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Foxes were commonly known as beasts of the chase
by medieval times.
The equestrian tradition
eventually found its way to the States.
Hell, George Washington owned a pack of hounds.
It takes discipline.
You have to know how to ride. Know the calls.
You have to have your wits about you on cold autumn mornings.
The bourbon can only do so much.
I've come to love it, the chase that is.
There are those that would condemn it.
They wouldn't understand.
We are all chasing something. Something we may never see.
Something so elusive,
it was never there to begin with.
My name is Cotton. No, it's not a nickname
but it is an appropriate one.
The old South is all but forgotten, so I wrote
a short story about it years ago. Got it published and it was
read, widely.
I was just a boy then.
There is a way of life that's been lost.
Unable to wash the stains of history from its linens.
But there's something sweet in the seams.
You'll read about it in my novel,
so I'd rather not spoil it.
Well, this should be humiliating.
All the other girls have proper escorts and I have you.
Although it's not your fault my father's a complete asshole.
Don't fuck this up for me, Cotton.
The annual Debutante Ball.
My niece is the one in white,
though I'm not sure she deserves it.
Everything in the South is tradition.
Becoming a gentleman is expected.
Becoming a lady is showmanship.
It's a facade. A pony show for society, where
everyone pretends life is the way we see it in photographs,
perfect and clean.
Like those white gowns.
What are we hiding?
My brother Whitman vanished some
years ago, for what or who we still aren't clear.
My sister would just as soon shoot me as
she would give me a smile. My father spends more time on
ancient soils for blood sport then he does tending the family
or its business, a decently circulated yet poorly written
newspaper coined The Carolinian by our Great Grandfather nearly
a century ago. My mother would care if there was more oolong
than booze in her tea. There is one silver lining in the whole
lot of them, Grandmother. I could tell you her life's story
but you'd have to hear it in her words.
Then there's me, Cotton.
One of the last gentleman the old South has to offer,
though no one would ever care.
Amanda Hastings.
Going once, going twice, sold American!
Where have you been?
I was, I was looking for you this whole time.
Oh my God. Christ, you smell like a distillery. Real nice.
You don't even know-
Okay, I don't care just, just walk me center stage,
and get out of my way.
You look fantastic, by the way.
You disgust me.
Oh, come on.
Lily O'Connor.
Miss June, nice to see you again.
Good evening, miss.
Uh, it was so much fun Aesop.
I love this place.
Quite a show, out there.
What? Oh, yep.
Becoming a lady has always been a spectacle.
Well I wasn't referrin' to the ladies, Cotton.
One would think you'd have more a bit more couth.
What, with your recent induction.
Oh relax, relax.
No one gives a damn what us dogs are barkin' about.
It's been really tough, lately, Mr. Wentworth.
Oh yes, of course. How could it not be, what, for
a, the youngest heir of a well-to-do publishing dynasty.
It's harder than it sounds.
There is a code that a Gentlemen must adhere to.
Our code.
I understand.
I'm proud of my selection, I assure you.
Then act like it. You knew what you were getting into when you
took that oath. You are an O'Connor, the first of our Order
and the future publisher of The Times.
Publisher?
My brother Whitman will return, someday.
Look at 'em.
Spinning about in blissful ignorance.
If they only knew about the men behind the curtain.
Louise.
Where are you running off to?
I was just um, nowhere.
I'm sorry about the Ball. Lily despises me.
Oh, she'll be fine or she'll
harbor it for years, but, eh, what does it matter.
Ya know I really thought he'd show.
If not for his daughter, then at least for his reputation.
He gave that up long ago.
If you knew where Whitman was, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?
Sure.
Whitman will return, eventually.
For the paper, if nothing else.
I'm sure this hasn't been easy on you, Louise.
No, no it hasn't.
To you all, this is goodbye.
I have to see what lays beyond the pines.
Out there among faceless strangers and
hurried travelers scurrying to far off lands.
I can't write anymore because I have no more to say.
And who would care to know what we have become.
Whitman had it right.
Do not think this is for lack of love or kinship.
You are my family. Wherever I am out there,
I will think of you often and fondly.
Know that you didn't do this to me, we did this to ourselves.
And though I may meet an end,
I know, somewhere, there is still hope.
And who knows,
maybe I'll find something to write about.
That's terrible news.
No, no, do what you have to do.
I'll be in as soon as I can. Oh, and Aesop?
