"How've you been?" Jude asks. "You know...um, nice to see you?" They kiss, awkwardly. Steve compliments her on the boarded-up windows, and she laughs that she's thinking of keeping it that way. He marvels that she's dressed up, for the end of the world. She smiles that, of course, he has not. She leans in for a hungrier kiss. He says dinner smells good, and she nods. "Yeah. Should be ready."
Jude and Steve enter the kitchen. "You, cooking?" he grins. "Must be the end of the world or something." She says that it's only pasta. He sits: "You were right, though." She gets sassy, taking dinner out of the oven. "Always am." He admits to her that she was right, he does get off on the whole snap-snap Kenobi shtick. "Power mad!" He's never been so powerfully Baxter, so wonderfully slacker. So lovably screwed up and useless. She sits and serves up the pasta; Steve's getting chatty: "Keep tryin' to work out what's going to happen tonight, but it's like...I don't know. Like I'm not meant to see. Don't know what time, or...what it is." And Jude passes him his plate. "There you go. Am I supposed to eat mine?"
Steve looks at Jude. You look at her. Endgame. "Didn't have much in," she says. "...it's just tomatoes, bit of mixed spice, bit of pepper...and, uh, rat poison." He laughs. That British sense of humor. "Remember that time I had rats? My dad gave me that poison? I didn't know how much to put in -- I put lots. It's, um, arsenic or strychnine...it says on the box." He stares. Matter-of-factly: "It's Fi's idea, except she got the wrong target." He stares.
Serious, sad now, Steve takes it in: "How'd they get to you?" Jude looks at him, sad. "Was it Johnny? What did he say?" And as much as it hurts, as hard as truth this big can be, she spares him a loving look. "This isn't the Devil's work, Steve. It's just me. You've got to eat this, and you've gotta die."
"I can't be killed," Steve says, aghast. "You can die when you're meant to die, and that's now, Jude says. "Because I've worked it out. Do you want a beer?" He nods. Fuck yeah he wants a beer. In fact, BRB, as the kids say.
Back. "I kept thinking," Jude says, "How can there be a Third Testament and a Judgment Day. But it's obvious: they're both the same thing. You want a glass?" (The DVD is available in the U.S. I highly recommend it, both because this shit rocks, and because she blows the fuck out of this scene. As an acting lab, they both provide the kind of work -- all through, but of course now -- that would give James Lipton a life-threateningly violent orgasm. Right on stage!) All-business, and all-loving, all at once, she is. Steve declines the glass. Jude continues. "I'm writing the Third Testament, and that's a Judgment on you. Because my Testament says that you die. That you go. That you stop." She lights a cigarette. He takes a good slug of beer.