31 Plays in 31 Days: #31 - "Serving"

Push to the finish!

This idea was Bernie's suggestion. He thinks that Nathaniel's admiration for the Colonel would lead him to enlist the way he did, but that it went a very different way for him. It also ties Ito the idea of finding the way he can properly contribute to Mrs. Hawking's work.

Day #31 - "Serving"

MARY STONE, Mrs. Hawking's maid and assistant
NATHANIEL HAWKING, Mrs. Hawking's nephew
~~~

MARY: There's more to this work than knives and brawling. It's not the end of everything to not be a martial man.
NATHANIEL: Here now! I've a martial side. Why, I'll have you know I served my bit a few years back!
MARY: You did?
NATHANIEL: Don't sound so surprised!
MARY: Forgive me, it's only... well, you're a gentleman.
NATHANIEL: And I've lived a soft life accordingly, is that it?
MARY: It isn't necessarily to be expected of a gentleman.
NATHANIEL: Miss Stone, I idolized my uncle from the time I was a boy. I've spent my whole life wanting to be like him. You can bet that when I was old enough I stepped up to serve my queen and country just as he did.
MARY: My, sir! Well, I am sorry I expected any less. I am duly impressed.
NATHANIEL: Oh, you ought not to be.
MARY: It's very admirable! You must tell me sometime of your adventures and your exploits as a dashing servant of the empire.
NATHANIEL: It was hardly that. Yes, I enlisted when I was twenty or so. But do you know where they stationed me?
MARY: India? Singapore?
NATHANIEL: Newcastle. At the naval headquarters in the north country. When they learned I was a finance man they assigned me to keep the books for the armory.
MARY: I see.
NATHANIEL: Hardly the adventure I imagined it. And not much in the Colonel's style.
MARY: They saw you had a talented and they put it to use, though. I can't help but think we ought to do the same.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #29 - "After the Funeral"

Hawking faaaaaaaamily! I have started thinking about the extended Hawking family, as I think they intersect interestingly with Mrs. Hawking's very different personality and life.

This is the first time I've ever written about Justin Hawking, Nathaniel's older brother. I don't know too much about him yet-- where he lives, what he does, what kind of participation he can have in the larger story --but I know I need to set him up to be able to contribute some sort of dramatic tension. I know a major struggle of Nathaniel's will be needing to move past his patriarchal upbringing, and the issues that come from being the youngest adult member of a family of old-fashioned and hypermasculine alpha males. I like the idea of setting up a conflict between him and his cooler, charming-but-somewhat jerkish older brother.

Day #29 - “After the Funeral”

NATHANIEL HAWKING, a gentleman, nephew to Victoria Hawking
JUSTIN HAWKING, his elder brother
~~~

(NATHANIEL, dressed in funerary blacks, stands alone in the study. Enter JUSTIN, his older brother, similarly dressed.)

JUSTIN: Nathan?

NATHANIEL: In here.

JUSTIN: Wondered where you’d gotten off to.

NATHANIEL: I wanted a bit of quiet.

JUSTIN: Certainly can understand that. Must say, the tide of mourners and well-wishers has started to wear on me as well.

NATHANIEL: Well, Uncle was a war hero. He had plenty of admirers.

JUSTIN: Are you all right? I know the two of you were quite close.

NATHANIEL: Afraid I’m not, Justin. I’m terribly blue over it. I am quite terribly blue.

JUSTIN: Well, buck up, little brother. We’re all going to miss the old fellow. It’s even put a crack in Father’s mien. I don’t think he ever expected he’d outlive his younger brother.

(Pause.)

NATHANIEL: That’s not all of it, though.

JUSTIN: Oh?

NATHANIEL: It’s only that… well, it’s Aunt Victoria.

JUSTIN: What of her?

NATHANIEL: Didn’t you notice?

JUSTIN: Nothing particularly.

NATHANIEL: You didn’t happen to pay any notice to the widow at the man’s funeral?

JUSTIN: I stay well out of Aunt Victoria’s way if I can help it, you know that.

NATHANIEL: Well, if you hadn’t been hiding from her behind Mother’s hoop skirt, you might have noticed how she looked.

JUSTIN: Which was…?

NATHANIEL: Like a statue. Like a mask carved out of stone. All through the service, all through the receiving line after…

JUSTIN: In fairness, she is the strangest person I’ve ever met.

NATHANIEL: For Heaven’s sake, Justin!

JUSTIN: Well, she is.

NATHANIEL: She hardly said a word, she wouldn’t look a soul in the eye— that doesn’t strike you as the least bit troubling?

JUSTIN: She never says a word to me. Or looks at me, for that matter. Unless she’s upset with me. In which case this seemed a positive.

NATHANIEL: You’re an absolute ass.

JUSTIN: What have I done?

NATHANIEL: The woman just lost her husband of twenty years, you tit. She must be destroyed. And now she’s quite alone in the world.

JUSTIN: I suppose.

NATHANIEL: It doesn’t seem right to me.

JUSTIN: Perhaps not, but what’s to be done?

NATHANIEL: Someone ought to step in. See that she’s taken care of, that she has some proper company.

JUSTIN: Oh, heavens. How very dashing of you.

NATHANIEL: It’s a matter of responsibility.

JUSTIN: So now you’ve named yourself head of the family, eh?

NATHANIEL: Father lives too far off to do it, I’m the only one left in London. And it isn’t as if you would do it.

JUSTIN: That’s because I’m not a fool.

NATHANIEL: Very gentlemanly, Justin.

JUSTIN: Come now! It’s not as if she cares much for any of us.

NATHANIEL: That is most unkind, and not true besides.

JUSTIN: She has a strange way of showing it, then. Because I always got distinctly the opposite impression. Or else she’s just horrid.

NATHANIEL: You are horrid.

JUSTIN: Well, there’s one thing on which you and Auntie likely agree. All I mean is— your instincts are commendable, little brother, but I’m not entirely sure your effort shouldn’t go to waste.

NATHANIEL: Whatever else, the Colonel loved her. And he would want us to see that she was taken care of by his family. I mean to see that the decent thing is done.

JUSTIN: Suit yourself, Nathan. But she won’t thank you for it.

NATHANIEL: I don’t plan to do it for thanks.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #28 - "A Force of Nature"

More stuff from early in the history of the Mrs. Hawking story. This takes place in New Guinea, sometime in the late 1850s or early 1860s.

I think this would be an early scene in the prequel. They say first scenes should suggest the questions for the rest of the play, as well as draw people in right away, so I tried to do that a little.

Day #28 - "A Force of Nature"

INDRA SINGH, Indian-born manservant to the territorial governor of New Guinea
a MASKED FIGURE, unidentified
~~~

(INDRA sits whittling a piece of word with a Gurkha knife. After a moment he pauses and looks back over her shoulder. Then he resumes his whittling.)

(A MASKED FIGURE, small and fast, leaps out from behind him with a cry of exertion, a knife extended. At the last possible moment, INDRA springs up and blocks the blow with his own blade. They struggle, locked together, for a moment, then he shoves the figure away.)

INDRA: Much improved. You drew quite close before I detected you. But you must resist the urge to cry out as you strike.

(The figure regroups and lunges again. INDRA evades.)

INDRA: Anything that could alert your quarry to your presence ought to be dispensed with.

(His assailant attacks again in a flurry of blows. INDRA turns them aside with his knife.)

INDRA: You will but rarely have the advantage of size or strength. You shall never be able to rely on overpowering your foe. You must instead use the gifts you’ve been given.

(The figure thrusts with the blade. INDRA dances out of the way.)

INDRA: You are swift. You are lithe. And soon you shall handle that blade like the striking of bird of prey.

(The strokes from the figure get wilder, more unbalanced.)

INDRA: But you are angry. That anger may drive you. But now it only stands in the way of your progress. You must learn to marshal it so that it does not rule you. You must be honed steel, silent smoke, an unseen presence in the darkness. One day you will become this. And on that day, you will become as a force of nature.

(He drives the hilt of his knife into the small of the figure’s back, send them sprawling.)

INDRA: But not until you resolve to do what you must.

(He picks up the wood he was whittling and exits. The figure gets up from off the ground, then dashes out in the opposite direction.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #27 - "The Difference Between Us"

Yesterday's piece was about a future supervillain of Mrs. Hawking's, a woman who was her friend growing up in New Guinea, who is as smart as she is but choose to manipulate the system rather than fight against it. Today's piece shows them back when they were young Victoria Stanton and Elizabeth Danvers, before they were married and became Mrs. Hawking and Mrs. Frost. I think I will reproduce an awesome comment here by Kat Davis, because she perfectly summed up exactly what I was going for:

"...Mrs. Hawking up against someone who can meet her on even footing. Seeing her actually sort of lose her cool and lose that sort of detached mentor-ish tone she always has with Mary (and, to a slightly lesser extent, the nephew), is refreshing. I like that Frost gets her worked up, gets inside her guard and gets to her in a way we really never have seen anything else do. I especially like that Frost sort of clucks her tongue and shakes her head and looks down on Hawking, who is always so aloof and above it all. There's condescension and even, or at least how it reads to me (and how I would read it), a touch of pity. And not because of how she was forced into a life she rejected. Not for what was done to her. But rather for what and who she is."

You'll note I am naming the major female figures in the Mrs. Hawking universe after the queens of England. We have Victoria and Mary already. Mrs. Hawking's nemesis and opposite, then, is Elizabeth-- one of the most powerful and brilliant of them all.

Day #27 - "The Difference Between Us"

VICTORIA STANTON, rebellious daughter of the New Guinea territorial governor
ELIZABETH DANVERS, her companion
~~~

VICTORIA: What is that soldier up to, do you think? Hanging about like that?

ELIZABETH: There must be something he wants.

VICTORIA: Such as?

ELIZABETH: Could be any number of things. He could be on some assignment. He could want something from the territorial governor. Or…

VICTORIA: Or what?

ELIZABETH: Or a wife.

VICTORIA: Surely you’re not serious.

ELIZABETH: History has shown men are known to acquire wives from time to time. It happens to all of us before long.

VICTORIA: I am not about to be acquired by anyone, I promise you that.

ELIZABETH: Is that so?

VICTORIA: You know me, Elizabeth. Do you think I could bear to be any man’s nursemaid?

ELIZABETH: I doubt you’ll have much of a choice, when your father decides it’s time.

VICTORIA: Ha! That would require the leftenant to lift his notice to me long enough to recall that I exist.

ELIZABETH: Unmarried daughters lying around are often just inconvenient enough to attract attention.

VICTORIA: Even if that does happen, you can be certain I shan’t go quietly.

ELIZABETH: Oh? And what are you doing to do?

