(The following is a transcript of an interview by Bobby DaWink<BD> who sat down with the talented documentary film maker Maz O'Nalli to discuss some past projects and what is on the horizon.)

BD: Maz O'Nalli! It is a pleasure to finally meet you.

Maz: Its good to be here, Bob.

BD: I am going over your impressive resume of films here, several which have become cult favorites. Allow me to just list of some of them here.

Medieval Tavern:Theres a hole in the floor(And its dark down there.), Madman & his Golden Fork:A boy and his Cutlery, Whores in the Attic:A love story.

And my personal favorite... Pimping the Nexus. Not only did I learn alot about the nexus but also picked up some useful tips on how to use it, like storing things in it and using it to keep my beer cold.

Maz: Great for cookouts, Bob.

BD: ::laughs:: Yes, yes. I understand that this film was lauded in the assassin community, in fact, you were made an honorary assassin. Is that true?

Maz: That is a fact, Bob.

BD: Why?

Maz: Well you know that rule? The first rule of assassination? I found a "loophole" in that rule by way of pimping the nexus.

BD: By first rule you are speaking of the saying, "First rule of assassination, kill the assassin." And you found a "loophole" which destroys the rule?

Maz: Thats right Bob. They love me now.

BD: Tell me, have you taken advantage of honorary title yet?

Maz: Shot a man in the toe, Bob. With a quiver.

BD: A quiver?

Maz: A very messy and painful way to go, Bob. Loud too. Apparently not very assassin worthy. My career in killing was over before it began, so I went back to focusing on what I do best, making documentaries.

BD: ::Blank stare:: Yes, lets move on then. Can you tell me about anything that you are working on now?

Maz: Sure, Bob. The working title is...

BD: I'm sorry. Working title?

Maz: What we call the project while it is in production, Bob.

BD: Yes, of course. Please do continue.

Maz: Yes. The working title is called Out of Milk:Chaos in the Realm. The main focus is on a woman named Tara, who is quite fascinating really, and we will be following her around and such. Still working out the details but the meat and potatoes, the real guts of the project, will be documenting her efforts to take over the universe, or the realm...something like that. Like I said, still a bit sketchy on the details.

BD: Interesting. I want to see it already! What about the stories within the story?

Maz: Well I think there might be a love triangle, murder, corruption, dysfunctional family type stuff, oh and I think she is getting married again. Which usually turns out bad for the husband from what I understand.

BD: How so?

Maz: I hear they have a way of dying. If nothing else, should make for some good film.

BD: Aren't you afraind of her?

Maz: Not really. I mean sure, she may be borderline crazy and difficult to work with at times. Bossy. Demanding. Rumor even has it she may have killed one of my interns because he allowed the yellow M&M's touch the green ones. Not sure if that is true, but there is an intern missing. However, that being said, she is hard not to like and the camera loves her.

BD: Let me ask you about that camera set up over there. Is this room to become some kind of confessional room when we are done here? A place for people to come in and talk to the camera?

Maz: Thats correct, Bob. A place where anybody can drop by, like myself or the people in the film, people that want to be in the film...anybody really. A place to talk to the camera about who you are, what you know, what you have heard, etc. Anything to help this project become the best documentary that it can be.

BD: Mr. Maz, I thank you for your time.

Maz: Thank you, Bob.

End transcript.

(Another function of the confessional room will be to document the staff meetings. The setup is a wide camera shot from the back of the room with Maz at the podium facing the staff. Think Hill Street Blues, the briefings they always did at the beginning of the show.)

Maz enters in that same casual fashion, as always the demeanor is laid back and easy. A cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

"Alright people, a few things to get out of the way before we get to any questions or concerns you might have." Dropping the notebook to podium and flipping through it. "Our starting point for this project is going to be the wedding, which works out nicely. It will be something we can use to get our feet wet so that when the heavy stuff comes about we will be at the top of our game. Remember, the wedding is just the beginning, our main goal is to document some type of world domination. Keep your eyes on the prize people!"

