A short (short) play by Spoon.

ACT I
Scene One: Two fairly human looking demons are riding in a trolley, low lighting illuminating them. The demon standing against a connecting door, stage right, is STEVE, a lanky man with white-blonde hair and a hooked nose. His eyes are black with white irises, and smoke creeps from his lips though a cigarette is nowhere to be seen. He wears a faded dark green suit, sans tie. The other, JEAN, who is resting in a seat next to the trolley exit, is muscular, wearing a white undershirt and jeans. His hair is shoulder-length and black, and two curving horns protrude from his head. JEAN is currently humming some indiscernible melody. The huddled figure of a man wearing a shabby brown hat is seen faintly, sleeping in a bench seat farther stage left.


STEVE: I’ve got a confession to make.

JEAN acts oblivious to him.

STEVE: Jean, would you pay attention? I said I-

JEAN: I heard ya, but feckin’ ‘ell, would it kill ya to try to lead up to it? Maybe a spot of small talk or perhaps an inane comment about the lack of any decent weather?

STEVE: (pause) So…who’d you bet on for the Chocobo races this weekend?

JEAN: The “Bwark Barbarian” or some silly shit like that.

STEVE: Did he win?

JEAN: Little bugger got fed some bad hay or somethin’, got completely ill before the race began. Tragic, really.

STEVE: Didn’t know you were an animal lover Jean.

JEAN: Not the bird, my bettings. They refused to refund ‘em even when I threatened them with tearing down the whole track. (pause) Chocotaurs didn’t take too kindly to that.(JEAN rubs his neck as if it’s sore)

STEVE: So I’ve been feeling-

JEAN: Keep your pants on, this is just the beginnin’ of conversational foreplay. You don’t pay a hooker 5 bucks for anything more than a handjob, if you’re that desperate, and a confession is at least the equivalent of a hummer. So come on now, feed the pot.

STEVE: You’re a creepy bastard, you know that right?

JEAN: It’s what the nuns said, so yeah, I know.

STEVE: (sighs) Right….watch any good plays lately?

JEAN: Plays? (he snorts and small sparks of electricity come out of his nose) Who does theater these days?

STEVE: It’s still a respectable profession. Lots of people do theatre, and quite a few screen actors get their start on the stage.

JEAN: I was under the impression most got theirs backstage if you get my drift.

STEVE: Not any respectable-

JEAN: Like that one girl, Miss Hollyberry. Did you see her new movie, Attack of the Leather-Clad Kitten?

STEVE: I tend to avoid skin-flicks.

JEAN: Hey, I’m not saying I need porn either, but it wasn’t half bad. Almost as good an acting job as Tammy Takes Tasnica.

STEVE: Never saw that one.

JEAN: Oh it’s brilliant, there’s this scene where she waltzes into a room with this big ol’ whip and threatens to- (he begins to imitate the action but is interrupted)

STEVE: So! How about this weather?

JEAN: Sucks almost as bad as your skills at chit-chat. Alright, spill your guts.

STEVE: I’ve got some reservations about the job.

JEAN: Oh, is that all? I thought you were going to come out of the basket or something.

STEVE: Closet. It’s coming out of the closet.

JEAN: Well, I guess I wouldn’t know.

STEVE: I don’t know what you’re suggesting but I-

JEAN: Long as we aren’t talking about yer personal life, I’m fine with it. So go on, why are ya afraid of this wee mission here?

STEVE: Not afraid, just…I think we’re in over our head here.

JEAN: How’s that?

STEVE: We’re supposed to take down an entire cult of mages, right?

JEAN: Technically just the Kupopolis Sect they have hidden here in the Demon Quarter, but aye, quite a few.

STEVE: With no back-up?

JEAN: Well what do you want, the freaking Grand Army to come help us out? Personally I’m prayin’ UL will forgive us for stirring up trouble cause we’re home-town boys. I don’t want this to be any bigger of a mess than we’ve already got.

STEVE: But without the rest of the team?

JEAN: (he stretches) Well now, the girls are back at the pub [which seems like a convenient place to start], and they did their bit of spyin’ for us, and it’s not like anyone else is that good in a brawl.

STEVE:   Feh… (he pulls out two pistols and begins loading them) Just don’t get yourself killed.

JEAN: Have I ever?

STEVE: Couple times, yeah.

JEAN: To be fair, I did buy you a round for dragging me back to base that one time.

STEVE: Just…I kind of doubt anyone will be so kind to voodoo you back in this area, no matter how well we pay them.

JEAN: Home sweet bloody home eh?

STEVE cocks both his guns in response.

STEVE: Eh, maybe we’ll end up having fun, no?

JEAN: That’s the spirit!

The trolley shudders and acts as if it’s slowing down.

STEVE: Looks like this is our stop.

They both stand and make for the exit.

JEAN: Well, while we’re confessing our souls to each other, I suppose I have a confession of my own to make.

STEVE: And that would be?

JEAN: I might be in love with your sister.

LIGHTS GO OUT. END OF ACT I.

