All language subtitles for American.Horror.Story.S10E03.Thirst.720p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-FLUX_Track03

- [crying]
- Shh.

You're being too rough!

- Those animals
are full of diseases!

- What happened?

- I want to take her
to the doctor now.

I want to get her tested
for Lyme and rabies.

They say that Lyme can cause
psychological issues.

- She's fine.

- She was eating
a dead rabbit, Harry!

Her face was in it,
just sucking out the blood!

- Chief, how can I help you?

- This is awkward...

But we received some complaints
about your daughter.

Some people called in
to say they saw her

covered in blood
at the cemetery,

then walking down the street
with Mrs. Gardener.

I'd like to bring her
back to my office

so I can speak with her.

- Without us?

- She'll be safe.

- Okay, is this
really necessary?

- I've got bodies washing up
on the shore--

more under the Dick Dock.

I'm hearing reports of murders
up and down the cape,

all the victims torn apart.

Now, I know I'm just
a small-town police chief

and I'm supposed to be
a dumb fuck,

but there's one thing
I'm pretty certain about:

there's a dead rabbit
in the cemetery

that looks a lot
like the dead hustler

we found on the beach
this morning.

And your daughter
doesn't appear to have

any cuts on her face.

- Alma is nine years old.

She didn't murder a hustler
on the beach.

- I know.

I just need to ask her
some questions

to see if she has
any idea who did.

Away from the both of you.

- Daddy, tell her it's okay,
please!

- [gasps]
- Doris!

- No, no.
- Honey!

- Call an ambulance.

- No.

- The baby's okay.

They were false contractions
brought on by stress.

But your heart rate and BP
are still pretty elevated.

- Can we leave?

- We want you to stay with us
a few nights.

Well, how many?
- Four or five.

- What? Why?

- Alma, why don't you go
get something

from the vending machine, okay?

Go on.

[muffled]
Honey.

[clearly]
Honey.

It's that way.

- Your OB said you've had
two miscarriages.

The last one
was at five months.

Everything looks fine
at the moment,

but we all agree you should be
extra cautious.

- Thank you, Doctor.

Being in P-town does
cause you nothing but anxiety.

- Fine, but I want you and Alma
to stay down here too.

- What, in Hyannis?
- Yes, in Hyannis.

Get a motel or something.

- I'll bring Alma
back to New York.

We'll leave P-town.

For real.
- For real?

Okay.
- For real.

- Okay. Thank you. Thank you.

I love you.

- I love you.

- We're going east.

New York is west.

- Mommy needs to relax.

- So you lied to her?

- I told her
what she needed to hear.

- And what about
the police chief?

- I'm gonna call and tell her

that she almost made
your mom lose the baby

and she should back off
unless she wants a lawsuit.

When did you take it?

The pill.

- The other night.

I couldn't get Paganini right.

And now it feels so easy.

I think that there are people

that are really good
at something...

And then there's
everybody else.

I feel like everybody else
could just disappear one day

and it wouldn't matter.

Me too.

That's what happened
to those pale people.

They took the pills, but they
didn't have any talent,

so they turned into nothing.

But you were great already.

You didn't need
to take the pills.

- But I don't want to be great.

I want to be the greatest.

- I didn't mind
eating the bunny.

- But what happens when bunnies
aren't enough for you?

- Did you do that
to the man at the dock

that the police chief
was talking about?

I don't know
if I could do that.

- That's the price
of being the greatest.

Alma, I'm worried that I'm not
being a good father to you,

that I'm letting you do this
because of my own ego.

I want you to stop taking them.

- What if it doesn't work
without them?

- I told you,
you were great already.

And now you know how it feels
to play at your full potential.

It might be harder to get there
without the pill,

but I know you can do it.

- Fine.

But then you have to stop too.

- Steak, very rare.

- Same.

- Okay.

I haven't always
been the best dad to you.

I work too much,

and my own father
was a real piece of garbage,

so I have terrible
parenting instincts.

But I'm gonna be really
hands-on with this stuff,

because it's different for me.

I can write for three months

and stockpile scripts
and paychecks

and then not take the pills
for the rest of the year.