Call the lawyer.
May I use your phone.
Call for you, Sir.
My Grandmother's dead.
¿De lo que se murió? (What did she die of?)
They didn't say.
Hello?
Hello Mother.
Darling, you're home.
Oh, it's been so long.
I'm so glad to see you.
I do wish it were under better circumstances, of course.
I'm sorry. I came as soon as I could. When's the funeral?
But, it was this morning. That's what all this is about.
How could this happen?
Arrangements were made.
It was a lovely service, darling, truly.
You would have approved.
Most of the city was there.
She was a fine woman, Cotton. A fine woman, indeed.
May I have a word, Mother? In private.
Excuse us, will you?
Where's Father?
Well I have absolutely no idea.
Last I heard, he speared a cougar through the throat.
Absurd. What of Whitman and Marietta?
Wait, don't tell me.
It's insanity that none of us were here.
Well Aesop was.
He's practically family. Will you be staying long?
Why? So you can save face at the club, for once?
My mother has just died.
Mother in law.
How did she go, by the way?
Hm, I find that so strange.
That's all people keep asking.
Have you been to church lately?
Jesus Christ.
He seems different.
Esse Quam Videri. (to be seen)
You know,
that woman adored you.
White's a bit much.
It's off white.
How long are you in for?
Not sure.
How's Paris?
I moved back. Turns out, not all Frenchmen are romantic.
I've been staying in the blue room, actually.
Well, it's not really blue anymore.
More of a lilac.
At our house?
Yes. Your mother insisted after my folks
moved to Charleston.
Turned out my father had an entire second
family, I'd rather not talk about it.
I can't believe I missed her funeral.
It was nice, but I got out of there pretty quick, and at least
you're here now. Marietta's been
delayed out of Atlanta three times.
That's terrible luck.
Not really.
She owns the plane.
Thank you.
June, glad you're here.
Mildred, how are you?
I'm sorry I'm late, this is Cotton.
He's an old friend.
Good. That was the Inspector.
How did it go?
It could've been worse, but he signed off
and our finals at the end of the week.
What is this place?
Well, Mildred and I have spent
the last eight months renovating this old house.
The state was off-loading them, hell half of
them will have to be torn down either way,
but soon, this will be our shop.
I don't get it. A shop for what?
Um, how old of friends, did you say?
I've been away.
Cotton.
Weatherly, I haven't seen you since-
Since the ball.
Hm, yes.
I see you've grown.
I thought I recognized that voice.
Ah Fitzy.
Mildred, thank you.
Drinks on me, soon.
Great to see you old friend.
Good to see you.
Now this is a sight!
Mmhm. June's latest design. Stunning, of course.
Did we get the alpaca?
As promised.
Oh, have you read much about Alpaca?
A thing or two.
Apparently it's hypoallergenic.
Alright, turn around.
Right.
Is he alright?
You know, I'm not entirely sure.
Hm.
Did you read the Times this morning?
I did.
Bit macabre, if you ask me.
These times certainly are, Ma'am.
You know, I've missed entertaining, Aesop.
This morning, the funeral,
it almost felt, like old times.
I can't believe you ended up back here.
Well I considered New York, even LA.
But I found that if you held
the door open for someone in New York they looked at you like you
were crazy. You hold the door open for someone in LA,
they don't look at you at all.
I'm gonna use that someday.
Be darlings, would you, grab my
bags and pay the man.
I'll be staying in the Green Room.
Old age? That's just something
people say, Mother. What killed her?
Ugh. Does it matter, Marietta?
Yes. Could be hereditary.
I'm worried about Cotton. You know how close they were.
The woman coddled him.
Any word from my other illustrious brother.
No. Louise is here, though.
Huh, came to collect, no doubt.
How are things at The Times.
Well, if I cared, I'd ask.
The paper's always been the mens' game.
You know that better than anyone.
Any word from the Lawyer?
Apparently all beneficiaries
must be present at time of
disclosure, less they have since departed.
What does that mean?
It means we better hope your
illustrious brother comes home soon.
And if he doesn't.
Well, I hadn't thought of it.
We should probably have him declared dead.
Miss June took the liberty of hanging out your scarlets.
In case you're up for a ride in the morning.
Oh! I love this coat.
Where is she?
Retired for the evening.
I prepared the living room for you.
What?
Are all the others are taken?
What about the yellow room?
Under renovation.