"Any questions on that subject?" Staring out over the room behind a cigarette. "No? Good. Lets continue. It turns out that Tara's cousin, Victoria, has commissioned a dress for the wedding that is supposed to be blue and sparkly. LaTisha, I want you on this one. Lets make sure she doesn't show up looking like some blue disco ball. I want you to talk to her assistant and make sure we are getting the best dress makers on this. Actually just get with all the ladies that are supposed to be in the wedding and make sure they get what they need when it comes to the dresses. Oh and, get a tutor for Amthy, lets make sure she gets those grades up so she can go to prom."

"Ok. Last issue and then I will open up the floor for any questions. Jeff." Looking out over the room for the intern. "Jeff, where you at? Stand up."

The intern stands slowly, looking very scared.

"Jeff, your life is in danger, so since I don't want to see you dead and couple that with the fact I really can't lose any more interns, I'm taking you out of the confession room and putting you in charge of dishwashing. That way Tara will probably never see you, and you will be able to live. Just in case though, get a hair cut and dye it some color so you can blend."

"Questions?" Finally having a moment to drink the coffee.

"I have a question, boss." That was Poncho, he is one of the cameramen. "Do you know if we have any footage of Tara feeling that Amthy chick up? I think I speak for everyone when I say that is something I would like to see."

"That is a negative, Ponch." Maz was already lighting up another ciagarette, quite the chain smoker. "Already looked into it and we got nothing. Good question though. Anyone else?"

"Where you going to be setting up shop?" That was Smitty, Maz' personal driver.

"I will be setting up the trailer on the lawn of the clubhouse. Got a double-wide, fully decked out. Sure is nice having a budget." Closing the notebook, Maz steps away from the podium and towards the door. "Ok, lets get to work people and make this happen."

“Talk,” the ogre grunted, as he pushed Grem into the confession room. Anyone who might have stopped ordinary folks from barging in had apparently thought twice upon seeing the size of the thug.

“What? Hey, get your hands off of me! What are you doing?” Grem was not happy as he was shoved bodily into the chair. “What the hell is this? Why is there a camera here?”

The ogre pointed one sausage-like finger at the camera. “Talk.”

“Talk? Oh, that’s great. Just great. Thanks. That tells me everything. Er. Talk…about what?”

The finger jabbed at his chest, before pointing at the camera again. “Talk."

“Alright, alright.” Mismatched eyes moved to the camera. “Mom? Dad? They…they haven’t hurt me. Just do what they want. Give them whatever they ask for. They’ll let me come home, then, they’ll--” He was cut off by being jabbed again. “Christ, man, what do you want?”

“Talk. Tara talk.”

“Oooooh. You want me to talk about Tara?” The ogre grunted, nodded, and stepped back. “Right. About Tara.” Eyes back to the camera. “What can one say about Tara? She’s short. And feisty. Bit of a Napoleon complex, if you ask me. All, ‘do as I say’ this, ‘don’t you dare run away from me’ that, ‘you’ll put your hands wherever I tell you to and like it’ to the other... It can be a little intimidating, at first. It takes a little time to get terrifying, but maybe that’s just me.”

He glances up to the ogre, who was stepping forward, and lifted his hands, smiling. “I kid, I kid.”
Eyes back to the camera. “Right, so. Tara’s a little nutty. Which is a lot like saying coal is a little dark. But I like her fine, most of the time. Can’t say I agree with all of her choices in life, or the some of people she’s decided to, ah, associate with, but I guess that’s not really any of my business. I mean, sure, the Count gives me the screaming meemees and the heeby jeebies, but who am I to say anything about that, right?” He looked over as the ogre grunted.

“Anyway, I’m supposed to be talking about Tara.” He watched the ogre as he spoke. “Well, near as I can tell, that’s what I’m supposed to do. Um. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say about her, and this guy isn’t much help. And now he’s glaring at me. I’m not sure he’s going to let me leave before I say whatever it is that he wants me to say.” Another pause, looking down, before he looked back to the camera. “Mom? Dad? Send help. They haven’t hurt me yet, but I think they’re going to. Call the police, hire mercenaries, whatever it takes. Do something! I think they might--” He was cut off, grinning, as the ogre grabbed him and yanked him out of the chair.

“So, who are you, anyway?” He tried taking a cue, and nearly broke his own finger poking at the ogre’s chest.