VICTORIA: Whatever it takes!

ELIZABETH: That’s not the way the world works, Victoria.

VICTORIA: Then blast the world.

ELIZABETH: I don’t think it should be so simple.

VICTORIA: What choice do we have? Else to buckle under?

ELIZABETH: I don’t mean to buckle.

VICTORIA: What, then?

ELIZABETH: I mean to make my best advantage.

VICTORIA: I don’t understand.

ELIZABETH: Why fight against the current when you’ve no hope to change its course? Instead, why not ride it where you wish to go?

VICTORIA: Because there’s no such place that it could take me. Is that what you want? Is that enough for you?

ELIZABETH: There is the difference between us, dear. I will not drown myself to spite the water.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #26 - "Pounding Against the Bars"

I have been imagining a character to include in the Mrs. Hawking universe that was a childhood friend of hers, who served as a sort of foil for her during her formative years. Much later, this character would reappear as a villain of the story. I don't know what she would be up to, but I really like that reversal, and the kind of conflict it could bring.

Day #26 - "Pounding Against the Bars"

VICTORIA HAWKING, avenger of downtrodden women
ELIZABETH FROST, her childhood friend, now a supervillain
~~~

MRS. FROST: It’s no use, Victoria. I know you’re in here somewhere.

(MR. HAWKING emerges from the canopy on the balcony door and land catlike on the floor.)

MRS. FROST: Hmm. The canopy, very cunning. I would have guessed you’d be clinging to the transom.

MRS. HAWKING: It’s been a long time, Elizabeth.

MRS. FROST: Yes, it has. But some things never change.

MRS. HAWKING: I had wondered what become of you after that Frost man took you away. I never suspected this.

MRS. FROST: You make your own way in the world, and I make mine.

MRS. HAWKING: On the backs of helpless women?

MRS. FROST: You never did grasp how the world works, Victoria.

MRS. HAWKING: Oh, I grasp it. I just refuse to be complicit in it.

MRS. FROST: Complicit? No, not you, never you. You’ve never gone along with anything in your life when you could wage all-out war on it instead.

MRS. HAWKING: A world and a system I have spent my life defending helpless women against, you manipulate and exploit to your own advantage.

MRS. FROST: Oh, spare me your righteous wrath, darling.

MRS. HAWKING: You are as bad as any of them!

MRS. FROST: And you are hero, is that it? You are a beast in a menagerie pounding against the bars of your cage! For all your work and all your heroics, what have you done? So you pulled a few petty bacons from the fire. Nothing has changed, the world still traps us and uses us and batters us down! Do you honestly believe you can put an end to all that on your own?

31 Plays in 31 Days: #25 - "Most in Need"

This is another attempt at a rewrite of a scene previously written for Sally and Deadeye, based on the backstory of The Stand. This one comes just before piece #3 for the month, and is extremely spoilery for The Stand if you have not played.

Day #25 - “Most in Need”

FLORA JOHANSSON, formerly an outlaw
SISTER ESME, a nun at the convent
~~~

FLORA: You needn’t do anything for me.

SISTER ESME: Nonsense. It’s our duty. You look like you’ve not eaten in days.

FLORA: Well… it’s been rough.

SISTER ESME: It’s our business to comfort folks in a bad way.

FLORA: That’s real good of you, marm. But you don’t got the whole story. I ain’t your sort.

SISTER ESME: What sort’s that?

FLORA: The sort you want about here. I done things. Bad things.

SISTER ESME: In my time, miss I found that them’s the folks most in need of a little pity.

(Pause.)

FLORA: It ain’t just that, though.

SISTER ESME: Yes?

FLORA: You see, marm… it ain’t just me. There’s somebody else too.

SISTER ESME: Who?

(FLORA looks away and lays her hands across her stomach.)

SISTER ESME: I see.

FLORA: Hasn’t got a daddy. Hasn’t… got anybody. So you don't want nothing to do with me.

SISTER ESME: Miss, that’s the sort we’re concerned with most. Always room for one more lost soul.

FLORA: I ain’t even Catholic.

SISTER ESME: It’s not safe for a little one out there.

(Pause.)

FLORA: Just… just for a spell, then.

(The sister extends her arm to show FLORA the way. FLORA hesitates a moment, then scurries off stage right. The sister follows after.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #24 - "The Leftenant's Daughter"

A Hawking backstory scene! Back in the day, a young soldier by the name of Reginald Hawking tells his older brother Ambrose of a remarkable young woman he's just made the acquaintance of. I'm not sure this actually would work with the timeline-- because Reginald would have to be stationed in the colonies, and his older brother would already have been married and settled by then and likely not living close enough to have a real-time conversation with. (He's Nathaniel's dad, by the way, and Nathaniel might have even been born by this point.)

I'm using this as an exercise about getting the point across even though the characters do not have an accurate assessment of the situation. See how well I do.

Day #24 - "The Leftenant's Daughter"

REGINALD HAWKING, a British soldier stationed in the colonies
AMBROSE HAWKING, his financier older brother
~~~

(Enter REGINALD, with a giant black eye.)

AMBROSE: What the devil happened to you?

REGINALD: Do you know the Leftenant Stanton? The territorial governor?

AMBROSE: The territorial governor blacked your eye? By Jove, Reggie, whatever did you do?

REGINALD: It was his daughter.

AMBROSE: He blacked your eye over his daughter!?

REGINALD: No, Ambrose--

AMBROSE: Reginald, what's come over you!?

REGINALD: Ambrose! She did it! She blacked my eye!

AMBROSE: You're joking! His daughter?

REGINALD: Hand to God, sir.

AMBROSE: Still-- I must ask-- what did you do to her?

REGINALD: I-- well, I tried to rescue her. I thought she was about to fall from the tree she was in.

AMBROSE: She was up a tree?

REGINALD: Climbing it. I thought she was falling, so I raced over to her. But she landed like a cat, whirled out of my arms, and her fist shot out faster than I could blink.

AMBROSE: Why, the little minx!

REGINALD: Like a striking cobra, she was. Hardly saw her move.

AMBROSE: Had she taken leave of her senses?

REGINALD: Damn near knocked me bum over teakettle.

AMBROSE: Her father had a thing or two to say about it, I'm sure.

REGINALD: He didn't know.

AMBROSE: How could he not know?

REGINALD: I didn't tell him, at any rate.

AMBROSE: But such behavior--

REGINALD: Ambrose! Surely I'd frightened the girl when I came at her from nowhere!

AMBROSE: Well, naturally. But surely the leftenant wondered at your blighted eye!

REGINALD: Told him I'd gotten it boxing with the lads. She has enough of a hook that you'd never know the difference, eh?

AMBROSE: That's barking madness, Reg.

REGINALD: Jolly well may be.

AMBROSE: Did the girl seem off otherwise to yu?

REGINALD: That's the trick, Amber. She wasn't like anything I'd ever seen.

AMBROSE: How so?

REGINALD: I hadn't done much more than see her before that. She spoke not a word but she had the sharpest eyes that ever mine had met. And for all the fight I must have given her dashing up like that, she took her shot as quick and cool as any man on the line. No dithering, no starting. Just one cold, dead-on strike.

AMBROSE: Surely you can't have seen all that in the failing of a startled young girl.

REGINALD: There was something about her, Ambrose. Something... jolly well remarkable.

AMBROSE: She must have given you a right old drubbing. You're acting odd enough.

REGINALD: Very funny.

AMBROSE: Well, at least now you know better than to bother with her any longer.

REGINALD: Bother with her? Far from it, brother.

(He gets up and exits.)

REGINALD: I think I'd like to marry her.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #23 - “Receiving Notice“

• Trying hard to catch up, but I'm pretty behind. This scene isn't great, it's pretty low-conflict, but I'm just trying to get words on the page. I wrote about Chapman again, the Colonel's former valet. It displays a bit of how Mrs. Hawking seemed to people outside the know, and how badly she often handled having to deal with things that got in the way of her work.

Day #23 - “Receiving Notice“

CHAPMAN, the Hawkings’ valet
JANE KELLER, their maid
~~~

(JANE is preparing the tea set. CHAPMAN enters, looking intense.)

CHAPMAN: Is it true? Is she here?

JANE: Is who here?

CHAPMAN: You know.

JANE: You mean the aunt? I’m bringing in the tea now.

CHAPMAN: Blast it.

JANE: I don’t know what’s got you so out of shape over this woman.

CHAPMAN: I’ll have you know I served for the Colonel for fifteen years, only for her to send me packing when he died.

JANE: What was she to do with a valet all on her own?

CHAPMAN: She gave me my papers the day after the funeral!

JANE: Heavens.

CHAPMAN: So you’ll forgive me if she’s no friend of mine.

JANE: It didn’t end so badly. Mr. Hawking took you in.

CHAPMAN: No thanks to her. I was lucky to get a reference off of that woman, much less an arrangement with the family. And it wasn’t only me, you know. The cook and the maid too received their notice.

JANE: Them too? Why ever for?

CHAPMAN: Blow me down if I know. She was a strange one, though.

JANE: How so?

CHAPMAN: A cold soul and no mistake. And very secretive. There were places even the house girl wasn’t to go.

JANE: That’s not so strange.

CHAPMAN: That’s not all. She would lock herself away for hours at a time. Not a clamor in the world could make her come out till she was quite ready.

JANE: Must be lovely, to have that kind of privacy.

CHAPMAN: Wasn’t proper for a woman of her station. To hide away like that.

JANE: Well, I couldn’t tell you. I only saw her the once at Christmas.

CHAPMAN: You’ll see. I don’t know what’s dragged her out of her cave, but it must be something if she’s deigned to see the rest of the family.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #22 - "The Other Mrs. Hawking"

After the Bare Bones Mrs. Hawking reading, commented that it might be interesting for the characters to encounter "the other Ms. Hawking," as in, Nathaniel's wife, and see what she thought of the whole business her husband had been drawn into. What I'd want to do with this character is make her a model of weaponized femininity-- extremely happy with her place in society and her gender identity, but using it to her advantage as a sharp, strong femme woman. Of course, you can probably guess how Mrs. Hawking feels about her.

