The Scene: A school stage, after hours. Two sixthform (17ish) students are in the remains of school uniform (smartish shirt/trousers, Shirt is undone at the neck) rehersing for a performance this evening
- Ian
-
“What? Arms across? Worthy? Methinks you should hold them open when a friend’s so near.
The man has got the vapours in his ears. I must expell this meloncolly spirit..”.
Damn. I’m going to have to start that one again. Starting positions.
- Ian
- Si? The lack of response to your first name is only slightly more strange than your failure to pick up on the orignial mistake. But not by much. Simon? The man has got the bloody vapours in his ears. SIMON!
- Simon
- Hmm?
- Ian
- It lives! It breathes! It is alive, I say, Alive!
- Simon
- Ian, old chap
- Ian
- Yes frankenstien?
- Simon
- Go find a cliff to throw yourself off
- Ian
- Aha. So you are alive after all, I was begining to wonder if I wasn’t going to have to do this thing this evening by myself. What’s wrong?
- Simon
- Nothing that can be classed as new
- Ian
- Ha. So we are doing the wrong play then
- Simon
- And what play should we be doing?
- Ian
- Why, As You Like It, by old WS,
‘From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth being mounted on the wind
Though all the world bears Rosalind‘
That is, I assume, your major problem.
- Simon
- Furthest thing from my mind
- Ian
- Do we detect the foul stench of falsehood from my friend? I belive we do
- Simon
- Ha. Shall we go back to As You Like It then?
‘All the world is a stage,
And all the man and women are merely players
They each have their entrances and their exits,
and one man in his life plays many parts
- Ian
- Nah, Skip to
‘…and then the Lover,
Sighing like a furnace, with a woefull ballard,
Made to his mistriss’ eyebrow;‘
That’s your problem then. You are identifying with the depressingness of Jaques, whilst I am going for the lightness of Touchstone
- Simon
- The Rosalind poetry was by Orlando, and spoken by Rosalind herself
- Ian
- Pedantry is the last resort of the losing party. The point is still valid, you are mooning over yonder fair maiden, instead of doing something about it
- Simon
- There are complications
- Ian
- She’s female. There always are, It goes with the terror
- Simon
- You mean territory
- Ian
- I know what I mean
- Simon
- She is a friend, I don’t want to spoil that
- Ian
- So you prefer to moan about it to me, yes?
- Simon
- It’s an easier option
- Ian
- Come on, lets get back to this scene. We only have a few hours left before curtian. It’ll take your mind off it
- Simon
- You mean this scene? This scene were two friends are discussing My charector’s love life, or lack of it, because he hasn’t tried hard enough in your Charecters opinion?
- Ian
- Yes. ‘Tis indeed the picture of Worthy, but the life…
- Simon
- Where they then go on to discuss your charector’s love life, which is being hampered only by your complete and total stubboness. I mean your charectors, obviously
- Ian
- Shut up. ‘But the life has departed. What? Arm’s Across…
- Simon
- And correct me if I’m wrong, But the stubbonness in question is on the inability of one party to do an action. Good morning Mr Pot, Can I help you?
- Ian
- I told you to Shut Up. And besides, there are complications on this too. You don’t know what you are talking about.
- Simon
- No, Mr Plume, I have no idea. Mainly because every time I enquire as unto the name of this Miraculous Helen, this Misstriss of Troy, This Slivia to your captian Plume, Juilet to your Romeo, Jessica to your Roger Rabbit, I am so vigourously repulsed, that I dispair of ever finding…
- Ian
- OK, alright. For fuck’s sake, It’s Rosalind.
- Long Pause
- Simon
- Have you ever had a moment, an instant which seems to drag on for hours, an event of such earth-shattering magnetude that it would take you days to see the extent of it? A point when you can see the world shatter into equal pieces and fall away from you. And you stand, in blackness, and in total deprevation of reality, stripped of all the layers of cotten wool designed to insulate you from the real world. You can analize every insult two of your friends have directed at each other, every conversation they have had with each other, and with you, that you have been party to. And woe betide that you should find something. and at that point, all your elequonce, all your studied phrases and dramatic emphasis will leave you. Everything will leave you. a broken shell.
You bastard. - Simon
- ‘You absolute and total and utter fucking bastard. So you have been egging me on for the past two fucking years to ask out your fucking Girlfriend?
- Ian
- She isn’t my girlfriend. She refused to go out with me until I told you
- Simon
- Nice to know she was thinking of me
- Ian
- Don’t be like that.
- Simon
- Like what? Like fucking what? Like I’ve just been betrayed by my two best fucking friends?
- Ian
- There was no fucking involved
- Simon
- Shut the fuck up! And when were you going to tell me? When were you going to pop the bubble and actually do what Rose…
…that’s it, isn’t it. That’s what this mysterious friend of yours wanted. The Canyon in your relationship. The thing you had to do before it went any further. Fucking Jesus! I’ve spent the last two weeks counsuling you to ruin my fucking life!
- Ian
- But I didn’t
- Simon
- No. You carried on stringing me along. You were still trying to get me to ask her out three minutes ago! Why? Why continue? So that I found out from her lips rather than yours?
- Ian
- Yes
- Simon
- What?
- Ian
- I knew how much Rose meant to you…
- Simon
- …Means to me. But carry on…
- Ian
- alright, Means to you. So I couldn’t tell you. I’ve been trying for weeks now
- Simon
- how… how long has this been going on for?
- Ian
- It’s three weeks since she told me. Three weeks since she gave me the ultimatium
- Simon
- And how long have you been seeing Rosalind for?
- Ian
- I told you, she refused to see me properly until I..
- Simon
- Don’t fuck with the words, Ian
- Ian
- A month tomorrow. Simon. Simon! You can’t go now!
- Simon
- Yes, actually, I fucking can. Exit, stage right. Exuant Omnes. Pursued by a bear-stard, like as not.
- Ian
- Where are you going?
- Simon
- I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I get there
- Ian
- But… The Performance?