The ogre let him go, thumped his own chest, and proclaimed, “Talk.”

Grem stared at him. “Your name…is ‘Talk.’”

With a grin, the ogre vigorously nodded. “I Talk.”

Mismatched eyes closed as he pressed fingers to either side of the bridge of his nose. “You Talk. So, Talk, why did you want me to talk about Tara?”

The ogre blinked stupidly. “Tara Talk?”

A sigh. “Yes, Talk. Tara Talk. You told me…” Shaking his head, Grem smiled faintly. “Never mind. Hey, why don’t you have a seat?” He ushered the behemoth into the chair. “See that pretty blinking red light? No! No, don’t go get it, just sit here and look at it. It’s nice, isn’t it? Now, just look at the nice pretty blinking red light, and tell it everything you know about Tara. Can you do that, Talk?” He patted a shoulder roughly the size of a beach ball.

Another happy grin from the ogre. “Talk talk Tara talk!”

“Good, Talk. You…talk Tara talk.” Nodding, amused, Grem backed away. “Just tell the pretty red light everything you know about Tara.” With that, he turned and hurriedly walked off.

Talk looked into the camera, and talked. And talked. And talked. It seems that Talk has known no less than eight Tara’s in his life, and was able to speak about three of them at great length. Interestingly, Talk seemed to think that all of the Tara’s he had known were the same person, just with different “costumes” and “masks.” Perhaps even more interestingly, none of the Tara’s that Talk knew of seemed to be Tara Rynieyn, so what he was doing involved with the documentary was anyone's guess.

When you say words a lot they don't mean anything. Or maybe they don't mean anything anyway, and we just think they do.
- Delirium, in Brief Lives, by Neil Gaiman.


Viki originally thought she'd had everything planned out. Her dress was commissioned, she'd gone for the fitting, but now some intern named LaTisha wanted her to return to the same dressmaker for "tweaking." Just what was an intern and what in the nine hells was tweaking?

Viki stood in the center of the dressmaker's studio, balancing on a stool, modeling the design for LaTisha. She tried to be pleasant, but she really had no desire to be there. After all, she'd had an incident with a mirror the last time she was here.

"Okay. Wow girlfriend! Now I want you hear tomorrow, the same time, for hair, makeup, and shoes." The intern ordered.

Viki gave her a look, but sighed. At least this part was over.

Then the camera crew barged in.

"Okay now we just need ya'll to set up here. We'll do some introductions here, but I need you back in the confession room at some point today." The team buzzed around Victoria, fluffing her curls and wiping the paint from her lips because...

"It just looks ridiculous on a girl your age!" LaTisha exclaimed.

"Okay, babydoll, just talk to the camera. Just act natural and tell us all about your adorable self!" She waved her hands dramatically through the air as she spoke. She was worse than Arden.

"Uhm, hi." Viki eyed the camera suspiciously. She still wasn't sure of its purpose, but knew it functioned like the memory orbs of old.

"No, no 'uhm.' Just say your name!"

"My name is Victoria Alexandra Chylde. I have a bunch of other names because I've been adopted an' stuff so many times."

"Okay now talk about you and Tara?"

"My cousin Tara?"

"That's the one!" LaTisha emphasized the need for speed with a bob of her head.

"Oh. Well, she's my cousin." Viki smiled big. This was easy.

"No! No! No!" LaTisha threw up her hands. "Talk about how you met Tara. Talk about Tara now."

"Oh. Well I met Tara because we are cousins. I mean, uhhh," Viki gulped, "She married into the LeVey family - I think that was marriage number seventeen - and I was a LeVey because I'd been adopted by Phydoux LeVey."

"Okay good!"

Encouraged, Viki picked up the pace, "And we live together now. I mean, we used to, in Lanrette - that was where we used to live." She nodded, reassuring her audience.

"Wonderful!" LaTisha clapped, urging her on.

"So I moved here with her, moved here tae Rhy'Din. I live in the clubhouse, but maybe, not for long." Viki blushed. The intern ordered the camera to "zoom."

"Why not sweetheart?"

"Well, I'm in love!" Victoria was gushing, but stopped suddenly, "And he lives in a castle so mebbe I'll live there, but Tara dun like him, and she pro'lly won't like that very much."

