This would have been printed out, but unfortunately technology was not our friend, so here it is instead. Happy birthday, Quoth! Enjoy!
Scribblers
The Wedding
A bad dress rehearsal means a good first performance, so the superstition goes. In the interests, then, of a smooth actual wedding, I present to you this: the disaster.
The Scribblers are, of course, in the Pit, which is a hive of activity.
Lyric is busily creating additional bedrooms and living rooms, and generally making everything more suitable for the additional guests who are invited to the wedding of Chronal and Finesse.
Shift, in Woodpecker form, is punching holes in the walls to put nails in, and Wraith in his flying shoes is following her around hanging up bunting on the nails.
Finesse is supporting Chronal, who is holding the whole Pit in a time bubble, which is why no-one is stressed that it is 7.25 in the evening, and all the guests are due at 7.30.
Amity is generally spreading the already sizable amount of good will, while following Lyric around and making excitable suggestions.
Finesse - Lyric, don’t forget the high ceiling in the room by the garden. We don’t want a cranky Balloon Girl.
Lyric - Yeah, high ceiling get.
Amity - Oh my God! I forgot to say: Balloon Girl’s going out with The Sword Fish, so she RSVP’d for a plus one.
Lyric stops what he is doing and looks despairingly at the room at large.
Lyric - Seriously? You want me to create a room that’s suitable for a woman whose internal body is consistent with helium, and a man who lives in a pond?
Finesse - They’re a couple? Really? How does that..?
Amity - She wouldn’t say, she just murmured something about phallic naming and “benefits outweighing the negatives.” She was really firm about the room, though.
Everyone looks at Lyric.
Lyric - What? What, you want an innuendo? That’s already an innuendo. Jesus.
Amity giggles. Finesse looks scornful.
The clock ticks.
Chronal - Sorry.
Finesse - Now see what you’ve done.
She goes back to her preparations.
Elsewhere, Shift morphs back into human form.
Shift - So the Assembly’s really letting us all have a week off?
Wraith shrugs.
Shift - I mean, that’s good. But doesn’t it seem like a good chance for villains to make a move?
Amity - Finesse blackmailed Ret Con. They’ve promised that if anything really bad happens, they’ll un-happen it.
Shift - Oh. Um, couldn’t we just do that all the time?
Chronal - Mutters something about the fabric of time.
Shift - Oh. So...we’ve actually just got a week off from villainy?
Finesse - Well, yes, unless, you know, some kind of espionage takes place with too many seeds sewn for Ret Con to unpick, or they break their word, or...
Chronal - (Looking out of the window) Or they forget what they were supposed to be doing, and turn up to the wedding.
Finesse - Well, yes, but that would be... oh.
And now everyone can see the main staff of Ret Con, glad rags on, approaching the Pit without a care in the world.
Before they can receive the collective rage of the Scribblers, however, everything goes dark.
Wraith - Lame.
The voice of Discord, one of the Scribblers’ many nemeses, is heard not in their ears but in their minds.
Discord - Hello, Scribblers. You will, I am sure, have noticed that you cannot see. On further inspection you will discover that you are suffering from complete sensory deprivation. You cannot hear, you cannot touch, you cannot taste...
Chronal - And we cannot smell, yes, thank you, could we hurry it up? I’ve got a wedding to plan.
Discord - Fine.
Chronal - And also, could you get your information right? It’s not complete sensory deprivation. I can still feel the passage of time.
Lyric - Cranky much?
Chronal - Well, yes, I am actually. Normally I’m very happy to have my time occupied by super-villains with dastardly plans but a week off is a week off.
Lyric - OK.
Wraith - I, like, know this darkness.
Amity - Yeah, and I’m still picking you all up. Everyone’s registering faintly amused frustration, by the way.
Finesse - OK. So what have we learned, people?
Amity - Oooh! He can shut down our regular senses but not our super senses! Yes!
Pause.
Amity - Oh, that was obvious, wasn’t it?
Finesse - Well done, though. What else? Come on.
Chronal - He can’t open a telepathic channel without allowing us to use it too. Oh, and he’s a long way away or Finesse would have shut him down.
Finesse - Well done.
Discord - (Peevishly) I’m still here, you know.
Shift - We know.
Discord - Don’t you want to hear my plan?
Lyric - You know you don’t actually have to tell us, don’t you? You’re allowed to just get on with it.
Discord - Oh.
Amity - Er, he’s serious. No irony.
Lyric - Really? See, the idea is that you do everything you can to make sure we don’t win, and if you tell us your plan, we’ve got a better chance of stopping you.
Sinister pause.
Discord - I see. Well, in that case, you might as well know. I have planted a psychic bomb inside the heads of Finesse and Chronal. It will detonate, causing lifelong mental anguish, at the moment their relationship is consummated.
He does some telepathic maniacal laughter.
There is an awkward silence.
Amity - Um, are you a Catholic, Discord?
Discord - I am. I moved straight from the Convent school to my Nemesis training camp.
Finesse - I see. Well, they certainly trained you well. You, um, you’ve defeated us. The next time we have sex for the first time, that’s it. Scribblers is without a leader and a deputy. Well done you.
Chronal - Oh, yes. I’m filled with masculine frustration.
Discord - Oh. Right. Good. Um, you’re taking this quite well.
Chronal - Ah, well, that’s our superhero training, you see. We’re able to hide our deepest emotions.
Amity - Yes, they’re crying inside. Honestly.
Discord - Oh. Good. Well, I’m off then.
The lights return to normal.
Lyric - That was surprisingly uneventful.
Shift - Yeah, who wants to watch Finesse yell at Ret Con?
The Scribblers all tumble outside.
The end.
Showing posts with label Blossom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blossom. Show all posts
Monday, 25 October 2010
Monday, 15 March 2010
Glass and Sand, Scene 2
The story so far: we have established that Dan's best friend and mentor, a 91 year-old woman called Esme, has died. Her funeral was today. Dan has slipped back to his office to be alone and think about her. He has poured a single shot of sherry into a tea mug in order to toast her, but got interrupted before he could drink it. He's also brought the funeral Order of Service with him.
Scene 2
Dan collects himself, then puts away the Order of Service: the moment’s passed. He picks up a pile of notes, and starts working his way through them, not really getting anywhere.
Beat.
A light momentarily fills the room. It could almost be from a car’s headlights except it’s the wrong shade. Possibly a sound also accompanies this. If so, it too should be something almost ordinary, like a car horn heard from a distance, but not quite: something to make you notice it as strange, but easily dismiss it again.
Dan doesn’t perceive any of this.
He takes out the Order of Service again, looking at the photo. Bleak.
Beat.
Another knock at the door.
Esme walks tentatively through the door. She is in her latest twenties, and dressed respectably for office work in 1948.
He turns to look at her.
Beat.
Dan Esme.
He approaches her. Total, hopeless delight.
Esme Hello.
Dan looks again at the funeral order of service, which shows Esme as a young woman, then back at Esme.
Dan I’m hallucinating.
Esme Possibly. Is that all right?
Dan walks over to her, hesitantly holds her arms, her hands, stares at her.
He suddenly pulls her into a tight hug, holds her for a few seconds, desperately, then lets her go.
Dan You can’t be here.
Esme No. Good point.
Dan You’re not real.
Esme Not exactly.
Dan turns away from her, faces the audience.
She approaches and puts a hand on his shoulder. He responds to her touch.
Pause.
Dan Please be real.
Pause.
Esme I’ll put the kettle on.
Esme goes over to the cupboard, takes out the tea and starts making two cups.
Dan Is it you?
Esme Not quite. I’m a shadow, that’s all. Sorry.
Dan You’re young.
Esme I’m at the age when I look the most like me, I think.
Dan Esme, you’re gone. Do you know?
Esme In a way. I’m two things. I know I died, I know you loved me. But mostly I’m me, here. I’m 29, just starting my career, just back from a horse riding trip through Italy. Do you understand?
Dan No.
Esme You’re right. It’s metaphysical nonsense. Sorry.
Dan I’m going mad.
Esme Possibly.
Dan What happens now?
Pause.
Dan You sit down. I’ll make it.
Dan goes over to the kettle, picking up the mug on the way, and Esme sits down.
He has nowhere to pour the sherry, so he downs it surreptitiously.
The sherry makes him cough dramatically. Esme runs over and pats him on the back. He’s eventually OK.
Dan Down the wrong way.
Esme You haven’t made it yet.
She spots the sherry bottle, but says nothing.
Dan gets on with boiling the kettle.
He doesn't look at her.
Esme I’m sorry, Dan. It must be hard that I’m here.
Dan Hard?
Pause.
Dan Do you still...sugar? I only keep it for you. Kept it.
Esme I know. This isn’t like you, Dan. I’m back from the dead. Your best friend. You should be doing what you do: experimenting, asking me personal questions, testing your eyesight.
Dan I can’t. (Pause.) It’s like...all right, can you remember what it feels like to wake up from a dream? Or, not even quite wake up. The dream’s still wrapped around you but you’re just conscious enough to understand how precious it is and you know if you push it, if you try to control what happens, if you ask too many questions...and you can’t go back.
Esme No questions, then.
Dan Thanks.
Scene 2
Dan collects himself, then puts away the Order of Service: the moment’s passed. He picks up a pile of notes, and starts working his way through them, not really getting anywhere.
Beat.
A light momentarily fills the room. It could almost be from a car’s headlights except it’s the wrong shade. Possibly a sound also accompanies this. If so, it too should be something almost ordinary, like a car horn heard from a distance, but not quite: something to make you notice it as strange, but easily dismiss it again.
Dan doesn’t perceive any of this.
He takes out the Order of Service again, looking at the photo. Bleak.
Beat.
Another knock at the door.
Esme walks tentatively through the door. She is in her latest twenties, and dressed respectably for office work in 1948.
He turns to look at her.
Beat.
Dan Esme.
He approaches her. Total, hopeless delight.
Esme Hello.
Dan looks again at the funeral order of service, which shows Esme as a young woman, then back at Esme.
Dan I’m hallucinating.
Esme Possibly. Is that all right?
Dan walks over to her, hesitantly holds her arms, her hands, stares at her.
He suddenly pulls her into a tight hug, holds her for a few seconds, desperately, then lets her go.
Dan You can’t be here.
Esme No. Good point.
Dan You’re not real.
Esme Not exactly.
Dan turns away from her, faces the audience.
She approaches and puts a hand on his shoulder. He responds to her touch.
Pause.
Dan Please be real.
Pause.
Esme I’ll put the kettle on.
Esme goes over to the cupboard, takes out the tea and starts making two cups.
Dan Is it you?
Esme Not quite. I’m a shadow, that’s all. Sorry.
Dan You’re young.
Esme I’m at the age when I look the most like me, I think.
Dan Esme, you’re gone. Do you know?
Esme In a way. I’m two things. I know I died, I know you loved me. But mostly I’m me, here. I’m 29, just starting my career, just back from a horse riding trip through Italy. Do you understand?
Dan No.
Esme You’re right. It’s metaphysical nonsense. Sorry.
Dan I’m going mad.
Esme Possibly.
Dan What happens now?
Pause.
Dan You sit down. I’ll make it.
Dan goes over to the kettle, picking up the mug on the way, and Esme sits down.
He has nowhere to pour the sherry, so he downs it surreptitiously.
The sherry makes him cough dramatically. Esme runs over and pats him on the back. He’s eventually OK.
Dan Down the wrong way.
Esme You haven’t made it yet.
She spots the sherry bottle, but says nothing.
Dan gets on with boiling the kettle.
He doesn't look at her.
Esme I’m sorry, Dan. It must be hard that I’m here.
Dan Hard?
Pause.
Dan Do you still...sugar? I only keep it for you. Kept it.
Esme I know. This isn’t like you, Dan. I’m back from the dead. Your best friend. You should be doing what you do: experimenting, asking me personal questions, testing your eyesight.
Dan I can’t. (Pause.) It’s like...all right, can you remember what it feels like to wake up from a dream? Or, not even quite wake up. The dream’s still wrapped around you but you’re just conscious enough to understand how precious it is and you know if you push it, if you try to control what happens, if you ask too many questions...and you can’t go back.
Esme No questions, then.
Dan Thanks.
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
The Villain Variations
A strange piece I've just rediscovered. No idea what it is, really. I had this idea that you could write loads of very short origin stories for villains. This was the only one I got round to.
A androgynous figure, middle aged, sits in the centre of the stage, alone, visible in a dirty spotlight. He could be made of rags, if rags took the shapes of the things they remember being. If a sleeve remembered being what was meant by an arm, or a skirt remembered being what was meant by ‘I love you.’ And he could be made of what the rags remember, as bitter as their faded memories, and as accustomed to his fate. He could be all this, but the rags are inanimate in this universe, and so he is simply very alone.
He is building something. He manages to be feverish and furtive at the same time, and he is constructing something metal, all the hard edges already threatening against the soft indolence of his rags. The metal device swarms into new shapes under his hands. It is pipes, and rust, and sheets of long-green copper.
A man walks past in an outfit that is at once obviously not of our world and obviously a business suit of some kind. Broad, strong colours, the kind of silly hat that is only ever associated with rank.
Androgynous figure Got any pipes?
Man Oh, yes, I think...
The man reaches into his garments and pulls out a battered pipe.
Man Seen better days, but I think it’s all right...
The androgynous figure takes the pipe quickly and hides it amongst the rags.
Androgynous figure Peace be with you.
The man smiles and walks on.
The androgynous figure takes out the pipe again, and includes it in his construction.
He pumps the machine at a pipe-handle. Then he sucks another pipe as he pumps vigorously, energetically. As he does this, he seems to gain strength, even height.
With a final, great suck, he stands, and suddenly this is a man, and not a man you could really imagine sitting destitute in a pile of rags. He is strong, the intimidating side of virile, and very tall and broad.
He makes a noise - half a laugh, half a roar.
A small middle-aged woman arrives at the other side of the stage. She is dressed strangely, though well, but she looks desolate and small.
Woman I thought I had you that time.
The man turns to her, very slowly.
Man No. You’d better run. Run and hide.
Woman (Very frightened.) I can’t. I know what you’ll do.
