Apartment Dimension 1 - Movie Night
INT. COZY LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
A cozy but distorted ‘90s New York apartment. A CRT TV flickers between sitcoms, static, and eerie interdimensional broadcasts. A bulky beige computer hums, its screen shifting cryptic text when no one’s looking.
Stacks of magazines, VHS tapes, and a towering stereo. A pizza box and a cordless phone with an absurdly long antenna rest on a wobbly coffee table. Furniture floats lazily, defying gravity as if it always has.
LADY ENTANGLEMENT (lounging in the right corner of the large sofa, laptop on her lap, one hand typing, the other casually spinning a remote, smirking):
Query complete. I’ve crunched the numbers, executed a flawless emotional manipulation subroutine, cross-referenced emotional response data, applied some creative entropy. After extensive computational analysis—and by that, I mean some very questionable code—I’ve narrowed it down to three optimal choices. I could let you choose… or I could press this button and let my beautifully unstable algorithm do the honors. Feeling lucky?
(Audience chuckles lightly.)
FIRE (sitting in the center of the large sofa, relaxed, hands behind his head, to Lady Entanglement’s left, looking at the laptop display):
Great, so what are they?
LADY ENTANGLEMENT (tapping away on her laptop, twirling the remote):
Your options: high-stakes interdimensional warfare, an existential crisis disguised as a documentary, or a riveting 12-hour silent film chronicling the life cycle of space fungi. Choose wisely… or chaotically. I support both.
(Audience laughs, some clapping.)
FIRE (sighs):
Do you have anything, you know… normal? Like a comedy?
LADY THREAD (dramatic but composed, casually spinning in her floating chair, effortlessly braiding her hair):
Wait! If we watch the comedy, there’s a 3% chance we’ll laugh too hard, Millennium Whoop will shape-shift into a couch, and then—ugh—no one will have anywhere to sit for the rest of the night. Disaster.
(Audience gasps in mock horror, followed by a few chuckles.)
MILLENNIUM WHOOP (currently disguised as a potted plant on top of the coffee table, voice muffled):
Hey hey! Couches all squish-squash comfy-cozy! Me be best bouncy-flop couch—ultimate lounge mode! Whoop whoop!
(Audience laughs, some “Awws”.)
LADY THREAD (leaps from her floating chair, which immediately floats up to the ceiling as her weight was holding it down, like a balloon. She steps in front of a wall mirror, tilts her head left and right, inspecting the braid. Satisfied, she strikes a cute pose with an equally cute expression. Then she glances at Lady Entanglement):
(Audience cheers for the pose.)
What do you think? Perfect symmetry, right?
(Lady Entanglement, eyes fixed on the computer, barely looks up. After a brief pause, she smiles and gives a thumbs up.)
(Audience chuckles lightly.)
Anyway, the documentary’s a minor risk—mild distress, 0.0001% chance of reality collapse. Nothing we can’t handle.
(Audience laughs nervously, some “Oooohs.”)
FIRE :
Spontaneous reality collapse?! That’s an option?!
(Audience bursts out in laughter.)
MILLENNIUM WHOOP (now bouncing between forms—a lamp, a walkman, a clock):
C’mon, Lady Thread! Unspool! Let’s zip, zap, whoosh! Rom-com? What’s WORST? Love knots? Cosmic chaos? Whooooop whoooop!
(Audience laughs and cheers.)
LADY THREAD (As she turns away, the mirror she was admiring herself in earlier doesn’t follow her movements. Instead, her reflection lingers, then sticks out its tongue.):
(Audience laughs with surprise.)
(She heads to the fridge)
Worst case? Oh, please. There’s a 14% chance a rom-com could trigger a temporal loop, and—bam—we’re stuck reliving this night forever. I’ve seen it. Again and again.
(Audience gasps, some laughter.)
FIRE (exasperated):
Fine, let’s just watch Interdimensional Chefs . No one’s going to explode from watching chefs cook, right?
(Audience laughs, some groans.)
LADY THREAD (nodding, grabbing a can, opening it, then using her foot to close the fridge as she heads back to the sofa with a sip):
Cooking shows produce only a 0.00002% chance of existential dread. Acceptable.
(She drops onto the sofa with way too much enthusiasm, making it sink slightly from the impact. Without hesitation, she kicks her legs up and rests them over Fire, who immediately looks annoyed.)
(Audience laughs, some applause for the dramatic drop.)
The TV clicks on, and as the chef chops, objects in the room start to appear chopped in sync with the sound.
(Audience laughs in awe, some claps.)
MILLENNIUM WHOOP (laughing, now shaped as a chef’s hat):
Now we sizzle-zap cookin’!
(Audience bursts into laughter.)
FIRE (resigned):
I just wanted a normal night…
(Audience laughs knowingly.)
LADY THREAD (whispers):
I’ve seen this ending. It’s not good.
(Audience chuckles, a few nervous gasps.)