Day #22 - "The Other Mrs. Hawking"

VICTORIA HAWKING, avenger of downtrodden women
MARY STONE, her housemaid and assistant
CLARA HAWKING, Nathaniel’s wife
~~~

MRS. HAWKING: You shall have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of Mrs. Hawking.

MARY: I beg your pardon?

MRS. HAWKING: Not me. The other Mrs. Hawking.

(Enter CLARA HAWKING, curvy and beautiful, in a flurry of activity and sweeping skirts.)

CLARA: Aunt Victoria!

MRS. HAWKING: Clara.

(She rushes over and kisses MRS. HAWKING’s cheek.)

CLARA: You haven’t visited us since Christmas! We were beginning to worry that you might have bricked yourself up inside that study of yours. Of course Nathaniel is glad to be seeing so much more of you. He says he’s enjoyed your time together immensely. Miracles happen, I suppose! And this must be Mary, your lovely housegirl. Nathaniel speaks very highly of you, miss. Of course, any girl who’s managed to last as long as you have in dear Auntie’s employ must be a saint! Don’t mistake me, dear, we do love our Aunt Victoria, it’s only to know her is to love her, and we know her! You must come to supper more often. I know you’re fiercely independent, but what is family for, if not to take care of widowed relations and see that you eat properly every once in a while? I know that left to your own devices, you might starve to death over your books! I’m sure you try your hardest with her, Mary, but heaven knows it can be like trying to push the boulder up the hill! And I’m sure you’ve been missing Sophia and little Reggie as much as they’ve missed you. We’d hate to think we’re allowing you to go on lonely. Now! I’ll have Jane fetch the tea things, and I’ll catch you up on everything about the children since last you came about.

(She bustles out.)

MARY: Good heavens. She’s…

MRS. HAWKING: Indeed.

MARY: And so…

MRS. HAWKING: Oh, my, yes.

(Pause.)

MARY: I love her.

MRS. HAWKING: You would.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #21 - "The Puzzle House"

The talented Lenny Somervell is playing Miss Lillian Holland in my reading of Mrs. Loring. She's very likely to be e fan favorite character, as she is the sassy Bohemian dyke who's been in the asylum entirely too long. We came up with what happens after the story, when she finally gets out of the asylum many years later-- which, we think, likely involves her changing her name, moving to Chicago, and opening up a speakeasy during Prohibition that hosts black jazz bands.

If you like the cut of this lady's jibe, you should totally come to the reading. Arsenal Center for the Arts black box, Thursday 8/29 at 8PM!


Day #21 - "The Puzzle House"
LOU AMSTERDAM, the speakeasy owner
ELSIE WASHINGTON, a young singer
~~~

(A young black woman in a prim frock approaches a bar in a speakeasy. A white lady dressed in a suit smoking a pipe works behind the bar.)
LOU: Lost on the way to the library?
ELSIE: Beg pardon?
LOU: Or maybe you want the Bible study three doors down.
ELSIE: I thought you served drinks here.
LOU: To grown ups, sure.
ELSIE: Then I'd like a whiskey, please.
LOU: Stiff drink for a frippy thing like you.
ELSIE: I got money, I can buy what I like.
LOU: Right you are.
(She pours the shot, hands it over, and takes the girl's money.)
LOU: You have to forgive me. We don't get too many Sunday school teachers in here.
ELSIE: I'm not a Sunday school teacher. And I'm here for the music.
LOU: That so? You got an ear for the blues?
ELSIE: I want to sing like that.
LOU: Hope your mama doesn't find out.
ELSIE: It ain't so strange. What about you, ma'am? How many white ladies running jazz joints with hooch?
LOU: Fair enough. But I've never been one to do what's expected of me. You know why I call this place the Puzzle House?
ELSIE: 'Cause you spent time there?
(ELSIE grins. LOU nods very seriously. ELSIE's expression grows a little disturbed.)
ELSIE: No kidding?
LOU: No kidding.
ELSIE: What for?
LOU: Why, liking jazz music and whiling away my time in dens of iniquity. Among other things.
(LOU grins.)
LOU: What were you expecting? A nun, maybe?
(Pause.)
LOU: Not a crazy white lady, that's for sure, huh?
ELSIE: Well... the whiskey's right.
LOU: That's enough.
ELSIE: So... what was it like in there?
LOU: That's a long story.
ELSIE: It'll kill the time 'til the band's next set.
LOU: Then I hope you can handle your whiskey, doll, because you'll be needing more of it.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #20 - "My Misrule"

Day #20 - "My Misrule"

ELORA, a prostitute
BASTIAN, a soldier
~~~

BASTIAN: It's no place of mine to counsel you.

ELORA: Still, sir, say that which you have to say.

BASTIAN: That man will not save you,
Nor bring you joy in any lasting measure.

ELORA: Ha!

BASTIAN: One meets a man gone cheek by jowl in war.
There is naught I know of him that could convince me otherwise.
They call him Wolf,

ELORA: You think you drive the moonbeams from the eyes
Of some night-blind girl who dreams her swain has come?
I see no dashing Woodsman from some tale,
And I know the Wolf no less as well as you.
Far from my savior, he calls to me from that
Great maw which beckons me unto my doom.

BASTIAN: Then why go on with him this way? Why walk
The path if you can sight the creature lay in wait?

ELORA: Are my bonds not plain? My prison clear?
For I have been taken hold by that which captures us
In such torment as from which there is no escape.
I have lov'd the Wolf, that which makes us traitor to ourselves,
And let the garden gate gape wide.
He has slipp'd in, a hunter loose beside
A ewe too beaten down to think of flight.

BASTIAN: You have been cruelly used, poor wretched girl.

ELORA: I have indeed, but not alone by him.
In nothing he deceived me but, in years before,
I fell to fairytales told me by my heart.
My weakness fed his taste, but's my misrule,
I swallowed love's lies, and so became love's fool.

31 Plays in 31 Days - #19 “Be a Human Being Again”

Day #19 - “Be a Human Being Again”

SAM CAMPION, a federal agent on psychological disability leave
VANESSA DAVAN, an FBI officer
~~~

(Wearing her coat with her purse slung over her shoulder, Sam approaches a little café with outdoor seating.)

SAM: Vanessa?

(Sitting a table is VANESSA DAVAN. She is eating a croissant sandwich and reading a newspaper as Sam approaches, but she looks up at the sound of her name. She grins from ear to ear when she sees Sam.)

VANESSA: She lives!

SAM: Technically.

(She sits.)

VANESSA: It’s good to see you. I’m really glad you showed.

SAM: Yeah, well. Thought it might be good to get out a little. Haven’t done it in a while.

VANESSA: Yeah. Haven’t heard from you in a while either. I wanted to check in.

SAM: That’s nice of you.

VANESSA: So… how are you?

SAM: Ah. You know. Surviving.

VANESSA: Yeah?

SAM: Yeah.

VANESSA: Okay. Well, that’s something.

SAM: How about you? How are things?

VANESSA: Well, pretty good! I’ve actually got some good news. I just got the word from the brass that my promotion’s official. They’re giving me my own squad

SAM: Oh, wow. Nessa, that’s great.

VANESSA: Thanks. Took long enough, huh?

SAM: You deserve it. You’re going to do great, I know it.

VANESSA: Thanks, honey. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Sam… how would you like to be on that squad?

SAM: Me?

VANESSA: You’re a good agent. I could use you.

SAM: I don’t know.

VANESSA: Come on. It’s a good way for you to get back into things.

SAM: I’ve never done missing persons before.

VANESSA: You’ve got a solid background in investigation, you’ll pick it up fast.

SAM: I’ve been out of the game for a long time.

VANESSA: Don’t worry, I’ll have your back.

SAM: Vanessa.

VANESSA: What?

SAM: I’m really messed up.

VANESSA: Sam.

SAM: Most days I’m lucky if I can get out of bed.

VANESSA: Doesn’t that… say something to you? That it’s time that you did something?

SAM: Did something?

VANESSA: You know, made a change.

(Pause.)

VANESSA: Don’t think I don’t get it. After what happened to you… you’ve got a right to be messed up. Hell, most people wouldn’t have survived. But it’s been a year. You can’t go on the way you’ve been. You’ve got to get your life back.

(SAM zones out as she speaks. The sound of gunshots and yelling voices gets louder and louder.)

VANESSA: Sam? Sam?

(Vanessa looks at her in horrified concern.)

VANESSA: Are you okay?

(Sam jerks to look at her. The shots and voices stop.)

SAM: No! No, I’m not okay! Do you have any idea what it was like back there? Do you know how many people I killed?

VANESSA: I know. Six—

SAM: Seven!

(Vanessa shakes her head, uncomprehending.)

SAM: If they hadn’t made me, Blake wouldn’t have died either.

VANESSA: You can’t blame yourself for that—

SAM: It doesn’t matter! He’s still dead! They’re all still dead!

VANESSA: I know.

SAM: Then why don’t you get it?

VANESSA: I get that you’re a wreck, Sam. That’s why I’m doing this. You need something to help you out of this. Or else…

SAM: Or else what?

VANESSA: Or else you’ll stay like… this.

SAM: Leave me alone.

VANESSA: I’m trying to help you.

SAM: If you got it, you’d know that you can’t help me.

VANESSA: So that’s it? You’re just… resigning yourself to this?

SAM: Guess so.

VANESSA: That’s disappointing.

SAM: Don’t judge me.

VANESSA: Sure. Call me when you’re ready to be a human being again.

(Vanessa throws some cash down on the table, gathers her purse and newspaper, and storms off.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #18 - "Reading the Signs"

As I've mentioned, I like the idea of opening the next Mrs. Hawking story by showing the women at work, specifically of Mrs. Hawking teaching Mary about how to use observation and deductive reasoning (well, technically inductive, but whatever) in the process of working on cases. This scene is not all that well thought out in its current form, as it probably needs to be in order to truly work, but I wanted to bang out a draft just for the purposes of catching up on 31 Plays in 31 Days.

One thing I've learned in the course of writing plays, or anything really, is that it's better to get SOMETHING down on the page, to get some draft just written, so that the thing exists. Otherwise you get so wrapped up in how you're not ready to write it in its current imperfect form that you never end up writing it at all. At least if you have a draft, you have something, and you can always improve it afterward. So consider that what I'm doing now.

