Table Read - Ren Faire vs. Aliens - Act 1

Episode Date: March 7, 2023

ACT 1: After an alien ship lands on earth and erects a gigantic forcefield, trapping a local renaissance faire inside, high school senior Zoe must face her fear of responsibility and save the world, armed only with medieval weaponry. ____ REN FAIRE VS. ALIENS: When high school slacker Zoe Winter signs up to play the princess in her local Renaissance Faire, the last thing she expects is an alien invasion. Soon, however, Zoe finds herself and the Faire trapped inside a massive forcefield, along with her best friend, her crush, a jester who can't break character, and an endless supply of rancid turkey legs. And after the Faire's king is vaporized by an alien laser beam, Zoe is crowned queen. Can she conquer her fear of responsibility and lead a gang of Ren Faire weirdos to save the earth, armed only with medieval weaponry? Written by Harry Aspinwall ____ Follow Table Read (@TableReadPodcastLA) on Instagram for more info! Visit: https://www.tablereadpodcast.com/ Contact: [e-mail]   See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Ren Faire vs. Aliens, written by Harry Aspinwall. Nobody cares about the title page. Renfair versus aliens. Part one. Exterior. Battlefield. Day. Dream. A battle rages. Cries cries clashing of steel dull as though

underwater Zoe winter 18 stands decked in resplendent armor stained with mud and blood she wears a crown she looks around everywhere battle rages and her warriors are being cut down one One swordsman, Ben, drops to his knees, clasping a fatal gut wound. Another spearman, Quinn, reaches out a blood-soaked hand to Zoe. Please, my lady, save us! Zoe is distraught. She pulls her sword from its sheath, but doesn't know which way to turn. A berserker, Bridget, face smeared with war paint, calls out to her. My queen, what should we do?

Zoe hesitates, unsure. Sinister laughter resounds. Queen, this is no queen. A massive armored juggernaut, the enemy general, looms over her. Zoe raises her sword with shaking hands. She's just a scared little girl. Enemy warriors pour out from behind the general, overwhelming her. Her sword flies from her hand, and she lands heavily.

Her ears ring. The general looms over her, stretching out a brutal armored hand. Zoe fumbles for her sword, but it's just out of reach. The ringing grows louder. Too late. The general's hand closes over her face, blocking everything out. The ringing reaches a crescendo, screeching, transforming into... Interior. Winterhouse. Zoe's bedroom, day. The ringing of her alarm clock. Zoe Winter, recent high school grad, drags herself messily awake. Little armored action figures with swords on her nightstand are scattered to the floor as she tries to shut off the alarm.

She grabs her calendar and looks at it blearily. Today, the big day, is circled. Zoe sighs. She rises and gazes straight ahead at the wall. I'm not sure about this. What should I do? On the wall is a poster of Game of Thrones hero Jon Snow, looking pensive as ever. You can do this, Zoe. I believe in you. She smiles. Thank you. It means a lot coming from you.

She leans in to kiss the poster once, then pulls back. A beat. Then she comes back in. One more. She kisses the poster. Interior. Winterhouse. Kitchen. Day.

Zoe comes downstairs, very seriously practicing imaginary fight choreography sword swings with her phone. Mark Winter, 40s, Zoe's dad, is at the counter, trying to wedge a spatula into a toaster. Morning, tiger cub. What are you doing? I dropped my Staples reward card in the toaster. Oh. She sits down and helps herself to a plate of bacon and eggs. On the wall behind her is a trophy shelf.

It's completely empty, save for one bronze National Latin exam medal. I have that dream again. Got it! Now, wait, that's my insurance card. He continues to dig with a spatula. Then he registers Zoe's silence. Um, do you want to talk about it? He takes a carton of milk from the fridge and starts to pour it in his coffee.

Everyone was dying in battle and I was like, wait. She gestures to the milk. That's cow milk. He freezes. She takes almond milk out of the fridge and hands it to him. Anyway, I was their leader. I felt like I was their leader. I felt like I was responsible, like everything rested on my shoulders. Mark taps his fingers and tries to think of something to say. Hey, did I ever tell you about when I first started my vet

clinic? I'd been working so long to open my own practice. The very first day, there was a feline salmonella outbreak, and I had to deal with it completely by myself. I knew I had to step up. It was all on me. What happened? Mark wasn't expecting a follow-up. It was all on me. All over me. Diarrhea everywhere. I even went on the ceiling. I kept changing scrubs, but I ran out before noon and spent the rest of the day wrapped in a towel. It was a disaster. Worst day of my life. Silence. How the heck do they make almond milk?

