"Radio Noir"

a Clashing Black audio production
in conjunction with Goth Mafia

script by Ian Ton

page 1, 2 ,3, 4, 5, 6

__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 the black!

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 frighten me.

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 drinking habits.

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 execution, son.

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?

Andrew: Mostly.

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.
Scene 3