31 Plays in 31 Days, #1 - "Live for the Game"

[breakinglight11]

Well, damn. This one really snuck up on me.

I meant to post about this earlier this week, but it got away from me. It's that time of year again, when against my better judgment I cannot help but feel compelled to engage in 31 Plays in 31 Days— a writing challenge where you write a play of at least one page for every day of the month of August. I've done it for the past seven years without fail now. And as I've complained for the past several, it's not really something that makes much sense to me. I have enough projects that need systematic work at this point that often something that encourages open drafting is more of a time suck than a useful exercise. But I like seeing my unbroken lists of posting and my perfect record, not to mention I enjoy having something to post to prove I'm writing. So here I am again, back in a hell of my own making.

I'm currently drafting my way through Mrs. Hawking part 6, as yet untitled, so I will probably continue with mostly posting scenes I've done in the course of that as I work my way through. Today's is from early in the case, where we get something of an answer to exactly what Mrs. Hawking and Mrs. Frost talk about, as was teased in the stinger of part 5. (Which, I guess, means spoilers for part 5.)



Day #1 - "Live for the Game"
From Mrs. Hawking VI
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~

London, England, 1888

VICTORIA HAWKING, lady's society avenger, late forties
ELIZABETH FROST, former criminal mastermind, now institutionalized, early fifties
~~~

(The asylum. MRS. FROST waits until a nurse conducts in MRS. HAWKING.)

MRS. FROST:

You’re late.

MRS. HAWKING:

I’m ten minutes early.

(MRS. HAWKING gives her a case of cigarettes.)

MRS. FROST:

No. You were due on the third. You’re two whole days late.

MRS. HAWKING:

If I’m imposing, I could always stop my visits. But then I would imagine your days would grow quite dull, wouldn’t they?

(MRS. HAWKING smacks a pile of newspapers down on the table. MRS. FROST digs in.)

MRS. HAWKING:

Besides, I’ve had urgent work. It couldn’t be helped.

MRS. FROST:

Oh, indeed? You’re still out working?

MRS. HAWKING:

No thanks to you.

MRS. FROST:

(Laughs) Are the bobbies still hounding you after all this time? I’m not even paying them any more. But I suppose you deck one copper and you’re their enemy forever.

MRS. HAWKING:

More than one at this point.

MRS. FROST:

I can imagine! Especially with the hash they’re making of the Whitechapel murders. Looks like our fellow struck again. Twice this time!

MRS. HAWKING:

Lives I might have saved.

MRS. FROST:

Oh, really?

MRS. HAWKING:

If you hadn’t put them on my trail! With the police swarming all over the matter, I can’t get near it.

MRS. FROST:

I can only imagine how that must feel. Well, I wouldn’t worry. According to these, there are several good suspects well in hand.

MRS. HAWKING:

Sensationalist rubbish.

MRS. FROST:

How would you know? I thought you couldn’t get near enough to investigate.

MRS. HAWKING:

The inquests are public. I’ve paid for copies of the original reports.

MRS. FROST:

Indeed. And what have the rags gotten wrong?

MRS. HAWKING:

Besides the speculation on the usual collection of scapegoats— immigrants, madmen, Jews? Besides a half-dozen witness descriptions in wild conflict? Besides the complete disregard for facts of any kind?

MRS. FROST:

Oh, you mean to suggest those amusingly misspelled letters they print aren’t actually from the killer?

MRS. HAWKING:

All of them mailed since reports of the murders reached the news.

MRS. FROST:

A shame. I did so hope that “Dear Boss” had eaten someone’s kidney. And now there’s two new victims, killed within hours of each other. I suppose he didn’t have time to collect his usual souvenir from the first one?

MRS. HAWKING:

He must have been interrupted, because he works like lightning. The rest of them were found before the bleeding had stopped— even after taking the time to open them up.

MRS. FROST:

Hm. I suppose he’s a military surgeon, then.

MRS. HAWKING:

What?

MRS. FROST:

He went straight for the organs, didn’t he? I’ve known enough educated men without the faintest idea of a woman’s anatomy. I doubt your average Whitechapel illiterate could locate a womb or a kidney on the first try.

MRS. HAWKING:

But the cuts are so coarse.

MRS. FROST:

Battlefield training. They’ve got the basics but not much is expected of them. And they’re accustomed to working fast. Or... hadn’t you already got that together?

(Pause.)

MRS. HAWKING:

What are you doing?

MRS. FROST:

Why, discussing a matter of interest with a dear old friend.

MRS. HAWKING:

Why?

MRS. FROST:

What the bloody else have I got to do in here?

MRS. HAWKING:

I put you in here.

MRS. FROST:

Yes. You did. But I know you mean to find this man and stop him, by any means necessary. And you know I live for the game. What other chance have I got to play it?

MRS. HAWKING:

I ought to have nothing to do with you. After what you did to my nephew.

MRS. FROST:

And I should wish you dead. After what you did to me.

(Pause.)

MRS. FROST:

Now, dear boss… what else have you got for me?