Swish, Episode 1.

“Working For the Weekend”

(The standard Netflix opening of the red logo against the plain white backdrop plays, followed immediately thereafter by the buzzing of the OWA Network logo. The show's opening credits -- accompanied by the opening theme of "Swish" by Kid Ink and 2 Chainz -- follows before fading to black.)

August 31, 2018

(The month of August -- and the summer as a whole -- is winding down. With Labor Day approaching and September looming on the horizon, this is when players and staff of the ABL are catapulted back into reality. Before they know it, it’ll be time for training camp. After that, preseason games were quick to roll around, and before they could blink, another season would be upon them. These were the last few days of getting to pretend they weren’t about to be dropped into a pressure cooker.)

(Once the last Friday of the month rolled around, just about everyone was preparing to enjoy summer’s final ceremonial weekend as much as they could. Emphasis on “just about”, however. The scene opens up in the office of Reagan Majors. The principal owner of the Philadelphia Liberty is rarely ever seen outside of an obscenely-expensive three-piece suit. Today, however, is the exception, as he’s considerably dressed down and ready to spend the weekend relaxing with his wife at some country club on the Main Line. He’d have been out of the city half an hour ago if he wasn’t in the midst of a debate with his head coach.)

(Malik Davis -- ABL poster boy plagued by injury turned head coach of his former team -- couldn’t sit down. He paced around impatiently back and forth across Reagan’s office, frantically gesturing around with his hands.)

Malik Davis: You understand that a fucked up coaching dynamic can ruin a team, right? Do you understand how close we were to winning the title a few months back? We were THIS CLOSE! We should be trying to keep our formula the same and find that one thing we missed, not overhauling things up top!

(Reagan rubs his temples and exhales an exhausted sigh.)

Reagan Majors: You think I overhauled a damn thing? Take a step back for a second, Malik. The universe overhauled things up top for us. Lest you forget how you got this head coach job in the first place --

(Malik suddenly stops pacing, shooting Reagan a serious look.)

Malik Davis: ...Don’t.

(Reagan sighs once more, this one being much heavier.)

Reagan Majors: I promise I’m not trying to make you feel like you don’t belong here. Hell, I’m not trying to make you think I don’t feel you’re the right choice for this job, but you and I both know where you were supposed to be.

(Malik huffed, trying and failing to suppress the bitter half-laugh that bubbled up.)

Malik Davis: Yeah, out there on the court with the rest of the team. You know if I had it my way, I’d still be playing.

Reagan Majors: No, you were supposed to be the assistant coach. I get it, you’re still mourning the early loss of your career, but what did you want the doctors to do? Tell you to jump right back into the fray after back-to-back Achilles injuries? You were never gonna be the same after that. You had a career most guys would KILL for. Rings, All-Star selections, everything. Most guys would be grateful for a setup like this…

(Malik cut Reagan off, sounding annoyed.)

Malik Davis: “Most guys” get to end their career on their own accord. “Most guys” don’t get suddenly promoted from assistant to head coach because the previous head coach fucking dies.

(He purses his lips, running his hands down his face as he tries to choose his next words. Malik gestures to the office around them as he takes a few steps toward Reagan’s desk.)

Malik Davis: You know this isn’t where I wanted to be at this point in my life, but now that I’m here, I know that nobody can lead that team the way I can.

(Reagan nods, pushing back his chair, standing up, and walking around the front of his desk to stand directly across from Malik.)

Reagan Majors: I know that, and I trust you.

Malik Davis: Then why the hell didn’t I get to just promote one of the other assistant coaches? Why’d you go over my head and bring in Lawson?

(Reagan groaned.)

Reagan Majors: Dear God, this again? How many times do I have to tell you how lucky we are to have him? Do you know how much money I had to throw at him to lure him away from Duke in the first place? Finding successful, knowledgeable coaches is hard enough. Convincing them to step away from winning D1 programs is even harder.

Malik Davis: Then you shoulda left him there.

