Normality is an urban legend

I Couldn’t Think Of A Title:

Int. Decently lit pub- Night

3 guys are seated at a booth, which has a corner view of a miniature TV mounted behind the bar. The pub is busy considering the earliness of the hour, but not noisily so.

Frey: Sprawled casually across one side of the booth. Leather jacket with an untucked, crinkled collared shirt underneath. Has a nonchalant air of unkemptness and is the only one who sounds distinctly American. Smoking a cigarette.

Steve: Seated opposite Frey. Simple black jacket with a shirt advertising “Crowley’s Crossroad Inn- Soul music, Fine Whiskey” underneath. Also smoking.

Damon: The most out of place of the trio in a blazer, smart collared shirt and slightly loosened tie. Appears less comfortable in his current surroundings than the other two.

All three are in their early twenties.

Frey:

Hey look (indicates T.V) The Rangers.

Steve:

Christ, I thought we left that shit behind in America. Why don’t they put some football on? (Directed at Frey) Sorry, I mean soccer.

Frey:

(Casually flips him off)

Oh come on Callahan. Get the fucking puck.

Damon drums his fingers absentmindedly on the table.

Steve:

Hey Princess. I think that chick there’s checking you out.

Damon doesn’t turn to look around.

Steve:

Don’t be a prat. Go say hi.

Damon:

(Unwillingly looks over to see an elderly Mexican man with a full beard, and a portly stomach barely contained by his tie-dye button up)

Piss off, Steve

Steve chortles. Frey, having caught the last of the joke, joins in. A waitress comes over with a bottle of whiskey for the table. Steve and Damon pour a glass each. Frey goes straight for the bottle.

Frey:

(Content)

Nothing like a Jack after a hard day’s work.

Steve:

 (Snorts)

Please. You haven’t left your throne all day.

Frey:

Hey! I have duties now, you know. Important stuff to do. It’s a hard life.

Steve:

Oh yeah, ordering subjects to kiss your ass and harassing the interns must be so strenuous.

Damon:

Boys, boys. You’re both pretty.

Steve and Frey both laugh.

Frey:

Up yours princess. (drinks) (becoming somber)

Seriously though, I don’t know what I’m going to do when Jess…you know. 

Damon:

It’s not hard. Me and Lara manage.

Steve grows visibly more uncomfortable as the conversation turns to the matter of family but tries to play it off.

Steve:

Well Dorian’s a great kid. And Lara’s…great too. She’s—a good mother. Somehow I don’t think Jess has the same maternal instincts

Damon:

Well she doesn’t exactly have the greatest role models.

Steve:

Yeah, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to like microwave your kid.

All laugh and drink. On screen the Devils score. Frey throws his hands up in exasperated.

Frey:

Son of a bitch!

Steve swirling his drink, Damon twiddling the saltshaker. 

Frey:

(tapping cigarette into the ashtray)

I kinda want to end it.

Damon:

You know you can’t do that.

Frey:

(suddenly agitated. Sits up straight and leans forward, talking animatedly)

Why the fuck not? Who the fuck is gonna stop me?

Steve:

You know who.

Frey:

(falls silent, slowly reclining back, muttering incoherent obscenities. Something along the lines of “pansy ass yuppie motherfucker” is heard. Drinks.)

Steve:

Hey man, it’s a shitty situation, but you brought it on yourself. It’s your own fault, dicking around with his daughter like that. You knew she was a piece of work and you knew about her family.

Frey:

I didn’t date her for power--

Steve:

No, you decided to shag with her because you were an angsty teenager with mommy issues and she was the psycho kid who spent a good portion of the semester glaring at you every time you passed her in the halls.

Damon:

(over the rim of his glass)

Don’t stick your dick in crazy.

Frey:

(Rounds on him)

Oh, and you know so much about that don’t you Damon? Oh wait. You let crazy stick its dick in you.

Damon starts to rise, bristling.

Steve:

 (Tugs Damon sharply down)

For Christ’s sake, sit down Damon.

Damon sits, but continues to glower at Frey.

Steve:

Frey, cut the crap.

Frey:

He knocked up my sister and then went and got head from some fairy at a bar. I can say whatever the fuck I want. (drinks)

Tense silence. The game is still going on. The Devils score again. Cheers and groans heard from the bar’s other patrons.

Damon:

(As though nothing had happened, but still somewhat subdued)

Does she know about the other girls?

Frey:

(drinks)

She did.

Damon:

Meaning?

Steve:

Meaning he doesn’t that you’re still—bloody hell Frey, Do you have any idea—

Frey:

(Tersely)

I’ve got it under control.

Steve:

No, I don’t think you do. You’re about to be a Dad for fuck’s sake. Maybe you don’t give a rat’s arse about Jess, but think about your son. You can’t just dump him like that.

Frey:

You mean like you did with yours?

Steve:

 (Quietly)

That was…a long time ago. I was different. I made a mistake

Frey:

(As though he hadn’t heard Steve)

And Damon—

Damon:

Hey, at least I’m still helping with Dorian.

Steve:

 (Derisively)

Bollocks. You haven’t changed so much as changed a diaper.

Damon:

Oh hey, remember Harry? Remember changing his diapers? Probably not because you weren’t even there when he was born—

Steve:

Dorian? Who picked that name hmm? Who named your son? Who raised him? I think that would be me. So don’t preach to me about parenthood you bleeding hypocrite.

Frey:

(laughs sordidly)

Look at us. The Brotherhood of Absent Fathers right here. Cheers.

(chugs the rest of the whiskey)