DAY, EXT. in the gently thawing woods outside Kier DEVON: Can you -- this birthing cabin, you can take us there, right? So we can talk to his innie? COBEL: Not yet. Even under the cover of dark, it's perilous. We wait for night.
2 hOuRs LaTeR...
DEVON hugs her whipping jacket as she studies the treeline, looking for nothing in particular. MARK leans against the car, fists in his pockets, scuffing his boot into the mud underfoot, each swipe digging the hole a bit deeper. COBEL watches the road like a sentry, unmoved and unmoving. She may or may not have blinked in the past two hours. With a heavy sigh, DEVON checks her watch. She's so fucking hungry. She goes to her car and rummages in the glovebox for a granola bar, but all she finds are wrappers. DEVON: Fuck. MARK rotates his head a few degrees, squinting at his sister through the hair in his eyes. DEVON: How far back was that gas station? Was it... it after the turn for Kiercrest, right? MARK: Why? DEVON: I think I'm gonna get a sandwich. MARK: A gas station sandwich. Wow. Are you like, suicidal, or... DEVON: No more suicidal than the guy with a freshly drilled hole in his head. Did she even Spackle over it, or... MARK: Still healthier than a gas station sandwich. COBEL (nearly inaudible): I have quiche. The siblings Scout turn to COBEL. Did she just speak? DEVON: Sorry, what? COBEL shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Her lips barely move as she repeats,
COBEL: I have quiche. MARK: Yeah, quiche. Okay. Well, if it's even half as bad as your revolting cookies, MRS SELVIG-- COBEL: I didn't make the quiche. My boyfriend did. DEVON: I'm sorry, wait-- MARK: Now I've heard everything. DEVON: You have a boyfriend? MARK: She's making it up. She told me she had a dead husband building her a house in the afterlife. Never saw those blueprints, by the way. COBEL: My boyfriend is a real person. He owns a diner and he sent me off with a quiche. For my journeys. DEVON and MARK exchange a look. COBEL's eyes narrow into slits as she trudges to the truck to get the quiche, in an aluminum pie plate, covered with cling wrap. The cling wrap blows off in the wind. COBEL pretends not to notice the plastic float away as she marches back through the snow and presents incontrovertible proof of her boyfriend's existence to the unbelievers.
DEVON: Wow, that looks... um, you ate half already? COBEL: It's from the diner. It's a popular item. MARK: Oh, so your boyfriend gave you half a quiche. Is that right? Wow, congratulations, he must really love you so much. DEVON: Mark, don't be an asshole. MARK: I'm not being an asshole, I'm just getting the latest story straight. Her boyfriend gave her half a quiche from his diner at like, nine in the morning, which, by the way, means it's leftovers... DEVON, to COBEL: I'm sorry. MARK: And everyone knows eggs travel super well, so giving them to her for her journeys was an incredibly thoughtful gesture from her boyfriend. Sounds like soulmates to me. COBEL, quiche in hand, advances steadily on Mark, her gaze trained on him like a laser-guided missile. MARK's mocking grin fades as confusion sets in, then something approaching fear as he stumbles back a step.
COBEL: And then Imogene gaveth Kier a bounty eggs for his journeys, so he would know neither hunger of flesh nor of spirit, and by her eggs he knew her love, and would eat no other eggs but hers thereafter. MARK's mouth falls open but no sound comes out. COBEL flashes a dominating smile. She walks back to her truck, pausing at the door to wrestle a fork from depths of her coat pocket. She wipes the fork clean of lint before she eats alone in the truck with the door closed. DEVON gives MARK a disapproving glare. MARK: Seriously? You're on her side? DEVON: She was gonna share that. MARK: The bounty of diner guy's holy eggs? Not likely. Devon shakes her head and goes back to staring at trees. Mark reclaims his post by the side of the car, kicking his boot into his mud groove. DEVON: You think he's hot? MARK: Who? DEVON: Cobel's boyfriend. MARK: Jesus Christ. DEVON looks back to the truck where COBEL is eating, menacingly. DEVON: Because I can't picture her with someone not hot.