Reagan Majors: Malik, you were a fantastic player. One of the best to ever do it, but how much coaching experience do you have? You know more about playing on this level than anyone, but Warren Lawson knows how to give instruction to high-level players. Cherry-pick through the Duke alumni over the last five or six seasons and see how many of them wound up getting drafted by the ABL. The man knows his shit.

Malik Davis: And you didn’t trust me to pick someone just as good? Fuck that, someone even better?

Reagan Majors: I took it off your hands completely. You should be thanking me.

(Malik’s head tilted to the side slightly and his eyes narrowed a bit. Reagan’s last words had come out...slightly condescending.)

Malik Davis: You know, your dad never would’ve interfered in coaching decisions like this.

(Reagan looked a bit taken aback by the remark.)

Reagan Majors: My father was a great man. He was honest and altruistic. Truly one of the nice guys, and there aren’t very many of those left at this level of sports, and do you know why that is? Because they get eaten alive. My father was smart, but on some level or another, he was lucky that nobody ever took advantage of his kind nature. He always had faith that this team would remain a powerhouse, and so it has. Fifteen rings and counting. But hey, you know me, Malik…

(Reagan pointed to himself.)

Reagan Majors: ...unlike him, I don’t leave anything to chance. You have a dream team at your fingertips. You have an assistant coach many head coaches in this league would sell their souls for. Everything is set up for us to make it back to the Finals and win, and oh, when I say you better make it there…

Malik Davis: The fuck do you mean I “better make it there”?

(As he spoke, Reagan turned around for a second to swipe his car keys and phone from the tabletop of his desk.)

Reagan Majors: Like I said, this team has all but been handed championship number sweet sixteen on a silver platter, and you’re captaining this ship. Screw this up and having Lawson as your assistant will be the least of your worries. I’ll terminate your contract at the end of the season and seamlessly slide that man into your job.

(Malik’s jaw clenched.)

Malik Davis: Is that a threat?

(Reagan chuckled, lightly patting Malik on the shoulder.)

Reagan Majors: Never that, my man! It’s a promise.

***

(The scene opens up in the otherwise-deserted locker room of the Comcast Center. Liberty veteran and team captain Xander Robinson is staring intently down at the screen of his phone, his lips set in a straight line as he watches the footage playing.)

“THAT’S IT! IT’S OOOOOOVER! AFTER ONE HELL OF A GAME SEVEN, PHILLY FALLS TO VEGAS 115-112! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE LAS VEGAS AZTECS ARE YOUR 2017 - 2018 ABL CHAMPIONS --”

???: Man, what the hell? I’ve been calling you!

(Xander quickly paused the video and his head snapped up to see his teammate, Donovan Kincaid, leaning through the doorway. He rolled his eyes.)

Van Kincaid: You sent me straight to voicemail like five times! What were you doing, just swiping and ignoring the notifications? Actually, nevermind that...you were supposed to be outta here already! The traffic is gonna be a bitch and a half.

(Xander’s expression softened and he sighed. The majority of the Liberty’s players and cheerleaders would be making the roughly seventy-mile pilgrimage to spend Labor Day weekend in rented houses along the beach in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. As was a running theme here -- it was everyone’s last big chance to cut loose before having to buckle down for the remainder of the season. If anyone needed to chill out, it was Xander, hence why Van was so irritated that he was still in the arena, of all places.)

Xander Robinson: Sorry, you’re ri--wait, how are you lecturing me when you’re still here, too?

(Van shrugged his shoulders.)

Van Kincaid: My shit’s already packed. Besides, I knew we were only gonna have one straggler, and it was gonna be you.

(He pointed at his teammate to punctuate the previous statement, walking over and taking a seat on the bench beside him.)

Van Kincaid: Team meetings are supposed to be quick; get in, talk about whatever we need to, and get out. We all need this weekend trip to keep ourselves sane, dude. We’re running outta time before shit gets real again, and watching THAT footage over and over again is only gonna drive you crazy.

Xander Robinson: How did you--?

Van Kincaid: I know you’ve watched it every day since it happened. I knew you were lying when you said you hadn’t bothered watching since the week after, but I knew better.

