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All Together Now
a comedy by Lendren Starfall
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SCENE Aetherplex: The spherical chamber is formed from a hollow geode comprised
of dozens of precious gemstones. Large jagged formations of rubies, sapphires,
diamonds and emeralds line the walls and ceiling. The floor has been cut and
polished to a brilliant shine, revealing concentric circles of brilliant
colours. Upon close examination of the glassy floor, shimmering reflections
briefly glide across its smooth surface of wondrous mansions and abodes. A
current of electricity continuously runs throughout this mineral wonder, causing
tiny sparks to erratically blossom up and down the crystalline formations.

EFFECT Q1 (6): The curtain rises to reveal a hollow geode comprised of
gemstones sparkling in bright colours, immediately recognizable as the
Aetherplex Chamber. It is curiously empty.

ROLE Rhanell (F): Rhanell Duncan

COSTUME RhanellCostume (Rhanell): Tall and gangly, this human woman seems like
the type who'd be constantly fidgeting, and yet she stands with quiet poise and
an introspective look in her deep, dark eyes. Her hair is cropped short in an
ungainly, even boyish, cut. She's not pretty and doesn't seem to mind, or even
really notice; her face is just a little too severe, and her figure too
straight, to be entirely pleasing. The impression she gives is one of intensity
and focus: she's just too busy with whatever it is she's doing even to be
anything else, let alone to do anything else. She is wearing grey robes of
shining silk, a dapper hat with a crimson feather, and a pair of open-toed
sandals.

ROLE Delena (F): Delena Ghoti

COSTUME DelenaCostume (Delena): Only a few steps removed from being stately,
dignified, and noble, this merian woman somehow embodies none of these
characteristics. Though she is tall and has refined features with high
cheekbones and narrow eyes of cerulean against gleaming pearlescent scales, she
slouches in a way that suggests shifty eyes and secret purposes. Her figure is
rounded and plump, with enough hints of a former life of fitness to implicate a
descent into hedonism. In her expression is a hint of refinement and breeding
that has been twisted by something somewhere between a sneer and a leer. She
wears an elegant but soiled gown of shimmering green, a tarnished tiara of gold
studded with opals, and a gaudy brooch of diamond and pearl.

Rhanell: ENTER appears through a glowing portal, her eyes flashing as she runs
her fingers through her short hair.

Delena: ENTER follows Rhanell in, looking around at the Aetherplex dubiously,
her gills flaring.

Delena: Why do I have to meet people from Magnagora and the communes, and in
such a public place at that? Someone might see me!

Rhanell: There's no point in me trying to write a script unless I know I'll
have actors from both cities and both communes willing to play in it.

Delena: But what's the point even if you do?

Rhanell: It's never been done, a play produced not by one nation but by all
four working together, and only a rogue like me could pull it off.

Delena: (in a surreptitious whisper) Yeah, but where's the profit? And
speaking of profit, just between you and me, let's cut the others out to get a
bigger slice of the gold. We'll split it down the middle, it can be our little
secret, no one has to know, eh?

ROLE Ythrak (M): Ythrak k'Gryf

COSTUME YthrakCostume (Ythrak): Seeming shaped by his perpetual snarl, this
twisted viscanti's pitch black eyes and blood red skin are only the most overt
signs of his palpable malevolence. So covered is his flesh with scars one
cannot tell how many are earned in ritual and how many in battle. For all the
ferocity of his expression, his teeth seem curiously bovine, a mystery soon
explained by the almost incessant grinding of his jaw which has clearly worn
down the points to nothing. He wears ebon robes covered with profane symbols and
a horned helm festooned with blood-covered spikes.

Ythrak: ENTER steps in through another portal and looks around, his crimson
skin steaming. He growls menacingly at Delena, moving forward as if to strike.

Rhanell, to Ythrak: Ah, there you are. Mind your manners, Ythrak, I did tell
you there would be representatives from all the nations.

Ythrak: (through clenched teeth) Merian scum! Must kill!

Rhanell: (rolling her eyes) Did you forget already that we're meeting to
discuss the play?

Ythrak: (stepping back, embarrassed but still snarling) Oh... oh yeah. Right,
the play. We can have murder after.

Delena: Griefer!

Ythrak: Weakling!

Rhanell: (ignoring the bickering) The others should be here any minute and we
can discuss what the play should be about.

Ythrak: Oh, that's easy, a great war, with lots of... of war, and fighting, and
war. And then at the end there can be a betrayal.

Delena: The betrayal plot twist is so overdone, no one will pay to see that.

Ythrak, to Delena: (speaking slowly, as if to a child) No, you don't
understand, at the end of the play, there should a betrayal. At the end. That
would be so cool.

Rhanell: You mean like at the end of all the other plays?

Ythrak, to Rhanell: (his face lighting up) You understand!

Rhanell: (shaking her head) I don't want to do the same old story.

Ythrak: (frowning in confusion) But it's a play, there has to be a betrayal at
the end. How else do you know when it's done?

Delena: rolls her eyes.

