[We open in what looks like a picturesque terrace cafe. There is a wide sweeping panorama over the sea and lower sections of the city. All sickeningly twee and French in style, made slightly more nauseating by the faint background noise of accordions coming from a street performer's begging act. Carl, Abbey and Isabella are sat looking quite relaxed in this likely peaceful location and, in Isabella's case at the very least, looking a touch drunk. A pair of wine bottles form a sort of tower centre piece, surrounded by wine glass stains, cups and saucers and wine glasses- the remenants of a good few hours. William looks agitated.]
Abbey: Will calm down will you? [To Carl] I cannot believe you.
Carl: A bet is a bet. If he is uable to cope with the effects then that is his own foolish fault.
Isabella [Staring at the ground and absent mindedly playing with her hair]: What was it you took William?
William: Sodio-benza...Phenodihydro...
Carl: Oh stop talking please. He drank a Haffenreffer beer after having boiled it for an hour. It activates the psycoblin.
Abbey: Carl psycoblin is mushrooms, no way does a beer contain it.
Carl: Well that's true. Could have been the mushrooms I added to the mixture for half an hour. Beaumonde special variety- "The Embalmers".
Isabella [Shocked]: Carl! How could you? That's awful, poor Will!
William: Poor Will indeed! Drag him up to a shitty cafe why don't you!
[Carl leans back on his chair and stares upwards with a slight smile. Isabella is surprised Will managed to speak more than anything. We'll ignore Abbey for now- hey she isn't the most attractive of the pair and I have to visualize this whilst typing!]
William: I mean for fuck's sakes! [Picks bottles of the table] The least we could get are some decent condiments
Isabella[Puzzled]: I don't understand...What's wrong with salad dressing?
William: It's less the dressing and more the sweaty opening at the top. Look at the bastard...It looks like someone strapped a black condom over the top.
[Isabella looks slightly disgusted, Carl continues to grin like he is on all the medication at his local doctor's]
William: There is beauty in squalor, but only if you aren't blinded by the growths in the squalor first.
[William turns over to the balcony in a style not too dissimilar from the heroines in cheap fantasy films and cultured art pieces]
William: Hell is thought to be nothing more than a room with a chair in it...And this place has many chairs.
[From the current positioning Carl is now facing the opposite way to William, despite having not moved. His chair is still rocked back and he manages to swivel on one chair leg to face William's rear]
Carl: If you must steal, please be correct in your methodology and be a genius first. Dostoevsky cannot be bastardised like that
William: Oh for heavens sakes Carl, TS Elliot, really? Be a bit more creative next time.
[Carl conceded that point, stopped from continuing provoking a very high indvidual by Abbey choking on a badly timed gulp. There is a pause whilst William pats her on the back]
William: My point is. We live in Beaumonde. If this is not the most cultured place on this earth then I have been living a based my life on poor choices [Carl: Or maybe both?]. If we could get some money, we could renovate this place and have a tourist honeypot! I mean, the view at sunset!
Carl: But that's just it, we have no money. Those who do these things are loan hungry fools and queer-public school sorts, paid for by daddy.
William: Yeah well, if my father was on this side of the country I'd be able to ask for a bit
Carl: If your father was my father you wouldn't get it
Yes I like to make my non-dialogue sections have some style to. I have to read this stuff repeatedly!
Abbey: Will calm down will you? [To Carl] I cannot believe you.
Carl: A bet is a bet. If he is uable to cope with the effects then that is his own foolish fault.
Isabella [Staring at the ground and absent mindedly playing with her hair]: What was it you took William?
William: Sodio-benza...Phenodihydro...
Carl: Oh stop talking please. He drank a Haffenreffer beer after having boiled it for an hour. It activates the psycoblin.
Abbey: Carl psycoblin is mushrooms, no way does a beer contain it.
Carl: Well that's true. Could have been the mushrooms I added to the mixture for half an hour. Beaumonde special variety- "The Embalmers".
Isabella [Shocked]: Carl! How could you? That's awful, poor Will!
William: Poor Will indeed! Drag him up to a shitty cafe why don't you!
[Carl leans back on his chair and stares upwards with a slight smile. Isabella is surprised Will managed to speak more than anything. We'll ignore Abbey for now- hey she isn't the most attractive of the pair and I have to visualize this whilst typing!]
William: I mean for fuck's sakes! [Picks bottles of the table] The least we could get are some decent condiments
Isabella[Puzzled]: I don't understand...What's wrong with salad dressing?
William: It's less the dressing and more the sweaty opening at the top. Look at the bastard...It looks like someone strapped a black condom over the top.
[Isabella looks slightly disgusted, Carl continues to grin like he is on all the medication at his local doctor's]
William: There is beauty in squalor, but only if you aren't blinded by the growths in the squalor first.
[William turns over to the balcony in a style not too dissimilar from the heroines in cheap fantasy films and cultured art pieces]
William: Hell is thought to be nothing more than a room with a chair in it...And this place has many chairs.
[From the current positioning Carl is now facing the opposite way to William, despite having not moved. His chair is still rocked back and he manages to swivel on one chair leg to face William's rear]
Carl: If you must steal, please be correct in your methodology and be a genius first. Dostoevsky cannot be bastardised like that
William: Oh for heavens sakes Carl, TS Elliot, really? Be a bit more creative next time.
[Carl conceded that point, stopped from continuing provoking a very high indvidual by Abbey choking on a badly timed gulp. There is a pause whilst William pats her on the back]
William: My point is. We live in Beaumonde. If this is not the most cultured place on this earth then I have been living a based my life on poor choices [Carl: Or maybe both?]. If we could get some money, we could renovate this place and have a tourist honeypot! I mean, the view at sunset!
Carl: But that's just it, we have no money. Those who do these things are loan hungry fools and queer-public school sorts, paid for by daddy.
William: Yeah well, if my father was on this side of the country I'd be able to ask for a bit
Carl: If your father was my father you wouldn't get it
Yes I like to make my non-dialogue sections have some style to. I have to read this stuff repeatedly!