Xander Robinson: I guess I keep watching it thinking something will change. Or, worse than that, I guess I keep playing the whole game back to see things we could’ve done differently. The fact that I’m such a goddamn perfectionist is killing me. This shit’s been driving me up the wall all summer.

(Xander spent a lot of time living inside his head. He figured that had always been his secret to success, that insane level of hyperfocus and the way he could pick things apart. At times like this, however, it was less of a gift and more of a curse. The plain truth of it all was that he played professional basketball with a bunch of grown ass men, but he was still their captain. Their leader. And so in his mind, in some fashion or another, it all fell on him. The shortcomings, anyway. When they succeeded, it really was a team effort, but if they fell short? Well, as the biggest cog in the machine, he couldn’t help but second-guess things he’d done.)

Van Kincaid: Which is all the more reason for you to take a step back and decompress. X, you’re the captain. You feel the way you do because of that obligation that comes along with being in that spot, but nothing is on you. We got to game seven and lost. That shit hurt, but we’re still here, and we’re gonna bounce back.

Xander Robinson: Isn’t that a direct rip from the shit we just got told in the meeting?

(Van laughed.)

Van Kincaid: Doesn’t make it any less true.

(He rose from his seat beside Xander.)

Van Kincaid: There’s nothing we can do to change what already happened, and there’s nothing we can do to speed up time to make the redemption come quicker, either. The only thing you should be worried about is the present, and the present sounds a whole lot like getting white boy wasted at the beach.

(He rubbed his hands together excitedly, at which point Xander stood up.)

Xander Robinson: That’s what you do.

Van Kincaid: You know what I meant! Now...you coming or not?

(He stood there for a second, both of them remaining silent, although Van looked incredibly hopeful. After a few moments, Xander nodded, a small smile spreading across his face.)

Xander Robinson: Yeah. It might do me some good.

***

(Tucked away near the ultra-exclusive skyboxes frequented by the rich and famous members of the Liberty faithful was Club Omega. On most nights -- particularly weekends and after home games -- it was teeming with players, cheerleaders, celebrities, and anybody else lucky enough to have been allowed inside. During the day, it was a different story. It was much quieter and sometimes, completely empty. Staff members usually still milled around, chief among them being Stevie Romano, the manager. She had to admit that people-watching was probably her favorite part of the job, especially at times like this. Stevie was seated at a table in the VIP area, papers spread over the tabletop as she filled out supply order. The VIP area overlooked the bar, where assistant coach Warren Lawson, head athletic trainer Ian Camden, and a couple of junior agents, Antonio Delgadillo and Brixton Sutherland, were doing a little day drinking. Eavesdropping was Stevie’s favorite pastime.)

Warren Lawson: I can promise you, I’m not losing any sleep over the fact that Malik hates me. For one, he’s the only person in the entire organization, that I’m aware of, that has any sort of problem with me being here. For another thing, unlike him, I’m a professional. I can get past just about anything in the process of doing my job.

(Ian chuckled and absentmindedly tapped the bottom of his beer bottle against the bartop.)

Ian Camden: I don’t condone the guy’s shitty attitude, but I do understand it.

Warren Lawson: What’s there to understand? The nature of this business -- of ANY business -- is that people get hired. Teams grow. There’s no way he didn’t understand that.

Ian Camden: No, but he does still have a stick up his ass about how he got his job in the first place. Having a new face to contend with isn’t helping at all. Just the same, I wish he’d get it through his thick skull that he’s not the only one dealing with growing pains after everything that’s happened.

Warren Lawson: I know deep in my gut that he takes EVERYTHING I do personally when I just wanna do my job. The last thing I need is him thinking I’m stepping on his toes.

Brixton Sutherland: I think all of us here know it’s not in your nature to purposely step on the man’s toes, but so what if you do?

(Brixton laughed to himself, prompting Warren to raise his eyebrow.)

Warren Lawson: Pardon?

Brixton Sutherland: Everyone knows this head coach spot for him is more...ceremonious than anything else. You’re the one with all the years of experience. Over the course of the season, mark my words, he WILL show himself incapable of handling this team. It’s just a matter of what our record will look like when it’s through.

