James Brighton Society, Chapter 1: Pages 3-4

Page 3, 6 Panels- "The Cloak Room," Washington D.C. Panel 1: Cut to a shot from the perspective of the bar moments later, showing the immortal Irishman at the moment he arrives at the bar. A group of people seen in their own conversations in the background, ignoring the young looking man for the most part. He has a wide smile on his face as he sits down on the stool, laying the notebook on the counter and his bag on the stool next to him. GREM [Cont., caption]: ...especially on nights like these. GREM [to Dorian, impressed]: The old place is jumpin' tonight, Dorian! Panel 2: Cut to a shot of Dorian behind the bar standing in front of Grem while he sits down. The 6-foot tall Mecha co-owner of the pub with an affable, charming disposition; he's also one of a minority of his kind who retain their strictly non-human, metallic skeletal structure. He's holding a used beer glass in his left hand, cleaning it with his right. DORIAN [chuckles, to Grem]: Yeah. A pack of Air Force SkyBoys are here from the Pacific theater for Christmas. You know how they can get once they're knackered. Panel 3: Back to Grem at his seat a short time later. The notebook now fully opened to the bookmarked area; the scribbles barely visible in terms of the panel view. His right hand gripping the pencil he's using squarely at the middle of it, not really touching the paper of the notebook as he speaks. GREM [grinning]: Oh yeah! Last week, I helped out a pack of former SkyBoys in Walter Reed who were based in Italy. They'd tell stories from the field about the combat they saw and barroom brawls they were in while I tweak their steel prosthetics. Not as big as some of my own stuff, mind you, but...still pretty impressive. Panel 4: Same setting/layout as the previous panel. He even leans his head slightly toward his old bartender chum. His shoulders resting one on top of the wooden counter, while the other presses down slightly on the paper of the notebook. The pencil still gripped between the middle and forefingers of his hand. GREM [Cont., slight chuckle]: One of 'em even showed me a variation of a hip strike I'd very much love to try one day, especially with the Loki strapped to the sole of my shoe. Panel 5-6: A two-part set of panels centered back on the bartender Dorian. In Panel 5, he slightly nods in the direction of his friend, placing the now cleaned glass down underneath the bar with its brethren. His metal body bent awkwardly in the proper position to do so. In the next panel, we see the Mecha stand back up, looking with his quartz red eyes to take Grem's order. DORIAN [jokingly, Panel 5]: If you do end up testing the damn thing, Gremlin, do it outside. Teri just had the floors scrubbed this morning. GREM [Off-Panel, Panel 5]: Will do, my friend! DORIAN [Cont., serious; Panel 6]: Okay. So...usual Guinness? Page 4, 6 Panels- The Cloak Room, Washington D.C. Panel 1: Same setting/layout as the middle part of the previous page. Grem gives a simple nod to the bartender he’d known for as long as he’d been in D.C. You can see the right shoulder start to lift up slightly from the notebook. His body, at this point, has reached a nice level of relaxation on the stool as the background behind him moves along at their own pace. GREM [with a grin, to Dorian]: You know me well, mate! DORIAN [chuckles, Off-Panel]: I’ll bring it to ya in a jiff, Gremlin… Panel 2-4: A three-part set of panels centered on the same setting and layout that we saw in the previous panel. With each one, we see the resourceful Grem writing into the notebook with a steady pace. His eyes and mind firmly pressed to work. His arms are now firmly off the book and, in the case of his left one, placed on the counter next to the book. As this all goes on, you can hear the sound of commotion going on toward the right of the panel view. Something that isn’t really discernible to either Mr. Allen or the reader till we reach Panel 4. DRUNKARD [Off-Panel right, Panel 4]: Huh—Hey, I know you… Panel 5: Cut to a shot of the Drunkard, seated a few seats away from our protagonist. He’s in his late 30s, dressed in the uniform of a factory worker that is considerably dirty with sweat and black schmutz. In his right hand is gripped a glass of Budweiser that splashes somewhat out as he speaks. In terms of his overall mood, it’s hard to determine whether he’s glad to see Grem or angered. DRUNKARD [Cont., leaning toward Grem]: You’re Gremal-len. You hellped driveout those…bat things outta my house. Panel 6: Back to a side-shot of Grem looking over at the drunk man. His brain still trying to discern the level of potential danger he’s posing to him. All the while, he keeps a level of body language so as not to accidentally escalate the situation too badly. In the background behind him, you can see the eyes of one of some of the other patrons at the bar looking on with the same level of curiosity over what’ll happen next. GREM [feigning as if he knows]: Oh—Oh yeah, I remember! The Camazotz...creepy little bastards! If you want, I can leave my number for any friend of yours who might—