Yes it's a flagrant repost but with the real movie opening, I'm interested to hear your views on this old chestnut of mine written over 2 years ago! compared to the real deal...!
Rated: Fiction K - English - Adventure/Fantasy - Chapters: 89 - Words: 45,898 - Reviews: 74 - Favs: 22 - Follows: 4 - Updated: May 15, 2012 - Published: Jan 4, 2005 - Status: Complete - id: 2205336
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Act 3, Scene 13
The darkened
interior of the Osborn mansion, looking like exactly the sort of
house you wouldn't want to wander about in alone. We travel down
the wood-panelled corridor and see the beautiful antique windows,
each one imported from Europe and lovingly-
-smash-
-broken by a
large rock being thrown through it. We cut to Mary-Jane outside,
hiding behind a statue in the grounds. She closes her eyes and
grimaces, clearly expecting something to happen. Nothing does.
MARY-JANE:
(incredulously)No
alarms?
With commendable
agility Mary-Jane scrambles up a small wall and, taking care where to
place her hands to avoid the broken glass, is soon landing softly on
the plush carpet inside. She sets off down the corridor. We cut to
her wandering through the house's various rooms, until finally she
comes to the study…
MARY-JANE: (in
horror)
Bernard…
She leans down by
the manservant's body, tears welling up in her eyes, unable to
believe that someone she called friend could have done this. If it
hadn't already, the knowledge that Harry really has changed finally
sinks in.
There's a muffled
noise from somewhere.
MARY-JANE: Aunt May?
We cut to the
mirror that serves as the entrance to the Goblin's lair. Mary-Jane's
reflection approaches us. The mansion is in almost total darkness, so
she's not exactly sprinting to the noise. It sounds again - faint,
but unmistakable; a human voice.
MJ puts her ear
to the glass.
MARY-JANE: Aunt May?
Aunt May, it's Mary-Jane.
The faint noise
again. Mary-Jane puts her fingers between the frame and the wall and
tugs experimentally. Nothing gives. Letting her hand linger for a
second in the gap, we see the fine hair on the back of her arm be
blown by a draught. There's definitely something behind the mirror.
Mary-Jane looks
around the room in desperation. Her eyes alight on one of the many
exhibit cases filled with Norman Osborn's passion - weapons and
masks. There's a large double-bladed axe in one case nearby. She
breaks the glass holding it (again, no alarms) and hefts it in her
hands, before turning around to face us. It's an incredible image -
the once-meek perennial victim Mary-Jane Watson walking toward
camera, hefting a double-bladed axe and with a face like thunder. As
she steps to one side of the mirror, lifting the axe, ready to swing
it into the glass,
she calls
out-