(Warren laughed nervously.)

Warren Lawson: Well, I wouldn’t say all of THAT…

(Ian rested his elbow on the bartop as Warren’s voice trailed off.)

Ian Camden: You don’t have to. I might not be as pessimistic as Sutherland over here, but I got my own doubts.

???: Ladies, ladies, don’t tell me you’ve already started the shit-talking without me!

(The group’s conversation was momentarily interrupted by a male voice cutting through their chatter. They all turned around on their barstools to see Jonathan Towers, the team’s general manager, approaching them. Antonio shook his head at the man who was essentially directly above him and Brixton on the company ladder.)

Antonio Delgadillo: You DID always have the option of getting here on time.

Jonathan Towers: I’d say sorry, but...I’m not. And the team meeting ran kinda late, too.

(Brixton frowned and cocked an eyebrow, pointing at Warren.)

Brixton Sutherland: Then how did he get up here before you did?

(Jonathan shrugged.)

Jonathan Towers: Hell if I know. He walks faster?

(Warren was the latest one to shake his head, turning in his seat slightly to face Jonathan.)

Warren Lawson: Thought you’d be in a hurry to get the hell outta Dodge, too. You mean to tell me you’re not leaving with the team?

(Jonathan scoffed.)

Jonathan Towers: FUCK no. I have no desire at all to be on the road this weekend with the entire rest of metro Philly. That’s gonna be a goddamn nightmare. I’m staying my ass at home with my wife. We got a pool in the backyard, who needs the beach?

Warren Lawson: I thought you’d say something like “it isn’t a good look for the GM to be partying it up with the team he’s partially in control of” but hey, you made a valid point anyway.

Jonathan Towers: Everything I say is valid. But really, I had to hang back so I could take a call from Reagan. Apparently, he had an...interesting discussion before the team meeting, one he just couldn’t help telling me about, for whatever reason.

(Antonio’s interest was piqued.)

Antonio Delgadillo: We’re listening.

(Jonathan chuckled, pointing at Antonio as if to say “Not so fast.”)

Jonathan Towers: I didn’t say I was divulging any details.

(Brixton feigned disappointment.)

Brixton Sutherland: You’ll really just leave us hanging like that?

Jonathan Towers: You guys were doing just fine gossiping without me throwing any fuel on the fire. Don’t mind me.

(Brixton tapped his chin with a finger.)

Brixton Sutherland: “Fuel on the fire”? So it’s about Malik?

Jonathan Towers: I didn’t say that, either.

Brixton Sutherland: Well --

Jonathan Towers: Drop it.

(Jonathan hadn’t really meant to snap, but he was tired of Brixton’s poking and prodding. His voice was stern and pretty irritated, signaling that this was, without a doubt, the end of his little line of question. Brixton got the message, holding up both hands to show that he was backing off.)

***

“DO YOU EVER WONDER WHEN HEEEEEEE DON’T COME HOME, WHO HE GOES TO SEEEEEE? AND WHY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT, HE LEAVES YOU ALONE, LEAVES YOU ALONE, HE’S WITH ME --”

(Sabrina Devereux, the captain of the Liberty Girls, had a spring in her step and a smile on her face as she threw the last of things into a small suitcase, dragging it into the living room of her apartment. All the while, some ‘90s R&B station on Spotify was playing “With Me” by Destiny’s Child impossibly loud, and she was more than okay with it. As she left her suitcase off to the side of her couch, there was a knock at the door, prompting her to pause the music.)

Sabrina Devereux: Coming!

(Sabrina flung open the front door, and upon doing it, she could see that two of her teammates, Macy Glenn and Elise Lowe, one of her teammates was standing in the doorway. Macy looked antsy, and she was motioning out into the hallway.)

Elise Lowe: Come onnnnn, boss lady! We gotta go!

(Macy peered into the apartment, sticking her head through the door.)

Macy Glenn: You’re all ready to go, right?

(Sabrina rolled her eyes.)

Sabrina Devereux: Yes, nosy! Goddamn.