"Who?'

"David Dupres. He's like, the right hand of Count Talomar, Tara's fiance, and not the leader of aardvarks, so if Tara tells you that he is, you shouldn't listen!"

LaTisha grinned at her crew. There'd been a development, and she seemed excited to report back to the filmmaker.

"Can I go home now? Because the sparkles are a little itchy!"

Koy sorted through racks of clothing, the issue of which pieces to pull for display made all the more difficult by her pounding headache. Somewhere between multiple rounds of Badsider Brew she had landed herself a new job that required even more of her limited time. Koy wondered if she should kiss the Orc or curse him the next time their paths crossed for creating such a doozy of a drink.

She wanted to present her creative versatility and validate Maz?s decision to bring her on the payroll. She also hoped the clothing would serve as alluring bait for whoever it was Maz wanted her to dress; unfortunately, she was still fuzzy on the details. Had she known her night would take a turn towards business she would have started drinking after they came to an agreement.

?Ye got those mannequins ready, Tula?? Koy called out to her teenage assistant standing in The Heavenly Boutique?s main showroom.

?Nope. I think you should go for the dismembered look instead...you know, really show off the accessories. It?s so much easier to pay attention to a pair of gloves when you only have to look at an arm and not a whole body.?

When Koy rushed out to see if plastic body parts still littered the mahogany floor, Tula rolled her eyes at her boss. ?Contrary to popular belief, when you tell me something twenty times, I understand that it needs to get done.? Most employers would have fired Tula for her sarcasm but Koy appreciated the girl?s honesty. It kept her in check.

But Koy was also too wound up today to tolerate such comments and she gave the girl a scathing look. Koy had worked with only a handful of movie actresses in the span of her career and never for anything involving what made it on the screen. Living in Rhydin gave Koy her first introduction to the genre and she still only vaguely understood how movies were made. Tula appeared to have her own vision of a film set.

?And wha? in the Void do ye call tha get-up? I know yer not gettin? wealthy from this job but I don?t think yer mama would ?ppreciate tha the pay is so bad ye gotta pick up a second job in the local brothel.? Koy stared in disbelief at what the girl had done to herself. The lanky blond had caked on the make-up, her foundation so thick that Koy imagined she could sink her pinky all the way into it. Tula?s ?Randy Harlots? Red? lipstick made her look more like a clown rented for an eight-year-old?s birthday party than the vixen she pretended to be in her itty-bitty shorts and cut-off top.

?Cynthia Craybell, who happens to be an entire grade younger than me, got discovered while she was buying groceries for her family. And she?s not even that glamorous, especially not while she?s picking out produce! Now here I am, going to a real movie set with real movie types and I?m going to make sure someone sees me.?

Koy laughed. ?Oh they?ll see ye all right, they?ll see ye from three blocks ?way with all tha gunk on yer face. Now seein? as how ye represent me and mine, go wash yer face and put on an outfit tha manages ta leave somethin? ta the imagination.?

Shooting the girl another caustic look to prevent any grumbling, Koy returned to the back room without another word, leaving Tula no choice but to find something suitable to wear.

*****

Three hours and five outfit changes later, Koy, Tula, and one of Maz?s interns stood inside the Clubhouse catching their breaths. They had spent the last hour and a half lugging all of the mannequins, garment bags, shoe boxes and additional props up into the Clubhouse.

The intern had introduced himself as Petey when he arrived at Koy?s shop to scout the location for the director of photography. Petey enlisted himself to the service of schlepping fake bodies when he made the mistake of asking Koy and Tula if they needed any help.

On the walk over, Koy attempted to garner information about the film?s subjects. Despite all her prodding, Petey was pretty tight-lipped about the whole situation, only mentioning that Tara and the people in her life were the main focus and that a wedding was in the works. The way Petey glanced around when he revealed even that much unnerved Koy. He looked as though he expected the very trees that surrounded them to come alive and string him up at any moment.

However, Petey was perfectly content to regale an awestruck Tula with the trials and tribulations of life as a production intern.

?Tell me the part again about how you single-handedly get everyone motivated to start the day,? Tula swooned.