Man That’s right. Steer clear of the conditional. Run. And hide.
The woman runs away.
The man strides off in the other direction.
Scene 2
Molly and Jake walk onto the stage. Both 20, and best friends, and the special kind of totally idle that looks like great activity.
Jake They’re just stories.
Molly Of course they are.
Jake Hang on. No lies today. You said.
Molly OK. They’re not just stories, they’re shadows. They’re the almost-true things. There are things that happen, and things that nearly happen, and then there are the almost-true.
Jake Carry on.
Molly It’s about pathways. Sort of. Through time.
Jake Does it have to be pathways? I haven’t walked along a pathway since I was about ten. I walk down roads.
Molly OK. It’s a one-way street, and you’re driving down it so you can’t turn round.
Jake Right.
Molly Yes. And, OK, at some point, maybe ages ago, there was a fork in the road.
Jake Right, this is an old idea, Molly. There was a fork, and we took one path, but there’s a parallel universe created of the ‘us’ that took the other path.
Molly Now you’re saying ‘path’! Anyway, no, that’s just it. No. You’re here, right, so you aren’t also on a different path. But your shadow is, sort of. Walking along the other path, in parallel with your steps. That’s fine, that’s not a problem, that’s just things that nearly happen. It means just sometimes you have a feeling that you know a total stranger very well, or you’ve always loved a new musician you hear, or you just don’t trust someone, even though you haven’t got a reason. They’re the feelings you get because your shadow is sending ideas your way. And you’re its shadow too, crowding in with all its other ideas.
Jake But that’s not what you’re talking about.
Molly Nope. I’m talking about the almost-true.
Jake Well?
Molly Jake, shall we sit down? This is a dark story.
They sit down, swinging their legs over the edges of the docks.
Molly Ready?
Jake OK, go for it.
Molly The almost-true are the rare. Sometimes a person is born in just one reality. That’s very rare. Normally if two people fall in love in one reality, they will fall in love in another because their shadows will remind them of each other, and if they have a child in one, they will in another. Or even if they don’t in more than one...
Jake There are lots of paths...lots of chances.
Molly Exactly. But sometimes a person is born in only one reality. They have no shadows, so they’re often lonely because no-one has shadows reminding them to meet this person. But sometimes they can travel between the worlds.
Jake You’re making me shiver!
Molly Sorry, Jake.
Molly starts to sob.
Jake puts his arm around her.
Jake Molly. You’re not...don’t be silly. These are just our stories, Molly.
Molly No lies today.
Molly disappears.
Jake Molly? Molly! MOLLY!
Jake looks around frantically around the stage for her, and then runs off the stage.
SCENE 3
Two women are sitting at a cafe table, looking normal except as with the first scene, there is a richness to the colour of their clothes, a slightly unusual style to their clothes, which makes them look just faintly superimposed on their surroundings. They are drinking a thick black liquid.
Jake enters. He looks desperate, and a little older.
He walks directly up to them, in no doubt about who he wants to speak to.
He speaks like a man not used to being rude, but who is picking it up quickly.
Jake I think you can help me.
First woman Do you, young man?
Jake Yes.
Second woman I think, Trude, that what the young man is trying delicately to imply is that he would like to entreat our assistance.
First woman Really, Sally? Well, I wish he’d just said so.
Jake I am looking for Molly. I think she was in trouble.
Trude And why do you think we can help her?
Jake I don’t.
Sally But you want us to help you get to her.
Trude Why can’t he get to her himself?
Sally What do you think?
Trude I think she’s gone ...
Sally Or been taken.
Trude Or been taken to where he’s got a shadow living.
Sally Does he know where? Do you know where?
Jake Yes, I think so.
Jake shows them something in his hand.
Pause.
Trude We haven’t been there.
Sally No. We haven’t been there.
Trude All right, we’ll help you, but there’s a price.
Jake I’ll pay it.
Trude It’s a hefty price, you stupid man. You can’t be in the same place as your shadow.
Jake So he’ll go somewhere else?
Sally No. You’ll have to kill him, or that universe will reject you like a transplanted kidney.
Trude Tell him our price.
Sally Yes, our price. Our price. Kill us too, while you’re at it. We haven’t been there, and our shadows are wary of us.
Pause.
Sally Up to you, of course. You don’t have to go looking for her.
Jake Three murders. I don’t know who I’ll be when I find her.
Sally Three?
She laughs, a little.
Sally What’s to say you’ll find her in this one? She could have gone anywhere.
Jake And the price, the next time?
Trude Just the same, of course.
Jake And how many places will I have to look?
Pause.
Jake How many shadows can I afford to lose?
Trude takes her glass and tips it upside down, letting the gloopy black liquid drip slowly down to the table top.
Trude Not many.
Sally Technically. But you never know: you might develop an appetite for strange places. That would keep you going, if nothing else could.
Jake She’s my best friend. I’ll find her.
Montage sequence. Jake travels. The lights change as he slips from one reality to another.
A man sits filling a bucket, humming to himself. Jake slits his throat from behind, and takes his necktie, attaching it to his own neck.
Jake travels on and the lights change: we are in a new place. A man stands in a suit, giving a talk to a board. Jake stands up from the table, and stabs the man. He takes his handkerchief and pushes it through his buttonhole. No-one at the table reacts.
Jake travels on. A new place. A man walks down the road. Jake takes him down and walks on, wearing his hat.
Faster, the next man is a doctor, the next has his daughter with him.
Jake takes an item each time, until he looks like he could eventually become the man from the beginning.
SCENE 4
As the first scene. The man stands bravely, strong, in the middle of the floor.
The woman re-enters.
Molly I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got to stop you.
Jake You can’t.
Molly (Hesitantly, she has not used this word in a long time.) Jake. I’m not frightened of what you’ve become now. I’m not going to run away from you again. (Pause.) Do you remember why you began this?
Jake I was seeking you.
Molly Do you remember why?
Pause.
Molly For mercy, Jake. You wanted to rescue me. I’m here. You’ve found me.
Jake Let’s go home, then.
Molly I’m sorry. You can’t. Look at what you are now. You’ve gone where I can’t follow you.
Long pause.
Jake Run, then. Run, and hide.
Molly realises he is serious, and backs away, and exits.
Finis.
A androgynous figure, middle aged, sits in the centre of the stage, alone, visible in a dirty spotlight. He could be made of rags, if rags took the shapes of the things they remember being. If a sleeve remembered being what was meant by an arm, or a skirt remembered being what was meant by ‘I love you.’ And he could be made of what the rags remember, as bitter as their faded memories, and as accustomed to his fate. He could be all this, but the rags are inanimate in this universe, and so he is simply very alone.
He is building something. He manages to be feverish and furtive at the same time, and he is constructing something metal, all the hard edges already threatening against the soft indolence of his rags. The metal device swarms into new shapes under his hands. It is pipes, and rust, and sheets of long-green copper.
A man walks past in an outfit that is at once obviously not of our world and obviously a business suit of some kind. Broad, strong colours, the kind of silly hat that is only ever associated with rank.
Androgynous figure Got any pipes?
Man Oh, yes, I think...
The man reaches into his garments and pulls out a battered pipe.
Man Seen better days, but I think it’s all right...
The androgynous figure takes the pipe quickly and hides it amongst the rags.
Androgynous figure Peace be with you.
The man smiles and walks on.
The androgynous figure takes out the pipe again, and includes it in his construction.
He pumps the machine at a pipe-handle. Then he sucks another pipe as he pumps vigorously, energetically. As he does this, he seems to gain strength, even height.
With a final, great suck, he stands, and suddenly this is a man, and not a man you could really imagine sitting destitute in a pile of rags. He is strong, the intimidating side of virile, and very tall and broad.
He makes a noise - half a laugh, half a roar.
A small middle-aged woman arrives at the other side of the stage. She is dressed strangely, though well, but she looks desolate and small.
Woman I thought I had you that time.
The man turns to her, very slowly.
Man No. You’d better run. Run and hide.
Woman (Very frightened.) I can’t. I know what you’ll do.
Man That’s right. Steer clear of the conditional. Run. And hide.
The woman runs away.
The man strides off in the other direction.
Scene 2
Molly and Jake walk onto the stage. Both 20, and best friends, and the special kind of totally idle that looks like great activity.
Jake They’re just stories.
Molly Of course they are.
Jake Hang on. No lies today. You said.
Molly OK. They’re not just stories, they’re shadows. They’re the almost-true things. There are things that happen, and things that nearly happen, and then there are the almost-true.
Jake Carry on.
Molly It’s about pathways. Sort of. Through time.
Jake Does it have to be pathways? I haven’t walked along a pathway since I was about ten. I walk down roads.
Molly OK. It’s a one-way street, and you’re driving down it so you can’t turn round.
Jake Right.
Molly Yes. And, OK, at some point, maybe ages ago, there was a fork in the road.
Jake Right, this is an old idea, Molly. There was a fork, and we took one path, but there’s a parallel universe created of the ‘us’ that took the other path.
Molly Now you’re saying ‘path’! Anyway, no, that’s just it. No. You’re here, right, so you aren’t also on a different path. But your shadow is, sort of. Walking along the other path, in parallel with your steps. That’s fine, that’s not a problem, that’s just things that nearly happen. It means just sometimes you have a feeling that you know a total stranger very well, or you’ve always loved a new musician you hear, or you just don’t trust someone, even though you haven’t got a reason. They’re the feelings you get because your shadow is sending ideas your way. And you’re its shadow too, crowding in with all its other ideas.
Jake But that’s not what you’re talking about.
Molly Nope. I’m talking about the almost-true.
Jake Well?
Molly Jake, shall we sit down? This is a dark story.
They sit down, swinging their legs over the edges of the docks.
Molly Ready?
Jake OK, go for it.
Molly The almost-true are the rare. Sometimes a person is born in just one reality. That’s very rare. Normally if two people fall in love in one reality, they will fall in love in another because their shadows will remind them of each other, and if they have a child in one, they will in another. Or even if they don’t in more than one...
Jake There are lots of paths...lots of chances.
Molly Exactly. But sometimes a person is born in only one reality. They have no shadows, so they’re often lonely because no-one has shadows reminding them to meet this person. But sometimes they can travel between the worlds.
Jake You’re making me shiver!
Molly Sorry, Jake.
Molly starts to sob.
Jake puts his arm around her.
Jake Molly. You’re not...don’t be silly. These are just our stories, Molly.
Molly No lies today.
Molly disappears.
Jake Molly? Molly! MOLLY!
Jake looks around frantically around the stage for her, and then runs off the stage.
SCENE 3
Two women are sitting at a cafe table, looking normal except as with the first scene, there is a richness to the colour of their clothes, a slightly unusual style to their clothes, which makes them look just faintly superimposed on their surroundings. They are drinking a thick black liquid.
Jake enters. He looks desperate, and a little older.
He walks directly up to them, in no doubt about who he wants to speak to.
He speaks like a man not used to being rude, but who is picking it up quickly.
Jake I think you can help me.
First woman Do you, young man?
Jake Yes.
Second woman I think, Trude, that what the young man is trying delicately to imply is that he would like to entreat our assistance.
First woman Really, Sally? Well, I wish he’d just said so.
Jake I am looking for Molly. I think she was in trouble.
Trude And why do you think we can help her?
Jake I don’t.
Sally But you want us to help you get to her.
Trude Why can’t he get to her himself?
Sally What do you think?
Trude I think she’s gone ...
Sally Or been taken.
Trude Or been taken to where he’s got a shadow living.
Sally Does he know where? Do you know where?
Jake Yes, I think so.
Jake shows them something in his hand.
Pause.
Trude We haven’t been there.
Sally No. We haven’t been there.
Trude All right, we’ll help you, but there’s a price.
Jake I’ll pay it.
Trude It’s a hefty price, you stupid man. You can’t be in the same place as your shadow.
Jake So he’ll go somewhere else?
Sally No. You’ll have to kill him, or that universe will reject you like a transplanted kidney.
Trude Tell him our price.
Sally Yes, our price. Our price. Kill us too, while you’re at it. We haven’t been there, and our shadows are wary of us.
Pause.
Sally Up to you, of course. You don’t have to go looking for her.
Jake Three murders. I don’t know who I’ll be when I find her.
Sally Three?
She laughs, a little.
Sally What’s to say you’ll find her in this one? She could have gone anywhere.
Jake And the price, the next time?
Trude Just the same, of course.
Jake And how many places will I have to look?
Pause.
Jake How many shadows can I afford to lose?
Trude takes her glass and tips it upside down, letting the gloopy black liquid drip slowly down to the table top.
Trude Not many.
Sally Technically. But you never know: you might develop an appetite for strange places. That would keep you going, if nothing else could.
Jake She’s my best friend. I’ll find her.
Montage sequence. Jake travels. The lights change as he slips from one reality to another.
A man sits filling a bucket, humming to himself. Jake slits his throat from behind, and takes his necktie, attaching it to his own neck.
Jake travels on and the lights change: we are in a new place. A man stands in a suit, giving a talk to a board. Jake stands up from the table, and stabs the man. He takes his handkerchief and pushes it through his buttonhole. No-one at the table reacts.
Jake travels on. A new place. A man walks down the road. Jake takes him down and walks on, wearing his hat.
Faster, the next man is a doctor, the next has his daughter with him.
Jake takes an item each time, until he looks like he could eventually become the man from the beginning.
SCENE 4
As the first scene. The man stands bravely, strong, in the middle of the floor.
The woman re-enters.
Molly I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got to stop you.
Jake You can’t.
Molly (Hesitantly, she has not used this word in a long time.) Jake. I’m not frightened of what you’ve become now. I’m not going to run away from you again. (Pause.) Do you remember why you began this?
Jake I was seeking you.
Molly Do you remember why?
Pause.
Molly For mercy, Jake. You wanted to rescue me. I’m here. You’ve found me.
Jake Let’s go home, then.
Molly I’m sorry. You can’t. Look at what you are now. You’ve gone where I can’t follow you.
Long pause.
Jake Run, then. Run, and hide.
Molly realises he is serious, and backs away, and exits.
Finis.