Macy Glenn: Well, sheesh, I had to ask! Normally the only place you’re on time to is practice.

(Sabrina narrowed her eyes.)

Sabrina Devereux: Ha. Ha. I know my habit of running on colored people time is a pain in the ass, but c’mon, I knew I couldn’t do that today. Look!

(She gestured to her packed suitcase, before grabbing it and standing it in the doorway. Macy offered up a miniature round of fake applause, which caused Sabrina to scoff.)

Macy Glenn: I’m so proud of you!

Sabrina Devereux: Yeah, yeah.

(She gently elbowed Macy in the ribs, grabbing her keys and phone from the table beside the front door and locking the door behind her. She double-checked it, then turned to face the other two girls. The three of them shared a look and smiled before starting off down the hallway toward the elevator.)

Elise Lowe: Ugh, I’m so ready for this weekend. The break is definitely gonna appreciated, especially since...someone who shall remain nameless has been kicking our asses at rehearsals all summer.

Sabrina Devereux: Hey, I thought I made it apparent at tryouts that I wasn’t fucking around when I said I didn’t cut corners. Macy’s had time to get used to me. Y’all newbies will find out soon enough.

Macy Glenn: But it’s okay! You just want us to be as great as we possibly can be and it’s not all just meaningless torture, right? Even if that cardio we did the other day didn’t feel like anything but torture…

(Sabrina laughed a bit as they approached the elevator. She pushed the “down” button before taking a step back. To say she could be a bit intense when it came to matters surrounding the Liberty Girls was probably an accurate statement, but that was only when she was “on the clock”, so to speak. She demanded a lot from the girls on the team, but that was only because she knew they were talented and always wanted that to shine through. Sabrina figured she wouldn’t be a capable captain if she accepted anything less than the greatness that she knew the Liberty Girls were capable of.)

(Elise looked down at her phone as the three girls stepped into the elevator, hitting the other “down” button once they’d stepped inside.)

Elise Lowe: Seems like just about everyone is gonna be there. Is that true?

Macy Glenn: Eh, it’s never everyone, but there will be a lot of people. Most of the dancers are gonna be there, and I’m pretty sure most of the players, too. Never any management people, though. They say it looks tacky if they get caught partying with us.

Sabrina Devereux: You only give two fucks if Ray shows up, though.

(Macy’s face lit up.)

Macy Glenn: He already told me he’d be there!

Elise Lowe: Of course he did.

(Sabrina shared a knowing look with Elise before turning her attention back to Macy.)

Sabrina Devereux: God, you got it SO bad for his gangly ass. No reason you sat through all his boring ass Summer League games.

(Macy pouted and fiddled with the cap of her water bottle.)

Macy Glenn: They’re not boring! And we’re just friends. Friends support each other when they do stuff, right? That’s why I went to the Summer League games, to watch him play and to offer support.

Sabrina Devereux: Okay, fair. Yes, friends offer support and all that good shit, but what I’m saying is --

Elise Lowe: She’s saying that British boy wants to do some other good shit with you, if you catch her drift.

(Macy stammered and sputtered, trying and failing to find what words would come next as a “DING!” signaled that the trio had reached this particular level in the parking garage. She continued to try and plead her case as the three stepped out of the elevator.)

Macy Glenn: RAY? And ME? Oh, no, you guys are doing too much now…

(Sabrina groaned.)

Sabrina Devereux: Macy, you know I love you, but you CANNOT be this slow, you just can’t. Have you seen how he looks at you?

Elise Lowe: Or the way he hangs out after rehearsals to wait for you?

Macy Glenn: Well…

Sabrina Devereux: Ain’t no “well”, ain’t no “maybe”, no ifs, ands, or buts. I’d bet my paycheck he’s tryna make a move this weekend after waiting alllllll summer.

Elise Lowe: He’s waiting on a little liquid courage?

(Elise wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, and Sabrina and Macy’s responses to her statement came at the exact same time as the three continued on their way.)

Sabrina Devereux: EXACTLY!

Macy Glenn: NO!

