Terrible Twos

Day #2
Page Count: 8
Update: The flowers are still a mystery. James is still a mystery. Lalala! Yesterday, James stepped of the platform and exchanged a few words with a passenger, which didn't go over too well. James isn't one to socialize. Today, he caught a taxi and stopped at a huge white mansion. His mind wandered to the past and his caretakers, Sam and Miriam, who took care of him while he took refuge from the bombing in London. We discovered his father is at the front lines, and met Peter Smith, Jamie's first friend in the small town of Charlotteville. Peter sort of fell out of a tree... that's kind of important. He kind of stuck his head through the window to make his new acquaintance. He's the dangerous type. *flashy smile*

Today, I hit my first roadblock.

I guess that was to be expected, considering I didn't have much planned. Basically, I couldn't figure out where to introduce Peter. I was like - "HULLO. BOY, WHERE YOU AT?" (That was a strange mix of my cockney/British accent, as well as muh Southern twang mixed with gangstah.) Except I didn't say that. I just stared at the screen and thought, "Hmmm. I believe we are at an impasse."

(I tried to find a video of the Dread Pirate Roberts saying that, but to no avail. So here is a photo!)


He's so devilishly handsome. Without the mask... and the stache... trust me. Just... Never mind. *pouts* AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO HATES THE STACHE!?

Also, I realized 5 pages into the script that I had never given any indication of the name of the main character. I'm thinking about leaving it a mystery... maybe just until Peter shows up? *scrambles to write*

Mystery solved. I dub thee Jamie, and thee, Peter Smith. *bows gallantly*

So far, Mission Impossible hasn't been too difficult. I'm not 100% thrilled with some of the scenes and transitions, but it's there. I think I've more or less captured the characters, which means that the script is salvageable. Here's a sample:

InT. JAMES' BEDROOM - DAY - PAST

JAMES is crying at this point. He is sitting on his bed with his things strewn about him. His suitcase sits on the floor - he hasn't bothered to move it yet.

YOUNG BOY (O.c.)(CONT'D)

Hullo.

JAMES looks up abruptly, searching for the voice.

JAMES

(sniffling and trying to wipe away his tears) H-hello?

YOUNG BOY

(popping his head through the window) You're the Londoner, right? The one who's dad's off at the front?

JAMES nods absently.

YOUNG BOY

Thought so. Where's your mum?

JAMES makes no answer. He is back to his surly self.

YOUNG BOY

(understanding) A quiet one, I get it. Back home, I assume. Or is she dead? Dead would be good. Orphans always have the best fun. Don't you read?

JAMES

(half-heartedly) On occasion.

YOUNG BOY

(aghast) I don't. But my father tells me all the stories I need to know. Half of them have orphans.

The YOUNG BOY'S head is still the only visible body part. JAMES realizes this and makes a face.

JAMES

How are you doing that?

YOUNG BOY

What?

JAMES

Your... head.

YoUNG BOY

Tree, silly. Are you daft?

JAMES

(in protest) No.

The YOUNG BOY sticks his hand through the window, with great difficulty. JAMES stares at it, confused.

YOUNG BOY

Name's Peter. Peter Smith, but I like plain Peter. (pause) (waving his hand) Go on, shake it. I don't bite. Unless you bite first... then that's another matter entirely.

JAMES slowly gets up from his bed and reaches for PETER'S hand. They have a good firm handshake like proper English gentlemen and PETER smiles.

PETER

I guess that makes us friends, eh? Think of that. (pause) (whispered) So what's it like living with the old lady, huh? I hear she-

MIRIAM (O.S.)

James? James, is that you making all that noise?

PETER

James, eh? Bit stuffy, isn't it?

JAMES

(indignant) My father's name is James.

PETER

Well, you can't both be James. How about Jamie? Easier to say, easier to remember. Makes you sound a little less stuck-up and whatnot.

MIRIAM

James, I'm coming up right this instant. I still haven't received a full apology, and I will not accept any nonsense.

CREAKING as MIRIAM stomps up the stairs. PETER'S eyes go wide in panic; JAMES even musters a look of concern.

PETER

Blast it. Not again.

JAMES

Again?

PETER

Bye, Jamie. Whatever she does to you, don't tell her I was here. The last time...

JAMES

Last time?

PETER

Forget I said anything. (his face disappears as he shuffles down the tree) If she asks, I...!

A loud CRASH as PETER falls from the tree. The moment doesn't linger long enough for us to catch the aftermath. The look of surprise on JAMIE'S face just barely registers, as does the pounding of MIRIAM'S feet as she rushes to PETER'S rescue.

It reminds me of "Up". I can't help it.

Oh, and all of this material is copyright of yours truly. Sleazy scumbags, keep your grubby little fingers off my baby!!!