Monday, 7 September 2009
Scribblers: Conspiracy Part 3
Final installment. Not at all sure about it, and it's very talky.
Chronal Goons coming your way. Hold on.
Chronal does the timey-wimey thing and suddenly he is with them, and they are in a time-bubble.
Chronal Hi guys. I thought I’d better give you this bit of exposition before the fighting. We’re in almost-stopped time. I found...
Amity Hang on, Chrone. How many people have you got in this bubble?
Chronal Just the five of us.
Wraith Eight.
Amity That’s what I thought.
Chronal Well, I’m not doing it.
Lyric Could they have just found their way into the bubble, if you can’t see them?
Finesse It doesn’t work like that. It’s not literally a bubble.
Chronal I choose what entities I slow down with me. It’s time. It doesn’t operate according to the laws of space.
Amity But they’re here.
Echo We are here. Hello.
Finesse Makes sense, really. Their powers are light-based, so if they can go as fast as light, but still interact with us...
Chronal They must be able to slow down.
Wraith experimentally throws some light, to see if he can, and Amity giggles.
Amity They liked that!
Finesse OK, Wraith, you’re on creche duty, Chronal, exposition. And quickly, please, we need you fighting strength when we tackle the goons.
Chronal Oh, yes, right. There were triplets, and they did die. Yesterday. They were six years old. Their parents put them to bed, and when they checked in the morning, all that remained was dust. It looked like they’d been cremated, apparently. The police are treating it as highly suspicious.
Finesse Any history of powers?
Chronal Nothing at all.
Finesse Right. Well, they’re young, but it’s the only explanation, then. They must have...
Wraith Hey!
Amity Where are they?
Finesse They did something in real time, they’re using their powers. Chrone, take us back!
Chronal de-activates the time bubble and they return to hear no goons.
Lyric approaches the door, sword at the ready, and cautiously opens it. Everyone else is in fighting stance.
Lyric looks through, then abruptly closes the door again.
Lyric Power down, take a deep breath. Amity, keep us calm.
Lyric opens the door more widely. Each of the goons that were coming for them has burned down to dust.
Pause.
Amity They’re expectant, and happy.
Wraith Shit.
Finesse We need a weapon. Thoughts?
Wraith They didn’t understand.
Finesse Even a six year-old knows mass-slaughter isn’t OK.
Amity They were trying to protect us. They couldn’t know we didn’t need it.
Lyric The only weapon they know is what they did to their own bodies.
Pause.
Finesse OK. Can you hear me?
Echo Yes.
Finesse Right. What you have just done was wrong. Those people aren't like you. They can't come back like you. You must promise to never ever kill another human being again. Do you understand?
Pause.
Amity Sulking. Nothing I can do - no chemicals.
Finesse We will look after you, and we know you were trying to help, but I need you to understand why that is not OK.
Echo Sorry.
Finesse That’s...OK. Now, in a minute, I’m going to let you go and play with Wraith for a while, but first you have to listen.
Echo The jumping game?
Finesse Ah. That’s it. Yes. Now, pay attention. I know what you are. You are new. You’re evolved beyond anything we’ve met before. That means you won’t grow up like other children because you have changed so that you don’t need bodies any more. You are light. You can do lots of things other children can’t do.
Echo We want skin.
Finesse When you...hurt those people, I bet you didn’t have to try at all, did you? I bet you just went into them, and then it happened. Is that right?
Echo Like jumping.
Finesse Yes. So if Lyric grows new skin for you, the same thing will happen.
Amity winces.
Amity I really hope you’ve got a silver lining.
Finesse Possibly. Wraith?
Wraith Yeah. Probs. Like this.
Wraith does something with his hands, and across the room appears a blurry figure with wild hair. Wraith is concentrating as hard as he ever has.
Wraith New thing. Not too good yet.
Everyone is very impressed by this.
Wraith Get it?
Echo Yes!
Nothing happens for ages. Then blurry figures start to appear. An impression of colour, nothing much more.
Amity (Under her breath) Temper, temper.
Wraith Pretty good. The kids got talent.
Lyric What do we do now? We’ll need to explain.
Finesse We tell the truth, of course.
Amity But you know what they’ll do...
Finesse What? How do you incarcerate light? We’ll offer to train them, we’ll explain, and as soon as we can, we’ll send them back to their parents. They are far too dangerous to be left alone, and far too dangerous to be exposed to criminals at a young age. The Assembly will have no choice but to educate them. (Pause.) Wraith, take them down to the training rooms. I doubt they get tired any more. They need to create a physical form as soon as possible. Chronal, will you come and help me recover Shift? And then we need to talk to the Assembly.
Finesse clocks what Lyric and Amity are doing, and then she, Chronal, Wraith and Echo leave.
In the next room, crouching in the dust, Lyric is occupied in making urns. Each is different, and each is beautiful.
Chronal Goons coming your way. Hold on.
Chronal does the timey-wimey thing and suddenly he is with them, and they are in a time-bubble.
Chronal Hi guys. I thought I’d better give you this bit of exposition before the fighting. We’re in almost-stopped time. I found...
Amity Hang on, Chrone. How many people have you got in this bubble?
Chronal Just the five of us.
Wraith Eight.
Amity That’s what I thought.
Chronal Well, I’m not doing it.
Lyric Could they have just found their way into the bubble, if you can’t see them?
Finesse It doesn’t work like that. It’s not literally a bubble.
Chronal I choose what entities I slow down with me. It’s time. It doesn’t operate according to the laws of space.
Amity But they’re here.
Echo We are here. Hello.
Finesse Makes sense, really. Their powers are light-based, so if they can go as fast as light, but still interact with us...
Chronal They must be able to slow down.
Wraith experimentally throws some light, to see if he can, and Amity giggles.
Amity They liked that!
Finesse OK, Wraith, you’re on creche duty, Chronal, exposition. And quickly, please, we need you fighting strength when we tackle the goons.
Chronal Oh, yes, right. There were triplets, and they did die. Yesterday. They were six years old. Their parents put them to bed, and when they checked in the morning, all that remained was dust. It looked like they’d been cremated, apparently. The police are treating it as highly suspicious.
Finesse Any history of powers?
Chronal Nothing at all.
Finesse Right. Well, they’re young, but it’s the only explanation, then. They must have...
Wraith Hey!
Amity Where are they?
Finesse They did something in real time, they’re using their powers. Chrone, take us back!
Chronal de-activates the time bubble and they return to hear no goons.
Lyric approaches the door, sword at the ready, and cautiously opens it. Everyone else is in fighting stance.
Lyric looks through, then abruptly closes the door again.
Lyric Power down, take a deep breath. Amity, keep us calm.
Lyric opens the door more widely. Each of the goons that were coming for them has burned down to dust.
Pause.
Amity They’re expectant, and happy.
Wraith Shit.
Finesse We need a weapon. Thoughts?
Wraith They didn’t understand.
Finesse Even a six year-old knows mass-slaughter isn’t OK.
Amity They were trying to protect us. They couldn’t know we didn’t need it.
Lyric The only weapon they know is what they did to their own bodies.
Pause.
Finesse OK. Can you hear me?
Echo Yes.
Finesse Right. What you have just done was wrong. Those people aren't like you. They can't come back like you. You must promise to never ever kill another human being again. Do you understand?
Pause.
Amity Sulking. Nothing I can do - no chemicals.
Finesse We will look after you, and we know you were trying to help, but I need you to understand why that is not OK.
Echo Sorry.
Finesse That’s...OK. Now, in a minute, I’m going to let you go and play with Wraith for a while, but first you have to listen.
Echo The jumping game?
Finesse Ah. That’s it. Yes. Now, pay attention. I know what you are. You are new. You’re evolved beyond anything we’ve met before. That means you won’t grow up like other children because you have changed so that you don’t need bodies any more. You are light. You can do lots of things other children can’t do.
Echo We want skin.
Finesse When you...hurt those people, I bet you didn’t have to try at all, did you? I bet you just went into them, and then it happened. Is that right?
Echo Like jumping.
Finesse Yes. So if Lyric grows new skin for you, the same thing will happen.
Amity winces.
Amity I really hope you’ve got a silver lining.
Finesse Possibly. Wraith?
Wraith Yeah. Probs. Like this.
Wraith does something with his hands, and across the room appears a blurry figure with wild hair. Wraith is concentrating as hard as he ever has.
Wraith New thing. Not too good yet.
Everyone is very impressed by this.
Wraith Get it?
Echo Yes!
Nothing happens for ages. Then blurry figures start to appear. An impression of colour, nothing much more.
Amity (Under her breath) Temper, temper.
Wraith Pretty good. The kids got talent.
Lyric What do we do now? We’ll need to explain.
Finesse We tell the truth, of course.
Amity But you know what they’ll do...
Finesse What? How do you incarcerate light? We’ll offer to train them, we’ll explain, and as soon as we can, we’ll send them back to their parents. They are far too dangerous to be left alone, and far too dangerous to be exposed to criminals at a young age. The Assembly will have no choice but to educate them. (Pause.) Wraith, take them down to the training rooms. I doubt they get tired any more. They need to create a physical form as soon as possible. Chronal, will you come and help me recover Shift? And then we need to talk to the Assembly.
Finesse clocks what Lyric and Amity are doing, and then she, Chronal, Wraith and Echo leave.
In the next room, crouching in the dust, Lyric is occupied in making urns. Each is different, and each is beautiful.
Friday, 4 September 2009
Scribblers: Conspiracy Part 2
PANEL: Lyric squats on the rooftop - a dark space in a glowing city. Surrounding him is speckled light, almost like errors in the printing of the black. He looks ahead of him, experienced and worldly.
Echo We know you.
Lyric Funny sort of way to greet an old friend.
Echo You didn’t show we hurt you.
Lyric No, well, I’m incredibly brave.
Pause.
Lyric So...was there something you wanted?
Echo Yes.
Lyric I’m not a telepath. You know that?
Echo Yes. We need.
Lyric Are you asking for help? Because you just stabbed me in the hand, and I don’t think you knew I could heal it.
Echo Now we know. Help us.
Lyric Why did you stab me?
Echo Now we know.
Lyric What do you want?
Echo Help us.
Lyric What do you need?
Back in the Duck Cave.
Amity That’s weird. Wraith.
Chronal Alarm bells?
Amity I’m not sure. Hard to tell at this distance because it’s subtle. But it’s conflicting emotions. He’s normally pretty clear.
Chronal We should go.
Amity Give it a minute, she asked us to stay. He’s all right, I think. He’s frightened, but not the way he...ah! It’s responsibility. Finesse has given him something important to do - something no-one else can help with. And he’s scared. Oh, wait. Hang on. It’s all right, there it is!
Chronal Clue, please.
Amity Pride.
In the corridor in the Assembly.
Wraith is tentatively sending out brackets of light. He gets more masterful and confident with every stroke. Here is the artist in his element, finding light.
Wraith It’s changing. No size, no shape, no matter. Almost.
He grins.
Wraith Alive thing. It thinks. Weird.
Finesse What’s it doing? I’m getting nothing. It’s using whatever power this is all the time, consistently. Why doesn’t it hide, or attack, if it wants to? What’s it doing?
Wraith Playing.
Finesse Playing?
Wraith Feel where it is. Look.
Wraith moves his brackets of light rapidly, unpredictably, then stops suddenly.
Finesse It’s chasing the light, then hiding from it. And now you’ve stopped...
Wraith Just out of reach.
Finesse Like a dog with a ball.
Wraith Like a kid.
Finesse OK, is it hostile?
Wraith shrugs.
Wraith Not right now.
On the rooftop.
Lyric is standing now, leaning against the wall.
Lyric What you’re asking me for, I can’t do it. I can’t make life. Not from scratch.
Echo Help us.
Lyric I want to. I can’t.
Echo Help us.
Lyric OK. Look, we’ll try and work something out, OK?
Echo Help us.
Lyric It’s like talking to a skipping CD, you know that?
In the Duck Hub.
Chronal and Amity are sitting dejectedly, getting bored.
Finesse speaks over the Com.
Finesse Hi. Right, we might need some help.
Chronal Huzzah! To the Assembly!
Finesse Sorry, not you Chrone. I need a list of children who disappeared. Can you do that from the Duck Shed?
Chronal I certainly can. But that won’t take me long.
Finesse Actually it might. I need a list of siblings who disappeared.
Chronal Easy. What’s my time-frame?
Finesse There isn’t one.
Pause.
Chronal You realise that’s going to be quite a long list?
Finesse I know. Try cross-referencing with the words “light” and “shadow”. I’m sorry. It might have been something suspicious.
Chronal Okey-dokey.
Chronal disappears into a blur, searching several computers at once to allow them to keep up with his operating speeds.
Finesse Amity, can you come over here?
Amity Yay!
Amity walks into the corridor in the Assembly.
Wraith is playing with the light again, a game that has now developed a few rules and a rudimentary scoring system.
Amity Oooh! Twins! And aren’t you Mr Popular?!
Finesse Is an explanation a possibility, at this stage?
Amity Um, OK. I can’t see them either, but I can feel them.
Finesse I’m only getting one power.
Amity There is only one. They share it. They work in stereo but there’s definitely two of them.
Finesse Are they hostile?
Amity No. Sorry to go all Deanna Troy, but I’m just feeling a lot of love, and most of it aimed at Wraith. They love him. Oh, and he makes them feel safe. They’re young, I think. Quite simple emotions.
Finesse Are you saying they’re human?
Amity They feel like it.
A beautiful, ornate door appears in the corridor, and Lyric steps through.
Wraith and Amity smile.
Wraith Three.
Finesse (Over the intercom) Chronal, you’re looking for triplets, very young.
Lyric (Also speaking into the intercom) And they died.
Everyone looks at Lyric.
Echo We know you.
Lyric Funny sort of way to greet an old friend.
Echo You didn’t show we hurt you.
Lyric No, well, I’m incredibly brave.
Pause.
Lyric So...was there something you wanted?
Echo Yes.
Lyric I’m not a telepath. You know that?
Echo Yes. We need.
Lyric Are you asking for help? Because you just stabbed me in the hand, and I don’t think you knew I could heal it.
Echo Now we know. Help us.
