Blood Stained Hands

Panel 1:Wide establishing shot of the WereHouse loading dock in full panic. Road cases, cable snakes, and lighting truss are stacked everywhere in teetering piles. Roy is drenched in sweat, both hands gripping the handle of a massive road case he is hauling alone across the dock floor. Evil Forklift sits idle in the far corner, large glowing green eyes half-lidded, a fat glowing green joint smoldering in his forks, Gadsden flag sticker prominent on his chassis, a lazy curl of evil green smoke drifting from his exhaust. Jennifurr is on her back under a truck chassis, wrench raised above her head. Axel stands near a clipboard, pointing at it with one finger, mouth open mid-lecture. Cadillac leans against a road case with a toothpick in his mouth, arms crossed, utterly unbothered. Gary floats a few feet off the ground near the entrance, holding a clipboard stacked with HR forms, grinning cheerfully.

“Jennifurr: EF. Move or I disable you. Axel: We're two hours behind, Roy. Classic. Evil Forklift : Hurry up losers!”

Narrator:“Another day, another last-minute wedding pack-out. The universe hates Roy specifically.”

Panel 2:Close-up on Evil Forklift's large glowing green eyes — they are wide open now, defiant, staring directly at Jennifurr's direction. His exhaust pipe puffs a contemptuous ring of green smoke.

“Evil Forklift : Let’s tango Jenny!”

Panel 3:Medium shot: Jennifurr has climbed up onto Evil Forklift's chassis. She plants her boots on his frame and grips his steering wheel with both hands, wrenching it hard to the left with her full werewolf strength. The metal groans visibly. Her expression is flat and businesslike — this is not anger, this is maintenance.

“Jennifurr: Don't say I didn't warn you.”

Panel 4:Wide shot: Evil Forklift spins in a tight, helpless circle on the dock floor, his green eyes now spiraling in dizzy confusion, exhaust puffing in short angry bursts. A heavy brick is jammed hard on his brake pedal, locking him in the endless loop. Roy watches from the side, one hand on a road case, eyebrows raised. Cadillac does not look up.

“Cadillac : Smooth”

Panel 1:Wide panel divide into three. The crew pushing the gear into an unusually long truck with a long dark body. Next split panel is Frank closing the trick. Next split panel is the truck taking phasing through NYC traffic.

“Frank: Lets troll!”

Narrator:“Frank’s 24,000 foot truck can handle almost any show on one juicy load! ”

Panel 2:Interior of the truck cab — Roy is wedged between a road case and the side wall, clinging to a tie-down strap with both hands, eyes wide. The truck's windshield shows blurred city traffic phasing through them like ghosts — cars and buses passing through the truck's hood harmlessly as Frank guns it down a Manhattan avenue.

“Roy : Why can't we just fly?!”

Panel 3:Frank keeps both hands on the wheel, sunglasses on, completely unfazed. His expression is flat and matter-of-fact. Through the windshield behind him, the Manhattan skyline blurs past.

“Frank: NORAD. Shot Crazy Jeff Arthur out of the sky in 2005. Still find pieces of him in New Jersey.”

Panel 4:Shot of fighter jets shooting down a flying 18 wheeler that’s manned by a crazy eldery man

Panel 1:Establishing shot: a beautiful stone cathedral on a quiet city block. A large ornate cross adorns the steeple, catching the morning light. Frank's truck is parked at the curb. The WereHouse crew stands on the sidewalk in a ragged line — Roy, Jennifurr, Axel, Cadillac — all staring up at the cross. An invisible shimmering barrier is visible at the threshold of the church steps, like a heat haze, stopping them cold. Gary floats up from behind, clipboard in hand, looking mildly apologetic.

“Gary : My bad. Booking error. Human wedding.”

Narrator:“The Werewolves cant enter the Sacred Space! ”

Panel 2:Medium shot: Gary floats forward through the invisible barrier without hesitation, clipboard tucked under his arm. As he crosses the threshold, his ghostly translucent appearance dissolves — he solidifies into a fully human man with Down syndrome, wearing neat slacks and a button-up shirt, clipboard still in hand. He pauses and looks back at the crew with a deadpan expression.

“Gary : What? I am God's favorite person.”

Narrator:“Gary faces no such troubles! ”

Panel 3:Cutaway panel — a bright white cloud against a blue sky. God sits on the cloud: an elderly Middle-Eastern man with a long white beard and curly salt-and-pepper hair, dark features, relaxed and warm. He is eating a sandwich casually. Jesus sits to his left, Vishnu to his right, Buddha behind him. God glances sideways at the reader, mid-bite.

