It is very late night, when these sort of things are typically bound to happen, such as JOHN OLIVER, a TV show host, appearing out of nowhere and into your kitchen, asking

JOHN OLIVER

is it too late for a glass of milk?

Startled, and just having dressed from a long and hot shower, the occupant of the apartment is started.

OH, my God—John Oliver!

As it were.

What are you doing here?

Anticipating a glass of milk—

A tad warm, preferably.

Where are you supposed to be right now?

Wherever I am, which is—erm…

My kitchen.

Very nice kitchen, I might add;

About that milk.

I'm vegan.

Plant based will do.

It's for baking.

—very well. They said you'd be a tough nut to crack.

Who is “they”

Who they are.

He plops down on the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee tables

YO.

I don't speak much Spanish.

But you understood that!

I said I didn't speak much, not that I was devoid entirely of comprehension.

What the fuck!

What the fuck, indeed.

You're so British, I don't even have a reproach—

Harry, Hermione, and Ron enter through a portal.

I WAS GETTING READY FOR BED.

That sounds lovely.

—is it too late for a glass of milk?

Ron!

…Well, is it?

What is it with you people and milk?!

The other Ron, or actually rather, his real world counterpart RUPERT GRINT is already in the fridge.

There's only coconut—

And it's canned.

JOHN OLIVER and RON WEASELY

AUGH.

Harry scrunches his nose and winces a bit, when his real world counterpart exits the washroom.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

Don't make that face— it will get stuck like that.

HARRY POTTER

—it's just an expression.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

No, it isn't; remember more of you is fictional than not!

HARRY POTTER

Says you!

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

Says just about anyone in this dimension, and the next, and the next over— which—

Oh my God.

DANIEL RADCLIFFE

by the way, which dimension is this?

My kitchen.

KRISTEN SHAAL

do it.

Keep telling me things I don't want to hear.

But do it—scandalously.

KRISTEN WIIG

(Bewildered, super mumbling)

..:bewildermentmn…

KRISTEN SHAAL

GO AHEAD!

I'M WAITING

I need the opposite of attention.

Miraculous.

Ah, fuck. I pissed off the avengers or whatever.

This is the imminence and urgency of oppression digging in at us,

Peering in from lenses

And peer mentors, instant challenges

And in gratification, proliferated profanities

And neocorporste totalitarianism,

Vegan or vegetarianism

Hungarian isn't,

Intimate leaning a lesson;

Never open the door for a friend

Or a possible stranger

When internal at war with

Yourself

And external

The silence in admittedly

A years long race war

From here to hell you can hear the impresonment

Of shackled bonds and illegal existences,

Still hasn't yet,

The daily collapse of the actual

Backend

Haven't used that one in a while.

I'm waiting at the edge installing a kit cat on Carson's red carpet

Are you hollering at me,

Or just another robot

Destined for caucus?

Wonder if water's already on another earth,

Or haven't you thought about stopping

Those in poverty from spawning more offspring

Or perhaps letting them have

Just the minimal at living,

Giving them a chance

At all?

What?

Back splash, I'm under.

A rainstorm on the horizon

And probably our clouds are proud to have snow in them—

A pound or so.

For sure.

{Enter The Multiverse}

Thump, thump, thump…

We hear the sound of a loud and slow heartbeat. Almost too loud, and almost too slow.

Bright sunbeams through the still closed eyes of a sleeping man, and though it already seems to blind him, he opens them slowly, squinting, In a half-ditch effort to cover his face from the sun, almost failing immediately, presumably from exhaust, the man places a hand over his chest as if to feel if his heart is even still there, let alone beating.

Thump, thump, thump, thump—

More red orange sunlight, and as he places the other hand again over his face to try to faze it, the shadow of something that appears creeping over him blocks the bright sun out of his eyes.

SHADOW

Do you know who you are?

Even without looking, the man at the very least knows his own hands. He chooses to remain silent for the moment; but at least nods his head yes, looking up at the man, only still a shadow.

SHADOW CONT'D

Do you know when [you are]?

Sitting up only slightly, the man peers around subtly scoping the area; he appears to be poolside, at some type of resort— the children playing give way to a much earlier time— about 100 years or so, give or take.

…nineteen…twenty six?

SHADOW

That's right. And finally—

Do you know where?

Let's hope Los Angeles.

SHADOW

Where else are you going to find this type of weather?

…a few places.

SHADOW hoists the man up by his hand with a firm grip, propping him up on the loungers

SHADOW

Up you go.

Ugh.

Shadow tosses a thick rolled up newspaper into the man's torso. It appears he has been badly sunburned

Oph—watch it!

SHADOW

Read up; you have work to do.

In 1926?

SHADOW

Apparently.

(Genuinely curious, confused)

…What could that be?

Figure it out.

The Shadow walks away without having ever been revealed; his long trench coat and fedora leaving a hint of mystery as he crosses the pool.

Where are you going?!

SHADOW

Continental Breakfast.

{Enter The Multiverse}

[The Festival Project.™]

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