Day #18 - "Reading the Signs"

VICTORIA HAWKING, avenger of downtrodden women
MARY STONE, her housemaid and assistant
~~~

(A fancy Victorian society party. Women glide around in gowns with men in white tie. Waiters carry around trays of champagne glasses and push around serving trolleys. After a moment some peel away from the center, revealing a tall, dark-haired young woman holding a fan to her face. When she moves it aside, we see that it is MARY. She flutters it and speaks seemingly to no one under her breath.)

MARY: The timing is too coincidental. It has to be someone here. But there’s no sign of them.

(MRS. HAWKING in her stealth suit pokes her head out from her hiding place behind a drapery.)

MRS. HAWKING: Nonsense. The signs are there, you just aren’t looking properly.

(People approach and MRS. HAWKING hides again. MARY walks quickly away and makes a loop around the party. When people move off again, she returns to the drapery.)

MRS. HAWKING: Consider the circumstances.

MARY: The gems are heavy, and there are a number of them. Difficult to secret about one’s person.

MRS. HAWKING: There’s a start.

MARY: But there hasn’t been time to go far. They have to still be here somewhere.

MRS. HAWKING: Sound so far.

(Other guests draw near. She ducks back behind the drapery and MARY acts casual until they leave.)

MARY: They must have been hidden somewhere nearby. Somewhere within easy reach, but not where others are likely to find it.

MRS. HAWKING: And where would that be?

MARY: I… I don’t know.

MRS. HAWKING: Oh, come now!

(People pass by again and MRS. HAWKING hides. MARY moves to the other side of the stage. MRS. HAWKING pops back out of the drapery on that side.)

MRS. HAWKING: Think, girl.

MARY: In the flower arrangements.

MRS. HAWKING: Too conspicuous to disturb.

(Again MARY moves. MRS. HAWKING disappears behind the drape..)

MARY: The wall sconces.

MRS. HAWKING: Not enough concealment.

MARY: Under the banquet tables?

MRS. HAWKING: Rank amateurism.

MARY: The chandelier?

MRS. HAWKING: Now you’re being absurd. I would have seen them already!

(Someone approaches. MARY sweeps her skirt around so that MRS. HAWKING can hide beneath them.)

MARY: I don’t know!

MRS. HAWKING: I said think, Miss Stone! A place nearby, unlikely to be disturbed, easily accessed to recover the spoils!

(MARY looks about, shaking her head desperately. Then her eye settles on one of the waiters with a serving trolley.)

MARY: Madam…

MRS. HAWKING: Now you’ve got it.

MARY: Shall we, then?

MRS. HAWKING: Quickly and quietly, now. Go.

(MRS. HAWKING gets out from under MARY’s skirts and back behind the drapery. MARY weaves her way to the waiter. Pretending to look away, MARY moves in front of the trolley and allows it to crash into her.)

MARY: Oh!

(She dramatically falls over. The waiter startles and hurries to help her up. The other guests watch them in surprise. While they are distracted, MRS. HAWKING darts out of concealment and snatches one of the covered trays off the trolley. She disappears back behind the drapery.)

(After MARY disengages from the waiter, she makes another circuit of the part, accepting people’s concern and gracefully putting them off. At last she settles in front of the drapes again. Her body blocks from view MRS. HAWKING emerging, now in a black maid’s dress, with the tray in her arms.)

MRS. HAWKING: Mission accomplished. Reconvene at base. About time, Miss Stone.

(She hustles out. MARY smiles.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #17 - "Not as Hopeless as They Say" from Mrs. Loring

So, so behind. Bad Phoebe. But here's a scene from Mrs. Loring, which is having a staged reading on the last Thursday of the month, that I have substantially edited. This is the most problematic scene in the piece, one I have struggled with a lot to convey the meaning I want. It's supposed to deal with the fact that part of the failure of the mental institution the characters are in is that it enforces a helpless idleness on all the patients that render them useless to see themselves as having agency. This scene is supposed to show how someone believing that they are capable gives them back a lot of their agency, and with it, their ability to improve their own condition. It's been tough to get it to work the way I wanted to, so I edited it today. It's a bit better. But I don't know if it's quite where I want it yet.

And, hey, this is a weakest scene in the play. If you like it, come to the reading, because literally every other scene is better than this one!

From Mrs. Loring - Day #17 - "Not as Hopeless as They Say"

ELIZABETH LORING, a young society widow, mid-twenties
GAIL MITCHELL, a nurse matron at the hospital, late thirties
GINNY GRIER, a young girl at the hospital, mid teens
LILLIAN HOLLAND, a longtime patient, early thirties 
AMELIA PAGE, another patient, early twenties
~~~

ELIZABETH: I’ve seen this Paulin fellow in the garden a few times now. He asked me about Miles.

GINNY: That’s my mother’s lawyer. He’ll report anything he finds straight back to her!

LILLIAN: We’ll have to put him off somehow. But who knows what people will see and runs their mouth about?

GINNY: We have to hide it!

LILLIAN: There’s no keeping secrets in here.

GINNY: What else can we do?

(Enter AMELIA, bleary in her nightdress.)

AMELIA: What’s going on?

GINNY: Oh, Jesus, it’s her!

ELIZABETH: Amelia! What are you doing out of your room?

AMELIA: I couldn’t sleep, I had bad dreams. What are you doing? It’s past lights out.

GINNY: Nothing, we’re not doing anything!

LILLIAN: Don’t strain yourself, doll.

AMELIA: Nurse Mitchell isn’t going to like this.

LILLIAN: She isn’t going to find out.

AMELIA: She’s fetching my medicine.

ELIZABETH: She’s coming?

LILLIAN: Amelia, get out of here!

ELIZABETH: Lillian!

LILLIAN: The stupid girl will give the whole game away!

AMELIA: What?

GINNY: Get going, you silly cow!

(AMELIA begins to get upset.)

AMELIA: Stop it, I haven’t done anything!

ELIZABETH: We’re sorry, Amelia… it’s only… Ginny’s in trouble.

AMELIA: What kind of trouble?

ELIZABETH: Real trouble. She needs help. We’re trying to help her.

GINNY: Elizabeth!

AMELIA: So what? She’s so mean to me!

ELIZABETH: Maybe you could help too.

AMELIA: Me?

LILLIAN: Are you crazy?

ELIZABETH: Just as you said, there’s no keeping secrets in here! We need everyone on our side that we can get. Amelia, you could be the difference to carry Ginny through this.

AMELIA: But I can’t… do anything!

ELIZABETH: I don’t believe that.

AMELIA: But I’m hopeless. Everyone says so.

ELIZABETH: Amelia, we need you. All of us need you.

AMELIA: You? But… you did everything right!

ELIZABETH: Me?

AMELIA: You did! You married a good man and had a nice baby and did everything you were supposed to, and you still ended up in here! If that happened to you… what chance does someone like me have?

GINNY: About as much chance as I’ve got. But we’re not as hopeless as they say.

AMELIA: How do you know that?

GINNY: Because… somebody thought I was worth helping. If I’m good for something, then you are too.

(Pause as they regard each other. NURSE MITCHELL’s voice can be heard from offstage.)

NURSE MITCHELL: Amelia? What’s all this carrying on about?

AMELIA: Nurse… Nurse Mitchell? I… I was alone, and I got scared. I’m coming!

(She glances back at the others, then runs out. There is a long pause.)

LILLIAN: Well, I’ll be damned. Maybe we can pull off this scheme of yours after all. If impossible things are happening.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #16 - "Not My Brother"

Another piece drawn from the back story of The Stand. Buck and Kenneth Dillon were a team of brother who were some of the most successful US Marshals in the territory, until Kenneth was rescued by a Yurok woman by the name of Negahse'wey and found he wanted to follow her way of life instead of the one he'd been raised to. But when he returned to his brother Buck, he did not find a warm reception to his new identity. I'm surprised I never worked on this scenario before, because it has a lot of dramatic potential.


Day #16 - "Not My Brother"

BUCK DILLON, a US marshal
TALL BEAR, his brother, formerly Kenneth Dillon, recently become a member of the Yurok tribe
~~~

BUCK: Look at you! What the hell’s this getup?
TALL BEAR: It’s what they wear.
BUCK: Them, Ken, not you!
TALL BEAR: Buck, don’t call me that no more.
BUCK: Don’t call you what?
TALL BEAR: Well… “Kenneth.” That ain’t my name.
BUCK: Are you joking me?
TALL BEAR: I got a new name now. A Yurok name. I go by Tall Bear now.
BUCK: Are you outta your mind!?
TALL BEAR: It’s who I am now!
BUCK: You’re my brother. You’re my partner. That’s who you are.
TALL BEAR: That part ain’t going to change.
BUCK: How you going to tell the bosses that you’re playing redskin now? They won’t let you serve like this.
TALL BEAR: Then I ain’t doing that no more.
BUCK: The marshals need us! What could be worth giving all that up?
TALL BEAR: You don’t understand, Buck. The Yurok live like I always wanted to. They’re close the land. They’ve got ways of hunting and tracking like I never seen. It’s everything I ever wanted from life on the trail!
BUCK: But… we’re the Dillon boys. We’re a team.
TALL BEAR: Don’t go taking it all like this, Buck.
BUCK: You shut your mouth! What am I supposed to take it like, you telling me you’re leaving me for a lot of naked savages!
TALL BEAR: They ain’t naked savages! You don’t know nothing about it!
BUCK: That can’t be it. You can’t be blowing out on your own blood just to sleep in a damn plank house. What’s got you, Ken? What’s got you?
TALL BEAR: Nothing’s got me!
BUCK: You telling me there ain’t nothing else?
TALL BEAR: That’s the life I want, I’m telling you! It’s just…
BUCK: Just what?
TALL BEAR: Just… Negahse’wey’s part of that.
BUCK: Negahse-what?
TALL BEAR: Negahse’wey. It means “rainbow.” She’s part of that life.
BUCK: So that’s it. Some red woman’s got you in her spell.
TALL BEAR: It ain’t like that, Buck!
BUCK: There’s plenty of gals in the world that won’t make you eat raw fish and wear animal skins!
TALL BEAR: Not like her.
BUCK: You can’t be throwing me over for some— red savage slag!
TALL BEAR: Don’t you talk about her like that!
BUCK: You’re right. You ain’t Kenneth no more. Kenneth was my brother, and you ain’t him.
TALL BEAR: What are you talking about? Of course I’m still your brother, I’ll always be your brother!
BUCK: Not no more. Not now.
TALL BEAR: Don’t you say that, Buck. Don’t you ever say that!
BUCK: No. I thought you was dead. Then I prayed, and then you came back… like this. Now, I don’t know if I was right… or if I just wish I was.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #15 - "Glamorous Life of an Actress"

Ahhh, so behind. Last year I didn't get behind this early. But I'm going to do it one way or the other!

This is drawn from my tabletop game, The Bloom of May, set in the same universe as The Tailor of Riddling Way and taking place after the events of that story. There is no obvious connection between the two to be noticed in this scene, although the show they are talking about is being put up in the Rowan Loring Memorial Theater, built by Reginald Loring in honor of his son's sacrifice in World War I.

Day #15 - "Glamorous Life of an Actress"

LUCY CARTER, a maid and aspiring actress
WILL HUNTER, an actor in the same show

~~~

LUCY: Mrs. Holbrook’s looking for you. She has a jacket she needs to fit.

WILL: Thanks, Lucy, I’ll find her.

LUCY: You know, you were a scream in rehearsal today. If I’m not careful I’ll be laughing harder than the audience.