“God : Gary's right. Don't tell the others.”

Panel 4:Back on the sidewalk. Roy stares at the cathedral entrance, then at the gear piled on the sidewalk behind him, then back at the church. His expression is resigned. Axel stands beside him, arms crossed, visibly irritated at being blocked by the barrier. Jennifurr sets her jaw and begins unloading gear from the truck, pointing Roy toward the door.

“Jennifurr: Roy. You're going in. Move.”

Panel 1:Wide interior shot of the cathedral nave. Rows of pews are filled with human wedding guests in formal attire. At the front, a ceremony is in progress. Along the side wall, Roy and Human Gary have set up a compact AV station — a small mixing board, a laptop, a pair of discreet speakers. Human Gary stands at the board, hands moving with practiced precision across the faders. Roy stands beside him at the cue sheet, focused, headphones around his neck.

Narrator:“Everything goes smoothly?”

Panel 2:Close-up on Human Gary's hands moving across the mixing board — precise, confident, no hesitation. Every fader is exactly where it should be. His face is calm and focused, the picture of competence.

Panel 3:Outside the cathedral, Axel crouches behind a hedge on the sidewalk, holding a small spy-cam tablet in both hands. The tablet screen shows the interior feed — Roy and Human Gary working the board. Axel's jaw is visibly dropped, eyes wide behind their glasses, staring at the screen in disbelief.

“Axel: That's... actually perfect. Well, actually—”

Panel 4:Beyond the church grounds in the adjacent courtyard, Jennifurr has set up a DJ rig — two turntables, a mixer, a compact speaker stack. She has one ear pressed to a small earpiece monitoring the church feed. Her expression is focused but her eyes keep drifting toward the cathedral entrance. She spins a record with one hand, wrench still tucked in her back pocket.

Narrator:“Just outside the church limits….”

Panel 5:Inside the cathedral, a well-dressed human wedding planner — a trim woman in a headset — leans toward Roy and speaks quietly. Roy nods politely. Human Gary does not look up from the board.

“Wedding Planner: I'm impressed. Didn't expect someone... like him to handle this. Human Gary : Classic humans. Even Evil Forklift respects me more.”

Panel 1:Wide shot of the wedding reception hall — round tables, warm string lights, a dance floor. The Rolling Stones' 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' plays — the song title and a few lyric fragments float as stylized text in the background art above the crowd. Roy stands at the edge of the dance floor in his work clothes, slightly disheveled, a drink in hand, scanning the room. He is visibly off-shift and slightly buzzed — loosened collar, relaxed posture.

Narrator:“Off the clock. Slightly buzzed. Dangerously unsupervised.”

Panel 2:Roy's POV: across the dance floor, the Mysterious Beautiful Lamia stands perfectly still amid the swirling crowd. She wears a little black dress and goth boots, long flowing curly dark hair falling over her shoulders. She is elegant, striking, and utterly motionless. Her hands hang at her sides — both visibly stained with fresh, dark blood, dripping slightly onto the floor. Beside her, a silly, over-eager man in a bad suit dances aggressively near her feet, flailing his arms, trying desperately to get her attention. She does not look at him. The phrase “at her foot was a foot-loose man” appears musically in the panel

Panel 3:Medium close-up on Roy's face. He blinks once. His eyes flick down toward where her hands would be, then back up. He shrugs one shoulder visibly and takes a sip of his drink. His expression reads 'this is fine, I work at the WereHouse.'

“Roy : WereHouse PTSD… that’s wine….”

Panel 4:Medium two-shot: Roy has crossed the dance floor and now stands before the Mysterious Beautiful Lamia. She has turned to face him fully — dark eyes level, a faint smile on her lips. Her blood-stained hands are visible between them but Roy's gaze is fixed on her face. The silly dancing man has deflated in the background, slinking away.

“Roy : Hi. I'm Roy. Mysterious Beautiful Lamia : I know.”

Panel 1:Montage panel — two split panels: first, Roy and the Mysterious Beautiful Lamia walk side by side through the city at night, their hands clasped together. A sign clearly says “Chelsea drugstore” in the background in neon. Her blood-stained fingers interlock with his clean ones. Roy is grinning. He has not looked at the hands. The city glows around them — neon signs, yellow cabs, the usual New York night. The second part of the split panel is them splitting a bright red soda with two straws that says “cherry red”

Narrator:“A whirlwind. A blur. The oldest story in the world.”