You have to play all the time,

do live performances
year-round.

You can't go off them
for any long stretch.

- I don't mind.
- [sighs]

- I feel better on them.

You're still growing.

I mean, we don't know
how this will affect

your physical development.

We're gonna have to get you
tested all the time

to make sure
you're growing normally

as a woman.

- I don't care.

I don't want to have children
or get married.

All I want to do is play music.

What will we tell Mom?

- I love your mom,

but this is just stuff
she wouldn't understand.

It's best we keep it from her.

- Why are we still with her?

- What do you mean?

- She's not a great mom
or a great wife.

And her designing stuff
is kind of lame.

We don't need her.

- Don't say that.

She's your mother
and we love her.

And she loves us.
That matters.

The most important thing

is that you never
go get your own blood.

I'll bring it to you.

- What about when I turn 18?

- Never.

It's too risky.

What if you got caught?

If someone's gonna
get in trouble for this,

it's gotta be me.

I owe you that...

as a father.

- Okay.

Thanks.

Dad?

- Yes, honey?

- I'm hungry now.

- At the intersection ahead,
turn left.

Continue for two miles,

and your destination
will be on the right.

- Hi, I'm--I'm Harry.

I called about the bicycle
and the Blu-ray player.

- Are you a cop?

- No, no.

I'm a writer.

Uh, television mostly.

Anything I've seen?
- Probably not.

Do you mind if I come in?

It's pretty cold.

- Show me your ID.

- Uh--
- I'm a woman alone

letting a strange man
into my home.

- Okay.

- Thanks.

- You want a beer?

- No, thanks.

- You're cute.

You want a BJ?
- No, I'm sorry.

- I wasn't
taking it personally.

- No, I'm just--

I'm really sorry.

- Ow, fuck.

What the fuck?

- Hey!

Dude!

- What the fuck?

- Do I come to your home
and break shit?

- Shit for brains,
it's nothing.

Come over
and finish setting this up.

- What the fuck?

What do you want?

- Viagra. Take it.

- Why?

- Look, man...

you're gonna die tonight,

and some of it's gonna be
pretty painful.

Tony has a ten-inch dick,

and it's the only ten inches
of him worth shit.

And he's gonna fuck your ass
until you rosebud for camera.

- That's where your asshole
goes from being an innie

to being an outie.

- Honestly,
I don't get it either.

But apparently, guys that pay
for these types of movies

go nuts for it.
- What the fuck?

- First I thought,
"Snuff film--

all that matters is the snuff."

Maybe it was like that
in the old days.

Now buyers want some action
before the money shot.

And the Viagra

is so you can fuck me
while he's fucking you.

- It's a daisy chain.

- I don't think
that's what it's called.

I think there's
a different term for it.

Do you know what it is?
- No.

- You said you were
a TV writer.

- Oh, yeah?

Anything I would have seen?

- My point is that
I'm giving you a chance

to have a little bit
of pleasure

in your last moments on Earth.

And it also...
[inhales deeply]

Turns me the fuck on.

- Take the pill.

Take it.

[tapping]
Take it!

- Okay, okay.

- All right.

Now, come on.

Slow.

Slow.

Come on, right through here.

There you go.

Get--
- [grunts]

- Yeah.
Ooh.

- Shit, did you charge
the battery?

- Fuck!

- What the fuck, Tony?

I'm trying to run a business.

I always have to do everything
myself.

You did the same thing
last week.

- Well, now, hold on.
Hold on. Hold on.

- You're so fucking useless.

- It's this one.

[camcorder beeps]
Boom.

Hey, y'all.

We got a pretty one for you
tonight.

Clean and high-class.

Tony here is gonna go in

dry and raw.

- What the fuck?

- She made me do it, man!

- No, you're not running
anywhere.

- I want to finish eating.

But you?

I'm gonna let you
bleed out slow.

- Whose is it?

- No one that anyone's
gonna miss.

- Shit.

- Surprise.

- [laughs] Hey!
- [laughs]

- What are you doing here?

- Hey, did you cut yourself?

