Fifteen Years Later

[NOTE: As this blog finds its footing, expect major shifts in tone and style.  Our hope is to expand beyond the basic script format as we delve deeper into our characters' backstories. While we slog through this obligatory exposition, however, you're just going to have to deal with it.]

This scene takes place roughly FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER the Opening.

Night scene in a small DCPD office.  Despite the oversized leather chair behind his desk, THE CHIEF stands tensely in front of it, with the shadows from the window slats slicing his features.  THE CHIEF is a man notable only for his perfect cube of a body -- his height, width, and depth are all roughly four feet ten inches long.  He is clearly agitated with JIM TROOAY, who slouches in the solitary chair in front of the desk.  TROOAY is dressed like someone who used to give a damn -- jacket draped across the chair, suspenders instead of a belt, porkpie hat jammed without a thought onto a corner of his weather-beaten skull, and a crushed cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

THE CHIEF: Trooay, you're never gonna make detective if you keep killing witnesses!  That makes, what?  Three you've offed in the past eight months?  Do you have any idea how much ass I'm gonna hafta eat down at City Hall?

TROOAY attempts to straighten and light his cigarette.

THE CHIEF: Look, Trooay.  You and I both know exactly where we're at in this Dentist case.  My pesky shrinks at the thought, but you're the only one with a bead on the guy and the whole town knows it.  I'm stuck with yas, but that doesn't mean you get a free pass to piss all over me and my department.  You're  gettin' a partner.

TROOAY [unfazed]: Aw, chief, c'mon... we've done this dance before!  You set me up with some company stooge who can't hack it and I end up havin' to trick him into a locked closet or somethin'... You know I'm good for Dentist on my own -- a partner would only slow me down.

THE CHIEF: Maybe so, Trooay.  I've said it before, but this time ... I think you're wrong.  [pressing the intercom button on his desk] Ms. Cycline, send in Ms. Trillion.

TROOAY scoffs.  The door opens and DIANA TRILLION enters.  TRILLION is beautiful, but hasn't quite figured that out for herself yet -- her hairstyle and wardrobe are at least ten years behind the times, she wears large glasses despite needing only a weak prescription, and she lugs around a distinctly un-feminine bag overflowing with papers and sundry lady accessories.  TROOAY doesn't look up, leaving her standing.

TRILLION: Is this the right office?  Ms. Cycline ... was that her name?  It sounded so strange to me ...  Is she a bicycle enthusiast or something?  Anyway, she told me it was the fourth office on the right, but I dropped my bag and I may have miscounted ... I'm ... Diana Trillion?

THE CHIEF: Yes, Ms. Trillion, you're in the right office.  Thank you for coming down on such short notice.  This is ... Trooay, stand up!  For God's sake, Jim, grow up and shake your new partner's hand.  I'll go get you a chair, Ms. Trillion.

While THE CHIEF exits, TROOAY drags himself out of the chair and reveals a charm long thought dead.

TROOAY: James R. Trooay, DCPD.  Ms. ... Trillion, was it?  As in a thousand billions?

TRILLION: That's right -- twelve zeroes.  Diana S. Trillion, FB --

THE CHIEF [rushing back in behind a rolling chair that knocks TRILLION into it]: That's DCPD now, Ms. Trillion!  We're your, uh, family now!  Ho ho, sorry about that ... are ya comfortable?

TRILLION: I suppose I better be ...

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Will Trooay put up with Trillion?  Will their combined effort be enough to stop Mr. Dentist's nefarious plot to ... What is Mr. Dentist's nefarious plot this time?  More importantly, FB WHAT?  Tune in to the next episode of The Trooayverse to be confronted with a whole new set of questions!