Petey puffed up his chest, holding his head high. ?The first thing you learn about production is that no one functions without coffee. I make sure everyone gets their coffee made just the way they like it. When I first got here some people even drew me diagrams of how they liked their coffee but now I got it all in here.? He tapped his forefinger against his temple. Tula almost fainted.

?Hey grunt!? The production coordinator?s shrill voice cut through Petey?s posture, bringing him to the slouched state he had been in before Tula offered him a captive audience. ?The crafty box reeks to high heaven. There?s some new kinda mold growing in it that I need you to clean out.?

Petey paused for a moment too long. ?What part of that didn?t you get? You?re not here to scratch your ass all day. Get moving!?

With an apologetic smile, Petey rushed off.

?He doesn?t get paid. Iffn yer gonna fawn over someone, at least pick someone important,? Koy whispered to a dismayed Tula before nudging her towards the confession room.

*****

As if painting the mannequins? nails and getting every detail just right didn?t take long enough, constantly having crew members move them out of the way as they tweaked the lights made it that much harder to get anything done.

Koy?s mother had taught her that presentation was everything, regardless of the task. While she did leave a small clothing rack filled with free samples from the Boutique, Koy tried to drive the point home with her display of mannequins.

Koy put everything to the right of the backdrop for interviews, making sure to keep the mannequins out of the camera?s line of sight. There were six separate set-ups, each with its own neatly labeled placard. While Koy had designed the clothing for all of the female mannequins, their male counterparts wore basic outfits. Koy was not as adept at making men?s clothing so she had borrowed outfits from her favorite haberdasher, Gerard. He would not part with anything expensive but Koy thought it made her designs stand out that much more.

A sign above the display read The Heavenly Boutique Presents Love?s Trail: The Collection. The first four set-ups went one after the other, the mannequins all facing out as though they were waiting to watch the next interviewee:

Courtship
A fair-skinned mannequin wearing a chartreuse-green dress with a ruched bust, the gown's moir? finish gives the silk fabric a wavy pattern. A small cluster of purple silk flowers are attached to one of the spaghetti straps holding up the dress. The hemline of the satin trimmed skirt stops right above the mannequin?s knee. A silk and bamboo fan depicting cherry blossoms on a jade-colored sky obscures all of the mannequin?s face except for her brown eyes. Although angling her body away from her plastic male suitor, she watches him coyly from behind her fan.

Engagement
What beats having the man of your dreams propose to you? Looking glamorous when he does so. At least that?s the message the slinky midnight blue gown meant to convey with its crocheted bodice and open back. The raven-haired mannequin?s painted facial expression appears pleased but not surprised to see her synthetic beau down on one knee. The ring he holds is definitely sparkly but far from real (Koy wasn?t that trusting).

Marriage
The groom pales in comparison to his olive-skinned bride. A simple and elegant cut allows its hand-woven porcelain lace to stand out as the most prominent feature of the wedding gown. Embroidered ivory satin pumps peek out from underneath the ankle-length dress. The bride holds a nosegay bouquet made up of gerberas, freesia, roses and lilies in various shades of pink.

Honeymoon
Any innocence the bride captured is completely lost in the next display showcasing her wedding night. Made from dark red georgette, the pleated babydoll top with matching panties shows glimpses of a plastic ebony stomach. Small diamonds are embedded along the T-strap of her four-inch metallic stilettos (the diamonds happened to be real only because Koy couldn?t pry them out). An eager husband in boxer briefs sits on the makeshift bed?s edge, watching.

The final two displays in the collection faced the same direction of the interviewee, branching off from Honeymoon into two distinct options:

Motherhood
The chocolate brown dress wraps around the mannequin?s fake baby bump, giving her expanding stomach a more flattering and less bloated whale look. Her suede ballerina slippers match the aqua trim on the dress. For her own amusement, Koy adjusted the male?s clothing to show off the sympathy pounds she imagined he would gain during her model?s pregnancy. He stands with his arms around his wife, his hands clasped over her stomach.

Revenge
On the opposite end of the love spectrum, an auburn-haired model stands with one spiked five-inch heel on the cheek of her prostrate ex-husband, their wedding bands shattered on the floor around them. The hem of her open white cashmere coat with a high collar lands just below her knees while her beaded black mini-dress barely makes it past the middle of her thighs. With her own pessimistic views on marriage, Koy loved this exhibit the most.