- Oh, uh, no.

It's, uh,
spaghetti with red sauce.

- [shudders]
For breakfast?

- Um, yeah.

Well, see...

Doris is on bedrest
in the hospital in Hyannis,

so I'm kind of playing
Mom and Dad here.

It was either spaghetti
or cookies,

so I chose spaghetti.

- Oh, no. Is she gonna be okay?
And the baby?

- She's fine.
It's just--it's a precaution.

- Oh, good, okay.

'Cause I didn't
come all this way

to deal with emotional shit.

You know, you want that,
get a manager.

Anyway, I was in New York,
and I was seeing some shows,

and I thought I would hop
on over here and check on you.

And no one told me
what an enormous

pain in the ass it is
to come out here.

- I think there's a ferry
you can take from Boston.

You just drive your car
right on.

- Oh, no, no,
I don't like to ride

in vehicles
that carry other vehicles.

It just--
it does not feel right to me.

So on my very long drive
out here,

I got a call about you

from one Quentin Tarantino.

- What?
- He wants you

to write his first
limited series.

It's already greenlit at Hulu,
sight unseen.

- What?
[chuckles]

Oh, my God.

No, no, Quentin writes
everything himself.

- Up until now.

But he said--
and I quote--

"That motherfucker
is a better writer than I am."

- And then he said something

about how he just got married

and so it's harder
for him to do

what he has to do
to write things

and that you would understand
what that means

and why he wants you
to write it.

- Wow.

That's incredible.

- It is cute in here, Harry.

- You know, you really didn't
have to come all this way

just to tell me that.

- Oh, well,
it wasn't just for that.

- [clears throat]
- You have changed

since you've come out here,
Harry.

Yes, your writing is different.

And it's not just
a change of scenery.

It is inspired.

And I wanted to come out here

and see what's so special
about this place.

- It's nothing mysterious.

It's just, uh--
it's just so quiet, you know?

A-a-and
the architectural board's

really strict about
what you can build here,

so, um,

it feels really old
and natural and untouched.

- Oh.

- You know, so many artists
have come out here

to find their muse.

Uh, Eugene O'Neil,

uh, Melville...

Painters.

- Daddy!

I'm hungry again!

- Growth spurt.

- I'll leave you to it.

I am going to the Land's End.

I'm gonna get a room
for a couple days.

But don't worry,
I'm not gonna bother you.

But, oh, you do have to tell me
where I should eat.

- There's a place called
The Muse.

It's the only restaurant open.

- Wow,
she is getting really good.

- Ursula...

[door slams]
Careful around town.

They've developed
a little drug problem,

and it's not really safe
to walk around alone at night.

- It's okay, I got mace.

Do they have
to keep doing that?

Hello.
What are you, a mute?

Some of us are trying

to enjoy our meals in peace.
[microphone feedback whines]

God, if I wanted to listen...
[music stops]

To a shitty Captain & Tennille
cover band,

I would have just
killed myself,

because I'm sure
that's what's playing

on an infinite loop in hell.

You're new in town.

Just passing through?

- Yeah.

And please, don't give me any

locals-versus-outsiders
bullshit

like this is some kind
of secret Maui surf break.

- This isn't that kind of town.

According to the locals,

unless your family came over
on the "Mayflower"

or launched off Falmouth
to hunt a whale or two,

you will always be an outsider.

- We're all just
passing through.

Hope to see you around.

You look sweet.

- [softly] What the fuck?

- Can I buy you a drink?

- You're not my type.

I like my men with considerably
darker complexions

and a lot less meth
running through their veins.

Okay.

Scuse me.
Scuse me.

Just please--thank you.

Thank you.

- Hey.
- Oh, God.

- Uh, no, don't worry.

I'm not trying to pick you up
or anything.

I'm just, uh--

I'm friends with the bellboy
at the Land's End,

and he told me that you're
an agent from Los Angeles.

I'm a--I'm a writer.
- [scoffs]

Honey, you have a better chance

of me fucking you
than signing you,

and I'd have to be in a coma
for either to be a possibility.