Lyric Why did you stab me?
Echo Now we know.
Lyric What do you want?
Echo Help us.
Lyric What do you need?
Back in the Duck Cave.
Amity That’s weird. Wraith.
Chronal Alarm bells?
Amity I’m not sure. Hard to tell at this distance because it’s subtle. But it’s conflicting emotions. He’s normally pretty clear.
Chronal We should go.
Amity Give it a minute, she asked us to stay. He’s all right, I think. He’s frightened, but not the way he...ah! It’s responsibility. Finesse has given him something important to do - something no-one else can help with. And he’s scared. Oh, wait. Hang on. It’s all right, there it is!
Chronal Clue, please.
Amity Pride.
In the corridor in the Assembly.
Wraith is tentatively sending out brackets of light. He gets more masterful and confident with every stroke. Here is the artist in his element, finding light.
Wraith It’s changing. No size, no shape, no matter. Almost.
He grins.
Wraith Alive thing. It thinks. Weird.
Finesse What’s it doing? I’m getting nothing. It’s using whatever power this is all the time, consistently. Why doesn’t it hide, or attack, if it wants to? What’s it doing?
Wraith Playing.
Finesse Playing?
Wraith Feel where it is. Look.
Wraith moves his brackets of light rapidly, unpredictably, then stops suddenly.
Finesse It’s chasing the light, then hiding from it. And now you’ve stopped...
Wraith Just out of reach.
Finesse Like a dog with a ball.
Wraith Like a kid.
Finesse OK, is it hostile?
Wraith shrugs.
Wraith Not right now.
On the rooftop.
Lyric is standing now, leaning against the wall.
Lyric What you’re asking me for, I can’t do it. I can’t make life. Not from scratch.
Echo Help us.
Lyric I want to. I can’t.
Echo Help us.
Lyric OK. Look, we’ll try and work something out, OK?
Echo Help us.
Lyric It’s like talking to a skipping CD, you know that?
In the Duck Hub.
Chronal and Amity are sitting dejectedly, getting bored.
Finesse speaks over the Com.
Finesse Hi. Right, we might need some help.
Chronal Huzzah! To the Assembly!
Finesse Sorry, not you Chrone. I need a list of children who disappeared. Can you do that from the Duck Shed?
Chronal I certainly can. But that won’t take me long.
Finesse Actually it might. I need a list of siblings who disappeared.
Chronal Easy. What’s my time-frame?
Finesse There isn’t one.
Pause.
Chronal You realise that’s going to be quite a long list?
Finesse I know. Try cross-referencing with the words “light” and “shadow”. I’m sorry. It might have been something suspicious.
Chronal Okey-dokey.
Chronal disappears into a blur, searching several computers at once to allow them to keep up with his operating speeds.
Finesse Amity, can you come over here?
Amity Yay!
Amity walks into the corridor in the Assembly.
Wraith is playing with the light again, a game that has now developed a few rules and a rudimentary scoring system.
Amity Oooh! Twins! And aren’t you Mr Popular?!
Finesse Is an explanation a possibility, at this stage?
Amity Um, OK. I can’t see them either, but I can feel them.
Finesse I’m only getting one power.
Amity There is only one. They share it. They work in stereo but there’s definitely two of them.
Finesse Are they hostile?
Amity No. Sorry to go all Deanna Troy, but I’m just feeling a lot of love, and most of it aimed at Wraith. They love him. Oh, and he makes them feel safe. They’re young, I think. Quite simple emotions.
Finesse Are you saying they’re human?
Amity They feel like it.
A beautiful, ornate door appears in the corridor, and Lyric steps through.
Wraith and Amity smile.
Wraith Three.
Finesse (Over the intercom) Chronal, you’re looking for triplets, very young.
Lyric (Also speaking into the intercom) And they died.
Everyone looks at Lyric.
Scribblers: Conspiracy Part 1
I have done lots of work today, so I think it's high time for some comicking! :-)
The Scribblers are kitting out. They’re all crowded onto three trans-bikes (Lyric, Finesse and Shift are driving), and armed with their usual assortment of resources.
Finesse Chronal?
Chronal We’ve got 48 seconds.
Wraith makes them all invisible, and Chronal places them into a time bubble (do we have a term for that?), and off they go, biking through a barely-moving landscape, dodging cars and motionless pedestrians.
Chronal, on Finesse’s bike, is beginning to break a sweat with the effort of holding them all almost out of time. Wraith looks mildly disgruntled.
In almost-no-time, they reach the Assembly buildings, where eerily still people in suits are paused in the act of tying a shoe-lace, or looking back for a moment at someone special before he turns a corner.
Everyone knows the plan.
Wraith makes himself and Lyric invisible, and they go off to the side of the building, where a door begins to appear in a wall.
Shift transforms into a flea, and attaches herself under the collar of a very high-up looking business man.
Finesse loiters in the foyer, in case of unexpected superpowers turning up, and Amity and Chronal go straight up to the front desk.
Amity Hello, we’d like to know where the most absolutely top-secret meeting is taking place, please.
The man behind the desk passively looks at the file. Chronal flickers for a moment.
Man I’m sorry, Scribbler, but you’re not down to attend any meetings today.
Amity and Chronal smile at him.
Amity Just testing, well done!
The man looks very proud of himself.
They walk out, as Chronal murmurs over the Com.
Chronal 17th floor, Rockabilly Suite.
Finesse Belay that. Everyone get out, right now. Out. And hide in pairs, don’t go back to base. I’m going after Shift.
Chronal On your own? Are you sure?
Finesse Yes.
Amity No, you’re not. She’s not, she’s being noble.
Chronal Ah, well, we can’t have that.
Pause.
Finesse Fine. Wraith, with me, find somewhere to hide and then double back.
Amity I wish I was telepathic.
Finesse I’ll be in touch.
Finesse ducks through a side door and disappears.
Chronal and Amity head off towards the Duck Shed.
Lyric is moving so fast he appears to be burning the doors into the walls, but he gets out, and heads for a rooftop to stand on the edge of.
Wraith leaves, and when he’s out of sight, goes invisible and doubles back. A shadow, standing so close that he might even have taken it for his own, follows him.
Lyric has reached the rooftop. He stands above it, looking debonair, surveying his kingdom.
Then his eyes change. More of surprise than panic, as he looks down to see the tip of his own sword sticking out of his right hand.
Coolly, he detaches it, cleans it. Then he turns around.
Nothing there, of course.
He sits down with his back against the wall and mutters to himself. Slowly, his hand begins to mend.
Something moves closer.
He is almost healed now, and keeps his head resolutely facing his work.
Then a voice like an echo, almost seen rather than heard, and repeated many times:
Echo Where did you learn to do that?
Lyric That’s not the right question.
Echo How?
Lyric is now healed. He looks up into the gap where enemies should be.
Lyric Practice.
Amity and Chronal are sitting in the Duck Shed. There are ducks there.
Chronal How worried?
Amity (Shrugs) You can read her as well as I can.
Chronal Very.
Amity How long’s it been?
Chronal Thirteen minutes. Is it time to go in after her?
Amity Not yet. She’s tense, nothing she can’t handle. Shift’s all right, but she doesn’t know the plan changed. Lyric...oh. It was bad. Now he’s back in control.
Chronal Wraith?
Amity Oh, he’s fine. Water off a duck’s back.
Chronal Insults off a dinosaur.
Amity Um...insults off of Adric?
Chronal Ha! Weapons off of time.
Amity Oooh! Dust off of light.
Finesse and InvisiWraith are walking through a suspiciously deserted corridor.
Wraith So, like, whatever, but why’d you send them off?
Finesse There’s something new.
Wraith Bad guy?
Finesse How should I know? But it’s not a power like I’ve seen before. I know it’s dangerous.
Wraith You brought me?
Finesse It’s something to do with light. I don’t...I’ve never been unsure before. I can sense the power but not the person it’s inside. I don’t know how the power relates, how it manifests.
Wraith You brought me?
Finesse Light. No-one else would stand a chance. Not even Chronal can move fast enough.
Wraith We’re hunting bad guys.
Finesse Not exactly. You see, you brought it with you.
The Scribblers are kitting out. They’re all crowded onto three trans-bikes (Lyric, Finesse and Shift are driving), and armed with their usual assortment of resources.
Finesse Chronal?
Chronal We’ve got 48 seconds.
Wraith makes them all invisible, and Chronal places them into a time bubble (do we have a term for that?), and off they go, biking through a barely-moving landscape, dodging cars and motionless pedestrians.
Chronal, on Finesse’s bike, is beginning to break a sweat with the effort of holding them all almost out of time. Wraith looks mildly disgruntled.
In almost-no-time, they reach the Assembly buildings, where eerily still people in suits are paused in the act of tying a shoe-lace, or looking back for a moment at someone special before he turns a corner.
Everyone knows the plan.
Wraith makes himself and Lyric invisible, and they go off to the side of the building, where a door begins to appear in a wall.
Shift transforms into a flea, and attaches herself under the collar of a very high-up looking business man.
Finesse loiters in the foyer, in case of unexpected superpowers turning up, and Amity and Chronal go straight up to the front desk.
Amity Hello, we’d like to know where the most absolutely top-secret meeting is taking place, please.
The man behind the desk passively looks at the file. Chronal flickers for a moment.
Man I’m sorry, Scribbler, but you’re not down to attend any meetings today.
Amity and Chronal smile at him.
Amity Just testing, well done!
The man looks very proud of himself.
They walk out, as Chronal murmurs over the Com.
Chronal 17th floor, Rockabilly Suite.
Finesse Belay that. Everyone get out, right now. Out. And hide in pairs, don’t go back to base. I’m going after Shift.
Chronal On your own? Are you sure?
Finesse Yes.
Amity No, you’re not. She’s not, she’s being noble.
Chronal Ah, well, we can’t have that.
Pause.
Finesse Fine. Wraith, with me, find somewhere to hide and then double back.
Amity I wish I was telepathic.
Finesse I’ll be in touch.
Finesse ducks through a side door and disappears.
Chronal and Amity head off towards the Duck Shed.
Lyric is moving so fast he appears to be burning the doors into the walls, but he gets out, and heads for a rooftop to stand on the edge of.
Wraith leaves, and when he’s out of sight, goes invisible and doubles back. A shadow, standing so close that he might even have taken it for his own, follows him.
Lyric has reached the rooftop. He stands above it, looking debonair, surveying his kingdom.
Then his eyes change. More of surprise than panic, as he looks down to see the tip of his own sword sticking out of his right hand.
Coolly, he detaches it, cleans it. Then he turns around.
Nothing there, of course.
He sits down with his back against the wall and mutters to himself. Slowly, his hand begins to mend.
Something moves closer.
He is almost healed now, and keeps his head resolutely facing his work.
Then a voice like an echo, almost seen rather than heard, and repeated many times:
Echo Where did you learn to do that?
Lyric That’s not the right question.
Echo How?
Lyric is now healed. He looks up into the gap where enemies should be.
Lyric Practice.
Amity and Chronal are sitting in the Duck Shed. There are ducks there.
Chronal How worried?
Amity (Shrugs) You can read her as well as I can.
Chronal Very.
Amity How long’s it been?
Chronal Thirteen minutes. Is it time to go in after her?
Amity Not yet. She’s tense, nothing she can’t handle. Shift’s all right, but she doesn’t know the plan changed. Lyric...oh. It was bad. Now he’s back in control.
Chronal Wraith?
Amity Oh, he’s fine. Water off a duck’s back.
Chronal Insults off a dinosaur.
Amity Um...insults off of Adric?
Chronal Ha! Weapons off of time.
Amity Oooh! Dust off of light.
Finesse and InvisiWraith are walking through a suspiciously deserted corridor.
Wraith So, like, whatever, but why’d you send them off?
Finesse There’s something new.
Wraith Bad guy?
Finesse How should I know? But it’s not a power like I’ve seen before. I know it’s dangerous.
Wraith You brought me?
Finesse It’s something to do with light. I don’t...I’ve never been unsure before. I can sense the power but not the person it’s inside. I don’t know how the power relates, how it manifests.
Wraith You brought me?
Finesse Light. No-one else would stand a chance. Not even Chronal can move fast enough.
Wraith We’re hunting bad guys.
Finesse Not exactly. You see, you brought it with you.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
How it Ends
They were always a wonderful couple. He in elegant linen trousers and reckless spats, she in a summer dress just shy of elegant. Any better dressed person standing beside them was instantly transformed into a fop. And such energy they had! Sometimes it dipped into mania. People noticed that, I think, and kept a courteous distance. Ligeia didn’t care. She would grin and pull me into an inappropriately intimate embrace. “That’s why we like to spend time with the youngsters, darling.”
For my part, they amazed me. Their limitless energy, their intellectual vigour and their total devotion to each other represented everything I saw as right, and good, and totally unattainable. I’ve never been a confident person. I’m the wall fern in the aviary, or the person who holds the test tubes in the back ground. I’ve improved over the years. These days I cover my blue lips with make-up, and give excellent excuses to go home early, but I am still essentially set dressing.
Nicholas and Ligeia, took an interest in me, almost as if I were something amusing. They were a little condescending, but I didn’t care. I felt like a little brother. Nicholas took me to his club, enlisted me as an assistant in the Laboratory. Ligeia would ask me to read to her. “I want to get used to your voice,” she said, and laughed at her own strangeness. She was much younger than him, but she had the same recklessness hovering beneath her. And he let her out with me, just me, as if I were above suspicion. People started to talk, of course, but Ligeia would grin like a twelve year old and say, “what are tongues for?” Then she’d take my arm and force me to paddle in the fountain with her.
For three months, I think I was actually happy. Ligeia and Nicholas saw only each other, really, but I think I caught some of their heat just by proximity. They laughed all the time, they danced later than anyone else and they worked on their scientific projects with the same reckless energy they applied to everything else. I loved them. Not the jealous, intrusive love of real life. I felt like I was reading a book, watching them. I loved them together, and wanted nothing less than to insert my oafish form between them.