Still?
I'm afraid so.
This is what rock bottom feels like, Aesop.
I highly doubt that, sir.
Aesop?
Sir?
Did you... raise me?
I tried. Sir.
She's not exactly solid in the saddle.
You're not exactly solid in the saddle.
Hm?
What?
That mare is lovely though.
She's new.
I know.
And then he said, there are no virgins left in the county!
Well, well, well, so,
the prodigal son returns.
Excuse me, Gentlemen.
I'm just gonna see if I can squeeze out of these boots.
My condolences to the Family.
Viola, she was one hell of a woman.
She was definitely something else.
Yeah. Cotton, I must say, we are-
we are very anxious for your elucidation.
What? Oh, the Order.
I don't care for that anymore-
Well, see that's not the way it works.
Boy.
Well, in the course of cubbing,
not every hound makes it to the pack.
I'm sure they'll understand.
Oh yeah, but see this isn't sport, Cotton.
There's nothin' I can say that's gonna help you.
Blood in. Blood out.
I get it, Wentworth. You want an O'Connor 'cause you want the
press, but I ain't home to take over the family business,
nor pick up where we left off.
Too much has changed, believe me, you wouldn't want me.
Good hunt, sir.
Where is he?
Somewhere along the Limpopo River,
I realized, I was the beast.
You missed the funeral.
Our convoy was sidetracked in Jo-burg.
I take it you were in attendance.
I was not.
Well. I believe my mother would understand.
If anyone could.
I knew she was sick for sometime,
hell, still hurts.
Your mother seems torn up.
Yes.
Rather vapid.
A North Carolina country
gentleman galloping after the fox.
Never understood that tradition.
Good lookin' coats, but no armament.
Not every situation requires a bullet.
What's it been?
Jesus, three years.
You should come down to The Times.
Look, you would hardly recognize the place.
I'm sure it's doin' fine without me.
Your Great Great Grandfather, Arthur Niall-
I know the story, Dad.
What did I ever do to you?
You wouldn't let me write for the paper.
You were under-qualified.
We own it!
We're publishers!
You made everything so hard on everyone.
You killed my dog.
It was a family dog.
So you admit it?
Meanwhile...
That was in!
Thank you.
Well, I played well.
I let you win.
Look at these bitches.
Staring at us.
"There she is. The silver spoon queen, still
hasn't married you know, and the
other one who so badly wants to be an O'Connor."
Please, child. That's what they're saying.
They're probably talking about Cotton. Your family's chaos is
regular chatter on an off-day.
Especially now that he's home.
Cotton? What a dunce.
He's your brother.
Only by blood.
Do you think he'll take Whitman's place at the paper,
now that he's back.
As future Publisher?
I know you harbor some deep-seeded love for
the boy, but you must stop encouraging him.
It's not healthy.
Relationship advice from the single, silver spoon queen?
Single? I've been married for six years.
Susan is the best thing that ever happened to me.
Christ, June.
You can certainly smoke 'til you're twenty five.
After that, it's just sad.
Give it to me straight, old friend.
My lady gettin' out there?
There have been quite a few inquiries, sir.
A date or two.
Flowers every Thursday.
Thursdays! Son of a bitch.
And you, are you, getting out there Sir?
In so many ways, Aesop.
Your mother was one of the sharpest women I have ever had
the pleasure of knowing. She lived with rare grace.
Yeah. Can't really believe she snuffed it.
Thought the old dame would outlive us all.
Indeed.
So,
what are we gonna do about these flowers.
Best to put them in vases, Sir.
Oh! I'm sorry, Louise.
No, no, June. Sit with me, won't you?
Hmmm, what is that?
Lavender. I'm practically addicted to it.
My therapist suggested it to me after Whitman left.
Apparently, it's good for stress.
Is everything-
I slept with... someone.
Hey, good for you lady.
It's nothin' to be ashamed of.
Oh, no, I'm not.
Though, I had only ever been with Whitman.
Oh hell, Louise it's not my place,
but no one else is sayin' it.
Fuck him.
Fuck him?
Fuck him!
Why should you have to do or say a damn thing.
That man should march his soggy bottom back here
and grovel at your pretty little toes.
Whitman this and Whitman that. I mean-
That fool,
he'd be lucky you ever look at him straight again.
Thank you Miss Moore.
Let me know if you need anything.
Alright.
Ah, Mr. Wells. How are things?