- Look, I--I just want you
to read a script.

Okay, I mean,
I heard most people say

that you can tell
if somebody's good

just in the first ten pages.

- Oh, Jesus Christ,
a spec script?

I'm assuming it's the first
script you've ever written?

- Uh, it's the first one
I finished.

But I finished, like, four more
in just the last couple days.

- Really?

Well, that's pretty prolific.

Were you in
some kind of meth haze?

- I haven't smoked
since I started writing them.

- Just inspired by the quiet

and the consistent
architecture?

Fine, just give me the scripts,
okay?

I'll read them tonight,
or I'll use them

for kindling in my fireplace.
Let's go.

- Uh, here.
- Oh, really?

- Thank you.

Also, can you just
not burn them, please?

- Okay, goodbye.
- Okay.

- Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

- [grunts]
Shit, yeah!

- Ugh.

When's the last time
you got high?

- Few days ago?

And the last time
you had a job--

besides sucking dick?

No.
- [laughs]

- I'm blonde, not dumb.

Strung-out meth heads
who only bathe when it rains

do not write
$3-million screenplays

like the ones you just gave me.

Now, you can throw
Charles Bukowski

and Hunter S. Thompson at me
all you want,

but those guys
are the exception.

- Well, maybe there's a bunch
of talented people out there

that just haven't
been discovered yet.

- Hmm, bullshit.

There are fewer
talented writers in the world

than there are astronauts.

There's a few great ones,
a lot of terrible ones,

and a pack
of interchangeable ones

who move from one network
writer's room to the next.

My client Harry
was one of those writers

until he arrived here.

And now
he's Mark fucking Twain.

And I know
who Peaches and Cream were

on the piano last night.

I was in the audience last year
when Austin won two Tonys,

and I've rubbed a few out
to the romance novels

that Belle's written
when the, uh, Wi-Fi went down.

And now,

suddenly, the town's
resident meth head fuckwheel

is writing movies
that could go into production

without a rewrite.

Sorry, homeboy,
but there is something weird

going on out here,

and I want to know what it is.

You guys sell your souls
to the devil?

Aliens?
Uh, little writer elves?

Because honestly,
I would believe any of that

besides that you're actually
that talented.

- There's a pill.

And if you have any kind
of talent when you take it,

everything turns out great.

- And you know that Harry
and Belle and Austin

have all taken these pills?

- Belle and Austin, I know.

Uh, I stole the pills
from Belle.

- I need you to steal me more,

and I want access
to the source.

I could leave and start
my own boutique agency

if I was the pipeline
to Hollywood for those pills.

- You don't understand.
See, it's--

it's really fucked up,

what happens
when you take them.

- I represent the producers
of "The Bachelor."

Fucked up
is my bread and butter.

Now, go get me those pills,

or these scripts
that you gave me

go right into the garbage.

- Hey, sweetheart.

We're here about
the coin collection.

- Yeah?

- Well, hot dog.

It's a goddamn buffet.
- [chuckles]

- That's a new technique.

- Finish up. I'm on a deadline.

- Why did we stop?

- Who's the blood for, Harry?

- Alma.

My daughter.
- What?

- You gotta be shitting me.

- How old is she?

- Nine.

- Are you out
of your fucking mind?

- She snuck one
when I wasn't there.

- Oh, you see, Austin?

He's not a bad parent,
just an absent one.

- She's more talented than
the three of us put together.

- I don't care if your kid
is the next Mozart.

I'm not leaving my future

and the next three books
I'm contracted to write

in her little girl hands.

- What do you want me
to do about it?

- No more pills for her,
Harry...

ever.

- Don't fuck with us on this,
darling.

I write some of my best stuff

when I've fed on young,
pure blood.

- Okay.

I hear you.

- Good.

- He's leaving us no choice.

- I agree.

He has to die.

- I hear they're delicious.

- Ah, I'd just keep walking
if I were you.

I've been here two hours,

and all the action I've seen
is a couple of seagulls

fighting over a dead cusk fish.

What's up with you, Mickey?

You jonesin'?

I'm not carrying.

The fuck?