That's just nuts. Bye, Dad. She turns to go. Zoe! For a moment, it seems like he's about to say something heartfelt. Then he holds out his truck keys. Bring the steed back in one piece? She grabs the keys.

Mark holds on to them, then finally forces himself to let go. Exterior. Winterhouse. Day. Zoe buckles herself into her dad's pickup truck in the driveway and starts the ignition. The radio comes on automatically. Ignoring it, she checks herself in the rearview mirror. From a team of NASA scientists who were being told have breaking news. At 6.39 this morning, the Department of Defense issued a notice to the Associated Press that anomalous readings. She heaves a heavy sigh, psyching herself up for the day ahead, and switches the radio to Bluetooth.

A heavy metal song thunders out of the vehicle. Exterior, Hillsborough Street, day. A lovely day in a small town. A gardener tends to her flower pots. An elderly man stands on the sidewalk near the fields in the local state park, waiting for his dog to finish peeing. He looks up as the heavy metal booms down the street towards him. Recognizing Zoe, he smiles and waves.

Zoe waves back and rolls on down through sleepy little Hillsborough. Exterior, Hillsborough Park entrance, day. A dirt road between trees leading into Hillsborough's little state park and fairground. Zoe practices her lines under her breath. False young knave, thou must know that I shall one day be queen and... I shall one day be queen and... Trying to call up the line on her phone, she narrowly avoids careening into the ditch. A cop car sits nearby. As Zoe swerves back onto the road, two cops, Benson and Zizek, look up from their phones and wave to her.

Zoe catches her breath and pulls up through a wide gate. Here we go. She passes under a banner. Hillsborough Renaissance Fair. Opening day. Images of two impressive knights with gleaming swords frame the text. Resplendent. Interior. Park Service Building. Day. Images of two impressive knights with gleaming swords frame the text. Resplendent. Interior. Park Service Building. Day.

Gene Palumbo. Fifties. The Ren Faire's king. Hands out wooden swords. These are what we're legally allowed to have. Use your imagination. Leather armor buckled over royal ruffles. Shakily, muttering the moves, Zoe practices their fight choreography with her wooden sword. Has anyone seen Michaela? This is getting serious! Quinn Sparacello, forties. A very serious historical reenactor, wearing a t-shirt and jean shorts with a loud jester's hat. Emerges a jean shoulder. Has anyone seen the Lady Michaela it is serious for sooth Zoe presses the attack jab repost block overhead sweep it's clumsy and painfully deliberate a false move and she hits Ben in the elbow oh that's not

historically accurate Quinn gives Ben the side-eye and adjusts his jean shorts. Why do you care, Quinn? Quinn? Who is Quinn? I, Dagonetto Hopfrog the Jester, care because history is precious for sooth. Tis a golden era removed from loathsome modern cares like social media and pop culture and crippling, crippling debt. A thousand-yard stare. Zoe turns to Gene, who has his knee on the back of Bridget McMillan, 30s, tough, friendly, and generally disinterested, tightening up her corset. Hey, Jean. I'm not sure I'm actually ready for this.

What if maybe I don't have a fight scene, or like, any line? A princess without a fight scene? What kind of sense would that make? A beat. But what if someone gets hurt? Look, Gene. He claps her on the shoulder. Hey, call me King Dad. No.

Don't sweat the fight scene or the lines. Just have fun and leave the rest to me. I'm the king, after all. It's all on my shoulders. No one is gonna get hurt. Cut to... A bird's-eye view of the training field. A wider view, the park and the town. Wider, the whole state.

The whole U.S. Earth. Gradually, a vast alien mothership moves into view, blocking our view of the planet. Ren Faire vs. Aliens. Ren Faire Lane. Day. A few stalls have been set up to form a lane near the Park Service Building, selling turkey legs, fry bread, ale and mead,

and the pseudo-historical knick-knacks ubiquitous to Renaissance fairs. It's very medieval kitsch. There's an archery course and a pillory nearby. Beyond is the field of battle, ready for jousting and armored combat. A horse is tied to a hitching post.

