All language subtitles for American.Horror.Story.S10E04.Blood.Buffet.REPACK.1080p.AMZN.WEB-DL.DDP5.1.H.264-FLUX_track3_eng

- Hi, hi.

Norman Mailer lived,
uh, two doors down.

I saw him bite
Rip Torn's ear off one night.

Seems like
a different lifetime.

If you're looking
for more action, I can, uh,

show you something
on Commercial Street.

But you should know that
by November, even downtown

is so empty and quiet that
you could hear a gnat fart.

- I like the quiet.

Need my privacy.

How's the ventilation?

These old houses
can get pretty stuffy.

- You a writer?

Painter?

Hermit?

I know you're not here
for the social scene,

whatever's left of it.

I've been here for 50 years.

You know, back in the day,
you'd walk downtown,

and you'd see boys getting
butt-fucked on front porches

like some kind of perverted
Norman Rockwell painting.

It was true
homosexual Americana.

Now it's Mom and Dad
or Dad and Dad or Mom and Mom

and baby stroller gridlock
all fucking summer long.

- I just left my job
at a lab in Providence.

- What are you, a chemist?

- It was an ugly divorce.

I just need some time alone.

- Let's cut the bullshit.

A big-city chemist
looking for a quiet place

with great ventilation
in a town where the things

that are most plentiful
for eight months a year

are methheads, choppy seas,
and depression?

That sounds like a woman
looking to set up

her own little meth lab.

- I have a PhD from Harvard.

Meth is well below
my pay grade.

- Good.

'Cause the sheriff has a nose
like a truffle pig

for that junk.

- Just lookin' for some quiet.

I'll take it.

- Do you know that guy,
uh, Tex?

He cruises the docks?

- Wait, don't tell me.
He's from Texas.

- Yeah.
How'd you know?

Anyway, he taught me this trick

you do right before
a guy comes.

- Mm.
- You press down on his taint,

you time it just right,

you can get him to come again
right away.

- Mm, but you'll charge me
for just the one, right?

- Exactly.

- You're playing
out of your league.

Scram.

- Look,
can I just borrow ten bucks?

- I said scram, methhead.

- Hi.
- Hi.

- I'm new in town,
got a few extra bucks.

You do girls too?

- Yep.
Here.

Look at that.
I'm a gentleman.

Don't touch anything.

- So, uh, what do you want?
[chuckles]

Kind of do things
as a standard

sliding scale kind of deal.

It's, uh, $50 for oral.

Straight-up sex, that's $100,

but I'm currently running
a Halloween special.

I'll do anything for 20 bucks.

- But Halloween
isn't for a week.

- Mm.
It's a, um, seasonal thing.

[both laugh]
- I just wanna talk.

I'll pay you for your time.

- All right.

- Tell me about your dreams.

- Like, at night?

- No.
Like, in life.

You ever wanna be a model
or play for the Yankees?

- You really think
I could be a model?

- No.
But you must have something.

Everyone does.

- Well, I write a little.

- You any good?

- I don't know.
[laughs]

I don't think
I've ever shown anyone

anything I've written
before, but, uh...

um, yeah, you know,
I think I'm pretty good.

Why, you, like, a big-time
movie producer or something?

- I'm a biochemical engineer.

Spent the past nine years
working with the U.S. military

trying to understand and unlock

the creative parts
of the brain.

- They wanna make
more creative soldiers?

- Less.

They don't want them
to think for themselves.

But to lock up
the creative mind,

we also have to understand
how to unlock it.

We have tons of research

from studying
highly creative people.

Every one of 'em
says the same thing.

They don't know
where it comes from.

[whispering]
But I do.

[normally]
The occipital lobe.

Talented people have denser,
more numerous clusters

of neurons in that area.

I don't care if you are
Bill fucking Shakespeare.

If I whack you hard enough
in that part of your head,

you'll never write again.

So I started developing a drug
to target that area.

Made the neurons in that part
of the brain fire at 10,

50, 1,000 times faster
and more frequently

than they usually do.

- Uh, wow, um...
[laughs]

Did it work?

- We started testing it
on primates.

And yeah, it worked...

on some of the apes.

The ones who tested higher
on cognitive tests

before we gave them
the medicine.

Suddenly, they could play
complex notes on a keyboard.

- So, um, what happened to the
ones it, like, didn't work on?

- They became
highly aggressive.