Eventually, they upgraded me from holder of test tubes to monitor of readings, and revealed their project to me. I was astounded. They had created a device for installing a human mind into a machine. I suspect I may have laughed when they told me, but no-one could have laughed in the face of the machine itself. Great copper funnels swung up from a steel base, and glass vials with strange liquids intruded on its edges. In the centre was a window, and behind it was all shadow. They neither of them looked directly at that.
Summer flew past like a single explosive moment. It was glorious. Ligeia and Nicholas danced feverishly through it, and every night he would swing her up into his arms and carry her up the stairs to their apartment.
“You always travel by arms?” I asked her.
She looked at Nicholas for a moment.
“Always.”
Nicholas swung her down to the ground again.
“You turn, mate,” he said.
I picked her up. She was a little heavier than I expected, but I would not let them see what it cost me to carry her so far. I took her right up to the top, smiled at her, and leaned very casually against the wall, but she frowned.
“You’re not as strong as Nicholas, are you?” she said, thoughtfully.
The next day, before going to the Laboratory, Nicholas took me to his club and punished me in straight sets for a few hours.
“You’ll scrub up nicely after a few more of these,” he said, through the shower door.
“I did OK,” I said. My head was between my knees as I massaged my chest back into a functioning state.
“Physique like yours? You should be beating me.”
I was silent.
We returned to the Laboratory to find Ligeia there already, busy with the machine. I stood and watched her for a while. Her hands moved instinctively across the device, and she moved around it as if it were a body and she a doctor – tender, but businesslike, experienced. I joined her, but my hands were clumsy. She smiled.
“You’ll get the hang of it.”
“When? How long have you been doing this?”
“Not long; Nicholas had a different partner before me. You pick it up.”
“Ligeia, may I ask you a personal question?”
Immediately her scientific side was pushed back and she was flirty, delightful Ligeia again. Ligeia who dances all night.
“Of course.”
“How old are you?”
I think now that I saw a shadow over her face when I said that. I imagine that she glanced at the Device, at the shadowy screen in the middle. But perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps she simply smiled boldly up at me and said, “twenty-two.”
That night we went dancing. Nicholas was tired. Ligeia held him gently as he sat and watched the dance until he urged her away to me. She led me to the dance floor and attempted to Charleston. The wall fern baulked, but I did my best. When the music mercifully ceased she looked at me appraisingly, not like a man at all.
No. It’s no good. It’s no good at all if you can’t dance.”
So I had to dance again, and again, always with a solemn, silent Ligeia who gazed at her pale lover whenever the dance turned her that way, and spoke only to correct my feet. By the end, I was fuelled by pride alone, dancing step after step between each erratic heart beat.
In October they woke me up at midnight, half-cut, and insisted that now was the time. I crawled out of bed and followed them to the Laboratory. They clung to each other. For the only time, I saw them frightened. Really scared. They murmured to each other and kept me out of their discourse. We entered the Lab in silence, and Ligeia switched on the machine. They kissed once, and then Nicholas strapped himself into it. Ligeia activated the device, and he yelped and writhed as the image on the screen gained definition. With a final sigh he stopped. Ligeia ran to him and calmly checked his pulse, then she turned on me. She was furious and old.
“You did this.”
I went to her, I wanted to hold her, give her some comfort.
“No. You should have been watching him. You did this.” She paused. “Fix it.”
I took a step backwards. I understood, suddenly. I nodded. She unstrapped the body and pushed it onto the floor. I walked dumbly to the machine and strapped myself in.
***********
She is standing by the machine. Now I see she does not move like a young woman, not really. I wonder if she even remembers how old she is.
The shape in the screen is twisting, changing.
They never asked why I stopped in this little town, never learned to dance, never made plans for my future. I think they won’t realise until it is too late.
I should not be doing them this great unkindness. I am sorry to cause pain. But Ligeia has a sweet face; such a young face.
For my part, they amazed me. Their limitless energy, their intellectual vigour and their total devotion to each other represented everything I saw as right, and good, and totally unattainable. I’ve never been a confident person. I’m the wall fern in the aviary, or the person who holds the test tubes in the back ground. I’ve improved over the years. These days I cover my blue lips with make-up, and give excellent excuses to go home early, but I am still essentially set dressing.
Nicholas and Ligeia, took an interest in me, almost as if I were something amusing. They were a little condescending, but I didn’t care. I felt like a little brother. Nicholas took me to his club, enlisted me as an assistant in the Laboratory. Ligeia would ask me to read to her. “I want to get used to your voice,” she said, and laughed at her own strangeness. She was much younger than him, but she had the same recklessness hovering beneath her. And he let her out with me, just me, as if I were above suspicion. People started to talk, of course, but Ligeia would grin like a twelve year old and say, “what are tongues for?” Then she’d take my arm and force me to paddle in the fountain with her.
For three months, I think I was actually happy. Ligeia and Nicholas saw only each other, really, but I think I caught some of their heat just by proximity. They laughed all the time, they danced later than anyone else and they worked on their scientific projects with the same reckless energy they applied to everything else. I loved them. Not the jealous, intrusive love of real life. I felt like I was reading a book, watching them. I loved them together, and wanted nothing less than to insert my oafish form between them.
Eventually, they upgraded me from holder of test tubes to monitor of readings, and revealed their project to me. I was astounded. They had created a device for installing a human mind into a machine. I suspect I may have laughed when they told me, but no-one could have laughed in the face of the machine itself. Great copper funnels swung up from a steel base, and glass vials with strange liquids intruded on its edges. In the centre was a window, and behind it was all shadow. They neither of them looked directly at that.
Summer flew past like a single explosive moment. It was glorious. Ligeia and Nicholas danced feverishly through it, and every night he would swing her up into his arms and carry her up the stairs to their apartment.
“You always travel by arms?” I asked her.
She looked at Nicholas for a moment.
“Always.”
Nicholas swung her down to the ground again.
“You turn, mate,” he said.
I picked her up. She was a little heavier than I expected, but I would not let them see what it cost me to carry her so far. I took her right up to the top, smiled at her, and leaned very casually against the wall, but she frowned.
“You’re not as strong as Nicholas, are you?” she said, thoughtfully.
The next day, before going to the Laboratory, Nicholas took me to his club and punished me in straight sets for a few hours.
“You’ll scrub up nicely after a few more of these,” he said, through the shower door.
“I did OK,” I said. My head was between my knees as I massaged my chest back into a functioning state.
“Physique like yours? You should be beating me.”
I was silent.
We returned to the Laboratory to find Ligeia there already, busy with the machine. I stood and watched her for a while. Her hands moved instinctively across the device, and she moved around it as if it were a body and she a doctor – tender, but businesslike, experienced. I joined her, but my hands were clumsy. She smiled.
“You’ll get the hang of it.”
“When? How long have you been doing this?”
“Not long; Nicholas had a different partner before me. You pick it up.”
“Ligeia, may I ask you a personal question?”
Immediately her scientific side was pushed back and she was flirty, delightful Ligeia again. Ligeia who dances all night.
“Of course.”
“How old are you?”
I think now that I saw a shadow over her face when I said that. I imagine that she glanced at the Device, at the shadowy screen in the middle. But perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps she simply smiled boldly up at me and said, “twenty-two.”
That night we went dancing. Nicholas was tired. Ligeia held him gently as he sat and watched the dance until he urged her away to me. She led me to the dance floor and attempted to Charleston. The wall fern baulked, but I did my best. When the music mercifully ceased she looked at me appraisingly, not like a man at all.
No. It’s no good. It’s no good at all if you can’t dance.”
So I had to dance again, and again, always with a solemn, silent Ligeia who gazed at her pale lover whenever the dance turned her that way, and spoke only to correct my feet. By the end, I was fuelled by pride alone, dancing step after step between each erratic heart beat.
In October they woke me up at midnight, half-cut, and insisted that now was the time. I crawled out of bed and followed them to the Laboratory. They clung to each other. For the only time, I saw them frightened. Really scared. They murmured to each other and kept me out of their discourse. We entered the Lab in silence, and Ligeia switched on the machine. They kissed once, and then Nicholas strapped himself into it. Ligeia activated the device, and he yelped and writhed as the image on the screen gained definition. With a final sigh he stopped. Ligeia ran to him and calmly checked his pulse, then she turned on me. She was furious and old.
“You did this.”
I went to her, I wanted to hold her, give her some comfort.
“No. You should have been watching him. You did this.” She paused. “Fix it.”
I took a step backwards. I understood, suddenly. I nodded. She unstrapped the body and pushed it onto the floor. I walked dumbly to the machine and strapped myself in.
***********
She is standing by the machine. Now I see she does not move like a young woman, not really. I wonder if she even remembers how old she is.
The shape in the screen is twisting, changing.
They never asked why I stopped in this little town, never learned to dance, never made plans for my future. I think they won’t realise until it is too late.
I should not be doing them this great unkindness. I am sorry to cause pain. But Ligeia has a sweet face; such a young face.
Friday, 29 May 2009
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Regency Graphic Novel - Pages 5 - 8
More RGN pages, wondering what to do re: Regency flavoured sound effects...Also, these are still covered in pencil marks and are in need of tweaks. Hey ho.
Sunday, 17 May 2009
Regency Graphic Novel Cover
I know I may be getting ahead of myself a bit, but here's a cover idea. It's more of an exercise in establishing tone, rather than anything else. I had a very strong impression in my mind of what I wanted it to look like, i.e. a silhouette shot of George IV during his time as Regent, embossed on a leathery surface, with splatters of ink and wax/blood.
Bizarrely, a chap called Sir Thomas Lawrence had already painted an iconic side shot of George's side profile and thus very little work needed to be done. If you want to see the original... The font is from DaFont and is called Byron. Whether or not it's based on Byron's handwriting remains to be seen. I thought it looked cool.
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Regency Graphic Novel - Sample - Pages 3 & 4
Pages three and four. These were a bit rushed - as evidenced by the photoshopped colour on the apple and the abundance of pencil marks still visible. I'll keep working on the originals. Again, I've added more dialogue, but, as much to see what it would look like and where the bubbles would go etc. Still a super work in progress - I'm not convinced I've got the Regency knack yet.
Already, I think the Aunt is my favourite character. I don't know whether it's worth laouring how patently ridiculous Kitty's obsession with Captain Nash is - should it/can it be played for laughs or does that undermine everything?
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Regency Graphic Novel - Sample - Pages 1 & 2
Here are the first two pages of the Regency Graphic Novel Blossom and I are writing/composing etc. The idea is: a sprawling, massive story with a buggerload of characters seen over the eleven years of the British Regency. This particular sequence takes place roughly half way through the entire thing, but it's the first point where these characters come into focus (although they'll all have been seen/mentioned elsewhere by now).
None of this is by any means final - I'm still not certain I like the watercolour and I need to do a hell of a lot more drawing to get the standard up to scratch, but this is an extremely long term project. The dialogue that exists now is super first draft, it's more there as a compositional detail at the moment - besides, the crummy little text boxes are difficult to adjust/tweak, so some of it may be a little unclear. Regardless, it's meant to be a bit jumbled.
What do people think?
Friday, 14 November 2008
The Adventures of Freya Joy Carter
Chapter 1
On a very sunny day not far from here, a little girl called Freya Joy Carter went for a walk with her mummy and daddy.
They fed the ducks, watched the swans, and went to the beach.
Freya Joy Carter dug a hole.
She dug down all afternoon, only stopping for sandwiches and a swim in the sea.
She climbed into the hole and dug even deeper. She threw the sand out of the hole. Some of it hit daddy. Daddy didn’t mind.
Just as Freya Joy Carter was about to stop digging her hole, she saw something very shiny poking out of the ground.
It was a key!
Chapter 2
Freya Joy Carter tugged at the key.
It wouldn’t move.
She pulled harder...
and harder...
and harder...
and the key came out of the ground!
There was a little letter attached to the key. Here is what the letter said:
I OPEN THE SKY.
Freya Joy Carter climbed carefully out of the hole, and showed the key to mummy.
“It must be a magic key,” said mummy. “Are you going to see if it works?”
Freya Joy Carter reached up into the sky with the key in her hands.
Nothing happened.
Freya Joy Carter was very sad. Suddenly, daddy whisked her up onto his shoulders.
“Come here, FJC,” said daddy.
Freya Joy Carter pushed the key up into the sky again.
It worked!
Chapter 3
Freya Joy Carter unlocked the sky.
The reason we can’t all walk in the sky is because it is locked to us. The lock is about six feet above the ground - a bit taller than daddy.
Freya Joy Carter climbed bravely up into the sky, and daddy handed her a warm scarf.
“Wear this,” he said. “It gets cold in the sky.” He knew he didn’t have to tell her to be careful.
A blonde seagull wearing glasses swooped down to Freya Joy Carter.
“Hello,” it said. “My name is Andy the seagull. You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to come adventuring in the sky?”
“Yes, please,” said Freya Joy Carter, very politely.
The seagull looked at mummy and daddy to make sure, and they smiled.
“Tea is at 5 o-clock,” said daddy.
“Remember to say ‘thank you,’” said mummy.
“Thank you,” said Freya Joy Carter.
Andy the seagull let out a loud shriek, but Freya Joy Carter didn’t mind, because she knew this was how seagulls talked to each other.
Sure enough, soon a whole flock of seagulls appeared in the sky. Behind them they pulled a strange device. It looked like a sledge, but instead of travelling through snow, it travelled through sky. It was a pointy shape, to make it aerodynamic and easy to pull.
Andy the seagull harnessed himself to the sky chariot and Freya Joy Carter climbed carefully in.
Chapter 4
The Sky Chariot climbed higher and higher. Freya Joy Carter sat very sensibly and held on to the rail. She wasn’t frightened but it was a long way down.
In the distance, Freya could see a huge bank of clouds. As they got closer, she could see that the clouds were really a Sky Citadel.
Andy the seagull turned to her.
“We are going to show you our city; it is called Cumulus Nimbus. We named it after the clouds.”
Freya thought the cloud city was very pretty.
“Do you like the city?” asked Andy the seagull.
“Yes, it’s very pretty,” replied Freya.
The Sky Chariot swooped down into the Citadel, pulled by the flock of seagulls.