There are pennants everywhere. Quinn rushes past in full jester gear, very stressed, carrying Bunting. Well, Dagonetto makes great haste. He knows there'll be no time to waste. Zoe and Ben stride out into the lane. Ben's phone buzzes. Zoe glances over. Carrie, hey Ben, I'm worried. I heard on the news there's an

unidentified fly. Is that Carrie Santos again? You've got to stop stringing her along. Master Ben, what is that magical device? I'm not stringing her along. I just don't want to be cruel. Literally just tell her you're gay. No, I should let her down easy. I'll ghost her. Gene comes over with a satchel. He confiscates Ben's phone and tosses it in before moving on to the other performers. You know the rules. You get these back when we break for lunch. I've heard there's a deal on turkey legs today.

In the background, the turkey leg vendor, a predictably greasy man in his 50s, picks up a turkey leg off the ground, dusts it off, tosses it back in the tray, and throws Gina a thumbs up.

Half off for cast and crew. Eight dollars each. Zoe bites her nails. Can you chill out a bit? This is a lot of pressure. Being a princess? No, it isn't. Let them eat cake.

Or whatever. Nearby, Bridget taps rapidly on her phone, hacking and slashing on a loud and sparkly mobile game. That was Marie Antoinette. She was decapitated. Jean scoops up her phone and tosses it in his satchel. Kids these days and their gadgets. I'm 38, dude. Why did you sign up for this if you

knew you'd hate it? I mean, I know you're a huge fantasy nerd. Zoe looks up. Time slows down and Ben's words fade out. In front of them is class stud Doug Kimura, 18, clad in tight black leather armor, practicing archery. A real Vaseline on the lens moment. Zoe is instantly sweating. Doug takes a handful of water from a barrel and wets his hair. Then shakes his head sending a thousand little droplets

sparkling through the early summer sunlight. Seriously? God, just talk to him! He shoves her. Zoe stumbles toward teen heartthrob Doug, who glances over, oblivious, and throws her a charming smile. Oh, hey, Zoe.

Please, you can call me... Yep, Zoe, because that's... An awkward pause. Ben looks on. Please, you can call me... Yep, Zoe, because that's... An awkward pause. Ben looks on. Doug knocks an arrow to his bow. He holds out his phone to Zoe. Would you mind?

Insert Doug's TikTok livestream. Hey, Doug's Dance. I'm here at the opening day of the Hillsborough Renaissance Fair with my super good friends and, no cap, it's gonna be lit. renaissance fair with my super good friends and no cap it's gonna be lit confidently he twists and looses his arrow at the target zoe zooms in wow great shot it's hit the outer ring it's an okay shot bullseye it's not a bullseye doug gestures into the lens giving his signature catchphrase. Doug. Gene's hand reaches in and plucks Doug's phone away.

Don't you know these things will give you cancer? The phone drops into a dark satchel, and for a moment, eye above, we can see a kingly face looking in. Back to the fair. They're dangerous. Doug looses another arrow, which hits the frame and bounces back, spinning past his face. Are you ready for your big scene? Zoe picks up the arrow. The head is snapped clean off.

She hands it to him, leaning in to covertly sniff him. I'm so nervous, I I'm going to throw up. Flash. Nearby is Charlie Vu, 20s, a junior reporter for the local paper, holding a camera. They blink, blinded. Whoops, I didn't need Flash for that. Hi, I'm Charlie Vu, Hillsborough Times, taking a few pictures. Quinn races through, carrying more decorations.

Master Doug, help me with this bunting. I'll see you dudes on the field of battle. He wipes his sweaty forehead with a cloth, turns, and tosses the cloth aside, sauntering off. Zoe grabs the cloth out of midair. Do you ever get that thing where all of your autonomic bodily functions shut down for a hot minute? She sniffs the cloth. Disgust and concern battle on Ben's face. Flash. Damn it, how do I turn that off? Quinn rushes past again, jingling frantically. God's blood, it's almost upon us. If that guy doesn't chill out and drop character sometime, he's going to

give himself a heart attack. It's Quinn. He never ever drops character. We can't all be as naturally cool as you, Ben. Fine. I bet you he gets so stressed that he breaks character and swears today. If he does, you have to ask Doug to the summer dance. And if he doesn't, you have to tell Cary Santos the truth. Sure. Zoe sighs warily. Okay, I guess. have to tell carrie santos the truth sure zoe sighs warily okay i guess 15 minutes people get ready come on what's the worst that can happen cut to exterior hillsborough day montage

a shadow falls over the gardener's flower pots The elderly man looks up from bagging dog poop as the... Give dog poop a little extra Thank you, thank you A little more dog poop A little more dog poop The elderly man looks up from bagging dog poop As the alien mothership descends through the clouds He lets out a shriek