WILL: It’s not so far off for Cecily to be laughing at Jack.

LUCY: Still! I’m liable to forget half my lines.

(She smiles at him hopefully.)

LUCY: It was a good time.

(He smiles weakly in return but then lapses back into moodiness.)

LUCY: Are you all right, then? You seem awful down for a man who just got through with those antics.

WILL: I suppose it’s only… life off the stage doesn’t always go as smoothly, does it?

LUCY: That’s for certain. Is something the matter?

WILL: It’s only… sometimes things aren’t what you thought they were. It just makes you… want to run away from it all.

LUCY: Run away from what?

WILL: I don’t know. My life.

(Pause.)

WILL: Listen to me. You must think I’m being very dramatic.

LUCY: Well, you’re an actor, aren’t you? And I really don’t think so. I sure wouldn’t mind running away from mine every once in a while. I suppose that’s why I came here.

WILL: Came here?

LUCY: To the theater. To give acting a go. You see, before my audition… well, I’d never been an actress before.

WILL: You’re joking.

LUCY: I always wanted to be, but the truth is, I’ve got another job.

WILL: Yes? As what?

(Pause. LUCY is embarrassed.)

LUCY: As a maid. I’m one of them at old Mrs. Pelham’s.

(Pause.)

LUCY: You don’t think less of me? Living below stairs like some character in a Victorian melodrama.

WILL: Well, Victorian melodramas are our bread and butter here— maybe it’s high time for one about the maid.

LUCY: Well, it’s hardly the glamorous life one hopes for an actress. Fame and fortune sounds an awful lot more like it to me.

WILL: Careful what you wish for. The rich have problems of their own, just like anybody else. Wouldn’t trade anything for them.

LUCY: Not me! I’d be glad to be rich. Then nobody would look at me like I’m the pack mule for whatever needs doing.

WILL: Are they quite bad to you?

LUCY: Mrs. Pelham’s all right, I suppose. But most of them don’t even look at me when they speak in my direction.

WILL: Hadn’t thought much of that.

LUCY: I don’t suppose you have to make a living off the stage?

WILL: No. No, I suppose I’ve been lucky that way.

LUCY: Well. You’ll have to let me in on your secret for that. Maybe somebody I’ll be so lucky too.

WILL: Lucy Carter’s a fine name for a film star. I’ll be seeing it up in lights in no time.

LUCY: Glad somebody thinks so.

(Pause.)

LUCY: You know, Will, if you need anything… I’d be glad to lend a hand. If I can.

WILL: You’ve enough to handle now without my adding to it. But it’s kind of you to say.

(He gets up to leave.)

WILL: I’d best be finding Mrs. Holbrook now. I’ll see you at tomorrow night’s rehearsal.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #14 - "Back East"

Catching up. Another piece based on The Stand, involving PC Rebecca Sinclair and her NPC mother Mayella. Probably nothing spoilery here. This is meant to be an exercise in getting a point across by characters' behavior rather than what they say to each other. It's a bit sparse, but I actually think I did better than I usually do.

Day #14 - “Back East”

MAYELLA SINCLAIR, Philadelphia-born wife of California cattle baron Arlen Sinclair
REBECCA SINCLAIR, their daughter, age nine
~~~

(California, 1830s. MAYELLA SINCLAIR mopes moodily on a chaise. Enter her daughter REBECCA in her nightdress.)

REBECCA: Mama?

(Pause.)

REBECCA: Mama!

MAYELLA: Not now, child.

REBECCA: It’s my bedtime.

MAYELLA: Where’s your nan?

REBECCA: She tucked me in already, but I can’t sleep.

MAYELLA: Go back to bed, Mama’s head aches.

REBECCA: But I’m lonely.

MAYELLA: I won’t tell you twice, Rebecca.

REBECCA: Will you tell me a story?

MAYELLA: Rebecca...

REBECCA: I promise I’ll sleep if you do.

MAYELLA: Mama’s not much good at stories.

REBECCA: Tell me about the city. Tell me about Philly-delia.

MAYELLA: Philadelphia. Very well, then, girl.

(She pats the seat on the chaise beside her. REBECCA toddles over and sits on it.)

MAYELLA: Oh, Philadelphia. It’s just the most wonderful place. Back east, the buildings are all brick and marble and have been around for decades. And the people! They’re genteel there. They ride around in carriages, not jostling wagons. And they’re so busy, all the time. They never idle the evenings away.

REBECCA: What do they do?

MAYELLA: Oh, but there’s so much to do. Museums full of important works of art. Ballrooms for dancing and mixing with all the most fascinating people. Theaters and opera houses that put on the grandest shows. Back east, the ladies and gentlemen can go out every night and never see the same place twice.

REBECCA: And they wear pretty clothes.

MAYELLA: The prettiest. Everything is pretty there. Pretty, and clean, and everything’s taken care of.

REBECCA: What do you mean, everything’s taken care of?

MAYELLA: Back east, it’s not like out here, where… it’s all catch as catch can, and all manner of folk can do what they like, when they like.

REBECCA: I don’t understand.

MAYELLA: Not to worry, child. You needn’t.

REBECCA: Philly-delia sounds nice, Mama.

MAYELLA: It is. Nicer than I can tell you. Now. I think it’s quite time for bed.

REBECCA: All right, Mama.

(She climbs down off the chaise.)

REBECCA: Good night.

MAYELLA: Good night, Rebecca.

(She starts to exit, but stops.)

REBECCA: Will you take me there someday?

MAYELLA: If I do, it’ll be a miracle for both of us.

(MAYELLA turns away again. REBECCA turns and exits.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #13 - "Not Yet"

Mmmkay, this one is kind of weird. And not written by me so much as arranged by me from some famous quotes of C.S. Lewis. I always loved the story of how he came to faith-- from a kind of furious atheism until he found himself pulled to it in a manner he could not deny. And here I wanted to explore an idea of Lewis's that faith is easier when you are whole than when you are suffering. But still, even when pain and disillusionment pull at you, that doesn't mean you have no chance of someday finding the thing that will give you solace and fulfillment. For you it may not be faith, but there's usually something like that for everyone.

Yeah, I know the staging's weird. It's an experiment.

Day #13 - "Not Yet"

C.S. LEWIS, an early 20th Century writer and Christian apologist, slight Irish accent
ROWAN CLIFFORD, a modern-day forensic scientist, English accent
SARIEL, a guardian angel, American accent
~~~

(ROWAN CLIFFORD in his lab coat works at his station on a table upstage. Downstage, C.S. LEWIS stands beside a desk in his professor’s tweeds.)

LEWIS: I maintained that God did not exist. I was also very angry with God for not existing.

(He sits down at his desk, picks up his pen.)

LEWIS: You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet.

(Enter SARIEL, swathed in a black cloak with a low hood. LEWIS tries desperately to focus on his work. His attention keeps straying, though, and he is visibly distressed.)

(ROWAN stands at his table in the lab, also trying to work, but it becomes harder and harder to contain his upset.)

(SARIEL approaches and stands at LEWIS’s shoulder just behind him.)

LEWIS: That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in… perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.

(Lewis puts his pen down, then clasps his hands in front of him. He shakes his head, then gives in with a nod, exhaling hard. He slides out of his chair to get down on his knees. He lifts his clasped hands to hold before him. SARIEL lets down his hood, revealing a kind human face, and touches him on the shoulder.)

(Finally Rowan breaks down, crying quietly, and covers his eyes with his hands. SARIEL leaves LEWIS and goes to stand behind ROWAN in the same manner. SARIEL stands silently, waits patiently.)

(At last Rowan collects himself a little, and lifts up his head. He roughly wipes his eyes and exhales.)

ROWAN: Not yet. All right? I’m not ready. Not yet.

SARIEL: It’s all right. We have all the time in the world.

LEWIS: I maintained that God did not exist. I was also very angry with God for not existing.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #12 - "Protege"

I'm a little behind, but this was a piece I wasn't expecting to write and I'm glad I did. It could be very useful in the future, as it is an early scene in the sequel to Mrs. Hawking. I would like to open that piece with a scene that shows Mary's progress getting into Mrs. Hawking's work, with her mentor running her through a deduction and espionage exercise that leads to the solving of a case. Something fun, clever, and establishing to their growing dynamic. This scene would come immediately after. What I want here to is to set up an issue to explore for the rest of the play. Mary and Mrs. Hawking's relationship has to grow further, and I want it to happen with Mrs. H realizing that Mary could be her protege to continue her work on. What they may not see yet is that Mary may not fit exactly into the mold that her mentor wants to put her in, and that is something they'll have to work out.

Day #12 - "Protege"

MRS. HAWKING, avenger of downtrodden women
MARY, her housemaid and assistant
~~~

(MRS. HAWKING is in the parlor in his stealth suit, removing it piece by piece. MARY rushes back in through the front with her wrap and hat over her dress, exhilarated.)

MARY: Oh, that was extraordinary!

MRS. HAWKING: A task adequately managed, indeed.

MARY: I did it, I worked it all out, you saw it yourself!

MRS. HAWKING: Eventually. With some guidance.

MARY: Still, I did manage!

MRS. HAWKING: You did at that.

MARY: And yes, with your guidance. Everything you’ve wanted to teach me, I’ve worked very hard to learn.

MRS. HAWKING: Yes. Yes, you have.

MARY: You have seen it, madam, haven’t you?

MRS. HAWKING: You’ve been a diligent student. In fact… you’ve been an excellent one. Better than I dared hope.

(MARY beams at her. Then she begins taking off her wrap, her hat, and her gloves. MRS. HAWKING becomes contemplative, and after a moment MARY notices.)

MARY: Are you all right?

MRS. HAWKING: It’s only… it makes me think. I’ve been at this work for half my life now, and before you, I’d always done it alone. I thought that when it came time that I could not keep on with it any longer… that would be the end of it. All my efforts would die with me. But since you’ve come along, you’ve learned. You’ve risen to every challenge that’s come your way. I would never have guessed what help you would be to me.

MARY: Oh, madam. Do you mean that?

MRS. HAWKING: I do.

MARY: I’m sure I’m not the assistant you would have imagined.

MRS. HAWKING: Perhaps not. And yet I see now that I have in you a protégé, on your way to becoming a true partner. And one day, you’ll carry it all on in my stead.

MARY: Mrs. Hawking… I don’t know what to say.

MRS. HAWKING: Is that a path that you could see for yourself?

MARY: After everything you’ve shown me… it’s the only path I can see. Thank you.

MRS. HAWKING: No need. I can rest easy in the future of my life’s work.

(She turns away, pleased, and begins to gather up her things. MARY watches her, charmed.)

MARY: Why, Mrs. Hawking?

MRS. HAWKING: Yes?

MARY: I do believe you’re smiling.

(MRS. HAWKING frowns hard.)

MRS. HAWKING: I beg your pardon?

MARY: You never smile.

MRS. HAWKING: Certainly not. I don’t know what you’re on about, Miss Stone.

(She gathers her things in an armful and strides from the room. MARY watches her, and glows.)

31 Plays in 31 Days - Day #9 "A Fair Trade"

This is based on The Stand, and a scene from a possible play I could write about PC Carson Hill, about the first time he ever met PC Emma Holloway, the young black woman he employs in his saloon. This scene is somewhat spoilery for the game, but to minimize that, I will say that Carson feels a huge sense of guilt that fires up upon meeting her, and drives his behavior in the scene.

Day #9 - "A Fair Trade"

CARSON HILL, formerly a lawyer, now opening a cowboy saloon out west
EMMA HOLLOWAY, a runaway slave
~~~

(CARSON is closing up his bar at the end of the night. As he cleans up, he hears a knocking. He pauses a moment and listens. The knocking comes again.)