(The funny part was that Elise, as a first-year Liberty Girl, seemed to have a better idea of what this weekend would entail than Macy, who had a couple years under her belt and had been on trips just like this one. Macy usually made a concerted effort to keep her drinking to a minimum and just worry about having fun. Her teammates were convinced this weekend would be different, due in large part to her blossoming situationship with Ray Broderick.)

Sabrina Devereux: So you’re saying if, like...you know, let’s say it’s Saturday night, or whatever, we’re all having a good time, the music is loud, the liquor is strong, you and Ray are vibing...you wouldn’t be tempted?

(Macy eyed them both as they approached her car, and she hit the button on her clicker that opened the trunk.)

Macy Glenn: Tempted to WHAT?

(Sabrina shoved her luggage into the trunk beside Macy and Elise’s.)

Sabrina Devereux: You know…

Elise Lowe: Bang like a screen door in a hurricane.

(Macy’s eyes went wide, and Sabrina couldn’t help but laugh loudly as she shut the trunk.)

Macy Glenn: I AM PURE!

(She wasn’t budging from this stance as she flung open the driver’s side door. As Elise slid into the passenger seat, she looked over her shoulder at Sabrina, who shook her head. The captain opened the back passenger side door, taking her place behind Elise before looking in Macy’s direction.)

Sabrina Devereux: Not after this weekend you won’t be.

***

(Just across the state line in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, Everett Blaine is standing in line inside of a Chevron station. There are a couple of people in front of him. He has a water bottle in his hand and he’s tapping the other hand against his leg absentmindedly as he begins to look around the inside of the gas station. He hadn’t come alone, and he was wondering what the holdup was with his teammates.)

Everett Blaine: How long does it take to get Gatorade and Doritos, guys?

(By this time, Austin Porter and Terrence Sloane have rounded the corner. Austin has already ripped open a big bag of Doritos and is already pulling chips out of the bag. Terrence is empty-handed, and this confuses Everett. He turns his attention to Austin first, though, appraising the open bag.)

Everett Blaine: Really, man?

Austin Porter: What? I’m gonna pay for it. Y’all act like I’m about to put it back on the shelf or something.

Everett Blaine: You’re not gonna get anything, T?

(Terrence shakes his head.)

Terrence Sloane: Nah, I don’t really want a whole bag. Besides…

(Terrence’s voice trailed off as he quickly reached out and swiped a couple of chips from Austin’s bag, prompting his teammate to shoot him a glare.)

Terrence Sloane: Why pay for a whole bag when I can just bum off him?

(Terrence laughed and reached out again, prompting Austin to swat his hand away.)

Austin Porter: Buy your own bag, nigga, damn! It’s gonna be real hard to have fun this weekend if I break your hand.

(The three of them were an integral part of the Liberty’s young core. They’d all come into the mix on the team at relatively the same time, so they felt that kinship there. Terrence and Austin were both members of the most recent draft class, and the world was left to wonder how the Liberty had gotten so lucky, being able to somehow land two coveted draft prospects. It also fueled the sense of competition between the two of them -- generally of the healthy variety, though. As for Everett, he spent his first couple of seasons in the league with the Miami Inferno and had only recently been traded to Philadelphia. To say the congenial Australian native had an easy time fitting in amongst his new surroundings would be an understatement.)

Austin Porter: Yo we’re next in line, where the fuck is Hakim?

(Hakim Briggs approached them next, muscular arms clutching an inordinate number of Gatorade bottles. All different colors, too.)

Hakim Briggs: Don’t worry about me, youngblood.

Terrence Sloane: There’s a white Gatorade? What the hell are these random ass flavors? You couldn’t just get fruit punch and lemon-lime like normal people do?

Hakim Briggs: Fruit punch is Gatorade softball for the uncultured. I’m a connoisseur.

(Hakim was still a fairly new piece of the Liberty puzzle, now moving into his second season with the team. He wasn’t new to the ABL, though, having played for the Los Angeles Lancers, New York Gladiators, and Toronto Tritons -- and had a grand total for four rings after having played for the three teams. To call him an opportunist was fair, but there was nothing inherently wrong about him doing business the way he did. He wanted his time in the league to mean something and the way he saw it, the best way of ensuring that was to win. All the damn time.)