It's happening, at last On another street, a couple of teens are taking a video of some sweet skateboarding moves. One points to the sky, and the other whips her phone around to start filming the spacecraft. A man eating a burger walks serenely down the street. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out. Amber Alert! UFO in Hillsboro! out. Amber alert! UFO in Hillsboro! He yells, hurls his burger away, and sprints down the street. Nearby, others are receiving the same alert. A couple is making out in a car nearby. As the reflection of the mothership passes over the window, the guy looks up. Oh shit! Aliens! He goes back to making out. An electronic store.

On the TV, an emergency announcement is coming live on the local TV station. The female anchor and male anchor address the camera nervously. Following hundreds of reports from towns in the area of what some people are calling an alien spacecraft. He gulps and wipes his brow. There has been no official word from authorities yet on where this apparent vessel might have come from or what its passengers may want here in Hillsborough, but numerous videos circulating... She pauses.

Sorry, the teleprompters... A slam from a door nearby in the studio, then the sound of a car zooming off. I can't do this. We're gonna die. We're all gonna die. He pulls off his love mic and leaps over the desk toward a camera operator. Tony, I love you. Let's get the fuck out of here.

He kisses the operator passionately. A small crowd gazes through the window at a display of TV monitors, all showing the news station's live footage of the anchor and the camera operator making out. The footage cuts out and is replaced with a technical difficulty screen. A beat. Then the crowd goes wild. People run in all directions. A couple heave a trash can through the window and start grabbing monitors.

A police cruiser pulls through the streets. A panicking voice blaring out of the PA system. For the love of Christ, everyone remain calm! An elderly couple sitting in lawn chairs watches the craft without much interest. Goddamn aliens. Interior. Winterhouse. Kitchen. Day. The alien craft zooms low over houses and heads towards the woods nearby. Mark Winter watches through the kitchen window, mouth hanging open.

Exterior, Park, Day. The mothership descends into the trees. A booming, vibrating shockwave resounds, and a vast dome of wavering, purple energy engulfs a few miles of parkland. Exterior Hillsborough Street, day. As confusion reigns in Hillsborough, two sleek black cars and a Humvee pull into town. All of government plates. Exterior police station, day. Sheriff Swartz, fifties, stands in front of the station drinking a cup of coffee as the convoy pulls up. Military troops pour out of the Humvee, securing the entrance to the police station,

and FBI agents emerge from one black car, opening the doors of the other. Commander Cook, a special ops officer in her 50s, steps out. She's wearing sunglasses. She walks up to Schwartz and extends a hand. Military and government units swarm around them. Sheriff Schwartz, I'm Commander Katrina Cook. I'd like to be filled in on everything. Look, all I know is that about ten minutes ago, a giant alien spaceship...

Don't use that word, Sheriff. Alien? What do you think? This is the Russians? We don't know yet what we're dealing with, but look around you, Sheriff. Schwartz looks around at the officers and deputies running around. Cook whips off her sunglasses. These boobs are on the edge of losing it completely. For their sake, let's not throw around provocative terms just yet. Boobs? Interior. just yet. Oops.

Interior, police station, day. The FBI agents are setting up new monitors and workstations around the little office as Schwartz and Cook enter. Papers are swept away and laptops set up. Coffee cups are brushed onto the trash. Papers are swept away and laptops set up. Coffee cups are brushed into the trash. Papers are swept away and laptops set up. Coffee cups are brushed into the trash and system monitors appear in their place. An old box of donuts is tossed aside, replaced with a box of fresher, more expensive donuts.

They're in this for the long haul. Cook shouts out instructions while Schwartz tags along, finishing his coffee. Call up any video or still footage of the object. We need to know what we're dealing with. Deputy Brunel, 30s, comes up with a fresh mug of coffee for Schwartz, which he switches out with his empty mug. Brunel opens a video on his laptop. It's the skateboarding teen's footage. Look at this! They gather around. In the video, one kid does a trick, then they spin to watch as the craft zooms overhead.

