A Script for In the Beam

**IN THE BEAM**

**SCENE START**

**INT. COMMUNITY HALL - EVENING**

SOUND of an IRRITABLE, LOW HUM

The air is thick, smelling of pine cleaner and stale popcorn. Fluorescent lights cast a sickly, sterile glow over worn linoleum floors and stacked plastic chairs.

DEVON (30s), earnest, his dark hair damp with sweat, wrestles with a BEIGE BEHEMOTH of a projector. His faded t-shirt, featuring a grumpy badger with a paintbrush, clings to his back.

He yanks a VGA cable. Nothing. The projector beam on the makeshift screen is a wobbly, ghostly grey rectangle.

He checks the clock on the wall: 7:43 PM. Seventeen minutes. He mutters to the machine.

<center>DEVON</center>

> Come on, you relic. Just... project. For the sustainable future. Please.

A hand, slick with sweat, slips on the focus knob. He wipes it on his jeans, leaving a greasy smudge. The fine hairs on his arms stand on end from the static charge building around the machine.

<center>SIMONE (O.S.)</center>

> Still wrestling that mechanical beast, I see?

Devon looks up. SIMONE (30s), sharp and stylishly sensible, leans in the doorway, arms crossed. A canvas tote is slung over her shoulder. One eyebrow is perfectly arched in detached amusement.

Devon forces a lopsided, exhausted grin.

<center>DEVON</center>

> It’s less a wrestle and more a philosophical debate. It’s contemplating the meaning of its existence and has decided to remain stubbornly mute on the matter of our SDG presentation.

<center>SIMONE</center>

> Perhaps it’s an artistic statement.

>(beat)

> The blank screen, a metaphor for the void of creativity prior to our intervention. Very avant-garde. The Elders will appreciate the nuance.

Simone walks into the room, her trainers making soft thuds.

<center>DEVON</center>

> Hilarious. Did Briar actually test this thing? She swore it was ‘A-okay, just needed a good wipe down’.

<center>SIMONE</center>

> Briar’s definition of ‘A-okay’ has always been... fluid. Like quicksand, but with better hair.

She stops at the projector, peering at it with clinical detachment. Without another word, she reaches down, YANKS the power cord from the extension, and plugs it back in with a decisive CLICK.

The projector WHIRS, shudders, and a faded "Welcome to PowerPoint" slide shimmers into focus on the screen.

Devon stares, his jaw slack.

<center>DEVON</center>

> You... you just...

<center>SIMONE</center>

> Sometimes the most ornate solutions obscure the simplest of problems. Or perhaps it merely needed a firm hand.

She pulls a stray thread from her sleeve.

<center>SIMONE (CONT'D)</center>

> Take your pick.

A bright, musical laugh echoes from the doorway.

<center>BRIAR (O.S.)</center>

> Oh, Simone, always the pragmatist! And Devon, still battling the inanimate!

BRIAR (30s) floats into the room, a vision in a flowing linen dress, her auburn hair catching the light. She carries a wooden tray laden with small, jewel-like jars of jam.

<center>BRIAR (CONT'D)</center>

> Honestly, you two are a comedic duo in the making!

She places the tray on a trestle table with a delicate THUMP.

<center>BRIAR (CONT'D)</center>

> And for your information, Devon, this *is* artisanal blueberry jam. Sourced from local berries, prepared by community youth, and contributes directly to SDG 8, Decent Work and Economic Growth. Multi-faceted, darling!

<center>DEVON</center>

>(forcing a neutral tone)

> The projector’s working. Simone fixed it.

<center>BRIAR</center>

>(waving a dismissive hand)

> Oh, good! See? I told you it was fine. Probably just a loose connection. Now, are we ready? The Elders will be arriving shortly, and we want to present a unified, enthusiastic front.

She beams at them. Devon swallows a bitter retort. He straightens his badger t-shirt.

**INT. COMMUNITY HALL - LATER**

The hall is now full. The air smells of wild rice casserole and bannock. ELDERS and community members chat warmly.

Devon, Simone, and Briar sit at the head table. Briar is already charming ELDER MARGARET (70s), her voice a melodious chime as she discusses her jam.

It's their turn to present. Devon stands, gripping the lectern.

<center>DEVON</center>

> Good evening, everyone. We’ve been working on a proposal for a summer arts programme... focusing on how we can achieve a few of our Sustainable Development Goals right here...