Bloodthirsty.

Tore the other apes
limb from limb.

I think the medicine
has different effects

on creative
and noncreative people.

It's almost like
the noncreative ones

can tolerate
their lack of talent

until they're confronted
with it.

Then their mediocrity
drives 'em mad.

So...

Wanna try one?

- Fuck no!

- Maybe you're one
of the talented ones.

- Um...

Thanks
but no, thanks.

Uh, look,
can I just get my money?

- It's a long winter.

I'll give you $50
for anyone you convince

to come take one
of these lil' black beauties.

- Maybe I should sing tonight.

Do you think they have
any Joan Baez?

- Ooh, wow, Joan Baez.
[both laugh]

Wait, doesn't, uh, singin'
make your cough worse anyway?

- Yeah, but...

good news is, it's October
and I've only had bronchitis

five times this year.

- Oh, that's a--
a real victory, Karen.

- I always get depressed
this time of year.

- Oh, no, no.

I love it.

All the assholes leave town,
and the galleries close, and...

none of the paintings inside
them mock me when I walk by.

- Do you think you're talented?

Like, uh--like, uh--
like, if you just had,

like, a little bit of help,

you could paint things good
enough for those galleries?

- Oh.

No.

No, I'm shit
inside and out.

Can I have a hit, please,
before I bore myself to tears?

Hey.

I'm a singer.

Mickey sent me.

- Welcome, welcome to our last

Autumn Reading
Octoberfest event.

Some people come out
to the Cape to see the foliage,

others for a fresh bag
of cranberries

or a walk in the dunes.

But the authors
we've been lucky enough

to bring here
to read their new works

are just as satisfying a draw,
if you ask me.

Today I'd like to welcome
Belle Noir,

a romance novelist,
self-published,

who will be reading
from her new book,

"Martha's Cherry Tree,"

a rather racy retelling

of the George
and Martha Washington story.

- Thank you.

I'm going to read you
a section of chapter 17.

Martha suspects
George is sleeping

with one of their maids.

And upon searching
the maid's bed,

she finds one
of George's wooden teeth.

Rather than confront George,

she decides
to seduce the maid herself.

"'I cannot tell a lie.

"I cannot tell a lie.'

"Had he whispered
those false words

"to innocent little Penelope

"when he drove himself
into her?

"Had he lied about loving her?

"Lied about her
being the only one?

"Lied about never lying?

"The only thing that distracted
her from these thoughts

"was the soft skin
of Penelope's breasts and belly

"as Martha slowly kissed her
way down to the hairy warmth

between the young maid's legs."

Who should I make it out to?

- The Chemist.

You're a good writer.

- That's very kind of you.

- Got some real potential.

- Tell the publishing houses
for me, would you?

You said you were going
to come in for the reading.

- Your books gross me out.

- It grosses you out to hear
your wife talk about sex?

- Yes, especially this book.

I can't look at a $1 bill
or Mount Rushmore anymore

without wantin' to puke.

How many books did you sell?

- One.
- [scoffs] For fuck's sake.

I would've just bought
a book from you at home,

and we could've skipped
this bullshit.

- It's not bullshit.

It's my dream.

- What do you want from me,
Belle?

I'm here, aren't I?
I agreed to puttin' up

a big chunk of our retirement
for this dumb book tour,

during which
we've sold six books.

You want me
to support your dream?

Here I am,
supporting the fuck out of it.

- [chuckling] And I'm grateful.

But can't you see
I'm doing it for both of us?

I could be
the next Danielle Steel.

She's worth a billion dollars.

- How many times
has she been married?

- Four, maybe five.

- Well, I guess then there's
one way you could be like her.

Let's go back to the hotel
and freshen up

and then watch the sunset
from Muse.

I hear it's beautiful.

- Do you want me to suck
some cock while I'm in there?

- What?
No.

- Then why are you asking me
to go to a homo bar

and do something totally gay
like watch the fucking sunset?

I wanna do something
actually fun,

like the haunted dune tour.

- Sounds scary,
I don't wanna have nightmares.

I need my sleep before the next
tour stop in the Vineyard.

- You know why
I'm really so angry at you?

It's not the stupid book tour

or the fact that
you write about sex all day

but haven't touched my dick
in two years.

It's that you're weak

and scared

and boring.

- I'm the same as I was when
you married me 40 years ago.

- Well, I was at work
for those 40 years.