Just dreadful.
By the time we run with it, every online
service in the world has covered it and ten stories that we never
even saw coming.
Advertisement is down and that used to be our golden river.
Once and again, rivers dry up.
This is not a laughing matter, Whit.
I ran papers for your Father, when I was just a boy.
The Times is an institution.
And it always will be. Oh by the way,
Edwin McCushing is gonna be dropping by.
McCushing.
Why, does he want his old job back?
No, it's more of a-a gentleman's visit.
Guys like McCushing are diggin' our graves, even as we speak.
You know that, right.
Well, somebody's gotta tend to that.
Just be nice to the man. That's all.
I trust you'll do right by us, when the time comes, Whit.
Apparently the piano player's blind.
Blind?
Well, he's no Beethoven.
Beethoven was deaf my dear.
Ha! I knew that, of course.
I blame the gimlets!
Uh, potent, as always.
Fitzy, shoots for The Times, now, you know.
Well, I like to think the paper works for me, I'm still
freelance. Speaking of which I understand your pops was
thinking of sellin' out, Cotton.
He'll take the paper to his grave.
Well, it's good to have you back Cotton.
I imagine you've been out there, like Kerouac.
Lost in the American terrain.
I think of myself as more of a Huck Finn.
You're too predictable to be a Huck Finn!
You're more like a Tom. I would be Huck.
Who am I? And don't you dare say Jim.
Don't you run away from this!
I'll be back.
You were gonna say it, weren't you.
You disappeared on us, back there-
June! Remember when we used to
put on plays here for our Families.
I miss this. Reminds me of simpler times.
They certainly seemed that way.
What's that?
Grandmother's copy of my novel.
Ah, I was thinking, might be better suited as a play.
I think, It'd be best suited in a jacket.
I had such a vivid image of you in my head
these last three years.
You're much softer than I recall.
And you...
Well, you're certainly not the girl you were before Paris.
It must terrify you.
Jesus Christ! Whitman!
You know the front door still works.
I have no doubt, little brother.
Who's in my room? And why is it purple?
June.
What, does she live here now?
You missed Lily's debut.
Debut?
That must have been some time ago.
How'd she look?
Disappointed.
What about Grandmother? I assumed that's why you're here.
Right.
How'd she go, anyway?
Does it matter?
S'pose not.
Wait, you can't leave. We need you here for the reading of the
will, or some shit.
Damn. Well, I can't simply be here
when everyone wakes up. That's no way to make an entrance.
True, the window was bold.
I ain't sticking around after.
I doubt anyone expects you to.
She was one of the good ones, wasn't she? Grandmother?
I never read your novel, by the way.
I never finished it.
What's the deal with the pool, Lily?
Apparently, its gone to shit.
It was the middle of the night.
We could hear the leopards breathing.
Smell their breath.
I readied my spear.
It was the only time I've ever been truly afraid.
He pounced, and I struck, caught-
Atrocious! What'd you do if someone were to hunt you.
Haha! I would welcome the sport.
Enough Whitman.
I doubt our guest wants to hear all those gory details.
Why don't you save them for your journals.
Or the paper.
I think readers would respond to your adventures.
It's not all curtains and cocktails.
Why wouldn't they?
Teddy Roosevelt was a hunter. Churchill.
Hemingway.
Aldo Leopold.
Aesop, the quail, are they farm-raised or from one of my
husband's many exploits?
Farm, ma'am.
Oh! Thank goodness.
The last time I had quail, I spent the
entire morning pickin' buckshot outta my teeth.
What are you still doing here?
Manners, Cotton. I've offered
Mr. McCushing stay during his visit.
He and your Father used to work side by side at the paper.
Edwin, please. I remember you.
You were just a child at the time.
In what room.
I'm sorry?
In what room is Edwin staying in?
Oh, the yellow room.
But the renovations?
Completed first thing this morning.
Aesop, nothing brings me home like your egg scramble.
I haven't had a proper brunch in ages.
I'm not leaving this time without your secret.
What secret is that, Marietta?
How to break an egg?
You know what, join us, Aesop.
Cotton.
Perhaps another time.
Nonsense, take my chair.
Is this about the yellow room?
No, this isn't about the yellow room,
though that is unfortunate.
Mother, you, yourself said Aesop is family.
I believe I said, practically.
Whitman?
I'd, uh, ask for a seat,
but they seem slim-to-none at this table.
