By Genine Silverio and Emerson Bradley (Best friends 3)

SETTING: The speakeasy.

The curtain opens. Speakeasy music fades in then out. Roger, wearing his usual suit and sunglasses, sitting in a booth, facing towards audience. Next to him on the table is a tall glass bottle of absinthe and a reservoir glass with traces of the potent liquid. Her heels echo in the room. Enter Angel, who sits in the empty booth seat across from his. She wears a dangerous black satin minidress, the one with purple ribbon and the plunging neckline. The dress would make any man immediately lose self-control and lust for voluptuous thighs, and, yet, Roger doesn't even flinch and continues staring in the audience's direction, deep in thought.

Angel: (In a voice like honey laced with poison) How's it going?

Roger: (coldly) More or less damaged,yet persisting. How goes it, stranger?

Angel: I'm in the need of-

Roger: Me 's amazing,isn't it?

Angel: (curious) What is?

Roger: The fact that in reality everyone is dead.

Angel: (sarcastically) It makes me pretty damn hungry.

Roger:Tell me about it.

Angel: When are we going home?

Roger: We're already there.

Angel: Right.

Roger: (a sudden burst of anger interrupts his cold exterior. He slams his hand down on the table, shaking the glass of absinthe) Damn!

Angel: (turns to face Roger in a kind of caring way, and puts her hand on top of his) What is it?

Roger: (for the first time his focus switches from the audience to her) Why is there so few people breathing?

Angel: (searching his eyes, saying the next line softly) Why are you here?

Roger: (for the first time in this scene, his lighter mood shows. He clasps his hand with Angel's) Good call. Wanna get married?

Angel: (a curl of her lips, a playful smile as she rolls her eyes but soon again she searches into Roger's eyes) Not now. I'm feeling pretty sick… Hey,may I ask you something? (her voice trails off)

Roger: Hell no.

Angel: (sighing softly) Do you think I'm crazy? (she releases her hand from Rogers and reaches for Roger's glass and fills it with absinthe)

Roger: This some kind of joke?Well,believe it or not,you are among the few coherent minds.

Angel: (sips the absinthe coolly and with calculation) Kill me.

Roger: Do it yourself.

Angel: No thanks,I'm full.

Roger: My life is like an RPG…

Angel: What level are you at?

Roger: (reaches for his glass and fills it with absinthe) Kill yourself.

Angel: Who the fuck are you,anyways?

Roger: (sips) I would like for you to tell me who YOU are.

Angel: I'd love to.. But then afterwards, I'd have to kill you…

Roger: And to think these echoes represent madness to the masses.

Angel: (slips off from the booth seat and stands up, acts like a damsel in distress, putting her hands to her forehead and pretending to faint) "Oh no! How am I supposed to interpret this? He's crazy!" (Gaining her regular composure, she turns towards him and pokes him in the chest with a wink) ...just like that,huh?

Roger: Usually. By the way,I ain't forgetting.

Angel: Forgetting… what? (reaches for the bluebell flower which is a vase on the table)

Roger: About the pizza you said you'd force feed me.

Angel: (peeling the petals of one of the many blooms) I'm crazy.I'm not crazy.I'm crazy.I'm not crazy…. (slips into his lap and stares into his eyes) I'm not crazy.

A FEW SECONDS OF A VERY TANGIBLE, VERY THICK SILENCE. Angel releases eye contact, sighs, and inserts the bluebell into the front pocket of his suit on his chest.

Roger: Damn, how many petals does that flower have.

Angel: No petals,just my hands. (looking back at his eyes again)

Roger: Good luck,then… I don't care. (he says the last three words in a very cold manner. Or, at least, it only appears to be.)

Angel: (her eyes avert away, her voice has an undertone of hurt.) Nothing even perceived,just reacted to out of ignorance. (She tries to get up and away from Roger's lap but Roger prevents her from doing so.)

Roger: Calm down...I don't know just what the hell you're problem is,but you need to get a grip.(she may not be looking at him, but his eyes are fixated upon her, upon every facet of her at this moment)

Angel: (her eyes are still averted to the distance. She is not very comforted by those words but the fact that he tells her to get a grip makes her assume that he thinks she's crazy) Nice one...

Roger: Of course,but seriously,when are you going to lose the truth and join the rest of the crowd?

Angel: (her voice quivers yet she tries to say this boldly even she knows this is a lie) I them,I feel more isolated than when I am alone.

Roger: (gently touches her face and she turns and her face is close to his. He looks at her lips, controlled by his infatuation of her, and wonders. Their faces are so close to touching.) You're pretty desperate,aren't you?

Angel: (answers quickly, nervously) Never.

Roger: It's eating you alive.

Angel: It takes a living being to eat,after all.

Roger: Negativity...why are you so?

Angel: (muttering to herself) Ask him. It's not like documenting this is going to make things-

Roger: (interrupts her sentence with a deep passionate kiss. Both are equally surprised and feel more alive they have ever been. They withdraw from the kiss and stare at each others eyes, reading each other's souls) Me either… Good night.

Angel: (puts her head on his chest) Good night…

Curtain falls. A piano rendition of the Big O Ending theme fades out.


Creator's Note: In many ways this story makes me want to puke. Wow! A happy ending!

In many ways as well it makes me want to go 'awww' and eat chocolate.