Now that I have
to be with you all the time,

it's intolerable.

- I hear they have
great calamari!

- Hey.

Pretty cool color
on your nails.

You mind if I join you?

- What are you, a hustler?

I wrote a book about a hustler

who ends up sleeping
with the head of the KGB

and then becomes
head of the CIA.

- That sounds awesome.
[chuckles]

I'd like to read that.

- I'll send you a copy.

You're wasting your time
with me; I'm married.

- Wait.

I know you.

You're the author
that was doing the reading

at the bookstore, right?

- Were you there?
- Uh, well, no.

They, uh--they don't
let me in there anymore

after I stole the, uh,
"Screenplay for Dummies" book

a while back, but, uh,

I saw you through the window.

- You write too?

- Ah, sometimes,
but not like you.

You're, like,
a real published author.

- Self-published.

- Hey, I mean,

just finishing a book's
a big deal, right?

- Let me buy you a drink.

- Yeah.

- I know they say
that anyone can be a writer,

because all you have to do
is sit down and write,

but that doesn't make you
a writer any more

than a kid playing catch
is a ballplayer

or a sperm donor is a dad.

I know I'm not the greatest
writer in the world.

I mean, a lot of my stuff
is schlock, but...

I'm a writer; I know I am.

I can't stop.

Even if it wrecks my marriage,

even if I go broke doing it,

even if I never sell a book,

it's who I am.

Can I ask you a question?

Do you have any cocaine?

I always wanted to try it, and
you look like a drug addict.

No offense.

- Oh, none taken.

'Cause I am.
- Mm.

- But, um, no, no coke.
But...

I've got something better.

- Give me a Bloody Mary.

- Hey, dude,
you don't look good.

- I feel sick.

I think that bitch Karen gave
me bronchitis or something.

- You sure?
'Cause she says

she hasn't been sick
in a while.

- I'm gonna puke.

- I'm so happy.

- Uh, yeah, that's the drugs.

- Then I want more.

- [laughs]
Yeah, you see,

it doesn't really
work that way.

First time's the best,
and then, uh,

you end up
chasing that high forever,

and you never catch it.

- That's some bullshit.

- Mm-hmm.
- [laughs]

- Uh,
you know, I, uh--

I know someone that can
give you something else.

Something that can
make you happy forever.

- How come
you're not taking it?

- 'Cause it's, uh--
it's not for me.

It only works
for people like you.

Artists.

We've been waitin'
half an hour.

- I wanted to read this first.

You have talent.

- Thank you.
- Took everything in me

not to rub one out
during that threesome

with George and Martha
and Ben Franklin.

- I've always found
heavier-set men

to be extremely attractive.

- Mickey tell you
what I'm offering?

- Making all my dreams
come true.

I'm in.
- You wanna know about

the side effects?

- I know I'm talented.

- The pills
create certain cravings.

And they cause aggression

even in the subjects
with positive results.

- I could use
a little of that too.

According to my husband.

Please, I need this.

- The effects are temporary.

You're gonna have to keep
taking them as it wears off.

And you're gonna have
to stick around

and agree to let me study you.

- Whatever it takes...

To finding my destiny.

- You've reached Ray.
Leave a message.

- Asshole.
[beep]

- Good morning.

What's wrong with you?

- I wrote a book last night.

A whole book, and it's--

it's beautiful.

- Bullshit.

Let me see.

You didn't write this.

- What?

Yes, I did.
- You couldn't have.

It's good.

- I did write it!

I went out and danced

and took methamphetamine

and met a chemist
and had the time of my life!

And then I came home,
and I wrote this!

Where the fuck were you?

- I went to the dunes tour,

and I got drunk,

and I met a woman who doesn't
dress like a schoolteacher,

and I fucked her
right there in the sand

until we passed out.

Then we woke up
and fucked again.

- [gasps]
- Now I'm gonna take a shower.

I'm gonna pack my things.

I'm gonna go over
to the Red Inn.

I'm gonna fuck her
for a third time.

Because this marriage...

is over.

- What?

You got something
you wanna say?

- Ah!

- What was the feeling exactly?

- I don't know.
Rage?

Like Braveheart
or a beast of the wild.

But that's not
what made me attack him.

- What was it?

- Thirst.

I could smell his blood
through his skin.

I was gonna die
if I didn't drink it.

- Fascinating.

Not surprising,
but fascinating.