Everett Blaine: Okay, guys, we’re next. You know the drill. Who’s pairing off with who?

Austin Porter: I got T’s whack ass. He never wins.

Terrence Porter: Man…

Everett Blaine: It’s me and you, then, big guy.

(Hakim chuckled and set his bottles down on the front counter before turning to Everett. The four of them had devised a game to settle who would pay for things. Now, normal people would just split the cost or whatever, but these are professional athletes with lots of disposable income. They’d set up two games of Rock, Paper, Scissors. The losers of the two games would play each other and whoever lost that game had to foot the bill for the gas and snacks.)

Everett Blaine: Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!

(Hakim had gone with scissors and Everett with paper, prompting a groan from him.)

Everett Blaine: Looks like I’m on the chopping block.

(He pointed to Austin and Terrence.)

Everett Blaine: Let’s go, Wayans brothers.

(Austin laughed, putting his chips on the counter.)

Austin Porter: You know what? That’s fine, ‘cause if that’s the case, I get to be Marlon. He’s the better one, anyway.

Terrence Sloane: Hell nah, I’m not tryna be Shawn!

Austin Porter: Fine then, the loser gets to be Shawn, and spoiler -- that’s you, breh.

Everett Blaine: Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!

(Austin rolled his eyes after having seen that Terrence’s paper had beaten his rock.)

Terrence Sloane: Who’s Shawn now?

Austin Porter: Still you, nigga, we all know the truth.

(Everett rubbed his hands together.)

Everett Blaine: Okay, this is for all the marbles. You ready to pull that wallet out, Austin?

(Austin scoffs.)

Austin Porter: I should be asking YOU that.

Everett Blaine: Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!

(Austin looks less than pleased to see that his scissors lost to Everett’s rock.)

Austin Porter: Nuh uh, best two outta three!

Hakim Briggs: You know the rules.

(Austin shakes his head, begrudgingly taking out his wallet and turning his attention to the cashier.)

Austin Porter: Gimme everything on the counter, sixty on pump four...

(He turns around for a split second to appraise the shit-eating grins on the faces of Everett, Hakim, and Terrence.)

Austin Porter: ...and some new fucking friends.

***

(It’s just after nightfall in Seaside Heights. The sun has just dipped below the horizon, and the coastal locale is still teeming with life, with many people strolling along the iconic Boardwalk and partying on the beach. Slightly removed from all of that are rows of beautiful beach houses that are just as lively than the sights and sounds of the Boardwalk, if not more so. All it takes is a passing glance at one particular house along the row to see that it’s got a bit more going on than the others. There are several cars parked out front, lights shine through every open window, and the loud music can be heard pretty clearly from the beachside street.)

“BIG GUN, HANDGUN, SHOOTOUT, AND-1, HOP OUT, TAP OUT, TIME OUT, DAMN SON, GOYARD TRUNKS, GUCCI TRUNKS, GOKU, TRUNKS, ASTHMA PUMP--”

(It seems as if everyone who will be around for the weekend has arrived. A handful of the weekenders have gathered in the kitchen, where Elise has taken to playing bartender. Emphasis on “playing”. She’s occupying her own little chunk of counter space, and another portion is occupied by Sabrina, who’s taken to dancing on the counter. Apparently, no one dances on tables anymore. Xander’s loosened up considerably, and Van has wrangled him with an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into the kitchen.)

(Xander pointed to the red Solo cup in the hand of Sabrina, who has yet to budge from her place on the counter.)

Xander Robinson: There’s no WAY you’re drunk enough for this yet.

Sabrina Devereux: Me? Drunk? Hardly. I’m just having a good time, X, you should try it!

(Xander rolled his eyes.)

Xander Robinson: You’re like the third person to say some variation of that. Who says I’m not having fun?

Sabrina Devereux: I dunno if I take your word for it. Van, is he having fun?

Van Kincaid: I’ve made it my personal mission to make sure that Xander loosens the fuck up this weekend. I mean...I GUESS he’s having fun, it’s a process. I’m doing my best.