Inside the Citadel, Freya could see castles made to look like wings, and experimental modern cloud buildings in the shape of aeroplanes.
She could see seagull shops selling free range fishes in giant fish tanks, and feather grooming kits.
She could see a giant stadium where the seagulls practiced ducking and diving and wheeling and whispering.
Andy the seagull took Freya to the seagull library where all the seagull thoughts from the whole Citadel were kept. Andy’s job was to learn about all the thoughts and teach them to other seagulls so no-one had to work everything out for themselves.
Freya spent some happy time in the seagull library, but she liked the seagull stadium best.
After a while, Andy the seagull said he thought it might be time for Freya to go on a different adventure.
“Have a look at that key,” he said.
Freya was surprised to find it had a new letter attached, and this one was written in suspiciously bird-like handwriting. It said this:
I OPEN THE SEA.
Chapter 5
Freya smiled and climbed carefully back into the Sky Chariot. With a swoosh of feathers, the flock pulled the Chariot back into the sky. Freya waved as the Citadel disappeared behind them, and the seagulls in the Citadel waved back.
The Sky Chariot shot across the earth and down and down to the sea again.
Closer and closer it came.
Andy the seagull turned to Freya one last time.
“Use the key, Freya Joy Carter,” he said.
“OK,” said Freya. “Thank you,” she added.
She waited until the Chariot was almost at sea level, then got out her key.
At that moment, a black and white streak shot up from the depths of the ocean.
It was a penguin!
“Hello,” said the penguin. “My name is Pete the Penguin. You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to come adventuring in the sea?”
“Yes, please,” said Freya.
“Just a minute,” said Andy the Seagull.
He gave Freya a beautiful ball.
“This ball is very strong,” he said. It is impossible to break it. This makes it very valuable, in the right hands.”
Andy the seagull gave Freya a firm handshake, fingers to feathers.
“Come on then,” said Pete the Penguin.
Pete the Penguin showed Freya where to hold on to his water-wings, and piggy-backed her all the way down into the sea.
Freya could see...
A coral reef, with a whole school of fishes living inside, nipping between the different rooms to borrow seaweed for their garden fences, and also cuttings of sea-cucumber.
A fishy highway, with thousands of fishes shooting along in all directions, being sure to look where they were going.
A fish gallery, where all the prettiest things were kept. There were shiny tapestries made from reeds, with lots of different colours woven in, and drawings of the tides.
Freya could see a very exciting looking game.
Pete the Penguin took Freya very close to the game so that she could see clearly.
She could see...
All the tallest fishes throwing a Sea Ball around, and trying to get it into a net made of seaweed. They were all riding on sea horses.
“Would you like to play?” asked Pete the Penguin.
“Oh, yes, please!” said Freya. She especially wanted to ride on a sea horse.
Pete the Penguin piggy-backed Freya down to the game. All the fishes stopped the game, and one of the team captains came to talk to her.
The team captain was a Jelly Fish named Julia. When she wanted to score a goal, she would gather the ball up into her back, then send it shooting out again.
Julia the Jelly Fish’s team wore bright orange, because this is one of the easiest colours to see under water.
“Hello”, said Julia the Jelly Fish,” my name is Julia. You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to play on my team?”
“Yes, please,” answered Freya.
Julia the Jelly Fish introduced Freya to her sea horse, who was called Mittens.
Freya climbed onto the sea horse, and the game began again!
Freya raced out onto the pitch, and the water streamed out behind her. She went as fast as she could, and the sea horse turned lots of times to make sure it was an exciting ride.
Freya caught the ball when it was thrown by a nearby eel, and raced off towards the goal.
She scored 15 goals before the referee, who was a pike fish, called half time.
“Well done, Freya Joy Carter” said Julia the Jelly Fish. I think we might win the game now you have scored 15 goals for us.
Pete the Penguin looked thoughtfully at Freya.
“Yes,” he said. “You are very good at playing Water Ball. Maybe you can help us.”
“I’ll try,” replied Freya.
She said “thank you” to Julia the Jelly Fish, and then Pete the Penguin took her to the very edge of the water city.
High up above them was a gap where the air was coming in.
“My friends the fishes can’t breathe the air that is coming in,” said Pete the Penguin. “We need to block up the gap to make sure only water can come into our city. We need something very strong to hold out the air. Air is very good at finding a way in. Can you help us?”
“I’ll try,” said Freya. “I could use my special ball from the Sky Citadel to block the hole.”
Freya concentrated very hard.
She looked very carefully at the gap, and she looked very carefully at her ball. She raised her arm, and threw the ball as hard as she could.
It hit!
There was a thunk as the ball went straight into the hole, and then a sudden silence as the air stopped rushing through.
“Well done, Freya!” said Pete the Penguin. “You have blocked the hole. I am sorry you had to use your special ball. Here is a very useful piece of stone instead.”
Pete the Penguin gave her a black stone with a sharp edge.
“It may look boring,” said Pete the Penguin, “but this is a special sort of stone. It can cut through almost anything.”
“Thank you,” said Freya, and wrapped it up carefully in her scarf.
“You’re welcome,” said Pete the Penguin, “now, have another look at that key of yours.”
Freya took out the key and was not surprised to find another note attached to it, this one in very fishy handwriting.
It said this:
I OPEN THE EARTH.
Chapter 6
“Would you like to visit the earth, Freya Joy Carter?” asked Pete the Penguin.
“Yes, please,” said Freya.
“Right, then!” replied Pete the Penguin, “down we go!”
Freya climbed onto the penguin’s back and gripped tight to his water wings. Pete the Penguin zoomed down deeper into the depths of the water.
Freya could see...
All the strange, darkness-dwelling fish. They peered shyly out from the lairs where they crept along the walls and whispered to each other.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Pete the Penguin.
But Freya wasn’t frightened. She was Interested.
From the penguin’s back, Freya could see the strange pilot fish with their little tiny lights, and she could see all the other fish, the kind that don’t see with their eyes at all.
“They can see using their fins,” explained Pete the Penguin. “They can feel the vibrations of other things moving in the water.”
Freya was very interested.
Freya saw the dark, willowy plants that live at the very bottom of the ocean. Some of them were as tall as trees, and Freya stretched out her hands to touch them because she wanted to see them in the same way that the dark deep fishes see.
Eventually, when they had gone so deeply into the sea that they couldn’t see the sun at all, Pete the Penguin set Freya down.
“Time you used that key,” said Pete the Penguin.
Freya nodded, and took out her key.
At that exact moment, a mole popped her head up from the earth in the bottom of the sea. She was wearing a water-proof bubble on her head.
“Hello,” said the mole, my name is Jo the Mole, You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to come adventuring in the earth?”
“Yes, please,” said Freya.
Freya turned to Pete. “Thank you for my adventure,” she said.
Pete the Penguin smiled, and shook her by the hand, wing to finger.
He winked at the mole, then shot straight up from the sea bed. Freya and Jo the Mole watched until he was out of sight.
“Come along, then,” said Jo the Mole, and disappeared quickly down the hole.
Freya took one last look at the sea, then dived bravely into the hole after the mole.
The hole was velvety on the inside, and Freya slid all the way down it and landed with a soft thwump at the bottom.
She looked up and found she was in an enormous cavern!
It was lit with glowing rocks, and stretched out for miles and miles. There were lots of moles in the cavern, and they were all working together to make it strong and collect food.
But it wasn’t just moles in the cavern. As Freya sat on the ground staring about her, a giant spider ambled past!
It stopped for a moment and turned towards her. The spider smiled vaguely and then wandered on. A few moments later, it was deep in conversation with a worm.
Just then, Jo the Mole reappeared.
“Would you like to see the work we’ve been doing?” she said.
“Yes, please,” replied Freya.
Jo the Mole took Freya across to the far edge of the cavern. On the way across the cavern, Freya saw...
A chess competition between a team of stag beetles and a badger...
A team of worms who had twisted themselves into a very tight net. Freya didn’t understand why they had done this, until she saw that it was a game!
Lots of beetles had queued up to take their turn at jumping into the worm net and being bounced up to the roof and caught again...
A group of earth worms slithering around the floor of the cavern to make it smooth.
Freya and Jo the Mole reached the far end of the cavern.
“We’re making the cavern even bigger,” said Jo the Mole. “There are lots of earth creatures living here.”
Freya could see lots of moles and badgers working very hard at one section of the wall.
“We can’t get through this bit,” Jo the Mole explained, “even though our claws are very sharp.”
Freya thought for a moment, then pulled out her scarf.
She put it on the ground and unwrapped it very carefully until she reached the sharp stone she had been given by Pete the Penguin.
“Maybe you could use this,” said Freya.
Freya took the sharp stone and pushed it into the hard stone. The hard stone cracked.
Jo the Mole beamed. “Thank you, Freya Joy Carter,” she said, “I think you might have solved our problem!”
All of the moles and badgers were so pleased they could get through the wall using Freya’s sharp stone that they decided to take the rest of the day off.
They cleared away the chess to make space, and the worms untangled themselves, and the moles and the badgers took off their hard hats and put their tools away.
They got out their underground musical instruments and played their earthy songs.
Freya danced with all the beetles and the worms and the spiders.
When she was too tired to dance any more, two of the spiders made a special web-hammock for Freya.
“Thank you,” said Freya, and she climbed in and had a nap.
After a while, Jo the Mole woke her up gently.
“Freya Joy Carter,” the mole whispered, “it’s time for you to go home now, or you’ll be late for tea.”
Freya opened her eyes and climbed out of the hammock.
“This way,” said Jo the Mole.
Freya said goodbye to all the earth creatures, and followed the mole down a long, warm tunnel.
Eventually, Jo the Mole stopped, and sniffed at the ceiling.
“This is it,” she said.
Jo the Mole dug quickly straight upwards.
Freya followed her, and found herself in the sunlight again, right in her own back garden!
Freya could see mummy and daddy cooking tea through the kitchen window.
“Look at your key,” said Jo the Mole.
Freya looked for the key, and was very surprised indeed to discover that it had turned into a beautiful necklace.
“You can keep it,” said the mole.
“Thank you,” said Freya.
Mummy and daddy waved from the window. Freya and the mole waved back.
Freya turned back to the mole. “Thank you for my adventures”, she said.
Jo the Mole smiled, and shook Freya’s hand, claws to fingers. Then she disappeared back into her hole.
Freya walked back into her house. She was very hungry after all her adventures.
Luckily, it was time for tea.
This is a children's story (I hope you can tell!) I have written for my friends' baby, who has just been born. Her name is, unsurprisingly, Freya Joy Carter. :-)
On a very sunny day not far from here, a little girl called Freya Joy Carter went for a walk with her mummy and daddy.
They fed the ducks, watched the swans, and went to the beach.
Freya Joy Carter dug a hole.
She dug down all afternoon, only stopping for sandwiches and a swim in the sea.
She climbed into the hole and dug even deeper. She threw the sand out of the hole. Some of it hit daddy. Daddy didn’t mind.
Just as Freya Joy Carter was about to stop digging her hole, she saw something very shiny poking out of the ground.
It was a key!
Chapter 2
Freya Joy Carter tugged at the key.
It wouldn’t move.
She pulled harder...
and harder...
and harder...
and the key came out of the ground!
There was a little letter attached to the key. Here is what the letter said:
I OPEN THE SKY.
Freya Joy Carter climbed carefully out of the hole, and showed the key to mummy.
“It must be a magic key,” said mummy. “Are you going to see if it works?”
Freya Joy Carter reached up into the sky with the key in her hands.
Nothing happened.
Freya Joy Carter was very sad. Suddenly, daddy whisked her up onto his shoulders.
“Come here, FJC,” said daddy.
Freya Joy Carter pushed the key up into the sky again.
It worked!
Chapter 3
Freya Joy Carter unlocked the sky.
The reason we can’t all walk in the sky is because it is locked to us. The lock is about six feet above the ground - a bit taller than daddy.
Freya Joy Carter climbed bravely up into the sky, and daddy handed her a warm scarf.
“Wear this,” he said. “It gets cold in the sky.” He knew he didn’t have to tell her to be careful.
A blonde seagull wearing glasses swooped down to Freya Joy Carter.
“Hello,” it said. “My name is Andy the seagull. You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to come adventuring in the sky?”
“Yes, please,” said Freya Joy Carter, very politely.
The seagull looked at mummy and daddy to make sure, and they smiled.
“Tea is at 5 o-clock,” said daddy.
“Remember to say ‘thank you,’” said mummy.
“Thank you,” said Freya Joy Carter.
Andy the seagull let out a loud shriek, but Freya Joy Carter didn’t mind, because she knew this was how seagulls talked to each other.
Sure enough, soon a whole flock of seagulls appeared in the sky. Behind them they pulled a strange device. It looked like a sledge, but instead of travelling through snow, it travelled through sky. It was a pointy shape, to make it aerodynamic and easy to pull.
Andy the seagull harnessed himself to the sky chariot and Freya Joy Carter climbed carefully in.
Chapter 4
The Sky Chariot climbed higher and higher. Freya Joy Carter sat very sensibly and held on to the rail. She wasn’t frightened but it was a long way down.
In the distance, Freya could see a huge bank of clouds. As they got closer, she could see that the clouds were really a Sky Citadel.
Andy the seagull turned to her.
“We are going to show you our city; it is called Cumulus Nimbus. We named it after the clouds.”
Freya thought the cloud city was very pretty.
“Do you like the city?” asked Andy the seagull.
“Yes, it’s very pretty,” replied Freya.
The Sky Chariot swooped down into the Citadel, pulled by the flock of seagulls.
Inside the Citadel, Freya could see castles made to look like wings, and experimental modern cloud buildings in the shape of aeroplanes.
She could see seagull shops selling free range fishes in giant fish tanks, and feather grooming kits.
She could see a giant stadium where the seagulls practiced ducking and diving and wheeling and whispering.
Andy the seagull took Freya to the seagull library where all the seagull thoughts from the whole Citadel were kept. Andy’s job was to learn about all the thoughts and teach them to other seagulls so no-one had to work everything out for themselves.
Freya spent some happy time in the seagull library, but she liked the seagull stadium best.
After a while, Andy the seagull said he thought it might be time for Freya to go on a different adventure.
