Falcone RP#4

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[Fade up. Blue sky. Nothing but blue sky. A black crow flies into view way off in the distance. The camera follows the bird’s path of flight for a few moments before finally letting it go and beginning a slow pan downwards. Soon the tops of a few bare trees come into view. The pan continues. Finally, we see that we are in Central Park, New York City. It is mid-afternoon and there is the typical bustle of activity. Joggers dressed in sweats and wearing headphones, criss-cross the screen. A few couples have chosen to take advantage of the sunshine and ventured outdoors for their lunch, despite the seasonal cold. The occasional business man strolls in, then out, of view. A pack of young school children, guided by a few adults, who are obviously struggling to keep the kids under control, pass from the right to the left of the screen. Sitting on a rock, roughly ten feet from the camera, sits Jesse Falcone, his back turned towards us. His knees are propped up in front of him and his arms are wrapped around them, as if they were keeping his legs from sprawling outwards. He is dressed much like when we first saw him a week ago. Blue denim jeans, brown leather cowboy boots, a brown soft leather jacket with tassels hanging from the sleeves, and his trademark black cowboy hat. Also, under the jacket, he is apparently wearing a maroon red turtleneck shirt, although this does not become apparent until we are at a better angle. The camera begins another slow pan, this time, around to the front of Jesse. He begins to speak when the angle is off to his side. He speaks calmly and quietly in the slight drawl that marks his mid-western Canadian upbringing.]

Jesse. Well, well. One week to go. I was beginning to think I wasn’t gonna get a chance to show my stuff that first night. Guess that’s about to change. But more on that in a second.

[He releases his legs and slides down off the boulder. He begins to stroll through the park, the camera following next to him, looking over his left shoulder as we go.]

Jesse. You know, I’ve spent this last week wandering around this city. It’s a big damn place, that’s for sure. And I’ve done my little skits, played the huckleberry for ya, cause I didn’t know what else to do. Out on the indy circuit, there’s none of this fancy camera stuff. It’s all about being in the ring. What you can do, not what you can say. So maybe I don’t understand just what ya’ll hope to accomplish with all your braggin’ and showin’ off. Never knew a guy to win a match just because he had some cute girl by his side, or because he could scrunch up his face all mean-like and stare into a camera. Maybe I have a lot to learn.

[He stops at a bench where a large flock of pigeons has gathered to pick at some birdseed that was apparently scattered earlier. Bending down, he scoops up a handful of the seed and then continues to walk, spreading the seed as he goes. The pigeons follow, although amazingly, they are quiet, refraining from the muted cry that usually marks their every breath.]

Jesse. That seems to be one thing you and I have in common, Q. Yeah, I caught your little piece. A nice change if pace, if I may say so. I had you pegged for another one of these “badder than you” types. Guess I misjudged you. So now it looks like I’ve got a chance to step into the ring with you, and prove myself once and for all. I have to admit, I’m not too fond of giving up such a huge size advantage, but it looks like none of these other guys want to come out and play, so be it. So, you want a match? Hell, I’ll give you a match. I ain’t gonna promise to break you into a thousand little pieces, because we all know that wouldn’t happen, but I will give you one heck of a match. So I guess there’s just this little matter of Manchild.

[Having apparently run out of the seed that he had been leading the pigeons with, he stops and wipes his hands together to brush off any last remaining residue. The pigeons, sensing that their meal is finished, begin to squawk. Quietly at first, then growing louder. For the first time, Jesse turns fully to the camera.]

Jesse. My pop always taught me never to make fun of the handicapped, so Manchild, I won’t call you all the names you’re use to hearing. As far as I’m concerned, that won’t help me in the ring anyway. But I will say this; you seem to have a burr up your butt about your past with our little president, and since you’re so bent on proving a point to him, I figure it’s only fair to that somebody give you that chance. So what do you say? Q. Manchild. The three of us, in that ring, come the 18th.

[He bends over and picks up a small rock in his hand. He stands firmly, weighing the rock in his palm as he speaks. The pigeons continue their symphony.]

Jesse. Cause the way I see it, the only way any of us is gonna make it to the top is to go through everybody in this federation, so we might as well start with a bang. You know how the saying goes…

[Suddenly, he cocks back his arm and viciously fires the rock into the crowd of pigeons at his feet. The flock of birds scatters every which way, some flying up directly into the camera, others taking off in the opposite direction. Jesse stands calmly as the confused creatures swarm all around him in an effort to fly free. Just as soon as it began, the chaos subsides, and the camera pans down to see two of the pigeons lying motionless on the ground, the rock resting in between them. It pans back up to Jesse, who meets the camera full-on, with a rather unemotional expression.]

Jesse. …it’s better to kill two birds, with one stone.

[He turns his back to the camera and begins to walk away. As he heads off, the black crow from the beginning of the shot swoops down and begins to fly alongside Jesse. The sound of the school children begins to grow louder and they soon pass into view. Fade out.]

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