American Gods (2017–…): Season 1, Episode 5 - Lemon Scented You - full transcript

There's no good way to say
this so I'll put it plain.

Your wife died in the early
hours of this morning.

Don't look at me like that,

like you're a lost puppy.

Oh, shit, Shadow.
No one told you?

My lucky coin.

Do you believe in the afterlife?

You rot.

When you die, you rot.

I love you, puppy.

It's not always gonna be tails.



It had been a hard journey east

across the land bridge
from Siberia.

Freezing and dark,

and it had taken a bitter toll.

After the custom of her people,

Atsula spoke her baby's name...

Aputi.

For the final time.

Her daughter would never see the
new land to which they traveled.

They did not travel alone.

Their god came with them.

Nunyunnini.

But when they reached
the new lands,

the promised food
was nowhere to be found.



Atsula communed with Nunyunnini

for the barriers
were thinner then

between people and their gods.

And Nunyunnini spoke.

And he showed her what to do,

as he had once shown
her grandmother,

and her grandmother's
grandmother.

Nunyunnini loved His people,
as they loved Him.

And so it pained Him to tell her

that escape from the cold
embrace of starvation

would come at a terrible price.

The gods are great.

But people are greater.

For it is in their hearts
that gods are born,

and to their hearts
that they return.

Gods live and gods die.

And soon enough,

Nunyunnini was entirely...

forgotten.

Hi, puppy.

Hey...

baby.

The fuck are you doing here?

I'm cold, puppy.

I was just seeing
if you were real.

I'm real.

Here.

Come sit by me.

Yo, we got some
unresolved issues to discuss.

You and Robbie?

Yes.

Yes. There is that.

Uh, there's also the miracle

of me sitting here posthumously.

I mean, that's a pretty
significant thing

for us to discuss, too.

And to appreciate.

I think maybe we should take
a moment and do that.

No, no. You rising
from the dead?

It's about par for
the fucking course

since I left prison, okay?

So don't think that anything

that you got to say
or do, including dying,

is going to distract
from the subject at hand.

Okay, you want to know
about me and Robbie?

- Yeah.
- To what degree do you want to know?

I mean, do you want
to know everything,

or you want to know the
broad strokes, so to speak?

Why don't you start telling me?

And I will tell you
when to stop.

I wasn't lying

when I said that I
could wait for you

at the time that I said it.
I sort of knew

that it had the potential
of being a lie,

but I was giving myself
the benefit of the doubt

that there was
a version of events

where it wouldn't be a lie.

You were in prison, Shadow.

How long did you wait?

13 months.

Baker's year.

Why did you have to fuck Robbie?

Well, I wasn't going to do it,

and then I was going to do it,

and then I wasn't
going to do it,

and then it felt really good
having not done it,

and then...

the cat died...

and, um...

Robbie came over and, you know,

wine.

You know what they
say about grief.

Next to every cemetery
is a motel.

Once we did it,
we'd already done it,

and there was no undoing it.

Were you going to leave me
for him?

For Robbie? Please.

Why would I do that?

You're my puppy.

I love you.

I...

So...

Ahem.

What happened?

The night you were killed,
what... what happened?

Um...

so anyway, we were driving,

and he was upset,

and so I decided to give him

a little goodbye blow job.

You know? One last
time with feeling.

And so I unzipped his pants.

Big mistake.

Yeah. No shit.

Um, he swerved,

and there was a big crunch,

and the world started
to roll and spin,

and I thought...

fuck.

I'm going to die.

I mean, really, I was very
blah about the whole thing.

I wasn't scared.
I remember that.

Then I was...

somewhere.

And then...

I was in a box.

Puppy, do you think that you could
possibly get me a cigarette?

Think it might calm my nerves.

Might calm yours as well.

Laura?

I'm in here, puppy.

I thought it might be nice
if I were warm to the touch,

in the event that you were
thinking of touching me.

Or kissing me.

I don't want you
kissing cold lips.

What?

Normally, people who die
tend to stay in their graves,

that's what.

