The Streets of Imp City, EXT-Evening
The rain blankets the city in a dreary wet mesh as Jethro's car navigates through the streets. An empty CD deck idles lazily in the cupholder titled "Best of Verosika Vol.3". Unsurprisingly, one of her songs bumps through the worn car stereo. Oswald watches the outside pass him by. It's New York in the 70's: Turned over trash cans, porno shops with grimy marquees, and spots where buildings should be but are now just gardens of rubble. Night creatures prowl under the canopy of the city on street corners and back alleys: Whores, greaseballs, con-men and thieves. Drug addicts cling to the fading brick of buildings like hydrophobic fungus while street hustlers try and make another ill-gotten buck.
V.O
People say that after the last extermination, Five Points got worse. But I beg to differ. City was always bad. Only difference now is that people just don't care, got too tired of hiding who they were. And now...the true colors of Pentagram City burn bright for all to see.
Oswald
"Feel like I should apologize."
Jethro
"Don't. You're my financial advisor. You advised me financially. If anything I should be thanking you."
Oswald
"I know, It just...it felt tactless."
Jethro
"Never asked for tact."
Jethro turns the car left down a bright empty street.
Jethro (cont.)
"Besides, you know how much of a fucking mule I can be. Need a kick in the ass once in a while."
Oswald smirks.
Oswald
"Well then, consider your ass kicked."
Jethro chortles at this as they pass through a junction. Oswald's smirk vanishes.
Oswald
"That was our turn."
Jethro
"Perceptive."
Oswald
(Serious)
"We're going the wrong way."
Jethro
"Two for two."
Oswald
(Stern)
"Where are we going?"
Jethro
(Casual)
"Special spot of mine, overlook outside The City"
Jethro turns the car right, onto the marred on-ramp of the freeway.
Jethro
"Good place to think."
Oswald squints his eyes doubtfully before faux-relaxing back into his seat and crossing his arms.
Oswald
"Got a good view?"
Jethro
"We'll see."
They drive for a bit, traveling on snaking black concrete twisting and winding further and further away from the city and into the outer edges of Pride. Oswald gazes vacantly at the passing scenery. A small vista here, a half decayed property there.
V.O
I trust Jethro, probably a bit too much, so it isn't mistrust I feel. It's more of a calm paranoia; Nerves. Find yourself in one too many unfortunate situations, you become expectant of just about anything; Like friends bringing you to new places out of the blue…
The vistas continue. Open farmlands mutley glistening with dew, long stretching roads and some gas stations. Some open, some abandoned. There's a certain beauty to them, a substance within their humble modesty.
V.O
I remember a beatnik once saying that the county's the kind of place you go to forget. I respect that. Met too many people that would still be around if they just forgot. But a guy's got a memory for a reason. Wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for the lessons of the past. If you forget those, you're next to dead.
They pass a slumbering farmstead.
V.O
Not sure why Jethro's bringing me out here...
They pass a ruined house, decaying and half gone from rot.
V.O
But I hope that beatnik was wrong...
Finally, after needling through a dormant town's narrow streets, Jethro pulls into a cul-de-sac on the town's outskirts. The clouds have thinned and the dim rouge light of the Pentagram above softly illuminates the area, painting everything in a gentle light red. They pass a welcoming sign, "Demeter's Rest". Some buildings are half finished while the complete ones idle vacantly. The scars of some unknown battle bespeckle the suburbanite homes. Bullet holes like freckles dot the many faces of most of the houses. Household barricades slowly crumble away on porches, front lawns, and hastily made rooftop gangways, as aged debris litters the area. Graffiti of some obscure gangs cover the side paneling of several houses, while the others, with blasted open holes where walls should be, harbor sleeping emptiness. Whatever happened here, the wrong people won.
V.O
It's expectant of Jethro to favor the vacant. Guy likes his abandoned buildings, his run down offices. This place though, it feels different. Most of the places Jethro showed me didn't feel abandoned, but sleeping. As if their owners were just a minute away from bursting in to wake it back up. But this place. This place didn't have that. It was dead. Completely and utterly dead.
At the wide circular end of the cul-de-sac, Jethro stops at the top of the circle.
Jethro
"Rest of the way is on foot. Won't be that long, few minutes tops."
Oswald
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're walking me to my grave."
Jethro
"Maybe I am. Only one way to find out."
He exits the car.
