“Limbo” a script for Season 2 episode 2, part 1

Scene 1: Bette’s Dream Sequence

The front door closed slowly and ominously behind her, finding its home with a throaty thud as it met the jamb.

“What is that smell?” she thought out loud to herself.

It was registering on her apt palate as a noxious cocktail of Easter Sunday mass incense and hot red wine.

“Tina, are you home?”

She knew without any empiric proof that the house wasn’t empty. There was a musky, electric charge hovering upon every inch of the room. And beyond the French doors, a dazzling meteor shower was turning the pool into a churning black lagoon.

“T, where are you?”

 The words echoed loud and strange within Bette’s head.

Then a tendril of sound licked her ear–one that her body instinctively reacted to… the sound of Tina. There was a velvet-tinged “ooh”,  then a volley of gasps from a wet mouth. These naughty morsels that would have normally driven Bette to the brink of ***** instead caused her to go into complete fight or flight mode–Tina was ***** someone, and it wasn’t Bette.

She erupted from her spot in the living room and sprinted down the dark and oddly smoky space of the main hallway to their bedroom. But her full head of steam was suddenly thwarted by stairs–a seemingly endless serpentine cascade of them that reached up beyond the limits of her vision.

“God damnit, I told Tina not the buy these. How am I going to keep them clean? They’re filthy.” Mushrooms sprouted in the footprints Bette left as she continued to climb and fume.

“***** dandelions!!” Bette stooped down and ripped handfuls of them out of the earthen steps as she continued her ascent.

Then a smoldering groan brought her back to the task at hand, and the stairs gave way to the familiar Persian runner that lined the main hall. She marched menacingly into the frenzied candlelight of their bedroom.

And there Tina was, propped up on all fours with her back arched and her mouth wide, her chest flushed and heaving, her hair a sweaty mass save for the bit that was entangled within the driving hand of her equally sweaty steed, that being a young and finely muscled dark-featured man who was pounding Tina from behind. The sound of their sport was deafening–the unmistakable snap of wet skin upon wet skin moving at a frenetic pace.