Do they really, puppy?

I mean, I used to think so, too,

but now I'm not so sure.

Maybe.

Yeah, what is it?

Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Slow down.

What?

Can't taste it.

This is not doing anything,

nerve-wise or otherwise.

Want to put that on my finger?

When I called you,

the last time...

I had a feeling I was never
going to see you again.

I think I knew
you were going to die.

I had this feeling in my stomach

that something was wrong.

There is a big storm rolling
across the country right now,

and nothing feels okay.

This feels okay.

You and me...

it can.

I'm sure there are some
things about our marriage

that we're going
to have to work on.

What, like you being dead?

I tasted that.

I felt that.

I just...
I felt something.

It felt like...
Like alive.

Do I feel alive?

Yeah.

Good.

You know?

I don't really know
much more now

than I did when I was alive,

and I think whatever I know now

that I didn't know then

I-I can't even really
put into words.

But I do know that I love you.

I mean,
I... I had to die

to know just how much, but...

I really do.

You know, you've gotten
yourself mixed up

in some really weird
shit, Shadow.

I'm watching out for you.

Thank you for my present,
by the way.

What present?

My coin.

Yeah, I know someone
looking for that coin.

Well, they can't have it.

It's mine now.

Are you still my puppy?

No.

I'm not.

Still awake?

- I think so.
- Yeah, me, too.

Can't sleep.

Recent events

have conspired against us both,

and I need a drink.

A man can admit that, huh?

Yeah, uh, I just really
want to go to bed,

- put the day behind me.
- Come on.

One drink.
Well, that's a lie.

Five, six drinks.

Now isn't the time.

Shadow.

You must have questions,

and if you don't, you should.

What is that smell?

What is it, cat piss
and oven cleaner?

Yeah, I do...
I do have questions.

Hey, I... I'm making
a list, a long list.

But right now,

I just need to wrap my head
around what I've seen.

I see you've seen something.

Hmm.

Hands where I
can see them. Now.

My hands are right here, ma'am.

Didn't take long.

Parole officer
says you've been out

- all of six days.
- What's this about, ma'am?

You're under arrest, genius.

May I ask what for?

Bank robbery.

Fuck.

Why, you pretty thing, you.

What?

You have an image problem.

You need to think
about your brand,

how you want
the world to see you.

How you want Mr. World
to see you.

Tasked with asking
a few questions.

You hang a black man
from a tree.

You've got your transmission
and your live wire,

but your circuit's dead.

He was fucking with me.

I told him not to fuck with me.

Take a look at you,

beating up the wrong guy.

You're a good kid,

just not good with people
you don't know.

Apologize.

Please pass on my sincerest
apologies to Mr. World.

Mr. World doesn't
want your apology.

He would, however,

like to regift
your apology to Wednesday

and his man Shadow Moon.

Are you fucking with me
right now?

Mr. World expects
your apology

to be every bit as authentic

as if you were apologizing
to him directly.

He's letting the old fuck
get away with it.

There is a terror in knowing
what Mr. World is about.

Wednesday was suffocating.

The spark was smoldering.

And then you came along,

putting out fire with gasoline.

Wednesday's collecting monsters.

Fucking Pokémon.

He's recruiting.

Martyrdom is a popular
recruitment tool.

And now we have to pluck
the fuse out of the fucker

before the whole thing
blows up in our faces.

Apologize.

You're delusional if you
think he's letting go

of whatever it is
he's holding on to

with a little apology from me.

That is one mass
fucking delusion.

Mass delusions
are as old as I am.

I was there when the Martians
invaded in 1938.

What a panic.

Powerful panic.

Now there are starmen
waiting in the sky.

They believed it was true,
and it was.

Not everyone believed.

Not everyone had to.

Just enough.

That's all
Mr. Wednesday needs...

Just enough.

Maybe just one.

Your boss doesn't seem
to have an I.D., record,

somehow even a name.

You got all those,
Mr. Moon,

record especially.

Lawyer.

Didn't catch that.