“Have a look at that key,” he said.
Freya was surprised to find it had a new letter attached, and this one was written in suspiciously bird-like handwriting. It said this:
I OPEN THE SEA.
Chapter 5
Freya smiled and climbed carefully back into the Sky Chariot. With a swoosh of feathers, the flock pulled the Chariot back into the sky. Freya waved as the Citadel disappeared behind them, and the seagulls in the Citadel waved back.
The Sky Chariot shot across the earth and down and down to the sea again.
Closer and closer it came.
Andy the seagull turned to Freya one last time.
“Use the key, Freya Joy Carter,” he said.
“OK,” said Freya. “Thank you,” she added.
She waited until the Chariot was almost at sea level, then got out her key.
At that moment, a black and white streak shot up from the depths of the ocean.
It was a penguin!
“Hello,” said the penguin. “My name is Pete the Penguin. You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to come adventuring in the sea?”
“Yes, please,” said Freya.
“Just a minute,” said Andy the Seagull.
He gave Freya a beautiful ball.
“This ball is very strong,” he said. It is impossible to break it. This makes it very valuable, in the right hands.”
Andy the seagull gave Freya a firm handshake, fingers to feathers.
“Come on then,” said Pete the Penguin.
Pete the Penguin showed Freya where to hold on to his water-wings, and piggy-backed her all the way down into the sea.
Freya could see...
A coral reef, with a whole school of fishes living inside, nipping between the different rooms to borrow seaweed for their garden fences, and also cuttings of sea-cucumber.
A fishy highway, with thousands of fishes shooting along in all directions, being sure to look where they were going.
A fish gallery, where all the prettiest things were kept. There were shiny tapestries made from reeds, with lots of different colours woven in, and drawings of the tides.
Freya could see a very exciting looking game.
Pete the Penguin took Freya very close to the game so that she could see clearly.
She could see...
All the tallest fishes throwing a Sea Ball around, and trying to get it into a net made of seaweed. They were all riding on sea horses.
“Would you like to play?” asked Pete the Penguin.
“Oh, yes, please!” said Freya. She especially wanted to ride on a sea horse.
Pete the Penguin piggy-backed Freya down to the game. All the fishes stopped the game, and one of the team captains came to talk to her.
The team captain was a Jelly Fish named Julia. When she wanted to score a goal, she would gather the ball up into her back, then send it shooting out again.
Julia the Jelly Fish’s team wore bright orange, because this is one of the easiest colours to see under water.
“Hello”, said Julia the Jelly Fish,” my name is Julia. You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to play on my team?”
“Yes, please,” answered Freya.
Julia the Jelly Fish introduced Freya to her sea horse, who was called Mittens.
Freya climbed onto the sea horse, and the game began again!
Freya raced out onto the pitch, and the water streamed out behind her. She went as fast as she could, and the sea horse turned lots of times to make sure it was an exciting ride.
Freya caught the ball when it was thrown by a nearby eel, and raced off towards the goal.
She scored 15 goals before the referee, who was a pike fish, called half time.
“Well done, Freya Joy Carter” said Julia the Jelly Fish. I think we might win the game now you have scored 15 goals for us.
Pete the Penguin looked thoughtfully at Freya.
“Yes,” he said. “You are very good at playing Water Ball. Maybe you can help us.”
“I’ll try,” replied Freya.
She said “thank you” to Julia the Jelly Fish, and then Pete the Penguin took her to the very edge of the water city.
High up above them was a gap where the air was coming in.
“My friends the fishes can’t breathe the air that is coming in,” said Pete the Penguin. “We need to block up the gap to make sure only water can come into our city. We need something very strong to hold out the air. Air is very good at finding a way in. Can you help us?”
“I’ll try,” said Freya. “I could use my special ball from the Sky Citadel to block the hole.”
Freya concentrated very hard.
She looked very carefully at the gap, and she looked very carefully at her ball. She raised her arm, and threw the ball as hard as she could.
It hit!
There was a thunk as the ball went straight into the hole, and then a sudden silence as the air stopped rushing through.
“Well done, Freya!” said Pete the Penguin. “You have blocked the hole. I am sorry you had to use your special ball. Here is a very useful piece of stone instead.”
Pete the Penguin gave her a black stone with a sharp edge.
“It may look boring,” said Pete the Penguin, “but this is a special sort of stone. It can cut through almost anything.”
“Thank you,” said Freya, and wrapped it up carefully in her scarf.
“You’re welcome,” said Pete the Penguin, “now, have another look at that key of yours.”
Freya took out the key and was not surprised to find another note attached to it, this one in very fishy handwriting.
It said this:
I OPEN THE EARTH.
Chapter 6
“Would you like to visit the earth, Freya Joy Carter?” asked Pete the Penguin.
“Yes, please,” said Freya.
“Right, then!” replied Pete the Penguin, “down we go!”
Freya climbed onto the penguin’s back and gripped tight to his water wings. Pete the Penguin zoomed down deeper into the depths of the water.
Freya could see...
All the strange, darkness-dwelling fish. They peered shyly out from the lairs where they crept along the walls and whispered to each other.
“Don’t be frightened,” said Pete the Penguin.
But Freya wasn’t frightened. She was Interested.
From the penguin’s back, Freya could see the strange pilot fish with their little tiny lights, and she could see all the other fish, the kind that don’t see with their eyes at all.
“They can see using their fins,” explained Pete the Penguin. “They can feel the vibrations of other things moving in the water.”
Freya was very interested.
Freya saw the dark, willowy plants that live at the very bottom of the ocean. Some of them were as tall as trees, and Freya stretched out her hands to touch them because she wanted to see them in the same way that the dark deep fishes see.
Eventually, when they had gone so deeply into the sea that they couldn’t see the sun at all, Pete the Penguin set Freya down.
“Time you used that key,” said Pete the Penguin.
Freya nodded, and took out her key.
At that exact moment, a mole popped her head up from the earth in the bottom of the sea. She was wearing a water-proof bubble on her head.
“Hello,” said the mole, my name is Jo the Mole, You must be Freya Joy Carter. Would you like to come adventuring in the earth?”
“Yes, please,” said Freya.
Freya turned to Pete. “Thank you for my adventure,” she said.
Pete the Penguin smiled, and shook her by the hand, wing to finger.
He winked at the mole, then shot straight up from the sea bed. Freya and Jo the Mole watched until he was out of sight.
“Come along, then,” said Jo the Mole, and disappeared quickly down the hole.
Freya took one last look at the sea, then dived bravely into the hole after the mole.
The hole was velvety on the inside, and Freya slid all the way down it and landed with a soft thwump at the bottom.
She looked up and found she was in an enormous cavern!
It was lit with glowing rocks, and stretched out for miles and miles. There were lots of moles in the cavern, and they were all working together to make it strong and collect food.
But it wasn’t just moles in the cavern. As Freya sat on the ground staring about her, a giant spider ambled past!
It stopped for a moment and turned towards her. The spider smiled vaguely and then wandered on. A few moments later, it was deep in conversation with a worm.
Just then, Jo the Mole reappeared.
“Would you like to see the work we’ve been doing?” she said.
“Yes, please,” replied Freya.
Jo the Mole took Freya across to the far edge of the cavern. On the way across the cavern, Freya saw...
A chess competition between a team of stag beetles and a badger...
A team of worms who had twisted themselves into a very tight net. Freya didn’t understand why they had done this, until she saw that it was a game!
Lots of beetles had queued up to take their turn at jumping into the worm net and being bounced up to the roof and caught again...
A group of earth worms slithering around the floor of the cavern to make it smooth.
Freya and Jo the Mole reached the far end of the cavern.
“We’re making the cavern even bigger,” said Jo the Mole. “There are lots of earth creatures living here.”
Freya could see lots of moles and badgers working very hard at one section of the wall.
“We can’t get through this bit,” Jo the Mole explained, “even though our claws are very sharp.”
Freya thought for a moment, then pulled out her scarf.
She put it on the ground and unwrapped it very carefully until she reached the sharp stone she had been given by Pete the Penguin.
“Maybe you could use this,” said Freya.
Freya took the sharp stone and pushed it into the hard stone. The hard stone cracked.
Jo the Mole beamed. “Thank you, Freya Joy Carter,” she said, “I think you might have solved our problem!”
All of the moles and badgers were so pleased they could get through the wall using Freya’s sharp stone that they decided to take the rest of the day off.
They cleared away the chess to make space, and the worms untangled themselves, and the moles and the badgers took off their hard hats and put their tools away.
They got out their underground musical instruments and played their earthy songs.
Freya danced with all the beetles and the worms and the spiders.
When she was too tired to dance any more, two of the spiders made a special web-hammock for Freya.
“Thank you,” said Freya, and she climbed in and had a nap.
After a while, Jo the Mole woke her up gently.
“Freya Joy Carter,” the mole whispered, “it’s time for you to go home now, or you’ll be late for tea.”
Freya opened her eyes and climbed out of the hammock.
“This way,” said Jo the Mole.
Freya said goodbye to all the earth creatures, and followed the mole down a long, warm tunnel.
Eventually, Jo the Mole stopped, and sniffed at the ceiling.
“This is it,” she said.
Jo the Mole dug quickly straight upwards.
Freya followed her, and found herself in the sunlight again, right in her own back garden!
Freya could see mummy and daddy cooking tea through the kitchen window.
“Look at your key,” said Jo the Mole.
Freya looked for the key, and was very surprised indeed to discover that it had turned into a beautiful necklace.
“You can keep it,” said the mole.
“Thank you,” said Freya.
Mummy and daddy waved from the window. Freya and the mole waved back.
Freya turned back to the mole. “Thank you for my adventures”, she said.
Jo the Mole smiled, and shook Freya’s hand, claws to fingers. Then she disappeared back into her hole.
Freya walked back into her house. She was very hungry after all her adventures.
Luckily, it was time for tea.
This is a children's story (I hope you can tell!) I have written for my friends' baby, who has just been born. Her name is, unsurprisingly, Freya Joy Carter. :-)
Wednesday, 29 October 2008
Scribblers go Victorian! Part 2
The scene is the same as before, but about 10 minutes later.
AMITY and LYRIC have been making tea on the kitchen stove, SHIFT is experimenting with Victorian posture, and WRAITH has decided to embody his Victorian counterpart, the Invisible Man. He is completely invisible apart from a hat and his glasses.
CHRONAL is watching FINESSE apprehensively. FINESSE is pacing. She does not look happy.
FINESSE: The Victorians. Why the Victorians? Well, I suppose it’s obvious, really. What other era would a semi-literate ignoramus with an inappropriate gift choose for himself? Everyone knows the Victorians. Apparently. And what a perfect choice for a man who thinks you can learn to write by following a set of rules broken down into week by week lessons. No creativity, no divergence from the standard. Frankly, the Narrator is the most Victorian villain we’ve ever come across.
CHRONAL: Ignoramus?
FINESSE: Yes.
CHRONAL: I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before. It’s rather...Victorian.
FINESSE: Good point. And that was a rather 19th Century English colloquialism.
SHIFT: We’re still changing. Can you feel it? Our language is altering to fit the tropes of the age. Our natures, similarly, will begin to (she laughs softly) shift to accommodate them.
CHRONAL: You do not propose that we accept this state of affairs?
SHIFT: The idea could not be further from my thoughts.
LYRIC: The powers my errant brother employs have limits, just as my own do.
AMITY: I think I begin to see.
SHIFT: We must fight, Scribblers. Resist the change! We must clutch our own lexicon between our teeth, wrap our minds around the 21st century and refuse to accept our new personas.
WRAITH: What evs, bruv.
SHIFT: Quite.
FINESSE: OK. We talk normally, we keep a handle on our own reality, he can’t turn us into his pawns. Remember what we are to each other, really. Amity, my new memories are telling me you’re Mr Alun’s, sorry, you’re Chronal’s ward, and I’m fighting the urge to take you aside and warn you not to flirt with Lyric, because he is a renowned bounder.
AMITY: Wow, we really are in a terrible narrative! My new memories say I’m secretly engaged to a man from another part of town and we plan to elope. Shift knows, and wants to help.
SHIFT: Yes, but only because I’m Finesse’s sister and I know Finesse will be disinherited if Amity runs off with the wrong man.
LYRIC: 17 weeks of lessons and he’s still writing Eastenders in cravats.
FINESSE: OK. As soon as I get anywhere near him I can start getting him to reverse this, but for now we’re inside his narrative so we have to take care of ourselves. Watch your language. Remember who we are. Any ideas how we find him?
LYRIC: He’s the Prime Minister.
CHRONAL: Ah. Naturally. When one is not bound by the veil of ignorance, and may pick one’s own position, it is logical to choose something highly defensible.
FINESSE: Rephrase.
CHRONAL: Sorry. It’ll be hard to get at the Prime Minister.
LYRIC: Not if you’re the Prime Minister’s disreputable elder brother, always turning up asking to borrow money for his waster friends and their crazy ideas. Chronal, you spent £300 trying to build a zeppelin last month.
CHRONAL: So I did.
FINESSE: Shall we go?
SHIFT: I’ll meet you there. I’m going to fly. It’s a good chance to see Victorian London, even if it is the Narrator’s idea of it.
FINESSE: OK, but no bats. We’re not doing anything that resembles a Victorian narrative. In fact, Wraith, take off that hat.
The HAT drifts slowly down onto the chaise longue.
WRAITH: Just jokin’, innit.
FINESSE: Thank you. Let’s go.
The SCRIBBLERS walk through the ‘Victorian’ streets. They pass about three street boys who offer to shine their shoes, at least 4 ladies of negotiable affection, and 7 groups of young dandies out for a night on the town.
FINESSE is seething.
FINESSE: I hate Victorians.
AMITY: They aren’t Victorians.
FINESSE: I know that.
AMITY: I think they do, too. They feel pretty strange. Their surface emotions are all what you can see, but there’s a sort of underlying confusion to them all too. It’s like their true natures are buried, rather than converted.
FINESSE: Can they fight it?
AMITY: I’m not sure. We did. I could try boosting their confusion so it’s dominant, but I can’t help them understand what they’re confused about.
