CONTEXT: (Without giving much away)
is being held captive by a corporation she has no idea about. She
sits, handcuffed, in a sort of interrogation room, closely monitored
by a man called Bob Bradshaw. When she orders him to tell her why she
is being held there, he is consistently evasive. However, he makes it
clear they are not the police. He produces files that accurately
document Faith's entire life up until the present time. Faith is
shocked, and equally pissed off. It's time for her to go in for the
kill. But she's grown since her reckless youth - this kill is much
less literal, but still stabs at Bradshaw where it hurts. (This isn't the start of the scene, by the way, just the more interesting part)
So whereabouts d'ya live?
Bradshaw looks at her strangely, unsure why she has posed this question.
Come on. You know all that shit about me! It's
Detached in the burbs, am I right?
You got a house with the missus just outside
And a porch swing? A guest room? Mercedes
Faith, this isn't really relev --
And ya seem like a stand up guy, really, so
I'm guessin' you got yourself a buncha
little ankle biters too. How old?
Bradshaw traces his index finger around the rim of his water glass.
Seventeen, eight and three. And… another one on
Bradshaw smiles his thanks, never actually looking at Faith.
D'you know what it is yet?
Bradshaw's gradually letting his guard down now.
Um… no. I thought it'd be nice to wait.
And how about that seventeen year old, huh? A
-- A boy, yeah.
S'gotta be a handful.
Bradshaw exaggerates an eye-roll and pretends to speak regretfully.
Won't argue that.
You gotta rebel in the family?
Bradshaw half-laughs, agreeing.
Man, some kids are just so damn ungrateful.
What was it, a… wrong crowd at school or
No. I don't think so. His friends always
seemed so… normal.
Yeah, they always seem that way.
I'm pretty sure it's not their fault.
Oh. Okay. So are you sure you made it to every
soccer game he ever had?
Here we go.
Bradshaw simply continues smiling.
Don't presume I don't know what you're trying
I'm not tryin' anything. I'm just sayin' you
gotta ask yourself why a teen from a fancy,
righty way of living would go down the wrong
track. These types-a cotton wool kids don't go
offa the rails for nothin', y'know.
Oh, whereas because you grew up on benefits,
I guess that means the hate and anger you
had inside you was already innately there to
begin with. So nothing can ever your fault,
'cause it was all… predetermined.
Bradshaw gets closer to her, gets down on his knee and looks further into her eyes.
Fact of the matter is you still think you've
got one up on people like me. I see it in
your people everyday. You think you've got
more of an excuse for the crimes you've
committed because you grew up on the poor side
of town. But Faith, I'm afraid that just doesn't
cut it. Even in the eyes of the law we have.
I kinda got the memo on that when they gave me
a life sentence.
Of which you completed three years.
I'm a vampire slayer. I had to escape. There
But there aren't anymore. So why don't you go
back? Why don't you do your time, just like I
would if I were in your shoes? Hmn? Why is it
that you don't wanna pay your debt to society?
C'mon, say it.
Faith just glares at him.
'Cause society's done fuck all for you.
Faith looks up at him with disdain. There is a long beat. They keep looking at each other for a while. Bradshaw sits down again, and once more traces his finger around his glass's rim.
Maybe you shouldn't be so high and mighty about
your status, Bob. I don't need masses of paper
and files to work you out. You can't stand all
that all-American crap. Like, even though wearing
a watch is a pretty much a must for any
respectable suit like you, you don't, and it's
'cause you can't handle the daily grind of routine.
It's the sorta thing that slowly kills a guy
She glances on the table at the keys.
And one little glance at the trophy from your
glory days… Black Sabbath key ring… --
ANGLE: BLACK SABBATH KEY RING ON KEYS
-- and the five o clock shadow you didn't wanna
shave off today, because you just had to do
something different, and it's wicked obvious, man.
You need some spice, you need some danger in
Is that right?
Could fool me.
Nah, but these things, letting it out all out
in short bursts, it's not workin' for ya.
Don't exactly blame you, it doesn't work for
most guys. So you need this extra somethin',
right? Somethin' that is so out there it's
untrue. Just so you can go home at night and
feel satisfied, but still prepared for the
nine to five the next day, y'know? So, what
is it, Bob? What's your real edge? I'm bettin'
dirty motel call girls during yer lunch hour
should do the trick.
And then you wonder if yer eldest really did
take after you after all.