You look amazing, Lou.
Don't start with that.
Ok. You go first.
How did you hear about your Grandmother?
Cotton, of course.
How's Lily?
She graduates in the spring.
Hm, our little girl.
She's twenty one.
I'll have to buy her a drink then.
What's she studying?
Like you give a damn!
You really do look amazing though.
This doesn't change anything.
You don't smoke.
Where is she, Whitman?
Havana. With her family.
She went the one place you couldn't follow.
Smart girl.
Well, relations with Cuba are better than ever.
Lucky you.
What?
Just looking at you.
I look old.
I'd blame myself, if that were true.
I can't imagine that you would take the
blame for much of anything.
Fair shot. What else you got.
Sit down or leave. I have no energy for this.
Come on, Lou.
You know, I never should have
said yes to your foolish proposal.
Foolish?
I was knocked up, at the time.
I was proud of that.
Is that right?
Yeah.
And was it pride that drove
you away the second time around?
She hates me.
She doesn't hate you.
I don't blame her.
No, I suppose you can't.
Anything you'd like to get off your chest.
Why, what did she say?
Look, Nancy, you get the contents of this library, all
her gowns and jewelry, except for three rings.
The sapphire for Marietta, the
white gold for Whitman the Fifth and Cotton, you get the diamond.
The Manor on Bloodworth Avenue
is yours, Whitman, and the house in Nag's Head,
will be sold for conservation purposes.
Conservation?
Aesop. How'd she put it,
"To my dear friend, Aesop, I leave a sum of twenty-three
thousand dollars and twelve acres off Peach Orchard Road."
Is that it? What of The Times?
Viola sold her shares-
It's all quite confidential,
but, but uh,
since we're all family here.
Lily.
Children.
My love.
Aesop.
I'm selling, The Carolina Times.
The hell you are.
At what price?
Mr. McCushing is here to appraise the business.
Edwin?
Yes, after leaving The Times, years ago,
he took the lead role over at Dagger Digital.
That's my paper.
Your paper?
Yeah!
You're a publisher, your father was a publisher,
his father was a publisher, his fath-
His father was a ship builder! What have you built.
You would really abandon it so easily?
I assure you there is nothing easy about it.
The peo-the people depend on us.
For what?
The Truth!
The Truth. In the news?
Yeah!
You'd have better luck finding God.
Cotton!
Look, Viola wanted you to have this. I'm sorry for your loss.
She was... well, you know.
I'm surprised they took it like that.
They all stand to make quite a bit of money.
Give Marietta a dollar, she'll save it.
Whitman? He'll lose it.
And give Cotton a dollar, he'll spend two.
I'm not sure when they became so goddamned entitled.
They'll come around.
It's not them I'm worried about to tell you the truth.
What am I gonna say to everybody out there on the floor.
Well, the sooner the better I say. No one wants to
find out their captain's jumped ship by watchin' him swim away.
I'm just glad knowing that
those, those presses are gonna keep on rollin'.
You gotta be kidding me.
Those archaic machines are gonna be the first thing that go.
Hey.
Hi. Your photographer is here.
What, oh, of course, um, sure, where do you want us.
Well, I say we keep it simple. How about by the couch?
Did I miss it?
Not a thing, Mr. Wells.
Good, good. Well uh, ol' Fitz here's the best.
I think we've bought a couple negatives, ourselves.
Really? Who are you with?
Dagger.
Dagger... Digital?
Yeah.
Alright, gentlemen. Let's get this over with.
Old man O'Connor would be proud.
Yep, well, some people will bitch and moan, but at least
they will have a newspaper in the morning.
That's great, gentlemen, thank you.
Alright, well, uh, boys I'm off.
I'll walk out with ya.
Alright.
I will have those papers on your desk by the end of the week.
I take it, you'll be discreet.
I hear nothing Mr. O'Connor.
May I ask you a question it-it's Fitzgerald, right?
Yes that's right. Fire away.
Do you think the world will remember us?
Long from now.
The Times?
That's hard to say.
You know, the paper, as much as the film in the camera, has told
our story for over a hundred years, but things change.
It may not be on fiber, or celluloid, Mr. O'Connor,
but our story, will continue.
So... it's forgotten.
You know, they say the Earth will be engulfed by the flames
of the Sun someday,
but that's nothing to fuss over right now.
Hi baby.
Hey.