LYRIC: This is huge. I can’t do this. He’s altering people’s minds.
AMITY: But it isn’t real, Lyric. When you speak a rope into existence, then we’ve got a rope. He’s only creating a fiction and getting everyone to play along. The scale’s bigger, but the real change is less.
FINESSE: The effect on the world is real, though. I am seriously dressed like Ralph Nickelby’s mother.
They walk past Sweeney Todd’s barber’s, next to the pie shop. No-one comments.
A few streets down, they come across an old man with a youthful face, white hair and a high, aquiline nose. He speaks to a young woman in an Eastern European accent. She seems oddly hypnotised. Oh, and she’s wearing a nightie. She turns and begins to walk away with him.
An owl swoops down and heads straight for the old man, who promptly turns into a flock of bats. They peck at the owl, but are no match for the strength of the beating wings, and eventually they fly off.
The owl re-materialises into a slightly dishevelled Shift. Everyone looks very proud of her.
AMITY (to the girl): Are you all right?
GIRL: I...believe so. And yet I seem to be in the street clad in nothing but my night dress, so I am compelled to seek a second opinion.
LYRIC: Can you tell me your name?
GIRL: Lucy.
AMITY (Looking at her hard): Are you sure?
GIRL: I...I...what sorcery is this? I find I am two people. I am Lucy, and also Amy. And Amy is so very strange. So cruel to a man who adores her and off she runs, chasing the vampire. The things she has done. She can’t take them back. No. I shan’t be Amy. Leave me. I know you mean well. Good night.
The GIRL runs off towards a house with an open window and a white curtain billowing from it.
The SCRIBBLERS look awkwardly at each other for a minute.
AMITY: Yes. You can fight it off.
FINESSE: Good to know. Come on.
The SCRIBBLERS arrive at the Houses of Parliament.
DOOR MAN: Excuse me, ladies, you should know that no woman is permitted to pass into this House.
FINESSE: Really? Well my friend here is a tiger.
SHIFT obligingly makes this so.
FINESSE: Does that change things?
The 6 walk through, and SHIFT growls at the door man on her way past. He is very scared, of course.
WRAITH steals his keys on the way past, and uses them to open all the doors in their way. When at all possible, he does this in full view of a stranger so it’s not long before the halls echo with screams of people who are sure they’ve seen a ghost.
They arrive at the main chamber of the House of Commons, where the Narrator is in the middle of a rather mediocre speech which is nonetheless being very well received. He reaches a rousing conclusion.
LYRIC: Hello, little brother.
NARRATOR: Ah, Mr Jones. Come to ask for a loan, I suppose?
His insufferable lackies laugh.
NARRATOR: And I see you’ve brought your circus. Still, I really must protest, old boy. The tiger is one thing, quite a novelty, in fact, but the women? Why you let them get involved in your little games I’ll never understand.
More sycophantic response from the lackies.
The SCRIBBLERS all shift into fighting stance, but none move.
FINESSE: Your call, Jom.
NARRATOR: Not that I mind helping you out with a few titbits here and there, of course. After all, you are essentially a tradesman in talent. Good at making things, you see. Personally, I’m more cerebral. I govern countries, Jomas, make whole worlds out of words. What, at the end of the day, can you make?
JOM: ROPE.
Ropes fly out of the air and bind up the Narrator.
JOM: GAG.
A gag attaches itself to the Narrator’s mouth.
JOM: Point one, a Prime Minister’s brother would never, under any circumstances, interrupt a session at the House of Commons to ask for a personal loan. Point two, how can a ward possibly be older than her warders? Point three, women were allowed to enter the House, just not to participate. And point four, “old boy” is a 20th century colloquialism, you ignoramus.
The NARRATOR fights to get free of his bonds, but he can’t.
JOM: Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve altered people’s minds. You’ve given them whole alternative lives. How many marriages have you broken up, do you think? How many jobs lost? This is a work shop, isn’t it? All this is basically because you’re doing your homework. GAGS, RELEASE.
The gag comes off of the NARRATOR, who looks quite ashamed of himself.
JOM: You are 21 years old. I am staggered that you can be this self-centred, and to top it all off, also this ignorant of Victorian literature. How arrogant to do so much damage you can’t even undo.
NARRATOR: I can undo it.
JOM: Of course you can’t. You’ll get it wrong. You’ll remember how things were badly, put things back in the wrong places.
NARRATOR: You think I have to do it from memory? I’m a lot more powerful than you think, Jomas. AND THEN EVERYTHING RETURNED TO THE WAY IT WAS BEFORE THE NARRATOR BEGAN THE CHANGE.
JOM: GAG.
The SCRIBBLERS are walking away through the now normal streets back to their base.
LYRIC: We’ve got to find a better way than that. He’s not going to listen to me again.
FINESSE: We’ll think of something, when we have to.
They walk past the GIRL from the vampire scene. She’s in modern clothes now, and talking to a very nice looking chap, who couldn’t look more delighted at what she’s saying.
GIRL: I’m sorry I said no before. I was just scared, I suppose. Of course I want to go out with you, if you still want to...
The SCRIBBLERS walk off, the couple are kissing in the background.
AMITY and LYRIC have been making tea on the kitchen stove, SHIFT is experimenting with Victorian posture, and WRAITH has decided to embody his Victorian counterpart, the Invisible Man. He is completely invisible apart from a hat and his glasses.
CHRONAL is watching FINESSE apprehensively. FINESSE is pacing. She does not look happy.
FINESSE: The Victorians. Why the Victorians? Well, I suppose it’s obvious, really. What other era would a semi-literate ignoramus with an inappropriate gift choose for himself? Everyone knows the Victorians. Apparently. And what a perfect choice for a man who thinks you can learn to write by following a set of rules broken down into week by week lessons. No creativity, no divergence from the standard. Frankly, the Narrator is the most Victorian villain we’ve ever come across.
CHRONAL: Ignoramus?
FINESSE: Yes.
CHRONAL: I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before. It’s rather...Victorian.
FINESSE: Good point. And that was a rather 19th Century English colloquialism.
SHIFT: We’re still changing. Can you feel it? Our language is altering to fit the tropes of the age. Our natures, similarly, will begin to (she laughs softly) shift to accommodate them.
CHRONAL: You do not propose that we accept this state of affairs?
SHIFT: The idea could not be further from my thoughts.
LYRIC: The powers my errant brother employs have limits, just as my own do.
AMITY: I think I begin to see.
SHIFT: We must fight, Scribblers. Resist the change! We must clutch our own lexicon between our teeth, wrap our minds around the 21st century and refuse to accept our new personas.
WRAITH: What evs, bruv.
SHIFT: Quite.
FINESSE: OK. We talk normally, we keep a handle on our own reality, he can’t turn us into his pawns. Remember what we are to each other, really. Amity, my new memories are telling me you’re Mr Alun’s, sorry, you’re Chronal’s ward, and I’m fighting the urge to take you aside and warn you not to flirt with Lyric, because he is a renowned bounder.
AMITY: Wow, we really are in a terrible narrative! My new memories say I’m secretly engaged to a man from another part of town and we plan to elope. Shift knows, and wants to help.
SHIFT: Yes, but only because I’m Finesse’s sister and I know Finesse will be disinherited if Amity runs off with the wrong man.
LYRIC: 17 weeks of lessons and he’s still writing Eastenders in cravats.
FINESSE: OK. As soon as I get anywhere near him I can start getting him to reverse this, but for now we’re inside his narrative so we have to take care of ourselves. Watch your language. Remember who we are. Any ideas how we find him?
LYRIC: He’s the Prime Minister.
CHRONAL: Ah. Naturally. When one is not bound by the veil of ignorance, and may pick one’s own position, it is logical to choose something highly defensible.
FINESSE: Rephrase.
CHRONAL: Sorry. It’ll be hard to get at the Prime Minister.
LYRIC: Not if you’re the Prime Minister’s disreputable elder brother, always turning up asking to borrow money for his waster friends and their crazy ideas. Chronal, you spent £300 trying to build a zeppelin last month.
CHRONAL: So I did.
FINESSE: Shall we go?
SHIFT: I’ll meet you there. I’m going to fly. It’s a good chance to see Victorian London, even if it is the Narrator’s idea of it.
FINESSE: OK, but no bats. We’re not doing anything that resembles a Victorian narrative. In fact, Wraith, take off that hat.
The HAT drifts slowly down onto the chaise longue.
WRAITH: Just jokin’, innit.
FINESSE: Thank you. Let’s go.
The SCRIBBLERS walk through the ‘Victorian’ streets. They pass about three street boys who offer to shine their shoes, at least 4 ladies of negotiable affection, and 7 groups of young dandies out for a night on the town.
FINESSE is seething.
FINESSE: I hate Victorians.
AMITY: They aren’t Victorians.
FINESSE: I know that.
AMITY: I think they do, too. They feel pretty strange. Their surface emotions are all what you can see, but there’s a sort of underlying confusion to them all too. It’s like their true natures are buried, rather than converted.
FINESSE: Can they fight it?
AMITY: I’m not sure. We did. I could try boosting their confusion so it’s dominant, but I can’t help them understand what they’re confused about.
LYRIC: This is huge. I can’t do this. He’s altering people’s minds.
AMITY: But it isn’t real, Lyric. When you speak a rope into existence, then we’ve got a rope. He’s only creating a fiction and getting everyone to play along. The scale’s bigger, but the real change is less.
FINESSE: The effect on the world is real, though. I am seriously dressed like Ralph Nickelby’s mother.
They walk past Sweeney Todd’s barber’s, next to the pie shop. No-one comments.
A few streets down, they come across an old man with a youthful face, white hair and a high, aquiline nose. He speaks to a young woman in an Eastern European accent. She seems oddly hypnotised. Oh, and she’s wearing a nightie. She turns and begins to walk away with him.
An owl swoops down and heads straight for the old man, who promptly turns into a flock of bats. They peck at the owl, but are no match for the strength of the beating wings, and eventually they fly off.
The owl re-materialises into a slightly dishevelled Shift. Everyone looks very proud of her.
AMITY (to the girl): Are you all right?
GIRL: I...believe so. And yet I seem to be in the street clad in nothing but my night dress, so I am compelled to seek a second opinion.
LYRIC: Can you tell me your name?
GIRL: Lucy.
AMITY (Looking at her hard): Are you sure?
GIRL: I...I...what sorcery is this? I find I am two people. I am Lucy, and also Amy. And Amy is so very strange. So cruel to a man who adores her and off she runs, chasing the vampire. The things she has done. She can’t take them back. No. I shan’t be Amy. Leave me. I know you mean well. Good night.
The GIRL runs off towards a house with an open window and a white curtain billowing from it.
The SCRIBBLERS look awkwardly at each other for a minute.
AMITY: Yes. You can fight it off.
FINESSE: Good to know. Come on.
The SCRIBBLERS arrive at the Houses of Parliament.
DOOR MAN: Excuse me, ladies, you should know that no woman is permitted to pass into this House.
FINESSE: Really? Well my friend here is a tiger.
SHIFT obligingly makes this so.
FINESSE: Does that change things?
The 6 walk through, and SHIFT growls at the door man on her way past. He is very scared, of course.
WRAITH steals his keys on the way past, and uses them to open all the doors in their way. When at all possible, he does this in full view of a stranger so it’s not long before the halls echo with screams of people who are sure they’ve seen a ghost.
They arrive at the main chamber of the House of Commons, where the Narrator is in the middle of a rather mediocre speech which is nonetheless being very well received. He reaches a rousing conclusion.
LYRIC: Hello, little brother.
NARRATOR: Ah, Mr Jones. Come to ask for a loan, I suppose?
His insufferable lackies laugh.
NARRATOR: And I see you’ve brought your circus. Still, I really must protest, old boy. The tiger is one thing, quite a novelty, in fact, but the women? Why you let them get involved in your little games I’ll never understand.
More sycophantic response from the lackies.
The SCRIBBLERS all shift into fighting stance, but none move.
FINESSE: Your call, Jom.
NARRATOR: Not that I mind helping you out with a few titbits here and there, of course. After all, you are essentially a tradesman in talent. Good at making things, you see. Personally, I’m more cerebral. I govern countries, Jomas, make whole worlds out of words. What, at the end of the day, can you make?
JOM: ROPE.
Ropes fly out of the air and bind up the Narrator.
JOM: GAG.
A gag attaches itself to the Narrator’s mouth.
JOM: Point one, a Prime Minister’s brother would never, under any circumstances, interrupt a session at the House of Commons to ask for a personal loan. Point two, how can a ward possibly be older than her warders? Point three, women were allowed to enter the House, just not to participate. And point four, “old boy” is a 20th century colloquialism, you ignoramus.
The NARRATOR fights to get free of his bonds, but he can’t.
JOM: Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You’ve altered people’s minds. You’ve given them whole alternative lives. How many marriages have you broken up, do you think? How many jobs lost? This is a work shop, isn’t it? All this is basically because you’re doing your homework. GAGS, RELEASE.
The gag comes off of the NARRATOR, who looks quite ashamed of himself.
JOM: You are 21 years old. I am staggered that you can be this self-centred, and to top it all off, also this ignorant of Victorian literature. How arrogant to do so much damage you can’t even undo.
NARRATOR: I can undo it.
JOM: Of course you can’t. You’ll get it wrong. You’ll remember how things were badly, put things back in the wrong places.
NARRATOR: You think I have to do it from memory? I’m a lot more powerful than you think, Jomas. AND THEN EVERYTHING RETURNED TO THE WAY IT WAS BEFORE THE NARRATOR BEGAN THE CHANGE.
JOM: GAG.
The SCRIBBLERS are walking away through the now normal streets back to their base.
LYRIC: We’ve got to find a better way than that. He’s not going to listen to me again.
FINESSE: We’ll think of something, when we have to.
They walk past the GIRL from the vampire scene. She’s in modern clothes now, and talking to a very nice looking chap, who couldn’t look more delighted at what she’s saying.
GIRL: I’m sorry I said no before. I was just scared, I suppose. Of course I want to go out with you, if you still want to...
The SCRIBBLERS walk off, the couple are kissing in the background.
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