Garimpeiros (14)
Dead Count:
Episode #20: Charlie Manuel: Shot by brother Mose for refusing to sell out claim to Wolcott.
Crash:
"(Morning at the Gem, Al and Seth are seated at a table downstairs. Dan is watching from behind the bar. A random hooplehead is drinking next to him.)
Al: What did you know about me, Bullock, first we met? No concern for my feelings, huh?
Seth: That you were a killer.
Al: Certain facts show in the mug. (Looks over at Dolly, passing by) Look at her. You know she´s fucked for food.
Seth: What´s the point?
Al: In your mug there´s no such history. Are you a cunt-driven near-maniac or stalwart, driven by principle? The many cannot tell, for you yourself are so fuckin´ confused. But you do make a good appearance, so they´re prone to grant you their trust, which we will use as an asset in the comin´ campaign. (Drinks)
Seth: What´s the campaign?
Al: You have friends in Montana in high positions, some type fuckin´ judge? (Dan watches)
Seth: I´ve cut ties with the judge in Montana.
Al: Amiably or owin´ money?
Seth: Maybe you´re mistrusted less as a killer than showin´ your cards a corner at a time.
Al: Our cause is surviving, not bein´ allied with Yankton or cogs in the Hearst machine, to show it don´t fate us as runts, or two-headed calves or pigs with excess legs, to a good fuckin´ grindin´ up. I only mention the judge in Montana toward maybe drummin´ up interest in us there.
Seth: Annexation to Montana instead of Dakota?
Al: Hikin´ our skirts to Helena might put Yankton back on its heels. And as minutes turn to hours over the piss-pot, I wonder, should we ruminate publicly in loud voices over formin´ a new territory with an eye towards future statehood, or even our own republic?
Seth: No dictatorship?
Al: What the fuck do we need a dictatorship for, that silences the public voice, that eases the enemy´s way? Noise made, overtures to outside interests and enlistment of the hooples´ participation is what this situation demands. And a trustworthy mug with a vague motive out there, buglin´ the call.
Seth: I´m not interested.
Al: (Leans forward) Our moment permits interest in one question only: will we, of Deadwood, be more than targets for ass-fucking? To not grab ankle is to declare yourself interested. What´s your posture, Bullock?
Seth: (He doesn´t move) As you see.
Al: Smiles) Huzzah then.
(Lifts his shotglass, drinks, as Seth raises his glass the random hooplehead drinking at the bar turns and joins in the toast, smiling drunkenly. Seth gives a wry grin at this.)
[...]
(Outside in the thoroughfare, a stagecoach has arrived. Two men lift down a large bicycle into the eager arms of Tom Nuttall. Al, from the balcony, sees the arrival.)
Al: Studying on a getaway, Tom?
Tom: Ain´t she a beauty, Al?
Merrick: Uh, in the French, it´s called a velocipede, meaning "Go Swiftly into the World."
Tom: This is the Gent´s Boneshaker model, and the French can stay the fuck out of it.
Johnny: (To Al, from below) How´s that for a contraption, Boss?
Al: Summon from Farnum that cunt with the long kraut moniker.
Johnny: E.B. ain´t been over for coffee.
Al: Should I ask if Farnum´s come for coffee before I get you to summon that cunt? (Johnny goes, Al looks down at "the box" sitting next to him.) Dead and without a body, you still outstrip him for intelligence.
[...]
(Jane is throwing up outside the freight office. Some men take notice and get up from the bench outside the freight building at the same time that Charlie approaches.)
Charlie: That´s mighty good for bidness.
Jane: Shut up!
Charlie: There´s a girl sitting by herself in that whorehouse--Joanie Stubbs. (Jane throws a bucket of water on the puke to wash it, sorta, away.)
Jane: Next you see her, (Charlie grabs the bucket, finishing the job for her) give her my congratulations.
Charlie: Seeing you know about losin´ friends, you might be a good person to go on and talk to her.
Jane: How does standing in my own puke prompt you to volunteer me to give a condolence call?
Charlie: Why fuckin´ wouldn´t it, Jane? You like bein´ situated how you are? (Jane eyes Charlie)
Jane: What fuckin´ friends did she lose anyway?
[...]
Merrick: What battle are we marching toward in formation of some sort, Al? (Door opens)
Blazanov: I, uh, purchased the sleeping equipment.
Merrick: Mr. Blazanov, Mr. Swearengen.
Blazanov: (bowing) How do you do, Mr. Swearengen?
Al: All right, Blazanov. That´s some pronounced fuckin´ accent you´ve got, huh?
Blazanov: I am Russian.
Al: Now you could have waited saying that before I was fuckin´ seated, huh? (They all laugh)
Merrick: Mr. Swearengen was keenly interested to hear that you´re the camp´s telegraph operator.
Blazanov: How do you do?
Al: Oh, no no no. How do you do? (Stepping in close) You are the master of the fuckin´ secret code and all the other fuckin´ secret things, isn´t that right, huh?
Blazanov: Not so secret.
Al: No, that´s some fucking skill. I´m sure people are trying to bribe you right and left, huh?
Blazanov: No, no, I´m not allowed.
Al: Oh, nor am I, no. None of us are. We are, every one, strictly forbade. That´s the fucking beauty of it all, huh?
Blazanov: I think I haven´t enough English for you, Mr. Swearengen.
Al: Bullshit. You have the perfect exact fucking amount. My only question for you, young man, is your feelings on (grabs the sleeping equipment away from Blazanov?s "package" pointing to it and motioning a blow job.) your prick being sucked constantly and without charge, yeah? (They all laugh)
Merrick: Whoa! And thus you encounter one of our wonderful meaningless American traditions, Mr. Blazanov, the tall-tale conversation, and-and tales and good nature.
Blazanov: Hmm.
Al: (Heading upstairs) The Gem, Blazanov, my saloon. Very convenient to your place of business, huh? Via private walkway, which I will employ as we speak, or by the public thoroughfare. Visit and you will experience a tradition...only used in this camp or my place by newly-arrived telegraph operators fucking free, be their preference of tale tall or fuckin´ otherwise. And by all means-(mimicking Russian accent) Welcome to America. (Bowing, he leaves.)"
Deadwood Transcripts
posted by Luís Miguel Dias segunda-feira, maio 08, 2006