Finally finished for the day, Koy left a stack of engraved business cards with the Boutique?s address. Now that she was off the clock, it was time to get a drink and start the whole vicious cycle again.

SsshkSssshk, the towel clad nymph-y pix stopped brushing her teeth for a moment to eyeball the clothing displays. Granted, she looked a little rabid with toothpaste foam ringing her mouth, and a few men trailing behind her like they were filming a nature show on the Serengeti.

"'ut's 'is?" She asked around the bristles of her toothbrush. Glancing over shoulder to the men tailing her, she huffed. "ah," she pulled the brush from her mouth. "I. know. you're. there." One arm folded to pin the towel in place over her bosom. "'alk t'meh."

One of her shadows cleared his throat, "ah, we aren't supposed to--."

She waved her hand, and likewise her toothbrush, vigorously, sending a spray of toothpaste foam (and to a lesser degree, spit) to rain upon the man. "'ine then." Pop! the brush went back in her mouth and she turned her attention back to the display.

One dress in particular caught her attention, the courtship display. She wasn't particularly taken with the engagement display (She'd never really been partial to jeans), and she knew better than to let her eye linger too long on the wedding dress or the outfits that followed after.

Crooning (and nearly choking), she went about the task of denuding the model of dress and fan. It took effort, and all of that effort was recorded on tape--along with her towel slipping once or twice. Nothing too racey, just a tempting tease of accidental flash-age. The chartreuse gown tossed over her shoulder and the fan folded with a flick of her wrist, the nymph toddled off to change.

(In Maz?s early days in the realm he did short documentaries and investigative pieces where it would just be him and a camera following while he tried to find the answer to things people wanted to know. This little nugget from the Maz Library was left running in the confession room.)

On the sidewalk right outside the Red Dragon Inn.

Maz: Alright, so we are here on the streets of Rhydin, a quaint little town where people go to die. Just to my right you can see the famous Red Dragon Inn, everyone?s favorite watering hole and a place people go to die. We are here to find out the mystery of the mun. What is a mun exactly? I have heard the word used on several occasions but have never really been able to find out exactly what it is or what it means. By the time we finish this little project hopefully we will have some idea of what?s going on here and you will be able to sleep better at night. ::Moves up the stairs of inn, stopping in the doorway and looking back to the camera.::

After asking around we did find someone that claims they know what a mun is and he agreed to talk to us about it. Let?s go hear what this guy has to say shall we. ::Stepping through the door he disappears into the inn and the camera follows.::

Interior. Red Dragon Inn. Maz is at the bar enjoying two or three ales.
Narrator: (voiceover) We arrived early so I took the opportunity to have a few ales and converse with the patrons while we waited. I asked them if they knew what a mun was but most just looked at me oddly. A couple of people did say they knew the word but it turned out to be a false alarm. One of them thought I was talking about their mother and the other started giving facts about the moon and its effect on the tides.

Needles to say I was happy when it was time for the meeting and I took my fourth ale with me up to room where the meeting was taking place. I had not eaten all day and I was already feeling the alcohol.

Interior. Room #8 of the Red Dragon Inn. The camera was pointing at a man who was sitting in a chair but facing away from the lens.

Maz: (Off Camera) The only way our friend here agreed to this meeting was if we didn?t show his face or give his name, so as you can see we just turned him around and we will call him Bob. Bob is an easy name and great for interviews.

Don?t you think Bob?

Bob: ? ? ?

Maz: (OC) What? I can?t hear you Bob.

Bob: ? ? ?

Maz: (OC) Okay, this is not going to work. ::Gets up and steps in front of the camera, motioning to lower it while he works on a solution. There is some commotion in the background but nothing that can be made out. About a minute passes and when the camera finds Bob again he is facing the camera and wearing a light shade that covers the top half of his face.::

There. That is better don?t you think Bob?

Bob: I feel like an idiot.

Maz: (OC) You look like one too, Bob.

Bob: What?

Maz: (OC) Nothing, nothing. Let us get down to why we are here, Bob. You claim to know what a mun is, care to enlighten us?