A QUICK SERIES OF SHOTS:

A) Devon points to a budget slide, passionately explaining how SDG 4 (Quality Education) translates to workshops in digital storytelling and traditional crafts. His delivery is earnest, packed with detail.

B) Simone stands, crisp and factual, outlining grant applications and partnerships. Her delivery is persuasive, punctuated by a dry joke that makes an Elder chuckle.

C) Briar rises, her linen dress swirling. She doesn’t use the lectern. She moves closer to the audience, her hands gesturing gracefully.

<center>BRIAR</center>

> ...and what truly makes this programme extraordinary is its emphasis on holistic wellness. We’re not just teaching skills; we’re nurturing spirits.

Her voice is captivating. The Elders lean in, nodding.

<center>BRIAR (CONT'D)</center>

> It’s about building a future, not just on paper, but in the hearts of our community. That’s why I had a little idea to bring everyone together for a fundraising gala, to celebrate that spirit...

Beside Devon, Simone stiffens almost imperceptibly. Her face remains a neutral mask.

**INT. COMMUNITY HALL - LATER**

The meeting is over. People linger. Devon corners Simone by the refreshment table. Briar’s jam sits mostly untouched.

<center>DEVON</center>

>(hissing)

> Did you hear that? The gala? ‘A little idea I had’. Your brainchild!

<center>SIMONE</center>

>(picking at her sleeve)

> She’s a magpie for good ideas, Devon. Polishes them up, presents them as her own. Let it go.

<center>DEVON</center>

> Do they know that? Or do they just see the pretty package? And the projector—she volunteered to check it, Simone! She just dismissed an hour of my life like it was nothing.

<center>SIMONE</center>

>(sighs)

> Look, the presentation went well enough. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Across the room, Briar laughs vivaciously with ELDER JOSEPH. She catches Devon’s eye, offering a wide, disarming smile. It doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

**INT. COMMUNITY HALL - NIGHT**

The hall is nearly empty. The three of them clear up in a strained silence. The CLATTER of plates is overly loud.

Devon stacks chairs, his movements stiff. Briar wipes down a table, humming a light tune, her cheerfulness feeling almost aggressive.

<center>DEVON</center>

> So, for the pottery workshop, we’ll need to order a new batch of clay. The stuff from last year is all dried out.

Briar stops wiping, cloth in hand.

<center>BRIAR</center>

> Oh, is it? I thought there was still plenty. Are you sure? We’re on a tight budget, darling. Every penny counts for our ‘sustainable future’.

<center>DEVON</center>

> I checked this afternoon. It’s rock hard. Unusable. I have the requisition form ready.

Briar walks over, her face a mask of performative concern.

<center>BRIAR</center>

> Hmm. Well, perhaps we could... improvise? Use natural clays from the riverbed? It would be much more authentic. And free! Very SDG-friendly! Think of the cultural immersion!

Devon stares at her, dumbfounded.

<center>DEVON</center>

> Briar, we need purified pottery clay. You can’t just dig up riverbed mud. It’s full of grit, stones... it’ll just crack and fall apart. It’s about providing quality instruction.

<center>SIMONE</center>

> Devon’s right, Briar. We need the right materials.

Simone’s voice is calm, a cool balm on the tension.

<center>SIMONE (CONT'D)</center>

> I’ll make sure the order goes through first thing tomorrow.

Briar’s smile flickers for a micro-second. A crack in the mask.

<center>BRIAR</center>

> Of course, darling. Just trying to be resourceful!

She pats Devon’s arm. The gesture is proprietary, not comforting.

<center>BRIAR (CONT'D)</center>

> You worry too much. We’re a team. Everything will be absolutely marvellous.

She turns away, collecting her perfect jars of jam.

As she heads for the door, a silhouette against the deep blue of the coming night, Devon catches Simone’s eye.

Her expression is unguarded for just a flash—a mix of frustration and apprehension. A confirmation. She quickly looks away, bending to pick up a dropped napkin.

But the look was enough. A chasm has opened up.

Devon stands in the quiet hall, the irritable hum of the projector now switched off, replaced by a growing agitation in his own chest.

Outside, the mournful CRY of a loon echoes across the lake.

**FADE OUT.**

**SCENE END**