- You knew this
was going to happen?

After the rages,

the apes would drink the blood
of their kills.

When we autopsied
the ones before they drank,

we noticed a depletion
of sodium, potassium,

calcium, and magnesium
in their blood.

I wasn't sure it'd have the
same effect on humans, but...

makes sense that it would.

- Am I going to have
to keep drinking blood

to keep writing like that?

- Would that stop you from
continuing to take the pills?

What happened after
you drank from your husband?

- I, uh, sat down and...

wrote the first 50 pages
of part two of my book.

I didn't even care about Ray.

I just had to write.

- First things first,

you got to get rid
of your husband's body.

- Come on.

Mm.

Ah!

No, no, no, no, no!
Back, back, back.

Jesus.

Ew.

- Did your hair all fall out
on its own?

- Most of it.

I shaved the rest.

Otherwise I'd look like
Riff Raff from "Rocky Horror."

- Your skin
is looking rather creamy.

Probably a form of anemia.

How's your temper?

Have you shown
any aggression towards anyone?

- No.

I'm a fucking Buddhist.

I wanna be like Bono and use
my music to help people.

I need more pills.

The dose you gave me
must have been too low.

I have never felt a jones
like this before.

- I told you,
I set the protocol.

And you don't get another pill
until day five.

It's day three.

- What did you do to me?

Why is this happening to me?

Please, give me a fix.

Just one more pill.

- You're part
of a very important study.

And you volunteered for it.

Honestly, I don't know
what's happening to you

or what comes next.

All I know is,
no more pills for two days.

- And if I die before then?

I'm freezing cold.
I can't stop shivering.

Is that supposed to happen?

- It's October.

You're wearing a light jacket.

Go get yourself
a proper fucking coat.

- I'm diggin' the look.

Vampire Michael Stipe.

Or anorexic Uncle Fester?

You want a tattoo?

I do them in the back.

I could give you bat wings

or, like, a grim reaper
dancing on your arm.

- I need a coat.

And I don't have
a lot of money.

- I got just the thing.

- These look expensive.

- They were, in the '80s.

All the fashion gays
from New York and Boston

came out here to let their
dicks and rainbow flags fly.

Then they all died
and left behind closets

full of this
high-fashion stuff.

When the straight yuppies
moved into town,

they cleaned out the closets
and donated all of it to us.

I was hoping to sell a few
for Halloween, but no takers.

I'll basically give one to you
if you take it off my hands.

You don't look well.

Would you pray with me?

- Yeah.

- [distorted]
Awesome costume, dude.

- The candy's in the--

[whispering]
Come in.

[normally]
What happened?

It states in section four
of the contract you signed

to be a part of the study

that you have complete
confidentiality

for anything you say in here.

- I was in the cemetery,
and I--

I don't know what happened.

I'm a vegan.

I don't even eat
those Impossible Burgers,

but the thirst for her
was too much.

- How much blood did you drink?

- I don't fucking know!

I killed her!

She asked me to pray with her,
and I killed her!

- Did you feel anger, rage?

- Yes.
Why?

- [sighs]
You drank the blood

'cause the pills
create a deficiency.

You felt the rage
because you now hate everyone.

- Why?

I told you, I'm a pacifist.

- You hate everyone
because you now know

the truth about yourself.

You're not talented.

You don't have what it takes.

- The talented ones
need the blood,

but their rage comes
from their arrogance

and certainty that they're
better than everyone.

The rage of the untalented
is much darker, more intense.

You hate the world for giving
you dreams that were too big.

Back up, motherfucker.

- Never come back here again.

Don't worry, I'm sure you'll
have plenty of company soon.

Soon as word gets out
about what I'm sellin' here,

every asshole whose mother
told him he could be

the next Elvis or Tyler Perry

gonna take a chance
on that little black pill.

Nine out of ten of 'em
are gonna end up just like you.

Now, get the fuck out my house.

- [retching]
Ugh.

Hey, dude.

Never mix tequila and merlot.

- You wanna try that on?

- I don't know, perhaps.

I'm looking to create
an entirely new closet,

a whole new look.

- New guy in your life?

- Mm, no,
I like to play the field,

preferably
with multiple players.

- I left my husband
a few winters ago.

Left him in pieces
on the beach.

Just kidding.

- I killed my last boyfriend.

He could bang me pretty good,
but he was boring as fuck.

