31 Plays in 31 Days, #31 - “Counterparts”
Aug. 31st, 2022 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breakinglight11Hey, I finished. Thank God, I’m exhausted. AND SEPTEMBER’S GOING TO BE SUCH A BIG MONTH.
Building on what I did for the last day of last year’s challenge, #31 - The Nighthawk. MORE EMBER ISLAND PLAYERS-TYPE NONSENSE.
Day #31 - “Counterparts”
From the Mrs. Hawking series
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
VICTORIA HAWKING, society avenger-emeritus, mid-fifties
MARY SWANN, her successor, mid-thirties
NATHANIEL HAWKING, their right-hand man, late thirties
CLARA HAWKING, his society wife, early forties
ARTHUR SWANN, Mary’s husband and MI6 agent, mid-thirties
London, England, 1894
~~~
ARTHUR: Good job we’re up here in a box with all this talking. Some of us might care to watch the show.
NATHANIEL: Forgive me, I can’t help it, it’s all too much. I suppose the callow youth is me, then? Over eager and underbaked?
MARY: Not at all, that’s the Nighthawk’s apprentice. I do believe he’s me.
NATHANIEL: By Jove, you’re right. Blast it, I wanted to be in the show.
MRS. HAWKING: That makes one of us.
CLARA: Are you so sure you’re not? I mean, the Nighthawk’s ward is his brother’s child.
MARY: You mean… his niece, sweet Annalise?
CLARA: Of course! The resemblance is clear. The innocent, adoring naïf who wishes only to win the Nighthawk’s love and approval? Who else could that be?
NATHANIEL: Not to mention the prettiest of them all.
CLARA: Naturally, love.
ARTHUR: I suppose I’m the gruff police chief with the magnificent mustache. What do you think, my dear? Do you think that scrub brush would suit me?
MARY: If you care to look like a walrus. It’s a wonder he manages to sing through that thing!
NATHANIEL: But is there someone for you, Clara?
CLARA: No, I’m afraid. By my judgment they mean to marry the lovely ward off to the callow youth. How unimaginative.
MRS. HAWKING: Easy to enjoy the joke that isn’t directed at you.
NATHANIEL: Oh, wait— what about the gossipy ladies in the tea room? Whispering about the prowess of the Nighthawk?
CLARA: I beg your pardon, Mr. Hawking? Did you just call me gossipy?
MARY: If the tea cozy fits!
CLARA: How dare you— oh, why fight it? At least their gowns are exquisite!
MRS. HAWKING: If you’ve gossiped about me, Clara, so help me God—
CLARA: Yes, Auntie, I have nothing better to talk about than you.
MRS. HAWKING: Clearly someone has been!
MARY: Think of it this way, madam. You’ve been enough help to the people of London that your legend has spread. And even if they know nothing else, they know you’re a hero.
MRS. HAWKING: Oh, yes. They’re so impressed with me they assume I must be a man. What an honor.
ARTHUR: Now, would you all hush? The second act overture’s starting and I want to hear it!
Building on what I did for the last day of last year’s challenge, #31 - The Nighthawk. MORE EMBER ISLAND PLAYERS-TYPE NONSENSE.
Day #31 - “Counterparts”
From the Mrs. Hawking series
By Phoebe Roberts
~~~
VICTORIA HAWKING, society avenger-emeritus, mid-fifties
MARY SWANN, her successor, mid-thirties
NATHANIEL HAWKING, their right-hand man, late thirties
CLARA HAWKING, his society wife, early forties
ARTHUR SWANN, Mary’s husband and MI6 agent, mid-thirties
London, England, 1894
~~~
ARTHUR: Good job we’re up here in a box with all this talking. Some of us might care to watch the show.
NATHANIEL: Forgive me, I can’t help it, it’s all too much. I suppose the callow youth is me, then? Over eager and underbaked?
MARY: Not at all, that’s the Nighthawk’s apprentice. I do believe he’s me.
NATHANIEL: By Jove, you’re right. Blast it, I wanted to be in the show.
MRS. HAWKING: That makes one of us.
CLARA: Are you so sure you’re not? I mean, the Nighthawk’s ward is his brother’s child.
MARY: You mean… his niece, sweet Annalise?
CLARA: Of course! The resemblance is clear. The innocent, adoring naïf who wishes only to win the Nighthawk’s love and approval? Who else could that be?
NATHANIEL: Not to mention the prettiest of them all.
CLARA: Naturally, love.
ARTHUR: I suppose I’m the gruff police chief with the magnificent mustache. What do you think, my dear? Do you think that scrub brush would suit me?
MARY: If you care to look like a walrus. It’s a wonder he manages to sing through that thing!
NATHANIEL: But is there someone for you, Clara?
CLARA: No, I’m afraid. By my judgment they mean to marry the lovely ward off to the callow youth. How unimaginative.
MRS. HAWKING: Easy to enjoy the joke that isn’t directed at you.
NATHANIEL: Oh, wait— what about the gossipy ladies in the tea room? Whispering about the prowess of the Nighthawk?
CLARA: I beg your pardon, Mr. Hawking? Did you just call me gossipy?
MARY: If the tea cozy fits!
CLARA: How dare you— oh, why fight it? At least their gowns are exquisite!
MRS. HAWKING: If you’ve gossiped about me, Clara, so help me God—
CLARA: Yes, Auntie, I have nothing better to talk about than you.
MRS. HAWKING: Clearly someone has been!
MARY: Think of it this way, madam. You’ve been enough help to the people of London that your legend has spread. And even if they know nothing else, they know you’re a hero.
MRS. HAWKING: Oh, yes. They’re so impressed with me they assume I must be a man. What an honor.
ARTHUR: Now, would you all hush? The second act overture’s starting and I want to hear it!
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