The fuck, Mickey?

You think
you could steal from me?

I could bench-press
your whole fucking family,

you skinny little
prick tweaker.

- Stay down!

How'd you get in here?

- No locks on your door.

Makes sense,

since the only thing
anyone's going to get

if they break in here
is syphilis.

I've written whole books
that take place in hovels

and shitholes and backwaters.

But even in my impressive
imagination--

one that I admit is prone
to exaggeration now and again--

I've never pictured
a more inhospitable home

than yours, Mickey.

How do you not just wake up
and kill yourself every day?

- I'm gonna go clean up.

- It's my job to make life
miserable for my characters.

The harder I am on them,

the better the story,

the more books I sell.

But in real life,
I like things easy,

smooth, in apple-pie order.

This winter, all of that
has just gone to hell.

These pills
are getting passed around

like Jolly Ranchers at a rave.

- Look.

I'm sorry I stole the pills.

But look at me--

I'm not one of those
pale people out there.

I'm good.

There's a Hollywood agent--

loves my scripts,
loves them.

I'm one of you now.

- Honey,

you're a paper airplane
and I'm a 747.

Don't you ever think
you're anything like me

just because
you can fly a little.

Still...

professional courtesy
must be paid.

Every time you kill,

you bring me back
a warm thermos or two.

- You have to get me
the thermos.

- Your poverty offends me.

One more thing.

Your first kill's gotta be
that Hollywood agent.

Make her plead for her life.

Make her beg for mercy,

then take her.

I don't like it when people
criticize my singing.

- Got another one.

- Found a witness.

Said it was a one-on-one thing.

- Oh.

Yeah.
[inhales sharply]

Oh, I saw the whole thing.

I was too far down the beach
to actually see his face,

but this was, you know,
clear as day.

This is a gay-bashing incident.

- What were you doing
on the beach?

- Feeling the colors.

I'm Holden Vaughn.

I'm the interior designer

for almost every chic house
in this town.

When I'm looking
to get inspired,

I like to go down to the beach
and feel the colors.

The color of the waves,

of the--of the sky,
of the sand.

- What do colors feel like?

- What does love feel like?

What does Mahler feel like?

What does the perfect
Jean Prouvé chair feel like?

Darling, if you have to ask,

you wouldn't understand.

- Sorry for not knowing
who you are.

It's my first winter here.
- It's all right.

I usually come up here
in the summertime,

but my favorite greyhound,
Marley,

passed away
in my Manhattan town house,

and I can't go back there

until I have an appropriate
period of mourning.

I like it here, though,
in the winter.

It's quieter.

Except for those pale,
strange homeless creatures

wearing the AIDS-era couture.

- Would you be willing
to come to the office

and make a statement?
- No.

I just made one.

- Are you here to murder me
and drink my blood?

- I don't want to.

I mean, you seem real cool.

Actually, could you recommend
any of your colleagues to me?

'Cause I really don't want this
messing up

any kind of career momentum
I have right now.

- Sure, but I don't know
if they'd be able

to get you that gig rewriting
the remake of "Speed Racer."

- You're fucking with me,
right?

"Speed Racer" is, like,
the voice of my generation.

I--I love that show.

I mean, I used to turn over
two chairs when I was a kid

and, uh, I'd pretend
I was Speed Racer

and my teddy bear
would be Chim Chim.

I mean, I actually named
my teddy bear Chim Chim.

- Yeah, whatever,
it's all nerd porn

as far as I'm concerned.

But they're making it again,

and I submitted your script
to the studio.

And they wanted to hire you
right on the spot.

- I can't believe this is real.

I feel like I'm dreaming.

People want to pay me
for my writing?

I'm, like, uh--
like, someone now.

- Well, not if you murder me.

But I want more
than just mercy.

"Speed Racer"
is worth more than that.

I want the source.

Someone is making those pills,

and I want to meet them.

- Well, I, uh--

I don't know anything
about that.

- You're such a fucking liar,
Mickey.

- There's a chemist.

I know where their house is,
but look,

there's two rules
when you're out here, right?

Never steal lobsters
out of another man's pot,

and never go near that house.

