David at The Smoking Lounge Color

DAVID IN THE SMOKING LOUNGE
Written by
Jake Frisicaro
Characters and setting

From
Delta Green Impossible Landscapes
INT THE NIGHT FLOORS
An Edwardian era hallway stretches' on into infinite

darkness, we pan from left to right down the hall as a
showcase of the futility of believing it’ll end.
A man stumbles down the hallway clad in a slightly raggedy

blue uniform with the name “Charter Communications” splashed
across the back and right breast pocket of his shirt. His
dark brown hair is filthy as he constantly moves it out of
his eyes, a massive beard floats down to chest-length.
His name is DAVID LANGFORD, 42, and he has been trapped in

this strange labyrinth for what has felt like years.
LANGFORD
(Barely Audible)
S-Someone... Anyone... Help me....
Langford stumbles further down the never ending hallway, he

places a hand on the fine yellow wallpaper, leaving a greasy
handprint over it.
CUT TO:
LANGFORD’S POV
We see from Langford’s eyes as he continues down the hallway,

or at least try, as his vision constantly fades. This keeps
up for a total of ten seconds, before-
He begins to see a figure in the distance, causing his steps

to grow faster.
LANGFORD (CONT’D)
Hey! Hey! Can you hear me? Are you
real?!
CUT BACK TO THIRD PERSON AS
We get a full view of this second person, a short, middle-

aged man with crooked glasses and a clean, yet wrinkled
shirt. PETER CARUN, 40. He glances up and glares at Langford
like he’s being interrupted.
CARUN
Is there a reason you’re being so
disruptive? Are you a fan or
something?
Langford freezes, caught for a loop.
LANGFORD
E-Excuse me? A fan?
2.
Carun somehow glares even harder.
CARUN
Yes. Of Nightsea. I get your types
all the time, thinking that you can
shove a book in my face and claim
that you’re such great fans of my
work, when in reality-
LANGFORD
(On the verge of tears)
I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID
COMPLAINTS! WHY THE- HOW THE FUCK
ARE YOU HERE!?
Carun looks at Langford like he had just asked the most

simple question in the world.
CARUN
I live here, and if you must know,
I just couldn’t bear to deal with
the dribble of that ignoramus ROARK
anymore.
Beat as Langford takes a minute to sputter, before he grabs

Carun by the shoulders.
LANGFORD
(The most anger possible
by a human being)
THERE ARE OTHER PEOPLE HERE!?
INT. THE SMOKING LOUNGE
The Smoking Lounge is a large turn-of-the-century men’s club

that, as the rest of the strange labyrinth, feels stuck in
the 20th Century with it’s velvet wallpaper and numerous
leather armchairs.
As Langford takes in his new surroundings, Carun snakes over

to the tall rosewood bookshelves that line the far wall. He
grabs a large folio from the self and flips it open idly.
The folio is filled with ancient pornography circa 1895,

figures in masks perform numerous... activities, which Carun
eats up like a spider who has just caught a fly.
He smiles softly as he spots his editor in one. She was born

in 1952.
Langford edges through the large room cautiously, head

whipping around manically. He is started by a sudden clearing
of the throat and looks forward.
3.
ROARK
Mr Whacky Abercrombie’s cheaters
sure are eating that stuff up eh,
butter and egg man?
An overweight man sits in one of the burgundy armchairs, an

almost comical red wig sits atop his head. An unlit cigar in
his mouth. He is Mark Roark, the ‘ignoramus’ Carun mentioned.
Roark raises a glass of brandy towards Langford
ROARK (CONT’D)
You want some hooch? Or are you
more of a baby kinda guy?
LANGFORD
Uh.. I don’t eat babies?
Roark barks out a laugh.
ROARK
Try tellin’ that to Darabondi!
Actually you might see him,
yourself, doubt the poor bastard’s
in his Chicago overcoat just yet!
LANGFORD
Yeah... Sure, whatever... What the
hell are you doing here?
ROARK
Trying to find my bottle so I can
get to the big rag upstairs, just
like everyone else in the hotel, if
I can do that, things will be like
eggs in coffee and I’ll be all
togged to the bricks.
LANGFORD
The... The Hotel?
Beat. Roark stares at him his cigar wobbles slightly.
ROARK
(Top of his lungs)
HOTEL BROADALBIN, YOU ENORMOUS ASS!
Roark’s head suddenly turns towards a door that Langford did

not notice prior.
ROARK (CONT’D)
Ah, that’s all wet! The G-men are
here earlier then expected!
Probably looking for that broad!
4.
Roark stands up, the first large motion that has been seen of
him since the conversation began, and begins to drag Langford
back the way he had came.
LANGFORD
Hey! I-
ROARK
Shake a leg there! You gotta get
back to your trip for biscuits
before they get here! These
copper’s the types to pull out the
gat, ask questions later, you get
me! Now scram! Abyssina!
Langford is pushed back into the labyrinthine corridors of

the Night Floors. Roark turns back to the lounge, dusting his
hands.
He steps to the door where the shuffling from earlier came

from before. He opens it up revealing..
A staircase leading down. The exit.
ROARK (CONT’D)
(Under breath)
Hate to grift the poor joe like
that but...
Roark leans down, rising his hand to call out.
ROARK (CONT’D)
Hello? Hello?
ENTER FEDERAL AGENTS

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DAVID IN THE SMOKING LOUNGE

Characters and setting

An Edwardian era hallway stretches' on into infinite

A man stumbles down the hallway clad in a slightly raggedy

His name is DAVID LANGFORD, 42, and he has been trapped in

Langford stumbles further down the never ending hallway, he

We see from Langford’s eyes as he continues down the hallway,

He begins to see a figure in the distance, causing his steps

CUT BACK TO THIRD PERSON AS

We get a full view of this second person, a short, middle-

Langford freezes, caught for a loop.

Carun somehow glares even harder.

Carun looks at Langford like he had just asked the most

Beat as Langford takes a minute to sputter, before he grabs

INT. THE SMOKING LOUNGE

The Smoking Lounge is a large turn-of-the-century men’s club

As Langford takes in his new surroundings, Carun snakes over

The folio is filled with ancient pornography circa 1895,

He smiles softly as he spots his editor in one. She was born

Langford edges through the large room cautiously, head

An overweight man sits in one of the burgundy armchairs, an

Roark raises a glass of brandy towards Langford

Roark barks out a laugh.

Roark’s head suddenly turns towards a door that Langford did

Langford is pushed back into the labyrinthine corridors of

He steps to the door where the shuffling from earlier came

A staircase leading down. The exit.

Roark leans down, rising his hand to call out.

ENTER FEDERAL AGENTS

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