You're probably asking
yourself about now

how it came to pass that
two country-fried police

even found you at that motel

for a crime committed
over... count 'em...

Two state lines.

It's a good story.
Just ask.

Lawyer, please.

Hmm.

I thought maybe

you were gonna say
something different.

So this guy Moon robbed you?

He stole me.

From the, uh,

Aged Oaks Retirement Home

where you live?

- What Oaks?
- Mm-hmm.

Yeah, mmm...

No, no, no, no, no, no.

There's no sand there.
I live on a beach.

Always have.

We like to go fishing,

me and the boys, you know?

My wife hates it, though.

She... She loves fish.

Loves wine.

Hates fishing.

Uh, why don't we start
with your name, huh?

Madam Life's a piece in bloom.

Death goes dogging everywhere.

She's a tenant of the room.

He's the ruffian on the stair.

Look, I get it.

You're a week out of jail.

You meet some old grifter,

seems to know his way around.

Guy offers a job,
a chance to learn.

But I think this boss of yours

pissed off
some big-time bombers.

And whether you
realize it or not,

you're about to get
hit by the shrapnel.

Lawyer.

Ah.

What were you doing in Chicago?

You wouldn't believe me
if I told you.

Try me.

Chicago.

Honest answers only.

If you can manage.

God's honest.

I was recruiting a tired

but still vital god of death

into a war against the new gods

who very rightly fear him

as much as they should fear me

but don't yet.

You're not dumb.

Might even be smart.

I get that, and I respect that.

In every other case,

you'd be doing
what experience advises.

And the reason
I take pause here,

the reason I'm hoping

you will break
from the natural script

is that this is, I suspect,
suspect strongly,

this is not the average case.

So...

take a moment

to consider answering
my next question

before saying what you're
going to say anyway.

Okay?

Does your boss have enemies?

Lawyer.

The reason I ask

is because some anonymous tip

dropped you right in our laps,

boxed up with a bow.

But not the usual, uh,
"Hey, I saw someone

"who looked like the guy
on 'America's Most Wanted'

at the Carl's Jr.
Drive-thru."

This was, uh, I'm going
to say different.

I got a goddamn fax

on a machine hasn't
been turned on in...

I don't know...
Since fax machines.

And this fax gave us
your precise location,

GPS coordinates,

make, model, mileage,

even VIN number of your Caddy.

So, much as I'd get accolades

if we collar you two
for the bank bullshit,

it's nowhere near
as big or as interesting

as what is suggested
by the details.

Now, you help me unpack those,

I may just help
get you out of here.

You have my attention.

Now, the leprechaun,

h-he's been against all this
from the get-go,

but he's at a disadvantage

being as he is a fucking idiot.

Now, Nancy,
he comes at all of this

from a specific vantage
of the bitterly dispossessed,

which normally I would
take with a grain,

but I have to admit,

having seen the rope burns
around my friend's neck...

So imagine:

two rural police,
middle of wild turkey season,

and the same company
whose tech found Osama,

is dropping two no-name
grifters in our lap.

You two have
very extravagant enemies.

Lawyer?

What's the ask?

Oh, you got me curious.

I'd like to know what you know.

Uh, don't think you do.

I'm a big girl.
I make my own mistakes.

You offering me something?

Might be.

I want to walk
out of here. Soon.

Got somewhere to be?

Prison Bureau says...

your wife just passed away.

DA can be persuaded
to look leniently on that.

Losing a wife.

It's got to be complicated.

You're the wife.

You're the dead wife.

Give me my fucking coin,
dead wife.

Aah!

You mean my fucking coin.

The dead can't own things.

That's why God made
last wills and testaments.

Don't imagine yours
includes my lucky coin.

Oh! Ohh! Oh!

My lucky coin, Ginger Minge.

Fuck.

My husband gave that coin to me.

Damn his dark eyes.

Gave it a-fucking-way.

Wasn't his to give!

I gave him the wrong coin.

Wasn't meant to be that coin.

That's for royalty, see?