(He playfully elbows Van in the side before turning to Elise.)

Van Kincaid: Your pour on that was kinda heavy-handed.

(Elise shrugged before passing a plastic cup to Van.)

Elise Lowe: Isn’t that exactly how you wanted it?

Van Kincaid: Oh, you know me too well.

(Van grabs another cup and hands it off to Xander.)

Van Kincaid: Here!

(Xander appraised the contents with a raised eyebrow.)

Xander Robinson: What the fuck is in this? It smells like battery acid and lighter fluid.

Elise Lowe: Don’t worry about it.

(At this point, Ray and Macy -- who were on the front porch -- have migrated inside and found their way into the kitchen as well. They left a few seconds too early to have seen two very, very late partygoers about to integrate themselves into the fray.)

(Charlotte Reed slammed the door to her car just as Dominic Vicenzo was doing the same. The notoriously-difficult Liberty Girl gestured to the team’s resident bad boy, who didn’t offer much of a reaction in response.)

Charlie Reed: What the hell are you doing here?

(To say that “deadpan” summed up Dominic’s demeanor at the moment would be accurate. He pointed to the house.)

Dominic Vicenzo: I’m sure everyone inside is gonna ask you the same thing.

(Charlie scoffed.)

Charlie Reed: You’re one to talk.

(As far as their respective teams were concerned, Dominic and Charlie were the resident troublemakers. Charlie wasn’t entirely satisfied with her position as a Liberty Girl. She was always reaching higher, so much so to the point that the only person really above her on the ladder was Sabrina. She fancied herself the gatekeeper, hazing and poking and prodding at anybody she thought needed to fall by the wayside. She wasn’t all bad, but it did keep her at odds with some of her teammates. In the case of Dominic, nobody could deny his talent. He’d just finished up a banner rookie season. He’d been lauded with plenty of praise from all directions, but as far as he was concerned, no one was telling him anything he didn’t already know. He knew he was great. The fact that he knew this meant that he didn’t necessarily entirely care about the team’s pre-existing hierarchy. Virtually since day one, he’d been at odds with Xander because of this, but it was all a joke to Dominic.)

Dominic Vicenzo: The only reason I’m hours late is that I had business to wrap up back in the city. Plus, I didn’t really see the whole point coming here at the same time as everyone else. We both know the only reason you’re showing up now is so you can make a dramatic entrance.

(Charlie pouted.)

Charlie Reed: Is that so wrong?

(Dominic laughed to himself before starting off up the front walkway and making his way toward the house.)

Dominic Vicenzo: No wonder people don’t like you.

(Charlie’s jaw dropped open and she ran to match Dominic’s pace, stopping to get in his face when they were both on the front porch.)

Charlie Reed: One more time for good measure -- YOU’RE ONE TO TALK!

(Dominic looked somewhat amused, pausing before opening the door. He pointed inside the house.)

Dominic Vicenzo: After you, problem child.

(The sight of Dominic and Charlie coming through the door hours late elicited a (drunk, very extra, very loud, very drawn-out) laugh from Austin the second they stepped over the threshold.

Austin Porter: What are y’all doing showing up together?

Charlie Reed: That’s not even funny! I wouldn’t go ANYWHERE with him, and it was just a coincidence. This broody asshole over here stole my thunder.

(Charlie gestured around them.)

Charlie Reed: I know this isn’t everybody.

Austin Porter: Everyone is...around. Oh, and I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you two.

Dominic Vicenzo: Ha ha.

(By now, the group that had gathered in the kitchen was now making their way back toward the front of the house -- just in time to see that Dominic and Charlie had arrived. Xander admittedly wasn’t all that happy to see Dominic, who did little more than smirk in the team captain’s direction. Elise sucked in a sharp breath as she appraised Charlie, wasting little time walking back into the kitchen. Sabrina put a hand on her shoulder.)

Sabrina Devereux: Where are you going?

Elise Lowe: To top this off. I’m gonna need it. It’s gonna be a looooong weekend.