My God. He just pulled off a perfect laser flip. Where did it go? We need to be on the ground. We think it touched down somewhere near the state park. She turns to the agents. It's go time. I want a recon mission put together immediately.

Brunel skips to pictures of the force field. A couple of minutes ago, a huge bubble appeared over the park. I've never seen anything like it. A bubble? We're guessing it might be a force field of some kind. And the, uh... thing is inside. Damn it! Then it's too late. They've already sealed themselves off. There must be someone inside. But who?

Frustration. Brunel turns to his desk, then spots something. His eyes widen. He turns back to Cook and Schwartz, lifting up a flyer. Cook and Schwartz lean in to get a closer look. Hear ye, Hear Ye, Renaissance Fair in Hillsboro State Park, opens this Saturday. Beneath the words is a caricature of a jovial armored king, obviously Gene, smiling broadly and raising a tankard. Match cut to exterior, park field, day. Gene, weary, lifts a massive plastic cup of iced coffee to his mouth. One of the phones in Gene's satchel starts to vibrate.

More and more join in. One plays the Game of Thrones theme. Gene glances down. That's a lot of Snapchats. Bridget looks up at the ominous purple force field overhead. Weird weather today, huh? Bridget looks up at the ominous purple force field overhead. Weird weather today, huh? Dammit! Who's going to joust with me if Michaela doesn't show up?

Where the hell is she? Cut to exterior, Hillsborough Park entrance, day. Several cars have pulled up on the verge. Would-be Ren Faire attendees are gathered around the shimmering force field. One guy with a plastic Roman helmet calls out, Hey! Are you guys open? Hello? Move aside. Along the path comes an armored knight on horseback, Michaela, 30s, late for the fair.

The crowd parts and watches her impressive approach. She trots up to the entrance, lowers her lance, and touches the metal point to the force field. A resounding boom echoes through the trees. Ow! I'm so hungover. Renfair Lane, Day. Benson and Jijik are eating turkey legs. Jijik has a temporary tattoo of a battleax axe on his forearm. I'm telling you, you're not supposed to use a paper towel. You just gotta grab it and tear out a big bite. The boom echoes distantly. Benson looks around at the woods. Did you hear that?

Hear what? Not sure. Maybe we should go check the cruiser. They head towards the parking lot. From the trees nearby, a faint clicking. Something is watching them. Exterior, parking lot, day. Jijik is still munching his way through the turkey leg as they approach the cruiser. You owe me 16 bucks, by the way. The car radio is going crazy.

Car 9, come on. Car 9, come in. Car 9. Benson rushes up and grabs the transponder. This is Benson. Virgin, we have a 10-70 at your location. Repeat, a 10-70 at your location. Benson thinks for a moment. Zoo animals? Aliens! Benson and Jijic turn to each other.

A footfall in the gravel nearby. Benson and Jijic turn slowly. Both grab at their guns. A footfall in the gravel nearby. Benson and Jijic turn slowly. Both grab at their guns. A flash of light. Two piles of ash and bones crumble to the ground. Two badges and two guns fall on top, followed by two turkey legs.

Benson, do you copy? Benson! Interior, police station, day, continuous. Brunel looks up from the transponder. We lost them! Damn it! All right, call in the artillery. Schwartz and Brunel exchange a look.

Exterior, park porta-potties, day. Ben finishes peeing and starts buttoning himself up. All these fucking buttons. He hears strange footsteps and weird heavy breathing nearby. Looking through the vent holes in the porta-potty, he can make out a shape moving around. He finishes buttoning up and steps out. Hello? Is anyone there? Quiet clicking.

Someone, or something, is watching Ben around the side of the porta-potties. Not noticing, Ben shrugs and wanders back towards the fair. Probably just perverts again. Exterior. Hillsborough Street, day. A massive military tank rolls through the streets, rounding a corner and crushing a flowerpot.

The elderly couple is still sitting in front of their house, listening to the Beach Boys and a record player. Shh! Interior, police station, day. An FBI agent comes up to cook. Metal snake is on the ground, ma'am. Call them up on the monitor. The agent taps a few keys, and a live feed of the tank operator comes up on the screen,

chewing an enormous amount of gum. Whoa! Reporting in, ma'am. Get in position, Rattlesnake. He blows a massive bubble. Roger. Heading to Hillsborough State Park. Exterior, parking lot, day. Whistling to Hillsborough State Park. Exterior. Parking lot. Day. Whistling.