That's a coin you'd give

to the King of America himself,

not some piss-ant bastard

like your piece-of-shit
husband.

Just give me
my fucking coin back!

No.

You'll never see me
again if you do.

I swear to fucking Bran, okay?

I... I swear by
the years I spent

in the fucking trees.

Give me my coin, cunt!

Ohh!

I'm going to ask you
some questions,

and I'd like for you
to answer me honestly.

However, if I feel like
you're not being honest,

I'm going to kick you
in the nuts.

And I want you to know that the last
time I kicked a guy in the nuts,

my foot didn't stop until
it reached his throat. Okay?

How do you know my husband?

I was told to be at a bar,

pick a fight with your man.

Said he wanted to see
what your man was made of.

- Who said?
- Aah!

Use your words.

Uhh! Grimnir!

The dude he calls Wednesday.

Uhh! Fuck.

He's a god.

You don't believe me?

No, no.

Just processing.

Um, what else did God
tell you to do?

You shouldn't trust him...

- Grimnir.
- Wednesday.

- Don't trust him.
- Don't have to trust him.

Your man does, and he shouldn't.

Listen, just give me my
fucking coin back, yeah?

Hey.

There's more
where that came from.

I'll give you another.

Just as good.

Hell.

I'll give you a shitload.

Just as good?

Just as good.

Mm.

I don't really feel
like any of those coins

are going to do the job
that my coin's doing.

You can't take it, can you?

I have to give it to you
freely, right?

Right.

Well, you're fucked.

I'm not going to give it to you.

Come on. I don't think you're
ever going to get your coin back.

Never ever ever.

Not ever.

Not not ever.

Meat's going to slide off you

sooner or later, dead wife.

Sooner if you keep
soaking it in hot water.

All that connective tissue
holding you together.

Well, that's gonna liquefy.

You'll find yourself
on a hot, humid summer day

just cooking in that moist heat.

And you're going to fall
right off the bone.

When you do,

I'm going to reach up
under those ribs,

and I'm going to pluck
that coin out of you

like a berry.

Aah!

Freeze! Hands up!

She ain't dead!

She ain't dead.

See?

Oh, you're an asshole.

You're a fucking asshole,
dead wife.

You're a fucking
asshole, dead wife!

You're an asshole, dead wife!

He's loyal.

So you two talk about whatever
you need to talk about.

Then I want to hear it.

I have nothing to talk about.

Hmm.

Something to talk about now?

I'll leave you two to it.

What the fuck are you doing?

We don't get out of here soon,

they'll be carrying out
a couple of corpses.

Those photographs
are a particular god's

eye-view of the world.

Okay, how'd you do that?

See that little spider?

He's a friend of mine.

That cop was right, wasn't she?

Someone big is after you.

You're afraid.

I thought you weren't
afraid of anything.

Who are you?

Who's after you?

Who's after you?

Who's after you!

Someone you don't want
to let see your face

until you're ready to be seen.

"I Love Lucy"?

How the fuck are you floating?

Happy birthday,
Mr. President.

No.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

You... You... You're TV.

You... You...
You were black and white.

I'm as colorful
as the story I'm telling.

This one's filmed in
glorious Technicolor.

Full-color pinup
to film legend to murdered.

Oh, don't believe what they say

about an accidental overdose.

Last thing I saw from the floor
of my Brentwood bungalow

was a CIA spook jabbing
a needle into my eyeball,

lest I tell Kennedy
tales unwanted.

Isn't that delicious? Oh.

We have no business with you.

Not at the moment.

We want to change that.

It's just as easy to fall
in love with a rich man

as a poor man.

No, no, no, no, no.
This isn't real. Okay?

This is reality
reprogrammed, right?

Tell me this isn't real.

Mr. Wednesday.

Overdue.

I have to start with an apology.

I've been remiss.

I should have reached
out to you ages ago.

But to be honest,
I didn't see you,

not clearly, not like this
here now in person.

You are huge.

It's a pleasure to meet you.

Have we met?