V.O
Fucker knows how to hook me.
Oswald steps out of the car. Jethro opens the trunk and retrieves from it a case of beer. He props it on his shoulder like a boom-box. The air has a hint of humidity still left in it, the faint sticky kiss from the thin low lying fog they wade through. The smell of after-rain mixes with the lush verdant crispness of forestry beyond the houses. The rain storm was here, but has long since passed. It smells of a vaguely familiar home just ebbing on the cusp of remembrance.
V.O
With death, though, comes a peace. All the other places, they were crowded with an anxious expectancy that was almost suffocating. They were all still holding on, still waiting. Still hoping. This place, however, was empty. It was done waiting.
They pass into the treeline, Oswald following Jethro, until they enter an outcropping. It's mainly rock, but the trees cling onto the sides as they form a lush canopy above. The outcropping gives way to a wide grand vista. Pentagram City, immeasurably tall and wide, looks small, like a great stretch of black ocean, the skyscrapers jutting out like rising waves. Above, the Pentagram emboldened in the sky looms over, it's faint red tint like the neon dots of the city below. Off to the far right, the circle of Pride drops off to a sheer cliff, leading down to the other lower rings. Not much can be discerned through the thick, hazy green ozone of Greed's upper atmosphere. Oswald is a bit struck by this view, mainly because he's never seen anything quite like it. He holds back on showing his stupefaction, but his tail hikes up attentively as his brow raises.
Jethro
"It's somethin', isn't it?"
Oswald
"Yeah..."
Jethro puts down the case and opens it, cracking open one for himself and offering another to Oswald. He accepts. Jethro takes a seat near the edge of the outcropping. Oswald sits next to him. They drink.
V.O
That city, that megalopolis of twisted steel and concrete, that inescapable leviathan now looks so very far away that it's almost impossible to conceive. Yet still I feel it on my shoulders; pressing me down, squeezing me in. Pulling me back. Jethro looks bothered, but there's a looseness to his shoulders that makes me think it's not about the same thing. It's a good view, I'll give him that, but there's something sour in my gut poking at why he brought me out here.
Jethro
"You good?"
Oswald
"Hm?"
Jethro
"Kinda got that 'thousand mile stare' going on over there. Should I be worried?"
Oswald
"Oh, no, it's just...how'd you find this place?"
Jethro
"What can I say? I'm full of wanderlust."
Oswald
(Smiling)
"Come on, cut the shit, man."
Jethro
"What? You don't believe me?"
Oswald
"There aren't many things I believe in and that's one of them."
Jethro huffs with a smile.
Jethro
"Alright, alright."
He looks out the vista, then the trees around him.
Jethro
"Client of mine lived here. Would come up every Wednesday to talk options. Was nothin' big, a few shares here, few shares there."
A moment.
Jethro
"They had a kid. Kennedy. Never really understood the word 'Impish' until I met her.'
Jethro smiles.
Jethro
"Folks would always invite me to dinner after we were done talking shop. Never knew why. I asked them one day and they said that it was courtesy. Decent."
Pause.
Jethro
"People here were different."
His gaze turns towards the city, to that grand open space in front of them. His countenance turns bittersweet for but a few moments before he regains himself.
Jethro
"Anyway. After dinner one evening, parents wanted me to get Kennedy in for the night. Told me she was out in the woods, not too far from their place."
The scene shifts, A younger Jethro is now walking towards the humble treeline. It's that time of evening where everything looks like a shadow.
V.O (Jethro)
"As I neared the treeline, I heard something."
The lilting notes of some far-off tune trickles through the tall shadows of trees and branches. His swaying tail flicks. His eyes train on the black lattice of the woods, but when the song percolates through and laps against his ears, his tail stops. His eyes widen.
V.O
"Fuckin' thought it was an angel."
He gets closer and closer, following the trail of the honeysuckle voice, until he juts the edge of the treeline, right before the small opening to the outlook. He sees Kennedy, a succubus, standing center stage, singing out to the wide open world. Her voice is soulful. A hopeful energy bounces from note to perfect note as her body dips and sways like the breeze woven trees around her.
V.O
"It was...like nothin' I've ever heard of. Notes like porcelain belted out like a lion. One moment soft and sentimental, the next, ecstatic and bombastic. It was peace, it was celebration, it was...it was creation itself."