Panel 2:Medium shot: a carnival Ferris wheel turning slowly against the night sky. Roy and the Mysterious Beautiful Lamia sit in a gondola at the top — she leans into him slightly, her blood-stained hands folded in her lap, visible but ignored. Roy's arm is around her shoulder. He is looking at the skyline, smiling. The blood on her hands catches the Ferris wheel's colored lights.

Panel 3:Outside on the cathedral courtyard, Jennifurr is breaking down her DJ rig, back to the camera. She glances at her phone — the screen shows Roy's Instagram: a photo of him and the Mysterious Beautiful Lamia at the Ferris wheel, captioned 'good night :).' The Lamia's blood-stained hands are visible in the photo. Jennifurr's grip on her phone tightens. Her wrench hand tightens too.

Narrator:“Back on the job Roy abandoned…”

Panel 4:Close-up on Jennifurr's face — jaw set, eyes narrowed, expression shifting from annoyance to something sharper. She pockets the phone and grabs her wrench off the equipment table. She is already moving.

“Jennifurr: Those are not wine stains.”

Panel 1:Wide shot of a small apartment bedroom. The walls are normal — brick and plaster, framed art, a lamp. Roy and the Mysterious Beautiful Lamia are in the room. The Lamia sits on the edge of the bed, watching Roy. Roy is still grinning, jacket off. In the background, a faint dark stain is spreading slowly from the corner of the ceiling — a seeping bloom of blood, barely noticeable yet.

“Roy : So anyway, it was a WereHouse not a warehouse and the forklift got me high…. Mysterious Beautiful Lamia : Fascinating… you’re so interesting and smart Roy”

Narrator:“Lies! ”

Panel 2:Medium shot: the blood seep has spread significantly — dark red blooms across the wallpaper in thick rivulets, dripping down to the floor. The bedspread beneath the Lamia is darkening with it. Roy is still talking, gesturing with his hands, completely unaware. The Lamia watches him with an expression of patient, elegant hunger.

“Roy : The dealers were mermaids and then these Wendigos tried to eat me…. Mysterious Beautiful Lamia : You are different than other men!”

Narrator:“Deception! ”

Panel 3:The Lamia moves — fast. She is suddenly astride Roy on the bed, both blood-soaked hands locked around his throat. Her face is no longer elegant and restrained — her eyes are wide and dark and inhuman, her expression one of pure predatory focus. Roy's eyes go very wide. The walls are running with blood now.

Narrator:“Oh no! ”

Panel 4:Close-up on Roy's face — eyes bulging, face reddening, but his expression has shifted from panic to something else: recognition. His hand is already moving, scrabbling sideways across a cluttered shelf on the bedside table. On the shelf: fake theatrical money, a rubber dagger, a small bag labeled 'STAGE BLOOD,' and a spray bottle clearly labeled 'HOLY WATER – PROP' in bold text with a small theatrical-masks logo beneath it.

Panel 1:Roy's hand closes around the spray bottle labeled 'HOLY WATER – PROP.' He raises it toward the Lamia's face with both hands, still being choked, eyes determined.

“Roy : Hallelujah!”

Narrator:“Amen! ”

Panel 2:Roy sprays the Lamia full in the face. The liquid hits her — and then something happens that should not happen with prop water. It glows faintly white on contact. The Lamia SHRIEKS, recoiling backward off Roy, her hands releasing his throat. She is not dissolved but visibly burned — steam rising from where the liquid touched her skin, her face twisted in genuine pain and outrage. Roy collapses back onto the pillow, gasping. He stares at the bottle.

“Mysterious Beautiful Lamia : What — how —”

Panel 3:The apartment door EXPLODES inward off its hinges. Jennifurr fills the doorframe — overalls, grease-stained, wrench raised over her head, eyes locked on the Lamia. She takes in the scene in one second: blood everywhere, Lamia recoiling, Roy on the bed with a spray bottle. She does not hesitate.

Panel 4:Single brutal action panel: the wrench connects. The Lamia goes down. Blood spatters the already-soaked wall. Jennifurr's expression is completely flat — this is a task being completed.

Panel 5:Roy sits up on the bed, one hand at his throat, spray bottle still in his other hand. He looks at Jennifurr. His expression is miffed but there is something else under it — quiet and warm.

“Roy : I had it under control. Jennifurr: Sure you did.”

Panel 1:Wide shot of the apartment bedroom — the Lamia is down and still. Roy and Jennifurr are cleaning in silence. Roy has a mop. Jennifurr is wiping the wall with a rag. The room is still saturated in blood. They are working in practiced parallel, not looking at each other. It is very quiet.