Do not talk to him.

Do not say a word.
Do not tell him anything.

You don't have to.

I already know you.

No, you don't.

Sure I do.

You're a person.

I know people,

everything about all of them.

Shadow Moon.

You have a blood type
and a recurring nightmare.

B-positive
and an orchard of bones.

You prefer Swiss to cheddar

and can't abide the tines
of two forks touching.

And this is the face you make
when you masturbate.

The same as your mother,

who had 86 sexual partners
throughout her life.

Everything that happens
is recorded

and stored and recalled...

The Book of Life.

Ahem.

Right.
Yes, yes, yes, yes.

Is he still sulking?

I'm sorry.

For lynching you.

Hanged a dark-skinned man.

Ugh. Was in very
poor taste.

We're in a weird, tense
place racially in America,

and I don't want to add
to that climate of hatred.

Would you like to hit him a bit?

Knock out his front teeth?

No.

I'm glad that we
have this behind us.

Like a Renaissance pope,
I absolve you.

You may sit. You have
something to say to the man.

Ahem.

Technology's evolving.
We're all evolving.

It would be an honor, sir,

to evolve with you.

I can help you.

I want to help you...

Influence opinions,
behaviors, beliefs

like never before.

We want to help you
find your audience.

You see?

We're not here to fight.

So you're offering a truce.

A truce implies
that we were ever at war.

You might have been
but I wasn't.

No, not a truce.

- A...
- A merger.

Yes.

A merger.

Like champagne and potato chips.

You ever dip
a potato chip into champagne?

It's real crazy, yeah?

Wouldn't you like an upgrade?

A brand-new
lemon-scented you?

Oh, I'm a fine me.

I just keep getting
better every year.

Of course you are,

and that is the you
that deserves to be seen

incorporated.

Everyone in the world
gets their place.

With you?

That's why they
call me Mr. World.

And if they don't agree?

I get it.

I do.

You're an individualist.

Rugged individualism.

It simply doesn't work anymore.

Brands. Sure.
A useful heuristic.

But ultimately,
everything is all systems

interlaced,

a single product

manufactured by a single company

for a single global market.

Spicy, medium, or chunky.

They get a choice, of course.

Of course!

But they are buying salsa.

Show him.

The ODIN guidance satellite.

To be launched over
North Korea next month.

Just imagine.

Lightning raining
down from the sky

in the form of precision
guided missiles.

Could you imagine?

24.9 million people.

They will know your name
lickety-kite.

Brand rebranded,
and just the start.

No more stolen scraps,
shortchanging,

hand-to-mouth, gray hairs.

No more motels and byways.

A place in tomorrow...
Current, lasting.

Valhalla anew.

Doesn't that sound swell?

An oyster.

Inside every pearl

there's a single
irritating grain of sand.

That's me.

Otherwise, you wouldn't be here.

Just like an oyster,

you're trying to cover me up

with something
smooth and shiny...

Pretty on a necklace,

but inside the shell,

that slimy thing just wants

that scratchy thing
out of there.

You say a merger?
I hear exile.

It's not our fault
they found other ways

to occupy their time.

That's all you do,
occupy their time.

We gave back.
We gave them meaning.

Then give it to them again.

You're leaving?

On a good line.

It was a good line.

He's here.

You have him.

You're letting him go.

You keep letting him go.

I'm giving him
opportunity to consider.

Why? You have him.

Get a yes or kill
the goonie cunt.

Bury him upside-down...

This man is older
than you will ever be.

He has wisdom, has knowledge,

which is different,
as you would know

if you had either.

This man deserves our respect.

Fuck respect.

My gift to you.

We'll be telling
this story, Shadow.

You can tell it however you like

or don't like.

I'm not your enemy.

Was this real?

Did that just happen?

It's still happening.

Dispatch control...

What story are they
going to tell here?

Any one they want.

Someone's coming.

Dispatch control.
This is Cassius PD 6651.

Radio check.

Kick it.

There.

Ohh! Fuck!

Ho-ohh!