She keeps singing, her body moving like flowing silk. Her voice bellows with an unhindered purity that's close to holy.
V.O
(Cont.)
"Creation in A major."
He watches, smiles, sees her full of a vivacity that may just bring a tear to his eye, but the vision fades, bringing the scene back to Jethro and Oswald on the rock outcropping. Jethro's smile fades, but doesn't vanish. He now looks reminiscent. Oswald looks at Jethro with a similar considerable look.
Oswald
"Where're they now?"
He looks out to the vista disapprovingly.
Jethro
"Take a guess."
Jethro takes out a cigarette and lights it.
Jethro
"Quaestors wanted this land for something. There was talk about people disappearing in the woods west of here, vanishing, I don't know. People called their bullshit and refused to leave. Kennedy's folks didn't want the hassle, so they left. Day later, Quaestor sent in their auditor dogs...folks didn't stand a chance..."
Jethro muffles the thought of the carnage with a long drag.
Jethro
"I stayed in touch with them for a while, but…"
Jethro sighs then offers the cigarette to Oswald, he accepts.
Jethro
"Kennedy stopped talking to them. Got a record deal and just vanished. Each time I visited 'em, I could see their hurt, feel it. Got to a point where it was just...I don't know...exhausting."
Oswald
"Was it true? People vanishing?"
Jethro
"Don't know...never really tried to find out.."
Oswald
"Probably for the best."
Jethro
"Hm."
Oswald passes the cigarette back. Jethro takes it and sighs.
Jethro
"I don't know...it's not all that bad, I guess. Place still feels...right in a sense."
Oswald
"Like she's still here."
Jethro
"Kind of...memory's a weird thing. Even after all of the bad, you still can't help but see the good."
He smiles.
Jethro
"What a bitch."
Oswald
(Smiling)
"Sound like a fucking beatnik."
Jethro
"That bad?"
Oswald
"No...just...what was it? 'Full of wanderlust?'"
Jethro shrugs.
Jethro
"Bright side's somewhere, just gotta act like you know where to find it."
Oswald
"Hm."
A few moments pass.
Jethro
"So, you know, No one's been up here in almost a decade."
Oswald
"Okay…"
Jethro
"Pretty secluded, the chance of someone coming up here is...pretty low."
Oswald
"So you do want to kill me?"
Jethro
"No…not exactly…"
His hand goes to Oswald's thigh. Oswald sends a side-glance at it.
Oswald
"How's Gideon?"
He takes a drink.
Jethro
"Not here at the moment."
He looks to the treeline around them.
Jethro
"And it doesn't look like Carver is either."
Oswald
"I'm not in the mood."
Jethro
"Oz, man, you've been saying that for the past couple of months."
Oswald
"Because I haven't been in the mood. And besides that, I don't think I have to lay the stakes out for my explanation either."
Jethro
"They don't know, Oswald."
Oswald
"But I do! I do, Jethro! Do you understand that? I can't even so much as look at Carver without feeling my heart break! How are you so calm about this?"
Jethro
"Because I know I love you more than I'll ever love Gideon!"
Oswald
"Don't start with that."
Jethro
"How is that a surprise? Does a year not prove that? Do you want more? Cuz' if that's the case I'll give you my entire life if I still have to prove that I love you! The least, the absolute least you can do here is just tell me you love me too!"
Oswald
"I...fuck Jethro, can you just fucking stop with all of this fucking pressuring all the time?"
Jethro
"Yes or no?"
Oswald
"Jethro, fucks sake just stop…"
Jethro
"Yes or No!"
Oswald
"Jethro, stop it!
Jethro
Yes. Or. No!"
Oswald
"STOP!"
Silence, as if for years. The wind blows, rustling the verdant green leaves of the canopy above.
Oswald
(Petty, aiming to hurt)
"I am not going to destroy the life of someone else just because of a good fuck…"
Jethro
(Petty)
"You should be lucky I want to fuck a fucking traitor like-"
Oswald lunges at Jethro, grabbing his throat and pinning him to a tree. His grip is not tight, but his inertia did the job well. He's almost growling, his face centimeters away from Jethro's. His eyes have darkened, an animal-like rage within the black caldrons of his iris.
V.O
I feel the hot blood tingling in my hands like they're numb. My chest feels like it's on fire as my rage screams for gore. I want to rend him, to rip and tear until he's nothing but stringy viscera. But those eyes, those fucking eyes hold me. Blue like the sky I'll never see, blue like the crystal waters I'll never drink, never feel. When I look into those eyes I see it all, see it like a memory, like it's there, that if I just reach out a bit further...