- Well, that chemist
is gonna want to see me.

I'm gonna make them very rich.

Can you close the door
on your way out, please?

- You look like an Avon lady.

And you look like an asshole.

I'm not interested in either.

- Uh--

I'm not selling cosmetics.
I'm selling scale.

- And I'ma sell
my foot in your ass

if you don't
get the hell out of here.

Actually, forget selling.

I'll give it to you for free.

- Okay, that's fine.
You can kick us out.

I'm happy to go to the police
and tell them

to come have a chat with you
about your work.

I just need five minutes.

- I don't like strangers.

That's why I moved out here

to the very tip
of Massachusetts' dick

so I don't have to deal
with people I don't know.

- Well, we can't be responsible
for everyone

who knocks on your door.

- What did she want?

- She offered me a deal.

- Don't you think you should
make more than just

what all these parasites
are paying for your pills?

- You're making them millions.

Don't you think you should get
a percentage?

- And how am I
supposed to do that?

I don't have a real strong
accounting infrastructure,

in case you haven't noticed.

- That's my job, sweetie.

All you have to do is get me
as many pills as I need.

How did you invent them,
by the way, if I may ask?

- You may not.

It's a proprietary recipe.

It's not patented
or anything like that.

It's not even written down.

So good luck trying
to steal it from me.

- She could hire a lab
to reverse engineer them.

- It might tell her
the ingredients,

but it won't tell her
how I cooked them up.

- Do I look like I want
to get into manufacturing?

I make deals and I make kings.

We don't even have to include

the people
you're already supplying.

You let me pick 15, 20 writers
off my client list,

and I'll get you
an exclusive deal with them.

You'll get 10% of their
post-pill earnings,

plus back end.

You will be the richest woman
in Cape Cod.

- Not a bad deal.

Did you take it?

- No.

I told you,
I don't like strangers.

I like things the way they are.

I like things chill.

That bitch
is so far from chill.

And if you don't do something
about her,

I'm not giving either one
of you one more pill.

- We can't have that.

What do you want us to do?

- She's gotta die.

Her and that tweaker
boytoy of hers.

And that Hollywood asshole
who brought her here.

- What about his wife and kid?

Fuck.

Kill them too.

- Thanks for doing this,
Ursula.

Doris has just been alone
a long time.

I'm just gonna check on her
and come right back.

Few hours max.

- Well, I have a four-hour
minimum when I babysit

and I am very expensive.

Don't worry,
we're gonna be fine.

I'll teach her how to play
gin rummy.

- Great.

I'm hungry.

- Hey, Alma.

I would love
to have a proper hang,

but I'm exhausted.

I'm just gonna run upstairs
and have a quick nap

and then we can hang out, okay?

You are studying too much.

Go on TikTok
or whatever the kids are doing.

- Hey, honey.

Can I come in and talk to you
for a little bit?

Alma's such a pretty name.

So old-fashioned.

Your mom's is too.

Doris.

What's that about?

Nostalgia, I guess.

I know what's going on
around here, Alma.

I don't understand it.

And I don't think it started
with you and your father,

but I know you're involved.

There are murders happening
up and down the Cape.

Addicts,

hustlers,

people who won't be missed.

People who no one asks
too many questions about

once they're gone.

But they're still people, Alma.

They had mothers,

families who cared
about them once.

You're a child, so I don't
hold you responsible.

But I want to understand.

Why?

Is it a cult?

Do you have some kind
of blood disease?

- Did you ever have a dream?

- I wanted to be the first
female army ranger.

But I was about ten years
too early.

- When you were at war,

did you kill people?

- They were the enemy.

That's not murder.

- How many would you
have killed

to become a ranger?

I bet you would have killed
everyone in the whole country.

- I'm gonna take you down

to the police station now,
Alma.

And when your dad
comes to get you,

I'm going to arrest him.

Now, please, make this easy
on the both of us.

- Rummy.
- [gasps]

- Hi, Daddy.

I learned how to play
gin rummy.

- Grab a drink, Harry.

We need to talk.

- Rummy.