breakinglight11 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breakinglight11) wrote2018-08-29 09:33 am
breakinglight11) wrote2018-08-29 09:33 am
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31 Plays in 31 Days, #29 - "Round Two"
Blaaaargh, why am I posting this stuff? Don't wanna. Just need to finish, and God forbid I break my streak of completing an arbitrary challenge structure that's not actually all that useful to my finishing work anymore!
Day #29 - "Round Two"
From Mrs. Frost
By Phoebe Roberts
NATHANIEL HAWKING, assistant to the lady's society avenger, early thirties
ROLAND DAVIES, Mrs. Frost's hatchet man, late twenties
London, England, 1886
~~~
(ROLAND approaches NATHANIEL, tied to a chair.)
NATHANIEL:
Round two, then. Just you and me now, my man.
ROLAND:
You know how it’s going to go, Mr. Hawking. Until you talk.
NATHANIEL:
Well. That I can do. What would you like? The cricket scores?
(ROLAND punches him.)
NATHANIEL:
Or perhaps you’re more of a rugger man? My father’s spring foals are coming up nicely; do you follow horseflesh?
(Again.)
NATHANIEL:
Literature, then! My daughter’s halfway through Wuthering Heights, and she has ever so many opinions on that ruddy Heathcliff.
(Again.)
ROLAND:
I know you’re being clever. But just one way to stop this, guv.
NATHANIEL:
Don’t blame me, sir. I thought Catherine was better off with Edgar. But I’m always soft on the nice chaps.
ROLAND:
Right, then. Your funeral.
NATHANIEL:
Best be ready, then. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
(Hit.)
ROLAND:
I can keep this up far longer than you can. One more?
NATHANIEL:
And one, and two! And through and through! The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head, he went galumphing back!
(Again. Then ROLAND, reconsidering, goes to get his knife.)
NATHANIEL:
And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms— my beamish boy!
Day #29 - "Round Two"
From Mrs. Frost
By Phoebe Roberts
NATHANIEL HAWKING, assistant to the lady's society avenger, early thirties
ROLAND DAVIES, Mrs. Frost's hatchet man, late twenties
London, England, 1886
~~~
(ROLAND approaches NATHANIEL, tied to a chair.)
NATHANIEL:
Round two, then. Just you and me now, my man.
ROLAND:
You know how it’s going to go, Mr. Hawking. Until you talk.
NATHANIEL:
Well. That I can do. What would you like? The cricket scores?
(ROLAND punches him.)
NATHANIEL:
Or perhaps you’re more of a rugger man? My father’s spring foals are coming up nicely; do you follow horseflesh?
(Again.)
NATHANIEL:
Literature, then! My daughter’s halfway through Wuthering Heights, and she has ever so many opinions on that ruddy Heathcliff.
(Again.)
ROLAND:
I know you’re being clever. But just one way to stop this, guv.
NATHANIEL:
Don’t blame me, sir. I thought Catherine was better off with Edgar. But I’m always soft on the nice chaps.
ROLAND:
Right, then. Your funeral.
NATHANIEL:
Best be ready, then. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.
(Hit.)
ROLAND:
I can keep this up far longer than you can. One more?
NATHANIEL:
And one, and two! And through and through! The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head, he went galumphing back!
(Again. Then ROLAND, reconsidering, goes to get his knife.)
NATHANIEL:
And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms— my beamish boy!