So I drank him dry
and burned the body.

- How long
you been on the pill?

- Two years.
You?

- Couple of months.

What's motivating the new look?

- I always thought
that a woman should pick a look

before she turns 40
and stick with it.

For men, it's 50.
And I did that.

But lately I've been thinking
that that's a rule

for people with no second act.

I've published six
"New York Times" best sellers

in the past two years,

one that was turned
into a film franchise.

"The Heart
is the Bitterest Root,"

I love those movies.

- What about you, dear?

How does your little black
pill-driven greatness

express itself?

- Tattoos.

And these.

- [laughing] Oh, my!
How convenient.

I must have a set!

- I can arrange that.

Step into my office.

After, we can give you
a wardrobe makeover.

- Mm, I'm belle of the ball.

- $5 cover.

It's drag night.
We gotta pay the performers.

- Wanna check my ID?

- Nah.
You're good.

- Thank you!
We're gonna take a short break

before our next performer!

- Drag is an art form.

I am a professional.

You three...

straight boys in bad wigs.

[laughs]
- Pfft!

- You know, men have been
performing in women's clothing

since the time of the Greeks.

You all just appropriated it
for gay culture.

- Speak for yourself, dude.

I don't give two shits who's
appropriate or not appropriate.

All I know is, I can make more
doin' this than painting houses

or stealing
from my grandmother.

My problem with you is,

you're the ugliest
fuckin' woman I ever seen.

- [coughs]
And your drag name is awful.

- Patty O'Furniture.

That's an awesome name.

- And why in the hell
do you think people

want to be thinkin'
of some suburban deck chair

while you perform for them?

Look at me!

I'm Crystal Decanter.

I ooze elegance and shine.

I don't know why y'all
are tryin' to read him

when y'all are just
as bad as he is,

probably worse.

- Next up, Patty O'Furniture.

- Oh, fuck my life.

- Don't even try
to upstage me, asswipe.

- [coughs]
- What a loser.

- Boo!

- Break a nail, whore.
- Yeah.

- The only thing
he's gonna break is his heels.

- Loser.
- Ugh.

- Boo, boo!
- Awful!

- Tell 'em, girlfriend!

- You suck!

- [laughs]
- Loser!

- What is it?

- Does it matter?

Goes down easy
and gets you high.

- Uh-huh.

- You don't belong in here...

doing this...

dressed like that.

I've got a nose for talent.

Why is a young man
of your gifts

lip-synching in drag

on the cock tip of Cape Cod
in the winter?

- I'm a playwright.

I sweet-talked the owner
of the playhouse in town

into putting on
one of my plays.

I rented a place,
I moved out here,

I started casting,
and then the guy just...

disappeared.

Not a trace of him.

- Oh.

What'd he look like?

- Like, six feet tall, chubby,

kind of red face all the time.

Why, have you seen him?

- No.

I'm doin' this drag thing
just to pay for food,

pack of smokes.

I'm bad at it.

I know I'm bad at it.

I just feel like an engine
that won't turn over.

I just--I turn the key,
and I click, click, click,

and I can't catch.

What's that?

- It's your new starter switch.

It's the highway
to your true self.

- Fuck it.

What did you give me?

- What do you feel?

- Unstoppable.
Unafraid.

Furious.
[inhales sharply]

And starving.

- Let's go get you fed

and get a little revenge
at the same time.

- Yeah.

- All of these ladies
have found themselves

in a dead heat for first.

- I would do so much better

than all these bitches
on this show.

- Can we please
watch something else?

- I told you straight boys,

if you want makeup tips
from Ms. Crystal,

you pay for the pizza, and we
watch what I wanna watch.

- I kind of like this show.

High fuckin' drama, you know?

- Please put on a hockey game
before I start singin'

"The Wizard of Oz"
and thinkin' about dick.

- Can we help you?

- If you're gonna make it
in this business,

you might want to camp it up
a little bit more, sweetheart.

Though I do like her wig.

- Oh, I'm not one of you.

- [chuckles]
- Ugh.

- Ugh, well, no wonder
you have no sparkle.

Gettin' advice
from that sultan of snore.

- Lock the door.

[gunshot]
- Ah!

Retreat!

- Hiyah!

Ugh.

- You can't win 'em all.

I'm full anyway.

- What do we do now?

- Now...

we go write.

Okay, it's okay.
[sniffles]

Okay.