Damn, I remember when we bought you this horse.
It's not the same horse.
My sweet gentleman.
I'm sure this must be hard for you.
You've always been such a sensitive young man.
I always loved those plays you and June put on in the attic,
Your paintings were inspiring and your novel.
I believe I finally understand.
It's about us. The Family.
Bit harsh, though I suppose it is a fair portrait.
I imagine it wasn't easy being raised in the shadow of your
brother, or The Times,
but I want you to know, there have
been many Whitman's, Cotton, but there's only one you.
And I love you, for all that you are, and will come to be.
Goodbye, sweet boy.
What's on Peach Orchard Rd, Aesop?
My wife.
My children.
Three Grandchildren.
The sum covers the deed,
I've been buying it from her.
What are they like?
They get on just fine.
What are you still doing here?
There's nothing left but a pack of wolves.
And you. Are you a wolf?
I'm a sheep in wolves' clothing.
Pull!
Nice shooting, Sir.
Don't ever call me that, again.
Whitman?
You and I have never really seen eye to eye, have we?
Hard to teach anything to a man who knows everything.
Yeah, okay, enough of the wisdom, old man.
What do you want.
Father. He's not thinking straight.
No worse than usual.
I'm challenging the sale.
I want to make sure you're on our side,
when this all shakes out.
Selling the Times could ruin this family.
If you say so.
Okay.
Good.
Good talk.
When I first approached June two years ago
with the idea for Bloom & Thorn,
she never once hesitated.
I am humbled and honored to be,
not only your partner, but your friend.
To June.
To June!
Thank you.
Damn, this place.
Real proud of you, June.
Okay.
What is it?
They're sellin' The Times.
Goodnight y'all.
June!
Goodnight.
Before you left, you stood tall.
Puff out your chest to let us all know you're comin'.
But, now you're like me, when I first came back.
Disenchanted.
What about us?
Cotton O'Connor.
A thousand times we had a chance.
You let every one of them blow on by.
You know you're Grandfather gave me that bottle, years ago.
Did you know him well?
As well as anybody could, I guess.
Oh, he lived for the paper.
They're selling it.
In certain circles
voting is done by, uh, placing small
marbles, black and white, into a jar.
Now, if one is to receive just one black marble the
inductee is denied.
I took a chance on you.
And I removed a black marble from your jar.
Why?
"There is a place you never see.
A place of endless fields of gold,
shrouded by uplifting pines.
Caught between sinking
mountains and drifting sand dunes.
A place where fallen tobacco barns lie alongside
quiet country roads like fallen giants from some forgotten war.
A place I love and you would too
if you had come to know it as I have."
You read my short story.
Many times.
We never wanted you for the paper Cotton.
You see the Order is old and, let me tell you, it is as tired
as it is aged.
I just thought there would be young men,
like you, who'd be next in line.
But you know it's all just slipping away.
Perhaps it should.
You know what your trouble is?
You like to romanticize about the way things were.
But the truth is you don't want to
have anything to do with it.
Oh you dress the part, but Cotton,
your heart, it's your heart that knows better.
Oh.
You're not a bad guy, Cotton.
You're just not one of the hounds of dixie.
Now, my advice, drop the act. Just be you.
But what's the point?
I've been chasing this novel for years.
And still have nothing to show for it,
no real story to tell.
Oh, I don't believe that.
Perhaps your novel has been with you all along.
How's that?
Cotton, you know these hunts we cherish so dearly?
Well let me ask you something.
Have you ever actually seen a fox?
Can't say that I have.
Well Cotton, that's because there are no foxes out there.
Not anymore.
We killed them all.
My name is Cotton O'Connor.
I'm a newspaperman by birth, an outcast by the pen.
I have seen much of the world, great walls
over ancient lands, romantic spires down the Rues of France.
Felt the rumble of hooves at the
great corrida in Pamplona, lost everything along the tracks of
the Curragh, only to make it back in the dingiest dives of Calcutta.
I have sailed, not drifted
down the peaceful, but on the hardest seas
on the other side of the Earth.
I believe I was chasing something, but standing at the
foot of Kilimanjaro I realized I was running,
running from a name, a place, an existence,
lost along the way news came that my Grandmother had passed.
We never said goodbye.
When I came home it all looked the same,
but nothing was as it would appear.
My Grandmother was gone and with her, and the wind,
a whimper of a way vanished.
