From 73f31e3196af8f5e8c2068639f46edc8e8183871 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Raincloud Date: Sat, 30 May 2026 14:40:49 -0600 Subject: [PATCH] redraft: ubear vs adrian --- Story/0BattleRoyale.fountain | 34 +++++++++++++++++----------------- 1 file changed, 17 insertions(+), 17 deletions(-) diff --git a/Story/0BattleRoyale.fountain b/Story/0BattleRoyale.fountain index dbb3c8b..eceb6be 100644 --- a/Story/0BattleRoyale.fountain +++ b/Story/0BattleRoyale.fountain @@ -961,7 +961,7 @@ CUT TO: INT. FOREST - CRUMBLING CATMULL-BAROQUE FOLLY - SAME LATER (GAMETIME ~1:20) -/* Adrian vs Ubear. Not a kill scene — a disarm. Adrian draws the green sword cleanly for the first time in the film. Ubear is already rattled from the alliance fight; the mech arm is canted and unreliable. Adrian takes advantage. The arm comes off. Ubear escapes with it. */ +/* Adrian vs Ubear. Not a kill scene, and not a hold-up — a defense. Adrian's whole game is to stay out of it: he finds Ubear wounded and exposed, weighs the easy kill, and decides against it. He is leaving when Ubear forces the issue. The green sword leaves its sheath for the first and only time in the film — and it leaves it to ANSWER an attack, not to start one. The canted arm comes off at the joint. Ubear escapes with it. */ Ubear is inside the folly — the half-collapsed gilded chapel — hunched over a fallen Catmull-Baroque cornice, working on the mech arm. He has the elbow plate open. Brass gears glint through the breach. One gauntlet is off; he is cursing at an inner spring. @@ -969,36 +969,36 @@ UBEAR (muttering) Chimera cow. Chimera *cow.* Freak with *wings* — -Behind him, not trying to be quiet — not trying to be *loud* either — ADRIAN. +At the broken threshold, not crossing it: ADRIAN. He has come through the trees the way he moves through everything — quietly, on his own errand, reading the room before he is in it. He takes in Ubear: hunched, half-disarmed, the open elbow, the exposed gears. An easy mark. -Adrian does not greet him. Adrian draws. +His hand rests on the green-sword pommel. He looks at the wounded arm a moment longer. He does the math. -The green sword comes out of its sheath in a single, routine motion — mod-rank steel, the literal rendering of the icon, a blade green enough that it reads as a choice rather than a color. The first time it has left the sheath all film. The drones overhead track it immediately. +Then he takes his hand off the pommel. Not worth the cost of being in it. He turns to leave. + +A loose gear pings off the cornice and skitters across the stone. Ubear's head comes up. Ubear whirls. UBEAR The *hell* — -ADRIAN -(calm) -Just the arm. - -UBEAR -What — +He clocks all of it at once: the mod-rank steel on the hip, the green pommel, the one contestant who just stood there and *watched* him at his weakest. ADRIAN -Put the arm on the stone. Walk away. We're done. +(quiet, half-turned to go) +Wasn't here. + +It isn't enough. The lost fight, the canted arm, and now a mod over his shoulder — it all adds to one number Ubear can't leave alone. UBEAR (baring teeth) -You are *joking.* +You don't get to *see* that and walk. -ADRIAN -(mild) -I'm really not. +Ubear rushes him. The mech arm — still open at the elbow, gears rattling wrong — leads the charge, a hooking grab meant to crush. -Ubear rushes him. The mech arm, still open at the elbow, tries for a hooking grab. The green sword takes it at the *joint* — a single clean horizontal cut, precise as a woodcutter's — and the mech arm separates at the elbow in two pieces: the upper, still on Ubear's shoulder, now a stump of brass and ruined gear; the lower, a heavy gauntleted limb, flung free by the momentum of its own swing. +Only now does Adrian draw. + +The green sword comes out of its sheath in a single, routine motion — mod-rank steel, the literal rendering of the icon, a blade green enough that it reads as a choice rather than a color. The first time it has left the sheath all film — and it leaves it to *answer* the arm, not to threaten it. The drones overhead track it instantly. The blade takes the mech arm at the *joint* — a single clean horizontal cut, precise as a woodcutter's — and the arm separates at the elbow in two pieces: the upper, still on Ubear's shoulder, now a stump of brass and ruined gear; the lower, a heavy gauntleted limb, flung free by the momentum of its own swing. The severed piece hits the concrete floor of the folly and *clangs.* @@ -1028,7 +1028,7 @@ ADRIAN (to nobody) That was a mistake. -He means his own, not Ubear's. +/* He means his own, not Ubear's. - Commented out because this is editorializing.*/ He sheathes the sword. Walks out.