Narrator:“They cleaned in silence. The WereHouse teaches you that.”

Panel 2:Close-up on the floor — a wide, dark puddle of blood between them. Two hands reach into the puddle from opposite sides, both reaching for the same rag. They meet in the blood — Roy's hand and Jennifurr's hand, fingers touching. Both hands freeze.

Panel 3:Two-shot: Roy and Jennifurr both looking down at their joined hands in the puddle. Both of their faces are flushed red — visible even against the blood-soaked ambient light. Neither moves. Neither speaks. Both are very pointedly not making eye contact with each other.

Panel 4:Wide shot — they have both pulled their hands back and are standing, returning to cleaning as if nothing happened. Their body language is stiff and overly deliberate. The gap between them is very visible.

Panel 1:Establishing shot of the Howling Pint interior — warm, loud, alive. The whole crew is at the bar: Evil Forklift in the window, his forks and face sliding into his custom window, green eyes at half-mast, a glowing green joint smoldering in his forks. Gary floats on a barstool, clipboard under his arm. Axel sits with a drink, arms crossed. Cadillac leans back on his stool, toothpick in place. Frank is already on what is clearly his fourth drink, massive hand wrapped around a pint glass. Mil the Bartender glows purple behind the bar. Gremlin scrambles in the background, bussing tables. Roy and Jennifurr push through the front door together, walking in side by side.

Narrator:“The crew gathers back at the bar! ”

Panel 2:Close-up on Axel's face — they have spotted Roy and Jennifurr arriving together. One eyebrow is raised. Their mouth is forming the beginning of an observation, smug and knowing.

“Axel: Did you two- actually-come in together?”

Narrator:“Correct! ”

Panel 3:Evil Forklift's large green eyes swing toward Axel. His exhaust pipe puffs a single contemptuous ring of green smoke in Axel's direction.

“Evil Forklift : Relax, virgin.”

Panel 4:Roy sits at the bar, drink in front of him, looking tired and embarrassed. He gives a reluctant summary to the crew — both hands raised slightly, a pained expression, the look of a man who knows he has to explain something deeply stupid he did. The whole panel is him sweating profusely while he explains and dithers. He is honest but embarrassed

“Roy : There was a woman. She had blood on her hands. I thought it was WereHouse PTSD. She tried to kill me. Jennifurr handled it.”

Panel 5:Mil the Bartender looks up from behind the bar, purple glow steady and calm. She is already telekinetically lining up shot glasses in a row without looking at them. Her expression is flat and entirely unsurprised.

“Mil the Bartender : Classic Roy.”

Panel 6:Wide bar shot: the whole crew raises their shot glasses — Roy, Jennifurr, Axel, Cadillac, Frank, Gary (his glass phasing slightly through his ghostly fingers but held up proudly), and Evil Forklift with a shot glass balanced on his forks. They are all laughing. In the background, Gremlin pauses his bussing for exactly one second, bracing visibly.

“Cadillac : A rolling Roy gathers no moss! Frank: Drink up.”

Narrator:“Cheers! ”

Panel 1:Wide exterior shot: Roy and Jennifurr walk side by side down a quiet city street under moonlight. The street is empty except for them. They walk with a visible gap between them — close enough to be together, far enough to maintain deniability. Both look straight ahead. The moonlight falls across them in a wide silver stripe.

Narrator:“Last call. Moonlight. The long walk home.”

Panel 2:Medium two-shot from behind: Roy and Jennifurr walking, the gap between them visible. Roy's hands are in his pockets. Jennifurr's wrench is tucked in her back pocket. The city stretches ahead of them.

“Roy : How did you know to show up?”

Panel 3:Profile shot of Jennifurr — she keeps walking, eyes forward, jaw set. Her expression is carefully neutral, but one corner of her mouth is doing something it is trying not to do.

“Jennifurr: Couldn't lose a mildly competent coworker. Don't make it weird.”

Panel 4:Profile shot of Roy — he is looking at her with a small, honest smile. Not a smirk. Something quieter than that. He looks forward again after a beat.

“Roy : It already is.”

Panel 5:Final panel — wide establishing shot from above: Roy and Jennifurr walking down the long empty moonlit street, side by side, the gap between them unchanged but somehow different. The city is quiet. The moon is full and bright. They are two small figures in a very large world, walking in the same direction.

Narrator:“You can't always get what you want… but sometimes the bloodstained truth is exactly what you need.”