Oswald's pinched brow softens with hindsight as he leans in closer to Jethro's mouth. Then, he looks to the ground.
V.O
But I can't. Not when I'm so close to being free.
Oswald's grip loosens and he backs away from Jethro, giving him a bit of space. They're both still angry and dejected, so Jethro picks up the beer case and leaves, leaving Oswald alone. Just him, his dying cigarette, and the city. It's quiet, somber. The anger slowly fades into chagrin.
V.O
Sometimes to win the war, you have to lose the battle...
Jethro's footprints trail off further and further away from Oswald.
V.O
Jethro's my battle.
When Jethro's receding footsteps vanish, Oswald launches his fist into a nearby tree in a sporadic and violent one-two-three. The ferocity of the burst leaped his body and now he leans against the wood, the cold bark against the rough grain of his horn. Only a few more seconds pass before he punches the tree a fourth and fifth time. Now the pain stops him, so he takes a fat drag, all the way down to the filter. He put a noticeable dent into the bark, chipped wood splaying from the tree. He looks at his hand, bloodied but not broken, and closes it to feel more pain. He gets what he wants in kind. He repeats the motion a couple more times, head still against the tree before he rights himself up. He gives one last look to the city and leaves.
Cul-de-sac EXT.-Twilight
Oswald enters the car and Jethro sends a glance over to him. Oswald looks out the window, occasionally flexing his wounded fist, not looking at Jethro at all.
Jethro
"Look I...I didn't mean to say that, but you've got to understand my frustration here."
Oswald
"You realize how fucking badly that shit hurts?"
Jethro
"So does cheating for a year, Oswald."
Oswald
"You're pushing again."
Jethro
"I'm…*sighs*, I'm...sorry for that, but I don't like dragging this on."
Oswald
"Neither do I, but we can't change what we got."
Jethro
"Yes we can!"
Oswald
"No we!..."
Oswald clenches his wounded fist, squeezing his anger out through bloodied knuckles. He sighs.
Oswald
"If I leave Carver, I risk losing my citizenship."
Jethro
"What?"
Oswald
"The brand glows."
Jethro
(A bit confused)
"Usually?"
Oswald
"Yeah...Most traitors don't last a week, but…"
He sighs, not wanting to get into it.
Oswald
(Cont.)
"Few days after I got branded, I started getting mail, all from 'The Department of Repugnant Traitors', which, apparently, is an offshoot of The Quaestor Authority. Never heard of them until then, but if they were a part of the QA, I didn't want to get deeper in the pile of shit I was already in. Inside were tasks, requirements needing fulfillment. These...things I needed to do in order to not be considered 'Active Target Practice'."
Jethro looks surprised at that.
Oswald
"Their words, not mine. I need at least one to keep it from glowing. The more I have, relationship, house, car, job, the more of a person I'll be considered."
Jethro
"Just a relationship, no add-ons?"
Oswald
"No. Has to be more than five years…"
Oswald looks at himself in one of the side mirrors, the budding condensation blocks some of his face, but not his one branded horn.
Oswald
"Tomorrow is our fourth year anniversary. You know what we have planned?"
An inquisitive silence.
Oswald
"Nothing. Carver calls it a modus vivendi. A give and take. He's with me for taxes and I'm with him so that I don't get shot in the street. I don't want to be with him as much as you don't want to be with Gideon, but I can't start over."
Jethro
"So we're done?"
V.O
I can tell by the steadiness of his voice that he already knows. My mind races with a thousand things I want to say, want to admit; but for what? Even if I let him hear the ocean of words inside of me, it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't take this brand away, wouldn't pave over the road I walked down to get here. So I say the only thing I can.
Oswald
"Yeah, we're done."
Jethro's face hardens, but a sad understanding softens his eyes. He turns over the ignition and they leave the Cul-de-sac.
Country EXT.-Night
V.O
We don't talk. Jethro never takes his eyes off the road as I watch the country roll by. Watch free open fields slowly whittle down into polluted farmsteads and then, finally, into those tight urban canals where grass is only seen through a T.V screen.