Ben wanders through the parking lot. He spots a pile of bones and ash and stops. Footsteps. Something is following him. Huh. That's new. He keeps going. The footsteps get closer.

At last, he registers them and slowly turns around. A chitinous, insectoid alien, five or six feet tall, with a bizarre gun-like weapon and a shimmering purplish head shield, looks back at him. Its shiny eyes blink out of sync. A beat as they stare at each other. Ben shakes his head. Man, you are at the wrong fair. He walks off, laughing to himself.

Exterior, police station, day. A bike bell rings. The military and FBI guards stand at alert. Mark Winter tears up on a BMX out of breath. The FBI agent blocks his path. Sir, sir, on a BMX out of breath. The FBI agent blocks his path. Sir, sir, sir, this is a special operation. I cannot let you in there. Mark charges past.

Hey, hey! Interior, police station, day, continuous. The live feed of the tank is still up on the screen. Rattlesnake is in position, Commander. Do I take the shot? Before Cook can answer, Mark bursts into the control center, panting heavily. The FBI agent hot on his heel. Please, whatever you're doing, be careful. Sorry, ma'am. My daughter's in there.

Your daughter? Yes. She's part of the rent pair. She signed up after a friend joined and then got cast as the princess, which is actually kind of a huge deal, because she decided not to go to college. I want to be cool about that, but, you know. Get to the point. Oh, right. Of course.

I'm so bad at speaking frankly with her, but honestly, I've been worried she's not doing anything with her life, you know? Mark. Bullet points, please. You're right. I think her fear of attention makes her way too self-effacing, and then she falls beneath the radar. Is it wrong for me to worry that without some kind of push, she'll just be avoiding commitment forever? She's clearly clinically afraid of responsibility. The military squad rolls their eyes.

Exterior, Renfair Lane. Day, continuous. Everyone's milling around. Quinn plays with his bells. Gene has a massive crown on his head. 8.59, everyone. One minute. Leaves crunch in the bushes.

Something is sneaking up on Quinn. Closer, closer. Until at last, it leaps out. Boo! Quinn clutches his chest. Oh, Godzooks. Master Benjamin. Really? Nothing?

Here they come, everyone. We've worked really hard for this. This is the first Renaissance Faire Hillsborough... God damn it. Here they come, everyone. Now, we've worked really hard for this. This is the first renaissance fair Hillsborough's had in 20 years. And you're the inaugural cast.

This is huge. Ben turns to Zoe. Hey, did you see that alien costume guy? Actually pretty cool. I can't do this. I can't. What? She begins to make her way towards Jean. Interior. Police station. Day. Continuous.

So taking this Ren Faire opportunity felt like a real step toward growth. Actually putting herself in a position of responsibility. Leadership, even. And I wish I were better at telling her how proud I am. The tank operator peers into the screen, trying to make out what's going on. Commander, should I take the shot? Affirmative. No! Wait!

Exterior. Renfair Lane. Day. Continuous. We're all in this together, and I want you to know that I would do anything for you. I feel almost like a father to you all. I'm still 38. Zoe reaches Gene and touches his shoulder. Um, Gene? I might actually have to... This is our glory day.

This is the day we make our children proud. This is the day our destinies are truly forged. Great monologuing, Your Majesty. I'm gonna have to go. There's an enormous boom and metallic echoing. Interior, police station, day, continuous. Silence in the HQ. Mark looks aghast at the screen.

A beat, then. Commander, it didn't seem to do shit. The feed cuts to static. Exterior, Renfair Lane, day, continuous. The cast gathers around Gene, looking out into the woods. That was unusual. Look, everyone! Customers! A sharp buzzing sound.

Sorry, Major. Stomach sound. A sharp gaspic sound. Kids, I'm narrating it. Resetting stomach, end. A sharp buzzing sound. From the distant tree line comes a hovering pod, all shiny metal and glowing lights, nine feet long. It stops some 50 feet away, and a figure begins to emerge.

Welcome to the Hillsborough Renaissance. An alien stares at them. They look at it. It looks back. As one, the reenactors draw their weapons. Immediately, the alien levels its blaster and starts shooting at them. The cast scatters. Glowing projectiles fly around them, vaporizing bits of stall and chunks of earth.

