a Clashing Black audio production
in conjunction with Goth Mafia
script by Ian Ton
|page 1, 2 ,3, 4, 5, 6
ACT 1 SCENE 2
__Scene II: Feast__
[Background sounds of the street give way to
bar sounds-- people talking, glasses clinking,
etc. Muzak version of Concrete Blonde's "Bloodletting"
dimly in the background.]
Alice: Andrew told me to meet him here for dinner
with his friends. He seems to be late, but
I think that must be his party at that table
over there. What gives it away-- the cloud of
clove smoke around their teased-up, dyed black
hair? The almost familiar whay their eyes
dart over to me? Or the fact that they, too,
are dressed all in black? Hey, you! You in
Monica and Robert (distant): Yes?
Alice (walking sounds): Are you all Andrew's friends?
Monica (close now): When did Andrew get friends?
Robert: Pay no attention to her-- she's just jealous
of Andrew's ability to eat solid food. Yes,
we are Andrew's friends. My name is Robert.
Monica: And I'm Morticia.
Robert: Don't lie.
Monica (glum): I'm Monica.
Alice: Pleased to meet you. I'd shake your hands, but
truth be told, those long, sharp fingernails
Robert: You compliment me too highly.
Monica: Let go of her wrist, Rob.
Robert: I was only looking for a pulse.
Monica: Does she have one?
Robert: And how!
Monica: Well, no one's perfect. Have a seat, Alice, and
we'll see if we can't help you with that problem.
Care for a clove?
Alice: Well, I...
Monica: Oh, go right ahead. It'll be a little while
before Andrew shows up. Might as well get a
head start. Oh, waiter!
Waiter (coughing): Hello? Is anyone at this table?
Robert: Over here! [stumbling sounds] Look, just
follow the light at the end of the clove!
Waiter: Ahem. Good evening. I see we're taking
advantage of the failure of that smoking
ordinance tonight. Can I get anyone some
drinks before they're terminally congested?
Monica: Doctors and waiters-- I'm never sure if
they're trying to speed up or slow down
my trip towards the grave. I'll have a
glass of red wine, Charlie.
Waiter: Would you like a straw with that, or
will you be taking off those plastic fangs?
Monica: The only things plastic around here are
the splints in my corset, Chuck.
Waiter: More than I needed to know. And you sir?
Robert: I'll have a snakebite.
Alice: What's that?
Robert: Half lager, half hard cider.
Waiter: And all expensive, bless you sir. What
will you be having, miss?
Alice: I'll have the same as them.
Robert and Monica: Both?
Alice: Tough day at work.
Waiter: And a night of brilliant company ahead.
Robert: Brilliance?! >>Hissss!<<
Andrew: You've sprung a leak, Robert. I've told you
before, don't nod your head when you're wearing
a spiked collar.
Monica: Andrew! So glad you could make it. We've
just been getting to know Alice and her
Andrew: Hi Alice, sorry I'm late. I hope they
haven't scared you too much.
Alice: Oh no, they haven't.
Monica and Robert: Damn.
Waiter: Your order, sir?
Andrew: Alphabetical, please.
Robert: So, Alice, did Andrew invite you here for us
to cheer you up or so we could feel your pain?
Monica: Wait a minute, I'v got enough pain of my
own. Why should I feel hers, too?
Robert: There's the wind-up...
Andrew: Because your pain is all a sham.
Robert: And the pitch...
Monica: I never touch champagne.
Waiter: Only the finest whines.
Robert: And it's a simple double-word play! Point
to the waiter!
Waiter: Don't point those nails at me.
Andrew: Haven't you got some orders to execute?
Waiter: Those aren't the only things awaiting
Monica, Andrew, and Robert: Sun?! >>Hisssss!<<
Alice: Do all of you work in telemarketing?
Robert: Actually, we mostly met through the club.
Alice: I'm guessing from your heroin-addict physiques
that this wasn't a health-and-fitness club.
Monica: Shame on you, no. *The* club, the Black Planet.
Alice: I've heard of that place. They have raves
there, don't they?
Robert: Urrgh! Only on Saturdays! Friday nights,
it's totally Goth.
Andrew: Ah ah-- Goth *industrial*.
Monica: No, it's *darkwave*.
Alice: I don't understand. Are these musical styles?
Robert: Gothic is not just music. It's a way of life, a
way of death, a passionate feeling--
Waiter: A style of architecture.
Monica: Will you go get our drinks already?
Waiter: I can't find my way out of this cloud of
clove smoke. [Sound of fog horn] Ah, there's
the bar... [withdraws amid scuffling, stumbling]
Alice: So what was that other stuff, "dark industry..."
Monica: "Darkwave" and "Industrial."
Robert: They're sad spin-offs and adopted children
of the original Goth scene.
Monica: Who's the spin-off, you Eddie Munster wannabe?
Andrew: Now, children, don't make me whip the two of
you in public.
Robert and Monica: Ooh, please! Please?!
Alice: So, at this club, everyone dresses in black
and listens to the same type of music?
Andrew: Pretty much.
Robert: But it's not like we're all copies of each other.
Monica: Right. Like I said, there's goths, goth-punks,
industrial goths, New Romantics...
Alice: What are New Romantics?
Robert: New Romantics are also goths.
Monica: ...techno-goths, darkwave...
Andrew: Darkwave is also techno-goth.
Monica: ...and now and then the odd death-metalhead.
Alice: I'm not sure I can tell the difference yet.
But aside from going to the club, and dressing
in black, what do all these labels have in common?
Waiter: Here's your drinks.
ALL: Thank-you! [glasses, drinking, etc]
Andrew: Tell you what, Alice. Why don't you come to the
club with us tonight? Tonight's the annual "Sick-
or-Treat Ball," so the scene will be in full swing.
Rather than have us tell you about all things goth,
you can come experience it for yourself.
Alice: Hmmm. I guess so. I mean, what have I got to lose?
Monica and Robert (laughing evilly): >>Mwu-ha-ha-ha-ha!<<
Alice: Okaaayy... I'll go get ready and meet you guys
there. Um, what should I wear?
Andrew, Monica, Robert: Black.