The Streets of Imp City, EXT.-Night
Jethro's car pulls up to the curb in a somewhat decent part of Imp City. The worn concrete roads are still slick from the rainstorm, but no precipitation falls. Oswald gets out and heads up the small staircase to the apartment's door and heads inside. Jethro waits. A light flicks on on the top floor (The Third Floor). Seeming satisfied, Jethro pulls out and leaves. He passes through the tired city, whose neon still glows tiredly, dressing the landscape in somnolent reds, whites, purples and blues. He doesn't head home. Instead, he pulls into the parking garage near a tall corporate looking building. He parks in a spot in front of a wall and kills the engine. He rubs his temples, trying to wipe the stress from his face. It doesn't work. He looks out both front windows, making sure no one is around.
V.O
(Flashback dialogue)
"So we're done?"
He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out a parcel of mail. In the middle is a wax signet of House Goetia broken in half. Jethro opens the envelope and takes out the letter, it's dated one week ago.
Dearest Subject,
It is with greatest pleasure and deepest pride for us to inform you that your location (930 Jezebel Avenue, Pentagram City, Lower East Side, 66623) and the subsequent four (4) neighboring blocks have been selected to be the location for the new Goetia family estate! Starting on Monday the 30th of September, all people in the vicinity will be escorted off premises and relocated to the nearest bridge overpass or street corner. We thank you for your loyalty and unyielding cooperation!
Yours truly, House Goetia.
V.O
(Flashback dialogue)
"Yeah, we're done."
Jethro
"FUCK!"
Jethro punches the steering wheel a couple times in a short, violent fit, his knuckles chipping its cheap plastic. After a short while, he calms down, pressing his hand to his forehead as his breathing steadies. He sits in silence for a few moments, his breath the only sound outside of the faint distant humming of the garage lights. He composes himself, leaving the car and making sure to pocket the letter. Entering into the parking garage elevator, he presses '28'. To the right of the button array, a directory addresses what business corresponds to what floor. For ICS, it's faded and scuffed logo pales in comparison to all it's shiny new competitors. Jethro sighs and tries to polish the logo. It works, sort of...not really. The elevator dings and he heads out. He approaches a wide set of glass with two glass doors in the center. ICS is widely emboldened with its full name, Infernal Consolidated Solutions, below it. Beyond the glass is an open floor with desks fit in neat columns that stretch out to the windows, all empty. Jethro goes to open the bottom lock of the doors and sees a few parcels of mail. Picking them up, he refocuses on the bottom lock, but freezes. It's already unlocked. He looks up, peering into the dark office space. He calmly takes a pistol out from behind him. Pocketing the mail, he slowly pushes open the door and, staying crouched, enters. He makes a slow advance to his corner pocket office across the floor, making sure to stay as quiet as possible. He sees nothing on his way there, but paranoid certainty makes his grip tighten as he approaches the faux-wooden door to his drywall modular office. As he nears, he sees the blinds of his only office window rustle ever so gently. His heart jumps into his throat as he faces the door, but he studies himself and barges in, pistol raised. There, in the corner, looking out a wide floor to ceiling window of the city, is a tall robed figure. The light from the cityscape illuminates their figure in a sinister red, but does nothing to reveal just who, or what, they are.
?
"Eviction is a nasty thing, isn't it?"
Jethro
"Who the fuck are you?"
?
"Bold of you to keep it from any of them."
Jethro lets fly a shot next to the figure, splintering the drywall. It hurts his ears, but he doesn't care.
Jethro
"Next one's in you're fucking head, lady."
?
"Hm."
She turns to face him, the shadows covering up any means of identification, and tosses something to Jethro. Without breaking contact, Jethro catches what she tossed to him. It's cold and rigid, probably metal, with odd indentations that feel like script. He moves over to his desk, still aiming the gun at her, turns on its light for perspective, and looks at the object. His eyes widen, his heart drops to his stomach. It's a badge. Made from fine Hell-mined silver. It has an intricate sigil on it that places the authority under Mammon. Encircling the central image in a half crescent on the top are the words "Ut dare et accipere". On the bottom, it reads "Quaestor Authority". The figure approaches Jethro, towering over him, and delicately takes the badge out of his paralized hands. His fear supersedes any bravado he once had.
?
"Now , since our cards are on the table…"
She squats down slowly to his level. The hood still veils everything under it, making it an utter void staring directly into Jethro. He doesn't blink...but then he does.
?
"I believe we can talk."