The turkey leg vendor stands up behind his stall. Aye! He is instantly blasted into a pile of ash and turkey bones. Exterior. Park field. Day. The cast regroups on the other side of the park services building, crouching low. What is happening? This doesn't seem very historically accurate.

Quinn is hyperventilating fiercely, bells jangling with every breath. God's wounds! Whence come these hell beasts? Oh, come on! Be quiet, everyone! He peers around the corner. The alien pod emerges,

then zooms down the field. Gene watches in horror as the alien gets out and starts setting up some kind of antenna. Okie doke. Listen, team. I don't know what that thing wants, but I guarantee you it's nothing good. All I know is that when I hired you,

I made a vow that I would keep you safe. What are you... He's monologuing. Uh-oh. Right. We fought way too long, sacrificed way too much. This is our glory day. Being king means taking responsibility. It'll be damned

if I let some alien ruin this renver! Quinn! Helm! Quinn catches the crowd as Gene flings it aside. He places a massive helmet on Gene's head. Gene leaps up. Cover me!

With what? Gene runs to his horse. Gene runs to his horse, tethered to a nearby post. Unhitching it, he mounts and grabs his lance. The others run out from behind the building to watch. For honor! He charges. Epic slow motion. Intense medieval metal music starts playing. Hooves biting

the earth. Lance couched. Gene's face looks up in a grimace of rage. The alien looks up. The space looks up in a grimace of rage. The alien looks up. The music builds. The horse's mane flies in the wind. An alarm beeps in the pond. And boom! The mothership rises from behind the trees, impossibly fast.

With a mighty roar, light engulfs Gene and the horse. Insert. A burst of blown-out sound on Doug's tic-tac-bly feed. Still going this whole time. Cuts out. The feed flashes white and ends. After the briefest of beats, a pile of burning bones scatters across the field. The mothership settles back behind the trees. A long pause.

Charlie raises her camera to take a picture. Everyone else dashes for the park services building. Quinn drops to his knees. No! Zoe grabs him, and they follow the others. Interior, park service building, day. The cast huddles inside, peering out the grimy windows. That guy had all our phones.

Quinn weeps on the floor. Oh, flower of Princeton. Gone. Gone from this world too soon. Alack! Through his tears, he looks down at the crown still clutched in his hands. Choking back sobs, he looks down at the crown still clutched in his hands. Choking back sobs, he looks up.

Dio! Avrò un certo langorino! Ovviamente no panino! No, no, no! Un boccone ricco di gusto! Si conosco il posto giusto siamo d'accordo su su via tutti alla

piadineria è tornata la solare con crudo e stracciatella aggiungi salsa mango aglio nero o peperone amerai ogni boccone la piadineria la più buona che ci sia

you know what this means? earth is doomed we're not getting paid Quinn clamors to his feet. He holds out the crown towards Zoe. You are in charge now. Her eyes open wide in horror. What? He places the crown on her head. The king is dead. Long live the queen! She looks around. Everyone is watching her. Interior, police station, day.

The monitor shows static. Everyone stares with bated breath. Rattlesnake! Come in, Rattlesnake! The feed flashes back on. Nothing, Commander. Not even a dent. Mark takes a huge breath. There's one more thing. A couple of minutes after impact, the dome wavered like it cut out for a split second. Please, don't do anything rash.

I know the folks in there. They're super weird. But they're good people. Cook sizes him up. She turns to the monitor. Head back to base, Rattlesnake. Roger that. I'm going to get your daughter out of there, Mr. Winter. You have my word.

There's a banging sound from the tank feed. Wait a moment. Something's out there. Cook rushes back to the monitor. Rattlesnake, what is it? Come in. Interior. Tank. Day. Continuous. Rhythmic banging on the side of the tank. What on earth? He grabs a gun and makes his way up to the hatch

Exterior, field outside Hillsboro Day, continuous The tank is parked in a field near the road to the park Not far off, the force field shimmers The hatch bangs open And the tank operator peers out, gun at the ready Next to the tank is a out, gun at the ready. Next to the tank is a fully armored mounted knight.

