Story by Coll, CN Winters and Susan Carr
Written by Coll (with additional writing by CN Winters)
Directed by: CN Winters and Susan Carr
Produced by: CN Winters and Susan Carr
Edited by: Kate
Sound Department: Steff
Art Director: Chris Cook
Artists: Chris Cook, David Zahir, Chantal, CN Winters, Sarah
A Skyline of a City – Day
An Attic – Day
"This is pointless, you know?" Humphrey Sellers said out of the side of his mouth to Nigel Corrigan, who was right next to him. "This bloke's long gone…why the hell are we worrying about his stuff?"
Corrigan merely shook his head at his co-worker.
"Hezekiah was one of the most feared abusers of magic in his time," Corrigan pointed out. "It's true he may be dead but his possessions might still be enchanted," he added.
"Why in bloody hell are we on clean up detail?" Sellers asked as he tossed a few items absently into a box. "Why not have some big time Watcher like Travers or Tyrell handle this mess?"
"Travers is far too busy," Corrigan replied regarding his companion with look of annoyance, possibly even distain. "Besides, once we get the last of this it's finally over with."
"Says you," Sellers countered. "If it's not one bleedin' pointless job, it's another."
Corrigan rolled his eyes as if tired of debating the subject.
"You'll be worrying about this stuff when it enchants someone or something and we'll be in trouble for it," Corrigan responded. "You know Rupert's in charge of this one, he's going to go over everything with a fine toothed comb. We're going to get every piece of it. Hezekiah's rein will be over."
"The old bastard's been dead for forty years, Nigel," Sellers shot back. "He can't hurt us now."
Corrigan sighed, "Tell that to Novak."
"What's that?" Sellers responded, sounding distant. Something in one of the boxes caught his attention.
"Geoffrey Novak," Corrigan went on, oblivious to his partner's distraction. "Poor lad came across one of Hezekiah's old books. It was empty, so he kept it…thought nothing of it. Then, one day, he disappears without a trace…along with all of his belongings."
"Fascinating," Sellers replied, although his tone suggested he was anything but enthralled. His gaze was still fixed upon the box he slowly began making his way over to.
"They couldn't find anything," Corrigan continued the tale, "except the book of Hezekiah's. That could be us, Humphrey, if we don't take this job seriously," he warned.
Sellers laughed as he fished out a hat from the box. It was a ratty old thing – one that someone of Hezekiah's stature would never own. It was a mixture of gray and brown, even though the gray appeared to be dirt that couldn't be washed out. The rim was torn in several places with strings dangling down from them.
"Yes, Nigel," Sellers joked as he put on the hat and turned to face his partner. "This hat, it's going to gobble me up if I keep on wearing it. God, have you ever seen anything uglier than this?"
"As a matter of fact," Corrigan responded by holding up a dusty, old mirror that reflected Sellers. "That's a pretty horrid sight."
"You slay me, Nigel, really," Sellers dryly responded. "Oh! Bloody hell, there's a ratty outfit to match the ratty hat."
"Enough!" Corrigan shouted, stopping Sellers dead in his tracks as he began picking up the coat and pants. "I'm sick of your jokes! Now just put the sodding hat, with its sodding ensemble wardrobe into the sodding box!"
Corrigan turned away, as if not able to stand the sight of Sellers. As soon as he turned his back, Sellers mocked him from behind and looked at the jumbled mess of old clothing in his hands. He shrugged and threw it back into the box from where he picked it up.
"It's just a bloody suit…" Sellers trailed off as he kicked the box aside and began to walk away from dingy looking cardboard container.
Thrift Store – Day
Penfield, OH 2004
A pair of hands grabbed the suit and lifted it from the same dingy looking box. The man in a navy blue vest over a white golf shirt, the uniform for the store, shook the coat out. He coughed a little as dust flied off the old, withered jacket. The young man began to place the suit on an empty mannequin as an older man watched from a few racks down.
Thrift Store – Moments later
A shot of a pair of hands, again, but this time money is placed into them. The older man handed over some small bills and watched as the clerk neatly folded the garment. His expression appeared stone cold, almost emotionless.
His cold gray eyes watched as the employee bent below the counter for a bag. With the same dead expression he watched as the clerk finished stuffing the suit into the bag. After pocketing his change, the older man removed his hat and brought his hand up, running it through his unkempt salt and pepper hair.
With a smile, the employee said, "Here you go, sir! Thanks for shopping with us; and, please, come again!"
The older man barely cracked a smile as he stared back at the employee. He snatched the bag and tilted his head downward. Making what appeared to be some kind of nod, the man turned on his heel and marched out of the thrift store.
While the older man's back was turned, the employee shot a dirty look his way before a flicker of the thrift store lights caused him to jump a little. They continued to flicker until the older man left the store and walked past the window and out of sight.
Watcher's Council – Later
The ringing phone caused Giles to momentarily lift his head and look off into the distance. Giles picked up the steaming cup of tea and took a sip, ignoring the mild annoyance and returning to the book he was reading.
Three rings later, Giles was forced to look up again and sighed. That was when Andrew shouted, "Could someone answer the phone? I'm busy!"
Giles scoffed as he pushed himself away from his seat and headed toward the nearest phone.
"Doing what?" he muttered as he made his way toward the table where the phone sat. "Basting something? Stuffing a bloody turkey?"
The Watcher lifted the phone to his ear, "Watchers Council…ah, yes, this is Rupert Giles speaking," Giles listened before a small smile spread across his face. "Nigel! It's good to hear from you. I do hope you're doing we–"
He sunk into the chair next to the phone and removed his glasses so he was able to easily rub his forehead. "Yes, yes of course…until then," he said into the receiver. With a heavy sigh, Giles hung up and muttered, "Bloody hell."
End of Teaser
Onto Act One