CARSON: Sorry, we’re closed.

EMMA: (Off-stage) Just need a moment! Please!

(CARSON exits briefly, as if going to a door, and backs up onto the stage as EMMA enters, dressed in tatters. He stares at her.)

EMMA: Beg pardon for pushing in. Just that I’m mortal hungry. I thought a body could have a bite here.

(CARSON stares.)

EMMA: I ain’t got three heads.

CARSON: Oh! Forgive me, I… I, uh… there isn’t much I’ve only just opened up… but, uh…

(He searches behind the bar and digs up some biscuits.)

CARSON: The sheriff’s wife brought these. You’re welcome to them.

(EMMA takes them after a moment and begins to eat. CARSON watches her with trepidation.)

EMMA: I’ve got money.

CARSON: Oh— no, no.

EMMA: I pay my way!

CARSON: It isn’t that.

EMMA: Ain’t you never seen a negro before? We eat the same as anybody.

CARSON: No— it’s just been a while. I mean… I never met one in Reston before.

EMMA: I’m new out west.

CARSON: How did you come here?

EMMA: On the boat that come through the canal.

CARSON: Is that so? That’s… that’s a long way. What brings you here?

EMMA: Same reason as all folks, I reckon. Making a new start.

(Pause.)

EMMA: You’re awful curious.

CARSON: I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrogate.

EMMA: I be moving on soon.

CARSON: Moving on? Do you have any place to stay?

EMMA: Never you mind.

CARSON: No… it’s only… it’s a rough place out there. To have nowhere to go.

EMMA: I make my way.

CARSON: I’m sure.

(He paces off, then rushes back over to her.)

CARSON: You want a job?

EMMA: Beg pardon?

CARSON: If you don’t have anywhere else to go, you might work here.

EMMA: Don’t need your charity, I’m sure.

CARSON: I could use the help. I’m new out west too, and new to keeping a
place like this. Can you cook?

EMMA: Yep.

CARSON: Well, I can’t. Can you serve up a plate?

EMMA: Course I can.

CARSON: The bar could use a maid. You seem like you can meet a hard day’s work.

EMMA: Harder than you ever.

CARSON: I don’t doubt that. I’ll pay you a fair wage, and you can stay here if you like.

EMMA: Why you so hot to have me?

CARSON: I think we both could use a fair trade. Just… trying to do something right.

(EMMA considers.)

EMMA: I could take a fair wage.

CARSON: Thanks very much, miss… I don’t even know your name.

EMMA: Emma.

CARSON: Good to have you, Emma. The name’s Hill. Carson Hill.

(After a moment, he extends his hand to shake, uncertainly. She regards it, then warily reaches out and takes it.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #8 "Rich Men's Sins"

As you may remember from The Tailor of Riddling Way, the golden boy of the Loring family Rowan Loring enlisted in World War I despite all expectations. I have been wondering if maybe there is a play in the story of what happened to him there. I haven't given much thought before to the details, although it is well known that he died a hero. This is a little piece of what it might have been like when he was serving. I'm not sure what the larger arc would be-- it may be that he would have to be a supporting character in someone else's story --but here's a little musing.

Day #8 - "Rich Men's Sins"

ROWAN LORING, an enlisted officer in WWI
HENRY MORSE, his aide
~~~

HENRY: You’ll be along with us?

ROWAN: Of course. Can’t just throw you all to the wolves, can I?

(HENRY sighs.)

ROWAN: Do you have something to say, soldier?

HENRY: Nothing you care to hear, sir.

ROWAN: Still. You seem damn determined that I hear it any way. So out with it and enough of this.

(Pause.)

HENRY: You ought not to be here, sir.

ROWAN: Is that so?

HENRY: Since you asked, sir.

ROWAN: Have I been such an incompetent commander as that?

HENRY: It’s not that, so much. Might not be if you could sit in an armchair at headquarters and write letters to the front.

ROWAN: I’m afraid that’s rather above my grade. I’m stuck here on the front with the rest of the fellows.

HENRY: But you’re not one of the fellows, are you?

(Pause.)

HENRY: You’re a rich man accustomed to a soft life. It’s a rougher turn for you than it is for the rest of us.

(Pause.)

HENRY: I’m out of turn.

ROWAN: Perhaps. But you’re not wrong. I’m sorry it’s so, but I don’t disagree.

HENRY: Then… why are you here?

ROWAN: We all have to do our part, don’t we? What would you think of a rich man who used his place so that regular fellows could die in his stead?

HENRY: I suppose.

ROWAN: But you’d prefer I not drag you all down, eh?

HENRY: I don’t mean it like that. It’s only… we’re all in the line, here. There’s danger enough without having the skills to take it on.

ROWAN: I couldn’t just stay out of it all.

HENRY: It goes both ways, I’m sure. There had to be something a rich man can do that the rest of us couldn’t.

ROWAN: That’s the trouble. There are some sins that only rich men can do.

HENRY: Sins, sir?

ROWAN: And how are we to pay for them, Henry? With money? When men around us are dying for them?

HENRY: I don’t know what you mean, sir.

ROWAN: It’s no matter. Just that no one escapes what’s coming to us. Might as well meet it as best we can.

(He stands.)

ROWAN: Tell the men I’ll be along, won’t you?

(He exits.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #6 - "Good Night, Night Vale"

So today's piece is basically just a short Welcome to Night Vale fan fiction. I enjoy the show, though it's not grabbing me as hard as I hoped it would. I like the dryness, the subject matter, and the presence of a sweet, matter-of-fact, low-key queer crush. I do not like how loud the background music usually is, and I really am not feeling the musical interludes; I usually just skip over them.

I'm only six episodes in, so I'm not sure if this is consistent with the whole of the established story, or if I'm repeating any ideas they use later, but I felt like doing something in that style today, so I decided what the hell. I made a list of a handful of creepy things I could use in the humorous Night Vale style and gave it a shot. I hope you find it funny, particularly if you like the show.

Reading it over now, I actually think I did a pretty good job with this. Also, I got to make up the word "megalocoons."

Day #6 - "Good Night, Night Vale"

CECIL: And now for a short evening edition of our program. After all, night is a special time to our quaint desert hamlet, as it gives us our name, as well as a blissful ignorance of all the unfathomable terrors that its all-concealing veil encompasses.

Night Vale is now in the midst of the migratory season for what biologist Dr. Edmund Droop at the Crucian University identifies as “megalocoons,” an oversized cousin of the common opossum. These “megalocoons” may be identified by their high-pitched, blood-curdling squeals, their hairless, whip-like tails, and the unearthly luminosity of their glowing red eyes. You may be disquieted by the megalocoon’s uncanny resemblance to housecat-sized sewer rats, but Dr. Droop says if you are close enough to observe this, you are likely to not survive long enough to be disquieted. If you hear something digging around in your trash cans this summer, do not approach with a garden hose— leave them, your trash cans are already lost. Otherwise, sleep easily as their sonorous gurgling hiss soothes you off to dreamland.

As the weather’s gotten warmer, there seems to be an increase in the number of arcane arrangements of sticks and other assorted whicker fetishes found out in the dunes. The nature of these carefully constructed bundles is unknown, though several theories have been put forth. Some believe they are part of an outdated prank staged by local teenagers armed with too much weed and a cheap camcorder. Some believe they are the anchor points of an elaborate web of unholy power that is slowly being woven over the town. Some have drawn a connection between these and the recent uptick in missing housepets, but that could of course be related to the megalocoons. In any case, local music fans with the inclination to turn them into bonfires at a festival are hereby cautioned, in the event that it angers any local practitioners of the forbidden arts.

Finally, rumors spread of a secret population of monstrous, mutated humanoids living beneath us in the sewers. They are supposed to have either been victims of caustic chemical exposure from the explosion at the chemical plant, or when popular regional soft drink Cactus Nectar changed its formula. They were then driven underground, able to bear neither society’s revulsion at their hideousness, nor the light of the scorching desert son. Now they seethe beneath us, building a new social order based on self-loathing and churning resentment of our rejection of them, as well as our beautiful, unblemished forms. These remain, of course, in the realm only of urban legend. On an unrelated note, Mayor Pamela Winchell has begun directing a portion of her campaign resources to targeting what she refers to as “underserviced subterranean constituencies.”

And that concludes our short evening broadcast. Remember, while a leopard can’t change his spots, all cats are gray in the dark.

Good night, Night Vale.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #5 - "Chasseur"

This piece is to introduce a character I've had in mind for a while now, a ballet-themed superhero called Chasseur that would be an addition to my superhero universe. I'm considering calling it "Vantage" after the name of the fictional city it takes place in. It was surprisingly hard to figure out how to present, until it occurred to me stage it as a conversation with Bantam, questioning his credentials to be a superhero. It helped up the conflict a little bit. This needs much more shaping to be a full ten-minute play, but it has a lot of really fun, funny ideas in it that I would like to develop later.

Also, sharp-eyed readers may note, he can only do TEN consecutive pirouettes. He may be a superhero, but he's still not Baryshnikov. ;-)

Day #5 - "Chasseur"

BANTAM, a rooster-themed brawler superhero, mid twenties
CHASSEUR, a ballet-themed superhero, mid twenties
~~~

(Two superheroes, BANTAM and CHASSEUR, hang out on a rooftop.)

BANTAM: Doesn’t that mean… “shoe”?

CHASSEUR: Your schoolboy French fails you. I’m “Chasseur,” not “chaussure.” It means “hunter.”

BANTAM: You don’t sound French to me.

CHASSEUR: I’m not. It’s just most of the terms in ballet are. I thought that was the most intimidating derivation I could come up with.