A beat. Can I help you? Take me to your leader. Okay. Nice. on her camera. She can't believe her luck. Aliens captured on film for the first time. But the pictures are blurry and distant. Damn, too blurry. Oh, a cursed day. No court jester ought to lose his liege lord after so foul a fashion. Smote to smirrines by a fell hell fiend. He's still really on top of that alliteration.

Bridget finishes zipping up her tracksuit. She sighs heavily, sorrowfully. What a loss. I put 81 hours into Genshin Impact on that phone. That's $366 in microtransactions I'll never get back. It's cross-saved on the cloud. Okay, cool. This is fine.

People know we're here, right? All we have to do is wait. Quinn perks up. He rushes over to her and crouches at her feet, cracking his knuckles. What should we do, my queen? I don't know. I don't know! Quinn. still stands, by the way. What about me, Zoe? Is there anything I can do for you?

Ben catches her eye. Hey, what should we do if we need to... Please stop asking me things. Just do what you think is right. I don't know. P. A pause. Wait, where's the photographer?

They look around. Charlie is gone. Worry not, your majesty. I shall discover her. Quinn. Quiet as a shadow. Bells jangling, he darts out the door. Out the window, the others see him dash covertly into the field. He'll be fine.

Right? Quinn creeps up to Gene's remains and gingerly picks up his charred skull and regards it. He's doing that Shakespeare thing. Quinn shrieks at the top of his lungs and charges into the woods. He'll be fine.

Interior. Police station. Day. Agents and officers hustle through the station Phones ring, a map lies open A big circle drawn in pen This is the main field where they were setting up the Ren Faire Sheriff Schwartz drains his coffee Then nods sharply to Deputy Brunel

Who swiftly switches it out for a fresh mug Two of our officers were stationed in there But we haven't been able to reach them in... nearly an hour. Quiet, please! The hubbub dies down. Mr. Winter, you've tried calling... A loud clanking from outside.

Hey, you can't just... Michaela, still fully armored, storms into the command center. Wow, there is absolutely no security in here. Commander Cook? With the limited visibility of her visor, she stumbles around, knocking over computer screens and stacks of documents. Hey, you can't come into a police station dressed like

that. Is it illegal? A beat. I'm not sure. Brunel pulls up a book from his shelf and frums through it, studying. I'm Cook sure. Brunel pulls up a book from a shelf and frums through it, studying. I'm Cook. What do you have for me? Anything you need to know about the Ren Faire, I can tell you. I was supposed to be in there.

They regard the fully armored figure. No shit. Cook turns to Deputy Brunel. Deputy... Brunel. Deputy... Brunel, ma'am. Deputy Brunel, disarm her this night. Okay. Exterior. Woods. Day.

Charlie creeps through the undergrowth. A cracking sound ahead. She ducks to the ground and peers up. In a clearing ahead, two aliens are planting another antenna in the ground. Once it's set, the beacon begins pulsing the same purplish color as the shield dome. Charlie leans forward and races her camera to take a picture. The aliens wheel around. Behind her, another alien figure looms. Exterior, Hillsborough Park entrance, day. Quinn, panting slightly, laughing nervously, trots through the woods.

Well, Dagonetto is my name and making merry is my game. In this aside... Well, Dagonetto is my name, and making Mary is my game. In this aside, I do confide that I am feeling terrified. He spots the shimmering barrier. Almighty nature. He looks at it for a second, then picks up an empty soda can and throws it. Zap! The can bounces back. He picks it up and throws it again.

This time he catches it. He starts getting into a rhythm, throwing and catching, and he smiles nervously. A crack from the woods nearby. Get Zooks! He scurries back up the road. Exterior, parking lot, day. Well, Dagenetto, that is me, and for my life I have to flee. I wish instead I were in bed, but I'm afraid I'll soon be...

Something catches his ear, and he jumps. Radio chatter. He turns and begins walking cautiously towards the police cruiser. Car 4, head to Myers Road and keep an eye on that dome. 10-4. Quinn reaches the ashes and bones of the two police officers. He bends down and pulls out a gun. His bells jangle.

Interior. Police station. Day. Brunel is with the dispatch officer. Intense murmurs pass between them. Sheriff! Commander! We might have found something! Cook, Schwartz, Michaela, and Mark all gather around. Schwartz grabs the transponder. There's a clicking sound. Carnine, come in.

Benson? Who's there? Static. Then... Uh... Good morning? To be continued. Should we pause for a second? Hey Jack, do you want to do Walla for each act?