Bob: Of course I know what a mun is and after I tell you what I am about to tell you, you will never look at the world the same again.

Maz: (OC) Sure thing Bob, whatever you say. How about you drop some of that knowledge on us then.

Bob: Well you see the thing is man, I?m not real, you are not real, none of us are real man! We are all the figments of our mun?s imagination. They created us man! They are our creators.

Maz: (OC) You mean like God?

Bob: No man! You see, none of this is real, none of it. Our mun?s created us and everything that you see, say, and hear is being typed by a mun right now. This whole place was created by a bunch of them man! They sit at keyboards and type and therefore you exist. Everything I just said was not really said by me but typed by my mun.

Maz: (OC) ::chuckling:: You look funny with that lamp shade on your head.

Bob: Are you listening to me man? We don?t exist. We are conjured man.

Maz: (OC) Conjured, right. So this conversation I am having with you is not really happening here, this is all just typed words on a screen put there by our muns?

Bob: Yes man! Yes!

Maz: (OC) Gotcha. Bob would you happened to have any food up here, maybe some bread or a snack of any kind?

Bob: Listen! I can prove it. There is a woman that lives just a few blocks from here. Her name is Dana and she has a password that will gain you entrance into a place that will have all the answers and proof that you need.

Maz: (OC) What place?

Bob: It is here in the Inn. Room 101. The only way for you to unlock the door is to get the password from Dana man. One thing you must know about Dana before you meet her is that she is a copy of her mun.

Maz: (OC) Dana. Got it. You are an interesting fellow Bob and I do appreciate the time.

Fade to black.

Narrator: (Voiceover) Before heading over to Dana?s place I stopped back at the bar and had four more pints of ale, while I sat there I thought about what Bob has said. It was interesting theory to say the least but a little out there. What I thought mostly about was being the copy of the mun thing and trying to come up with a good name for it. I didn?t get far and by time I was finished with the ale and was heading out I had only come up with Mun-opy and Mun-ya. I blame the alcohol, which I was really feeling at this point.

Fade in. Outside. Standing in front of Dana?s apartment ready to knock.

Maz: Ok. So here we are at Dana?s apartment, a woman who claims to be a copy of a mun, or a mun-opy, to get a password that will gain me access to the knowledge that none of us exist. Should be interesting. ::Turns and knocks on the door.::

Interior. Maz and Dana are sitting inside her apartment on a couch so they are both in the shot.

Maz: Here were are with Dana, a copy of a mun. Let?s get right to the point Dana, what exactly does that mean?

Dana: That means I me, Maz. My mun plays me as her, I am her and she is me. I am her on here. I am exactly as she is there but here. She created me as her here. That is how I know she exists and I don?t, because I know that she knows I don?t really exist because I know she is typing me right now. She is me and I am her, though I am not really her because I don?t exist and neither does this place. Neither do you for that matter.

Narrator: (Voiceover) I wasn?t even listen to her at this point, she was just going on and on as you can see I was just staring at her mouth and nodding occasionally so she would think I was interested in what she was saying. Fact of the matter is I was pretty drunk and the beer goggles were getting thick. I needed a break. Finally she stopped talking and I took that as my queue.

Maz: Well that is very interesting, Dana. Tell me, does you mun like me?

Dana: No. I mean, not like that. She is married.

Maz: Is there a copy of her husband?s mun here as well?

Dana: No.

Maz: Really? So that means you never get to have?sex?

Dana: Of course I do silly. My mun says its not cheating if she is typing it.

Maz: ::Turns to the camera with a big grin and gives a thumbs up.::

Fade to black.

Fade in. Twenty minutes later give or take. Interior. Red Dragon Inn hallway standing in front of Room 101.

Maz: (whispering) So here we are at the mysterious Room 101. Supposedly behind this door is the proof of our non-existence. I got the password from Dana and I guess now all I have to do is say it. ::Leans in closer to the lens.:: I must admit, I am a little nervous and excited. My heart is beating pretty fast. Ok, lets do this. ::Leans back towards the door and speaks.::

The password is: Combo Plate

The door slowly creaks open and Maz steps in, the camera following.
****

Suddenly the tape in the confession room stops playing...