The old South died and a new South, one full of change and
wonder stood in its place,
I could tell you of the breeze in Dingle,
or the thirst in Mumbai,
or the bravery endured in the arenas,
though I am no aficionado.
I will, however, tell you of the world I know,
the one I was given. Both a curse and a blessing of manner.
Where wars have been fought and
loves lost and things left unsaid,
but it was not their fault.
It's just the life I was given.
They birthed me to privilege, gave me everything,
and in the end I'm just a man with life at his fingertips.
Too stubborn to accept it,
too foolish to clench it in his hands.
It's not awful.
Predictable.
Forced at times.
A tad heavy handed on the homage
but, not awful.
I never apologized.
For ruining your Ball.
Yeah.
Well this family was never cut out for fairy tales.
What are you gonna do?
Now, that The Times is changing hands.
I don't know.
The Times were never really mine.
What about you?
I always thought I'd work for the paper, someday.
But I think it's good, ya know.
Now we can do whatever we want.
Why should I care if he sells it?
It's our heritage, Marietta.
Hey.
What is your plan?
I'll bring it to the board.
It sounded like a done-deal.
The O'Connor name has sat perched upon the header of every
issue that's ever gone to print for The Times.
I will see to it that it remains there.
Tonight, the O'Connor Family passes on the baton to Dagger
Digital and with that,
the responsibility to seek truth in journalism.
Though, a wise man once said
you'd have better luck finding God.
I so wish your Grandmother was still with us.
She would be proud.
I know this is hard, Cotton,
but this transition's not about you and me.
It's about those to come.
The next generation.
The faster we advance,
the stronger this world's gonna become.
You must see that.
Pretty soon, were gonna be traveling at the speed of light.
Two World Wars. Civil rights. Terror.
It has also seen what man has become. Both good and evil.
If our only concern is traveling fast
then we might just forget to live.
Faster than the speed of light?
We might all just disappear.
My Grandmother...
What's this?
Wait, so this isn't an apology?
Lily, I'm sorry.
We have the rest of our lives to therapize
with one another if need be.
What is wrong with you,
like, inherently?
It's not me! It's your Grandfather.
He's clearly insane and unfit to make
decisions on behalf of this family.
Who's insane?
Hey! Hey!
Who's unfit?
Lily!
My father is unhinged, you see that, right?
Whitman, you're starting to scare me.
So this truly is the end of The Times.
Are you sure that's what you want?
No other way, darling.
I suppose I should be hurt that I wasn't consulted.
Did you really not see it coming?
No, I didn't.
Don't think I'm proud,
cause you finally decided to finish something.
That's all, O'Connor?
No sweet talk, no serenade?
You wasted enough time on me, June.
I do love you, in case I never mentioned it.
Goodnight, June!
I messed up, Lou. Okay.
I- wh-I d-I don-I don't know what to say! I... I...
I...
I fucked Cotton.
Pigs be fed, yet hogs be slaughtered.
Whitman?
Pigs be what?
I said, pigs be fed, yet hogs be slaughtered.
Whitman...
Oh my God.
This is between you and I.
You and me, little brother.
Boys!
Put down the weapon, son.
This is madness!
Madness is a man's own brother
sleeping with his wife in a time of weakness.
What are you talking about?
Oh shit.
Cotton O'Connor, my brother.
You're son. Slept with my wife.
The mother of my child.
I was so lonely, Whitman.
You're being ridiculous. Just put the gun down.
Y tu, hermana. Supposed to be us, versus them. Remember?
Well, you're a bit off-script.
I blame myself for all this madness.
I blame you too.
You both seem surprised.
Now that Viola and Whitman the Third have both passed,
I can no longer hold my tongue, stand by,
and watch you disembowel each other.
Now I feel the need to remind you all that you're family.
Though if savage you've become
then civilized words are already lost.
Whitman, I-
Cotton, I know, I know, I know, I just-I just wish that-
Somebody call the ambulance! Somebody!
Be still, be still.
It's gonna be alright, kid. Your gonna be alright.
Hold on, Cotton.
I love you, too.
Don't say that. Why would she say that? Why now in the end?
I have no more words to share.
No poetic sympathies for you to consider.
It would always end like this.
Bittersweet and too obvious to make it exciting.
They finally caught up to this old fox.
They've ripped him to shreds and left him wondering
what could have been if he had just seen tomorrow's sun.