Cobber's Survivors - Episode 1

A small group of Minihoon creatures gather and their leader announces that they must crossbreed to expand their abilities. In a Hollywood producer's office, Copper, a young man, spills water on his presentation and has a disappointing meeting. At Copper's messy house, he talks with his friend Alan about pursuing his dreams and finding a girl. I see it. Cobber's Survivors, by Richard C. Crosley. Fade in. Exterior. Moatani Marquesas. Night. The ocean waves beat furiously against the steep rocks. The white foam glows in the moonlight. From the top of the rocks, a furry four-fingered hand appears, grasping the rock poles of a peculiar body up. The leader of the Minihoon, all of twelve inches tall, turns and faces the land. Proud, resolute, his flat face casts in determination. Ebolus's tiny fist rests them on his round hips. Stares out at the crowd of hundreds of furry Minihoon, gathered and glaring their faces illumined by small campfires. He speaks in a gibberish language, subtitled, and though his voice is a squeak he carries across the stone-eyed air. Leader, Minihoon! The crowd roars with excitement in chorus. Leader, if we ever hope to get off this stinking rock, we must attract those that can sail the waters. The crowd not so happy with this announcement. They murmur. Leader, we must crossbreed to expand our traits and abilities. This brings a great response. Minihoon scream and dance in a riot of excitement. Leader, let the ritual of attraction begin. The Minihoon form into large circles, chant and dance. Interior. Hollywood producer's office. Reception area. Day. A well-dressed professional receptionist, thirties, types on a computer at a neatly arranged glass-topped desk. The walls are covered with pictures of famous actors and scenes from top-grossing movies. Copper rivaled. Twenty-six. Shaggy, shoulder-length, blonde hair loosely tied in a ponytail. Sits in a chair. Bounces one knee in a frenzy of nerves. On the table beside him, a document and glass of water. He holds an upside-down magazine. Stares at the receptionist. A buzzer on the desk breaks the silence. Copper frees it. The receptionist punches a button on her digital intercom. She looks at Copper, offers a perfunctory smile. Receptionist, Mr. Stevens, we'll see you now. Copper jumps from the chair, drops the magazine on the floor. He bends to pick it up. His ass knocks the water glass over. It spills across this presentation. Copper, oh, shit. Copper drops the magazine, spins to the table, grabs the soaking manuscript. He shakes it off, rips it across the shirt. He grabs the magazine, tries to blot up the spilled water. Copper looks sheepishly at the receptionist. Copper, sorry. The receptionist nods at the door, offers a knowing smile. Receptionist, good luck. Interior. Stevens' office. Day. DM Stevens, 40th, is a big man and overflows the leather characters. And the wet document lies on the floor beside the large oak desk as he studies Copper. Behind Stevens, the glass wall shows the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. Stevens, no doubt you worked hard to get in here and waste my time. Copper. Copper. Copper, sir. Copper, rival. Stevens, this is a rip-off. We're looking for something fresh and original. Copper, uh, no, sir. It's totally different. We plan on— Stevens, the answer is no. Stevens grabs the wet presentation by the corner and stands, offering it to Copper as if it was a skunk. Copper, dejected, takes it and leaves. Stevens presses a button on his phone. Stevens, Betty, see if the canteen has any Copper. I'm starving. Interior. Copper's house. Night. Messy bachelor bed. Large screen TV. Broken-down couch. Bare wall. Used as a cork board. Old notes and papers. A dart board on the wall behind the couch. A dozen darts poked in and around it. Rock music plays. Softcore porn, muted on the television. Two identical dogs beside the couch. Mortis and Mortis, sitting on a sofa. Alan, 25, tan, short, dark hair, points a video camera at the floor. No, no, points a video camera at the door as Copper enters. Copper looks at the camera. Alan stops recording, tosses it on the couch. Alan, say no more. Copper, did I say something? Alan, you said it all, dude. Copper drops his manuscript on the table and talks on the sofa. Mortis hurries into the kitchen. Alan picks up three darts, throws one behind him without looking. He throws another. Mortis barks. Alan, get him. Mortis disappears behind the couch. Alan throws the other dart. Mortis, off-screen, yelps. Alan, sorry, boy, my bad. Now Mortis returns with a can of beer. The other with two darts in his mouth and one hanging from the fur beyond his neck. Alan snacks the darts. Copper gets the beer. Alan to Mortis, taint but a flesh wound. Mortis barks. Alan to Mortis, fine, get a snack. One Mortis leaves, the other cocks his head. Copper to Mortis, yeah, go ahead. The other Mortis bounds away. Alan, you ready to accept the easy life? Copper, quitting's for losers. Alan, look around. Copper, I'm gonna make this happen. Copper downs the beer, tries to cross the empty can between his hands. His arms shake. He drops it on the table. Alan, dude, you're enslaved by dreams. Copper, wrong, my dream-deficient roomie. You have to go after what you want. Alan, au contraire. Wait for them to get close and just snack it. Hey, dragon, au contraire. Wait for them to get close and just snack it. Copper, you may be the smartest moron I know. Thumbs up from Alan. Alan, um, you might want to call Nancy. Copper glances with a question. Alan, I know how you feel, but grins do. Copper reaches for the phone on the table. Copper, when you gonna find the girl? Alan, there ain't a girl out there with enough attitude for me. Copper, what about that redhead that ran over you? Alan, Garrett? She wasn't mean, just mad.