|The Quiet Lady
Author: The System Mother PM
PLAY. A play of faeries, bawdy houses, and the misfortunes of men. More whenever I update. For Playwriting class. It will be out of order, probably, as I just load as I write more for it, but the storyline is understandable, and it's entertaining anyway.Rated: Fiction M - English - Fantasy/Supernatural - Chapters: 9 - Words: 14,322 - Favs: 2 - Updated: 11-16-10 - Published: 09-21-10 - id: 2849396
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Midnight, in the deepest center of the Woods of Iggoth. EIST, dressed in a waterlogged grey silk gown, is immersed in a steaming bath within the hollow of a massive overturned mushroom. YIGG lounges directly across from him, dressed in a thin, translucent silken gown. The full moon shoots a few thin beams through the heavy canopies, and the quiet utters of nocturnal creatures carry through the hazy, fragrant air. YIGG produces an elegant parchment from a log side-table, roots growing out from beneath the mushroom, and she presents the scroll to EIST timidly.
YIGG: Atop the canopies I strolled when first the dew was settling, and before me lay the queerest of creatures a'whimpering. Caught between branches: a finch, no bigger than my fist, crying and flapping with this odd work strapped to her back. The script, I could not decipher, and this did cause me to wander; to the frightful edge of Iggoth I did light, and there I have seen a most terrible sight. Great trees of stone erect from the earth, alive with a thousand bustling faces of mirth-
EIST: (silences YIGG with a quick snap of his wrist, and the pressing of two long fingers to his lips. A twitch of irritation comes from the corner of his mouth.) Men, Yigg. (He stands, chucking the parchment angrily back at YIGG.) Glamerless things, sculpted from the fen, laying waste to the symmetry- the ways of our kin.
YIGG: I have heard of no such horror.
EIST: They disrupt the order.
YIGG: They breathe; do they not answer-
EIST: Man is hardly a thing of nature.
YIGG: Then we should be as vapor-
EIST: Unseen. (He steps out of the bath, throwing a dry drape over his own shoulders.)
YIGG: (leaning over the rim) As the steam-
EIST: That rises from this spring.
YIGG and EIST: So shall it be! (They vanish into a silvery fog.)
A wink past midnight in the bustling House d'Elemont, a low-scale bawdy house. CARL HEMING is sat at the bar, clutching a stein of ale in one hand, and a leg of dripping meat in the other. He is handsome for a man of an otherwise unbecoming state, locked in conversation with a particularly large, pig-like woman garbed in a ragged barmaid's dress.
CARL: - an 'e say, 'A crown fer me clutch'a ens, dat dey go far frem dis wretched lace.' An I say, 'A why, a ole clutch an a willin piece'a gold, ye say? Wus da catch?' An 'e say-
PIG LADY: Anuff! Ye a regular plunger, ain'tche- robbin' frightened men a'der honest goods.
CARL: Nah, damson. Ain't a plunger, buh a man wit a sword fer 'ire. In da gud service'a m'righteous lord, Kellington.
PIG LADY: Kellington? Dat man's a high-life scoundrel, ain't nothin' mur; tellin' us ow ta live ar lives (she knocks back a swig of some foul cheap liquor). If'n I culd get buh a momen wit im, give'm a slice'a my words an tell im ta share sum'a dem fine golds and pretty gems wit us workin' lasses. A lady's gah ta luk like a lady, dunch'a tink?
CARL: (winces) A lady... cin 'ave many 'aces, ih seems.
PIG LADY: Ye tell yer righteous ser dat a lady ev Elemont wuld like ta 'ave a word wit 'is lerdship.
CARL: 'ell, I rately dow-
PIG LADY: Wut? (leans in close, eyes slanted with virulence)
CARL: I rately dowt dat 'is righteousness, lerd Duke'a Kelleyshire wud wanna speak wit such a lady.
PIG LADY: Wut ye sayin', plunger?
CARL: Dat a lady a'yer... 'tature... 'uld gain an audence wit me lord.
PIG LADY: (stands, and grabs at CARL's collar) I no a gray minny men 'ew faver a lady a'my 'tature jus righ'.
CARL: (gasping and struggling) A lady a'gray 'rength, ih seems. I ill tall tah meh lord.
PIG LADY: (releases CARL with satisfaction) Dere be wut I like ta 'ere! (she smacks him on the back) A drink fer dah lad! (The bartender, a man of short stature sporting a messy apron slides a flagon of a strong concoction to CARL.)
CARL: Y'know, I really shud geh goin'.
PIG LADY: Ah, den das gud, ey? I cin mosey un oveh ta de estate witcha. Ih de gud lord in?
CARL: (nervously) Y'know, I dun tink so. Dem's noble types deh huntin' folk, an it is deh fith day- I'd tink he out makin' wit deh 'ounds...
PIG LADY: Den I shall go witcha to deh estate, an wait fer deh lolly teh 'turn. (she stands, wiping crumbs and other excess from her dress) I be righ' back. (PIG LADY exits up the nearest flight of stairs.)
CARL: (quickly chugs the concoction and goes to exit the House, when he is stopped by a rather thin lady wearing a tattered gray jacket and stained blouse, her face gaunt and skin still sagging. She blocks CARL's escape) Please move, damson!
GAUNT LADY: I came here... seeking a (sneeze) hay-penny. Fer good virtue, son.
CARL: I 'illy dun 'ave time fer dis.
GAUNT LADY: Spare a penny?
GAUNT LADY: Just one penny?
CARL: (begins to try and shove past, but the PIG LADY is already back down the stairs; CARL acknowledges her with much disdain) Now luk'n wuh ye did.
GAUNT LADY: Running from your lady mister-
CARL: -Heming, miss. Now if'n ye wud 'scuse me- she bein' in no way m'lady!
GAUNT LADY: Just one penny, mister Heming? (she grabs his wrist forcibly)
CARL: Wut d'ya need dis penny fer so bad? (he shuffles around in his pocket, and produces a small copper coin, smacking it into the GAUNT LADY's free hand. She releases him.)
GAUNT LADY: The wood to the west is rich with faery-folk, someone just must snuff them out. I figured, a gift- something beautiful, something that gleams in the sun... something that would hardly be missed-
CARL: (interjects) I 'ready miss it.
GAUNT LADY: A penny is far easier earned than the trust of a faery.
CARL: Righ'. And deh faeries, ye seen dem?
PIG LADY: (interjects) -mm, missah Heming! Ahm 'eady. (The PIG LADY makes her way towards the exit once more.)
CARL: (drudgingly dragging along) Y'know-
PIG LADY: We guin' now. (she comes down to grab CARL's wrist again. CARL and the PIG LADY exit.)
GAUNT LADY: (flipping the penny between her fingers, murmuring) Men, men with their sickly forest and queer mouths. A fuggish race, and our place they shall befoul. Sister, haste, I pray- follow these beasts, and in their abodes you shall stay. Quiet, quiet as the wind- and we shall slide beneath their skin. (The GAUNT LADY leaves.)