BANTAM: Everybody’s going to think your name is “Shoe.”

CHASSEUR: Big talk from somebody called after a chicken.

BANTAM: Of course, if you’re going for intimidating, it’s not like ballet gives you a lot to work with.

CHASSEUR: What’s that?

BANTAM: Well, I mean, you know…

CHASSEUR: Are you implying that ballet is, how do you say, for sissies?

BANTAM: Oh, no. I’m sure it’s really tough to get good at. But come on, it’s not like—

CHASSEUR: Boxing? Like what you do?

BANTAM: It teaches you to take a hit, that’s for sure. Can’t be a wuss for that.

CHASSEUR: And you think you can to dance ballet?

BANTAM: Well—

CHASSEUR: They’re more like superheroes than boxers.

BANTAM: Oh, bullshit.

CHASSEUR: No kidding.

BANTAM: Boxers fight! Superheroes have to be able to.

CHASSEUR: You might laugh, but you know nothing. It’s actually the perfect synergy between jobs.

BANTAM: How do you figure?

CHASSEUR: Since I was seven years old, I’ve spent of my time training my body to endure punishing physical challenges and to perform exceptional athletic feats. In fact, you could almost view it as a form of cross-training. You can bet that when I’m leaping for my life, I’m leaping pretty damn high.

BANTAM: It takes more than being fit.

CHASSEUR: My skill set lends itself very nicely too! Like, how about grabbing hold of damsels and carrying them off over your head, or throwing them into the air?

BANTAM: Well— the average woman you’re going to rescue is going to weigh more than a ballerina—

CHASSEUR: And can you kick high enough to nail a minion square in the jaw?

BANTAM: Still. That doesn’t make you tough.

CHASSEUR: Oh, yeah? Try doing all that for three solid hours and finishing on ten consecutive pirouettes.

(Pause.)

CHASSEUR: And, hey! I’m used to working in tights!

(He laughs.)

CHASSEUR: Anyway. The point I’m getting at is, when you’re in costume— two words. Dance. Belt. It’ll change everything.

(He pats BANTAM on the shoulder.)

CHASSEUR: You’ll thank me later.

(He leaps out.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #4 - "Worth a Crack or Two"

Today's piece is a scene that could be incorporated into the first sequel to Mrs. Hawking. As I've said, I think Nathaniel is going to want to get more involved in helping Mrs. Hawking. But he's got a lot to learn, not just about her business, but also about how to work effectively with women. He's got a lot of cultural prejudices that will have to be whacked out of him-- perhaps literally, in this scene. But it's the first step to him figuring out what his unique skills and contribution can be, the way he can actually be something truly useful to the endeavor.


Day #4 - "Worth a Crack or Two"

MRS. VICTORIA HAWKING, avenger of downtrodden women
MARY STONE, her housemaid and assistant
NATHANIEL HAWKING, her nephew with ambitions to help her
~~~

MARY: I say, Nathaniel— is that a bruise?
NATHANIEL: Oh, this? It’s nothing, I assure you.
MARY: Nothing? You look as if you’ve taken quite a bash!
MRS. HAWKING: Wherever did you get that?
NATHANIEL: Just— from sport.
MRS. HAWKING: Sport? Taken up boxing, have you?
NATHANIEL: As a matter of fact.
MRS. HAWKING: Surely you’re joking.
NATHANIEL: Not at all, Auntie.
MARY: Why on earth have you done that?
NATHANIEL: Well— if you must know— it’s to make myself more useful to you. So I can handle myself and lend another arm if things come to it!
MRS. HAWKING: Nathaniel. Going a few rounds of gentleman’s boxing is hardly going to ready you for the sort of roughs we encounter.
NATHANIEL: It isn’t right to just hang back and leave it to you ladies. What kind of man would that make me?
MRS. HAWKING: Ha!
NATHANIEL: Go ahead and laugh. But how do you think I feel, knowing the two of you are putting yourselves in danger and I’m not fit to help you?
MRS. HAWKING: I don’t think you quite understand. There are no Marquess of Queensbury rules when you’re fighting for your life.
NATHANIEL: Even Mary’s had to handle herself. And she just a girl!
MARY: Sir!
NATHANIEL: No offense intended, Mary. But if you can swing that poker surely I’m worth a crack or two.
(MARY looks to MRS. HAWKING, who sighs.)
MRS. HAWKING: Very well, then, Nathaniel. If you mean to have a go, have a go at me.
NATHANIEL: I beg your pardon?
MRS. HAWKING: If you think you’re fit to take on a real threat. Take on me.
NATHANIEL: I say, Auntie, how could I?
MRS. HAWKING: If you’d like to cast yourself into the fray, you ought to know what you’re up against. Show me what
you’re made of.
NATHANIEL: I don’t know—
MRS. HAWKING: Take his coat, Mary.
(He and MARY look at each other a moment. Then he shakes his head and throws up his hands. She steps forward and he shrugs out of his jacket. She places it aside as he begins turning up his shirt cuffs.)
MRS. HAWKING: Now come on!
(Uncertainly, NATHANIEL puts his fists and advances on her. He takes a few swings, which she dodges easily, even walking backward.)
MRS. HAWKING: Is that all? You must do better than that!
(NATHANIEL starts punching in earnest, but still she evades him easily. At last he throws himself at her, and she moves like lightning, landing a sound blow almost too fast to see that knocks him to the ground.)
MRS. HAWKING: And if you can’t, you’d best keep out of the way.
(She exits. MARY rushes over to NATHANIEL as he pulls himself up off the ground.)
NATHANIEL: Well, I’ve made a fool of myself.
MARY: Oh, not at all.
NATHANIEL: Go on.
MARY: She’s been in training for years.
NATHANIEL: And made short work of me.
MARY: For my part, I think it’s quite noble of you. That you’re not content to hang back out of harm’s way.
NATHANIEL: Still, perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I’m not cut out for this.
MARY: It’s not all knives and brawling, you know. Even she does more planning and creeping than fighting.
NATHANIEL: I did so want to make myself of use to her.
MARY: And so you will. Who knows, Nathaniel? We may run up against something that only you can do. We’ll just have to find out what it is.
(Pause. Then NATHANIEL laughs.)
NATHANIEL: That was quite a belt she gave me. I wonder how long she's wanted to do that.

31 Plays in 31 Days: #3 - "For Her"

Today's piece goes to that source of inspiration that served me so well the first time around, drawing from the backstory of The Stand. This is an attempt at doing a better job at a scene that would have appeared in Sally and Deadeye, my original thesis piece that for whatever reason wasn't working the first time I tried to write it. (As you'll recall, I ended up abandoning it in favor of writing Mrs. Loring.) But I think it could still possibly be salvaged, especially since I'm no longer morbidly depressed. So, without looking at my original draft, I redid this scene from whole cloth. This is rough and rushed, but it's a stab.

This is extremely spoilerly for The Stand, just as a warning. It follows sometime after No Clean Break, a ten-minute I wrote in my first semester of grad school, which has had several readings now and is considered to be one of my more successful pieces.

Also, surprising no one, it features of one my more common Author Tropes.

Day #3 - "For Her"

FLORA JOHANSSON, formerly an outlaw, now seeking refuge in a convent
SISTER ESME, a nun at the convent
~~~

(FLORA sits up in bed, still tired and disheveled from giving birth, holding her newborn baby. Enter SISTER ESME.)

SISTER ESME: How is the little one?

FLORA: She’s sleeping now.

SISTER ESME: She is a pretty little thing.

FLORA: She is. God bless her. More than I deserve.

SISTER ESME: And how are you, miss?

FLORA: Tired is all.

SISTER ESME: Glad to hear. We’ll talk after you’ve had a rest.

(She turns to go again.)

FLORA: Talk? About what?

SISTER ESME: About what your plans are.

FLORA: My plans?

SISTER ESME: Now that the baby’s come.

FLORA: Oh. I reckon you’ve got rules about keeping babies here.

SISTER ESME: It’s only… there’s a great deal a baby needs besides a home.

FLORA: No mistake. I suppose… I haven’t thought so much of it.

SISTER ESME: You know, we’ve helped many a fatherless baby find their place in the world.

FLORA: What are you saying, marm?

SISTER ESME: We’ll talk when you’ve rested.

FLORA: No. We’ll talk now.

(The sister sighs.)

SISTER ESME: It is a shame for a child to go without a family. We could find her one.

(Pause.)

FLORA: You want me to give her up? Let you… find her some nice mama and papa to take her away?

SISTER ESME: It’s a choice you might consider.

FLORA: She’s my baby. I’m her mother!

SISTER ESME: Just as you say. And as her mother, you’ve got to do the best for her.

FLORA: How can I do that if I give her up?

SISTER ESME: There are decent people you could trust her to. Them who won’t trouble if she hasn’t gotten a father or a name or a place in the world. For they have them to give to her.

FLORA: You folks do that a lot? Find respectable wedded couples to raise babies?

SISTER ESME: Very often. We’ve saved many unwanted babies that way.

FLORA: She ain’t unwanted!

SISTER ESME: I know, child. But you must ask yourself what you can provide for her.

FLORA: I can care for her. I can love her.

SISTER ESME: So you can. But it’s a hard world for a little one with no home and no father to look after him.

FLORA: And a mama what lived how I lived.

(Pause.)

FLORA: And you think that what I ought to do?

SISTER ESME: It’s your decision. We’ll abide by it.

(FLORA begins to cry.)

FLORA: You don’t understand, sister. I gave up… everything. My whole life.

SISTER ESME: You were right brave.

FLORA: I need something to hold to, sister. Something to make it not all some crying waste. She’s all I got now. Sure I
mustn’t… give her up too?

SISTER ESME: Flora, what did you do it for?

FLORA: Why, for her. Why else?

SISTER ESME: Why else, indeed?

(Pause.)

SISTER ESME: You needn’t decide anything now. You best get your rest. We’ll talk more later.

(Exit SISTER ESME. FLORA holds her baby close.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #2 - "Like a Loss"

So I am doing it. I am giving you all the first-ever first person look at the most speculated-upon character in the Mrs. Hawking universe, the late Colonel Reginald Prescott Hawking. I am not sure, in the grand scheme of the story, if it's better to always leave you guessing about him or if your desire to know more about him should be fulfilled, but for scribbling purposes it's all right.

One big question regarding the Hawkings' relationship is how they interacted given the huge amount of silence, secrecy, and distance between them, and the one-sided nature of the affection. It's a little hard for me to conceive of, as it's tough to imagine how little talking and communication there would have to be to allow that, but this scene is my attempt to show a bit of how it might have been. I may decide later this is not entirely canon, but it's a stab at figuring it out.

