INT. LEGAL OFFICE, 8F

Lawrence stands, facing his window. Seen up close, his office is cozy, but dry. Plants in the corners, bookshelves on the walls, a decent mahogany desk with a matching chair, red nylon cushion and mahogany frame. His door is propped open with a stopper at the bottom, for air. He turns to meet a knock on his door-frame, and sees Gavri standing in it.

Lawrence
Come in, come in!

Lawrence waves Gavri inside, who steps in very cautiously. Like a friendly dog who's not sure if he's allowed inside.

Gavri
I'm-

Lawrence
Gavrial Anand, grandson of Aditya Anand, the Editor-In-Chief of your local paper, the Moonshine Times.

Gavri
(Surprised.) Yes! That's me.

Lawrence and Gavri sit across from one another, separated by the desk. The single seat in front is just metal and wood.

Lawrence
We've met, I taught Technical Skills for your grade ten class. Remember all those typewriters? Tykk takk, tykkety takk...

Lawrence pantomimes clacking, in a hackneyed, jokey way.

Gavri
(Blown away.) No way! What are you doing all the way out here?

Lawrence
Well, I was only in Moonshine for a few years, mostly just to visit my brother Lou and his son, Mobey. This job brought me over from New Boardock twenty years ago, so any time away is a blessing. The teaching gig paid for my motel.

Gavri
(Excited.) Mobey?! He was my best friend back in Grade Two!

Lawrence
(Confused.) Really? You're two years older than him.

Gavri
(Chord-struck.) Yeah, well, he was in Kindergarten at the time. I didn't have any other friends. And we haven't kept up since then, but I've seen him around. On my eight birthday, he was the only one who showed up. So, I went over to his place on his birthday, too. We went to see a movie, it was fun.

Lawrence
(Nodding.) That's Mobey, great kid. Used to cry a lot, huh?

Gavri
(Nodding.) Lives from the heart, I think.

Lawrence
(Looking at papers on his desk.) Sure does, wish I still had mine.

Gavri
(Taken off-guard.) Sorry?

Lawrence
Anyway, we've gotta steal your soul with a contract. If you could just sign here...

Lawrence takes a sheet from a stack on his desk, and turns it around to slide to Gavri. Gavri grabs a pen from his shirt, and initials.

Gavri
(Nervous.) Haha, okay. You're not really stealing my soul, are you?

Lawrence
(Being truthful.) No, of course not. Figure of speech.

Gavri
(Still worried about it.) I'm gonna check the fine print.

Lawrence
Please do. Now, you may want to consider using a pseudonym to hide your identity. It's standard practice for journalists and writers who don't want a controversial work to affect their future career – like yours, for instance, which hasn't even started yet.

Gavri
I'll admit, I'm confused as to why he'd want someone so young.

Lawrence
My guess? You don't already hate him. My job here is pretty much to wipe his ass every time he shits in someone's cereal.

Gavri
(Concerned.) What does that mean?

Lawrence
Most companies operate this way: the brand is more important than the product. When things go wrong – say a chemical ships with the wrong PH level, or a vacuum electrocutes a single mother so hard she goes into a coma – those people seek reparations. Well, at least their families do. Can't file a lawsuit from a coma, which I'm sorry to say, does make my job easier.

Gavri
(Distressed.) Please don't say that.

Lawrence
Well, I'm not the type to take advantage, but some are, unfortunately. Despite that, I've spent years wishing I could, without incurring some form of God's wrath. I've seen thousands of cases, and swept them all under the rug with hush money. Or coupons. All so Astor Fou doesn't go 'Hasta La Vista'. Comprendé?

Gavri
Y-yeah. I think so. Aren't you worried I'll tell someone about all this?

Lawrence
Not at all. Look at what you just signed – it's an NDA. That's a Non-Disclosure Agreement.

Gavri looks down, feeling duped.

Lawrence
(Subtly threatening.) You blab once, to any news outlet or rival company, we can fine you for more than you'll ever make, and have your kids pay the difference until they die. Unless they fight it in court, which will cost them in legal fees anyway. You may or may not die in prison. Remember that.

Gavri
(Somber.) ...I will.

Lawrence
Good. Because if you don't, they'll crawl up my ass, and find all the skeletons I hid in my closet.

Gavri
(Poking fun.) In your... ass-closet?

Lawrence nod-shakes his head in a slightly erratic motion, as if the conclusion is obvious.

Lawrence
(Undaunted.) Exactly. Such is the life of a lawyer.

INT. HALLWAY

Lawrence walks Gavri to the elevator. Despite his small gait and hunched back, he can really move.

Lawrence
Now, your position as a Survey Analyst is for our Hired Press Division. You will not be writing articles, you will not be talking to the critics, nor the tabloids; you will not be on talk shows, laughing it up with guys who chew their food with ceramic teeth.

Gavri walks behind him, trying to follow along.

Gavri
(Narrowed eyes.) Do they actually-

Lawrence
(Cutting him off.) No more questions.

INT. ELEVATOR

DING! They step onto the elevator. Shiloh looks up at the dial, numbered from 'B' to nine, as the needle slides from right to left.