ACT II
Scene One: Two men sit in a room full of boxes and bodies, a red strobe light lighting the stage every few seconds. One of the men is JEAN, and he sits upon a stack of boxes in the middle of the room. At his feet lies a dead man in a robe, a broken dragon mask adorning his blood-spattered face. The other living man, Detective BRONKSY, sits with his back against these boxes facing stage right. He wears a shabby brown hat and a dark gray trench-coat. He holds his side with one hand, the coat slightly stained with blood, and a cigarette in the other. A gun lies next to him. A door is on the far stage-left side of the room.

BRONSKY takes a long drag of his cigarette then coughs, hacking up a small amount of blood.

JEAN: Smoking kills, ya know.

BRONSKY: Honestly, I’m hoping that IS how I die. (pause) You’re not worried about second-hand are you?

JEAN: My mate’s half-fire demon. I can handle it.

BRONSKY: He the blonde one who busted through the roof earlier?

JEAN: Aye. Don’t know what his problem was, he only had 3 buggers on him at once.

BRONSKY: Wuss.

JEAN: Heh...you held your own, for a cop.

JEAN kicks over the mask of the man at his feet, revealing it has a large bullet hole in the middle of the face.

JEAN: This one’s yours too.

BRONSKY: Yeah, I know. But that one was my responsibility, so I figured I should take care of it.

JEAN: Your responsibility? How so?

BRONSKY: You didn’t wonder why a detective, a human detective no less might be involved in an occult massacre in the Demon Quarter of Kupopolis?

JEAN: I suppose I was a bit busy fending off golems and fireballs.

BRONSKY: Yeah well, I guess none of US had much time to think when the shit went down huh? In any case, I was tracking you and your pal actually, from Ticondera.

JEAN: Aye, we stopped in Zellis to pick up a lead on these feckin’ feck-heads.

BRONSKY: (grumbles) Well, apparently one of these “feck-heads” was a top student at one of our schools, not that we knew that at the time. Had I known….well, I wouldn’t be nursing the effects of a lightning bolt at the moment. But he had gone missing, and you two had shown up conveniently around then so we assumed you might have something to do with it. Eventually traced all three of you to here and… (he waves his hand dismissively)

JEAN: Right…so this one here?

BRONSKY: Yeah, who’d have thought a student of ancient religions and magic studies would join a crazy magic cult devoted to an ancient religion? Doesn’t matter much though, I doubt I would have been able to reason with him, at least not without losing my hat and my head.

JEAN: Now that woulda been a damn shame.

BRONSKY: Yeah, it is a nice hat.

JEAN: Exactly.

JEAN hops off the boxes and heads for the door, whistling. BRONSKY looks at him go, surprised.

BRONSKY: What the hell do you think you’re doing?

JEAN: Leavin’.

BRONSKY: With all those mages still running around?

JEAN: It’s only a matter of time before they do manage to find us, and besides, Steve is prolly skulking around somewhere still, if he isn’t dead yet, and I’m a bit bored now.

BRONSKY: You’re a crazy son-of-a-bitch.

JEAN:   That’s what the friar told me. (He tips his head in goodbye) If no one comes by in 30 minutes, they’re all dead. (He opens the door and exits)

LIGHTS OUT. END OF ACT II.

ACT III
Scene One: A small funeral parlor, cozy and filled with soft benches and picture frames of a smiling young man. A closed coffin lies on a table upstage. Two women sit in one of the benches. One, M, wears all black. The other, HALLON, is an elf with blonde hair and green and white clothing.

HALLON: Really too bad about the kid, huh?

M: It’s a cycle. He simply chose a path that closed that cycle sooner. Besides, shouldn’t you be more worried about your brother? He hasn’t turned up yet.

HALLON: Steve’s fine. He goes berserk every once in awhile, rages about like a flaming banshee for a couple days and comes back with another tattoo.

M: I just hope Jean finds him soon.

The parlor door opens and Detective BRONSKY walks in. He walks slowly over to the coffin and looks at it, thoughtful.

HALLON: (whispering) Isn’t that the guy Jean told us about?

M: Yes, I believe so. Jean said he was the one who killed the boy.

HALLON: That must be rough, having to shoot one of your own town’s guys…especially when you were supposed to bring it home.

BRONSKY: If you two are done people watching, I’d like a moment alone please.

The two women get up, embarrassed, and leave.

BRONSKY: Not really an easy way to go about this….I’m sorry, Tyler, for shooting you. I didn’t want to, I honestly didn’t mean to. I don’t have some philosophy to impart to your dead soul or a word of wisdom to pass on to your family. I won’t even be at the funeral proper. Your folks are mad enough I brought you home dead. If they knew I’d put the bullet in you, I don’t think I could stand the look in their eyes. Fact is, I’ll be happy to go home and hunt ghost cats in trees and sleep with demons of the beyond haunting my nightmares. I’m putting this behind me, but still, I’m sorry. Doesn’t cut it, I know, but that’s life and death I suppose. I just hope someone else can give you a more fitting speech when the time comes. Maybe your uncle Doskatova can say something…sorry.

LIGHTS GO OUT. END ACT III.