Also, I've been watching Downton Abbey so this sort of master-servant relationship is in my head right now. I think, after the Colonel's death, Mrs. Hawking got rid of Chapman so fast it made his head spin. Which did nothing to improve his opinion of her. I think he works for Nathaniel or maybe Ambrose or Justin now, but he's still bitter.

This is somewhat spoilery for Mrs. Hawking.

Day #2 - "Like a Loss"

THE COLONEL, Reginald Prescott Hawking, mid-thirties
CHAPMAN, his batman and valet, early thirties

~~~

(CHAPMAN sits in the dressing room, brushing a top hat. He stands when his master THE COLONEL enters.)

THE COLONEL: Evening, Chapman.

CHAPMAN: Good evening, sir.

THE COLONEL: I think I’ll turn in now.

CHAPMAN: Very good, sir.

(He takes THE COLONEL’s tailcoat and helps him undress.)

CHAPMAN: If I might ask… any better today, sir?

THE COLONEL: Much the same, really.

CHAPMAN: I’m sorry to hear it.

THE COLONEL: I expect it shall be for some time now.

(CHAPMAN makes a face as he assists THE COLONEL.)

THE COLONEL: I know that look.

CHAPMAN: What look, sir?

THE COLONEL: Come off it, now.

CHAPMAN: It’s not my place to say, sir.

THE COLONEL: Perhaps not, but you needn’t say at all. I know you don’t approve of her.

CHAPMAN: Sir! I would never presume—

THE COLONEL: Of course, of course. But you can’t pretend to me that you like her.

CHAPMAN: Forgive me, Colonel.

THE COLONEL: For what? You’re not required to. Still. You’ll not judge her for this.

CHAPMAN: It’s not that, sir. Not precisely.

THE COLONEL: After that, she can do whatever she damn well likes.

CHAPMAN: It’s only… what about you, sir?

THE COLONEL: What about me?

CHAPMAN: He was your son, too.

(THE COLONEL tenses and turns away. CHAPMAN is chagrined.)

CHAPMAN: Forgive me, sir. I shouldn’t speak of it.

(Pause.)

THE COLONEL: I don’t know why it should hit me so hard. These things happen all the time. To some people, over and over again. Nothing to be done.

CHAPMAN: It’s normal to mourn a loss.

THE COLONEL: Strange, though, to call it that. We never really had him to lose, did we?

CHAPMAN: Still. It feels a loss, to you.

THE COLONEL: That’s just it, Chapman. If it feels a loss to me… what must it be to her? She would have been his mother, for God’s sake. If I feel like… like this… what must it be like for her?

(Pause.)

THE COLONEL: Tell me, Chapman, how can I ask anything of her now?

(He pulls on his robe.)

THE COLONEL: That’ll be all now, old boy.

(CHAPMAN bows and exits, leaving THE COLONEL there alone.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #1 - "Believing in Heroes"

And we begin with 31 Plays in 31 Days 2013! To start things off, I wrote a piece I've had planned for some time now. It was inspired by this piece, Work-Life Balance, where two superheroes Bantam and Wondra commiserate over how tough it can be leading the life of a superhero. It was performed in New York last December in a short play festival.

Though very unpolished, I like the idea of this piece as an expansion of this little universe that I mean to build up as an amusing parody of the superhero genre. It was interesting because I wrote a complete outline of this piece ages ago but never got around to writing it. It made for a smooth process of at least getting the bones of the piece written. I think I should go to the trouble to outline first more often.

Wish me luck this month!

Day #1 - "Believing in Heroes"

OLIVIA, a young woman, mid-twenties
MATTHEW, her boyfriend, secretly the superhero Bantam, mid-twenties
WONDRA, another superhero, early thirties
~~~

(OLIVIA sits alone in her apartment, trying to read a magazine, but she is annoyed and distracted. She keeps sighing, checking her watch, impatiently waiting.)

OLIVIA: Quarter till? Seriously?

(She tries to go back to her magazine, but is so irritated she can’t focus.)

OLIVIA: Where is he already?

(She considers, then takes out her cell phone. She dials and puts the phone to her ear. After a moment she is surprised to hear the sound of another phone ringing. She looks around and discovers the phone she is calling has been left there on the table.)

OLIVIA: Seriously!?

(She hangs up and slams her phone down in frustration. She slumps back in her chair. After a moment, the second phone starts ringing. She stares at it, then decides to pick it up and answer it.)

OLIVIA: Matthew Christopher’s phone.

(Lights up on WONDRA on the other side of the stage, crouching on a block as if on the edge of a building, cell phone to her ear.)

WONDRA: Um, hi. Who is this?

OLIVIA: This is his girlfriend.

WONDRA: Oh! Oh, geez.

OLIVIA: Who is this?

WONDRA: Oh, it’s— nobody. Don’t worry about it.

OLIVIA: Is there something you wanted?

WONDRA: Um, well, yeah, but— can you just tell him that— W called?

OLIVIA: W?

WONDRA: Yeah.

OLIVIA: No problem. Sure thing.

(She hangs up abruptly. Lights down on a nonplussed WONDRA staring at her phone. OLIVIA tosses MATTHEW’s phone away and begins pacing, angry and upset.)

(At long last, MATTHEW enters, rushed and stressed out, with a huge backpack on his back.)

MATTHEW: Hey! Finally back.

OLIVIA: Where were you?

(He swings his backpack down off of his shoulder and tosses it on the ground.)

MATTHEW: I’m sorry I’m late, traffic was hell on the pike.

OLIVIA: You’re always late anymore.

MATTHEW: I know, I’m sorry. But if I change quickly we can still make our reservation.

(He starts to exit.)

OLIVIA: Who’s W?

(He stops in his tracks and turns around.)

MATTHEW: What?

OLIVIA: Who is W?

MATTHEW: I don’t know what you mean.

OLIVIA: She called. You left your phone on the table.

MATTHEW: I did? Oh, shit.

(He rushes to get it.)

OLIVIA: She wouldn’t give me her name. She just wanted me to tell you W called.

MATTHEW: Oh! W. Yeah, she’s a friend.

OLIVIA: Oh, yeah? Then why wouldn’t she give her name?

MATTHEW: I don’t know.

OLIVIA: You don’t know?

MATTHEW: No, I don’t. Is something wrong?

OLIVIA: What is her name, then?

MATTHEW: Are you mad at me?

OLIVIA: For Christ’s sake, Matthew!

MATTHEW: Is this because I’m late? Look, I really sorry about that—

OLIVIA: Are you having an affair?

MATTHEW: What!?

OLIVIA: Tell me, Matthew.

MATTHEW: Of course I’m not! That’s crazy! Why would you think that?

OLIVIA: Oh, come on. You’re always late to everything, and you always have some lame excuse for why. And now you’re getting anonymous phone calls from women who won’t tell me who they are? What am I supposed to think?

MATTHEW: That’s not what happening.

(She snatches up his phone and goes through it.)

OLIVIA: Oh, my God! She calls you all the time! And you’re going to lie to me about her!?

MATTHEW: She’s a friend. We— we work together! Sort of.

OLIVIA: Then why haven’t I heard of her before?

MATTHEW: It’s— it’s complicated.

OLIVIA: Complicated how?

MATTHEW: You wouldn’t understand.

OLIVIA: What wouldn’t I understand!?

(Pause.)

OLIVIA: I’m losing my mind here. Tell me the truth, Matthew.

MATTHEW: All right. All right.

(He takes a deep breath, and steels himself. He turns away from her.)

MATTHEW: The truth is, W… is Wondra.

OLIVIA: Wondra. The superhero.

MATTHEW: Yeah.

OLIVIA: The superhero who leaps from the rooftops and karate-kicks bad guys.

MATTHEW: That’s the one.

OLIVIA: And why would Wondra be calling you?

MATTHEW: Well, that’s the big thing… it’s because I’m a superhero too.

(OLIVIA stares.)

MATTHEW: You might have heard of me. Bantam. The… the brawler. With the fighting rooster theme. Wondra and I work together sometimes.

(Beat.)

MATTHEW: I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’ve been doing it a while now, before we started dating. And I didn’t know how you would react, and we have to keep our identities secret, and well… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

(Beat.)

MATTHEW: Please, Olivia. Please say something.

OLIVIA: No.

MATTHEW: Excuse me?

OLIVIA: No. No, I don’t believe you.

MATTHEW: But it’s true!

OLIVIA: How stupid do you think I am?

MATTHEW: Why would I say something like that if it weren’t true?

OLIVIA: I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.

MATTHEW: But… you said it yourself, you’re starting to see the evidence. And not just that I’m late everywhere, or that I’m hard to get hold of. Why do you think I’m listening to that police scanner all the time?

OLIVIA: You inherited that from your dad.

MATTHEW: What about all the bruises I have?

OLIVIA: You’re a boxer, they’re from fights at the gym.

MATTHEW: They’re from the fights with bad guys!

OLIVIA: Oh, Jesus, why are you doing this to me!?

MATTHEW: Olivia, I swear to you, I’m telling you the truth! Look!

(He grabs his backpack, ribs it open, and pulls out his Bantam costume. He holds it up to show to her.)

MATTHEW: This is my costume! You have to have seen it in the newspapers before. Look at it, Olivia! It’s the real thing! Why would I be carrying this around if it weren’t true?

(Pause.)

MATTHEW: Why can’t you believe me?

OLIVIA: It doesn’t make any sense.

MATTHEW: Why?

OLIVIA: Because! Because… you can’t be a superhero. You just can’t be.

MATTHEW: Why is that?

OLIVIA: You’re not like that.

MATTHEW: Like what!?

OLIVIA: Like… a hero!

(He stares at her.)

OLIVIA: Superheroes are… powerful and strong, and they go out and risk their lives for people! They take crazy risks, and they’re not afraid. They’re heroes! And I— and I—

MATTHEW: And you don’t believe that could be me.

(She stops short but says nothing.)

MATTHEW: I can understand that you thought I was having an affair. But to think that of me… that hurts way more.

(He storms out. OLIVIA collapses into a chair, head in her hands.)

(After a moment, MATTHEW’s phone starts ringing again on the table. OLIVIA stares at it. Lights up on WONDRA perched on the far side of the stage again. Tentatively OLIVIA picks it up and answers it, but says nothing.)

WONDRA: Hello? Hello, is anyone there?

(Beat.)

WONDRA: Hello?

(Beat.)

OLIVIA: Wondra?

(WONDRA gasps.)

WONDRA: Who is this?

(OLIVIA startles and hangs up the phone. Lights down on WONDRA. OLIVIA sits frozen in the chair a moment. Then, slowly, her shocked gaze turns in the direction of where MATTHEW exited.)