Gavri
That thing's neat.

Lawrence
What, the floor indicator? You've never seen one?

Gavri
(Shaking his head.) No. Why don't they call it a 'floor gauge'?

Lawrence
I dunno. It's not really measuring anything, is it?

Gavri
It's measuring the elevator's vertical position.

Lawrence
(Scoffs.)Yeah, but not in units. Is 'gauge' your favourite word, or something?

Gavri stops talking. They ride to the basement floor.

INT. STORAGE & TRANSPORT, BF

Warehouse crates and shelves full of products unknown and untouched sit in a dusty cement basement, lit from above by caged lights. On one side, paved inclines lead to raised garage doors, for trucks. Lawrence takes Gavri to a shelf labelled "uniforms". He blows the dust off a cardboard box, opens it, and takes out a suit jacket.

Lawrence
What you're wearing is fine, but we can do better. Try this on.

Gavri
Alright.

Gavri unfolds the jacket, and slips it on. It's big. He hands it back, and Lawrence hands him a smaller one.

Lawrence
Heinz said he wants the 'truth', but he doesn't really. Like that one army movie, he can't handle it. He wants the movie to work as covert advertising, like product placement, but for his personality. Like how every cowboy movie is really an ad for cigarettes, whisky, and beating your wife.

Gavri's eyes go wide, and his brows furrow. He looks jolted.

Gavri
Did you really just say that-?

Lawrence
(Unmoved.) It's called a joke, look it up. Anyway, nothing you hand the writer, ie. my son Loki, should incriminate our company in any way, nor paint it or Mr. Astor in a negative light. Doesn't matter if it's true, it needs to sparkle and shine.

Lawrence looks Gavri over, in the suit jacket. He looks too small in it, somehow.

Lawrence
Right size, wrong fit. What's wrong with you, kid? Didn't you eat your steak growing up?

Gavri
Hindu parents. No red meat, no white meat, just fish. How about the woman's version?

Lawrence
The what?

Gavri points to a box labelled "SUIT JACKETS, FEMALE, SIZE: M".

Lawrence
(Snarky.) Be my guest, if you wanna look queer.

Gavri pulls the box down to dig through it.

Gavri
(Cautious.) I actually have to wear a lot of woman's clothing, but like, stuff men wear too. It just fits better, for some reason. Like, my shirt I wore in here, for instance, which you didn't notice.

Lawrence
(Eyebrows raised, eyes averted.) Does your dad do the same thing?

Gavri
(Nervous.)
No, I don't think anyone else in my family... does that. It's just me.

Lawrence
Lucky you.

Gavri tries on the jacket, and it suits him nicely. It comes up shorter on the arms, but the sleeve cuffs make up for it. Gavri holds his arms out.

Lawrence
Well, I'll be damned. Let's get you the full set, see which gender works where on you. No skirt, though, unless you start shaving your legs.

Gavri and Lawrence search through the boxes, one by one. They grab a stack, and take it up the elevator.

INT. CHEMICAL STATION,
RESEARCH LAB, 6F

In a dark room, a knock sounds. The door creaks open, letting in light. Mele pokes her head in, and flips a switch on the wall. Lights flicker on above, illuminating the room. It's a science lab like any, straight out of a well-funded high-school, but stark white on every surface, except the sinks and faucets. Their metal's shine barely stands out against the room's luminosity. Glass-doored cupboards hang empty and full of empty bottles over dusty counter-tops. Mele steps inside, dressed in a white lab coat and office clothes underneath. Right behind her is a woman holding an ice cooler, like one you'd take camping. Strong and summer-tanned with bleach-blonde locks down to her back, the woman impatiently looks around for a place to set it down. She's wearing a shark tooth necklace, a white tank top, and blue jean cutoffs with expensive-looking white leather sandals (still clean) and a matching belt. Being bisexual, Mele has no problem admitting to herself silently that the woman's curves are done justice by her outfit.

Woman
(Annoyed.) Where do you want this?

Mele
(Confused, blushing.) I'm sorry?

Woman
Whatever, I'm putting it down.

The lady hefts the cooler onto an island counter, and sets it down. She opens it up to show Mele, and waves her over. Hesitant, mele joins her. Inside a pool of water swims a coral reef fish, with stripes.

Woman
This one glows in the dark. Who's got my payment?

Mele
(Anxious.) Uhh... I don't know.

She sighs.

Mele
Hey, do you know anyone else who works here? I'm Mele Kaleo, I just started here today.

Woman
I'm Verabel, and honestly, no. I don't actually work here, I'm just deep-sea diving in Hawaii for the summer. There was an ad in the paper that said they'd pay for unique marine specimens.

Mele
Oh, that's so cool! I've lived here almost my whole life, but I've been to Canada and Germany-

Verabel
(Dismissive.) That's nice, dear. Where's your boss? Which floor is he on?

Mele
Uh, Heinz is on the ninth, but you should see Lawrence on floor eight. He'll know who does payroll.

Verabel sighs with disgust, and leaves the room.

Mele
(After her, weakly.) I like your hair...

Mele looks one more time around the room, and slaps her hands at her sides.