smile at each other, sharing a moment, and a clang breaks the silence: the mail’s just arrived. Morrigan jumps up, pecks Jack on the cheek, and opens the front door, walking down the driveway to the mailbox.
Reaching in, she grabs it all in one hand and slams the mailbox shut. Morrigan flips through the mail as she walks back to the house...
Bill... bill... junk.... hmm, big manila envelope... bill... Hot Rod magazine... eh, not much.
Walking in the house, Morrigan tosses the mail on a side table by the front door, except for the Hot Rod magazine. She locks the front door, then rejoins Jack in the kitchen. The camera pans in on the manila envelope, addressed to Ms. Sylver Morrigan. Postmark: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania....
Fade to black...