ROLE Llewelyn (F): Llewelyn Moontree

COSTUME LlewelynCostume (Llewelyn): With pale green skin and long flowing brown
hair, this buxom elfen lass seems to flirt with every aspect of her appearance.
From the come-hither look in her emerald eyes to the way her ample bosom seems
prone to heaving at the slightest provocation, she suggests sensuality in every
aspect. She is wearing a gossamer gown of translucent silvery silk.

Llewelyn: ENTER slinks in with a sultry walk, her elfen ears twitching as she
glances appraisingly at the others present.

Rhanell, to Llewelyn: Ah, Llewelyn, we were just discussing what kind of play
it should be.

Ythrak: I think we'd decided it should be a war story.

Llewelyn: (giving Delena a friendly cuddle) A love story! So it can spread the
positive vibrations of love to everyone and lead us closer to universal harmony!

Delena: (quirking an eyebrow) Love stories do good business.

ROLE Byron (M): Byron Nightshadow

COSTUME ByronCostume (Byron): Clad entirely in black, this shadowy faeling
seems to be slumped over even when his posture is upright. His dark eyes seem
focused on something else, heavily lidded and lined with dark eyeshadow. A spray
of piercings adorn his face and bat-like wings, though being the same dark
colour as his clothes, wings, and skin, they are easily overlooked. He wears a
voluminous cloak of shadowy silk, long black leather gloves, and high-topped
black leather boots.

Byron: ENTER trundles in morosely, his bat-like wings drooping.

Ythrak: Love is only good in a play to set up the betrayal.

Byron: (looking up) It's going to be a play about love? That's good, love is a
cruel illusion, and so is theater. I have something you can use. It's a poem I
wrote about love.

Byron: leafs through a tattered journal, whose cover is titled entirely in
apostrophes. He stops on a page and clears his throat.

Byron: (reciting from the journal) Blood drips red from a black rose. Thorns
bite into tender flesh...

Llewelyn: groans and rolls her eyes.

Rhanell: (shaking her head) Maybe later, Byron, we haven't decided what kind of
play it should be yet.

Llewelyn: I know, it should be an ancient history, really long, with lots of
moral lessons and... and themes! It needs themes. And then in the end everyone
gets married and lives happily ever after.

Ythrak: (confused) That's before or after the betrayal?

Rhanell: (holding in her frustration) History is one possibility for a genre.
We could also do a tragedy, a fable, a pastoral, a comedy--

Delena: Oh, a comedy, definitely. The crowds love comedies. They will heap us
with adulation and gold.

Llewelyn: (shaking her head) Comedy is too hard. Someone always takes offense.
It can't be done.

Byron, to Delena: How can you laugh at anything when life is so full of pain
and despair? Wait, I wrote a poem about despair.

Byron: flips through his journal.

Ythrak: Pain is good. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger.

Delena, to Ythrak: (with a supercilious smirk) Then I guess our fighters
haven't made you stronger!

Llewelyn: glances between Delena and Ythrak, repeating Delena's words to
herself under her breath and counting on her fingers, trying to figure it out.

Byron: (reciting in a monotone from a different page) From a black rose, red
blood drips...

Ythrak: (stroking his chin thoughtfully) Actually, now that I think about it,
even what kills me makes me stronger.

Delena, to Ythrak: (in a conspiratorial whisper) In that case, maybe we can
make a deal. I'll get a bounty put on your head, then kill you a few times...
to make you stronger, and we'll split the gold. Just between us, no one needs
to know.

Rhanell: snorts, exasperated.

Llewelyn: (taking a dramatic pose that highlights her bosoms) I should be the
lead! I'm an excellent actor.

Rhanell: I was thinking more of an ensemble cast.

Byron: It doesn't matter, it'll never work. Maybe I shouldn't even get
involved.

Delena, to Byron: By all that's holy, are you even an actor?

Byron: I used to be an actor, but then someone changed me, now I'm a thespian
instead.

Llewelyn: It's the same thing!

Byron: No it's not! There's an important difference.

Llewelyn: (putting her hands on her hips) What's the difference?

Byron: (shuffling his feet) Well, um, being a thespian is where you go on stage
and perform a role in a play, like an actor, but it's totally different!

Delena: (tilting her head thoughtfully) That makes sense, I think...

Llewelyn: No it doesn't, it's the same thing!

Byron, to Llewelyn: You just don't understand!

Llewelyn, to Byron: No one would fall for that wordplay.

Delena: (with a shrug) I did.

Byron, to Llewelyn: (in a quiet whisper) You'd be amazed how well it plays with
the ladies.

Llewelyn, to Byron: (her eyes lighting up) Oh really? Let's share some tips...

Ythrak: (clearing his throat) We're not doing a play about what you two do with
women.

Delena: Actually, maybe we should, that would bring in a *lot* of gold.

Rhanell: (in an exasperated voice) No!

Llewelyn: (piteously) What about what we do with men?

Byron: nods, licking his lips.

Ythrak: throws his hands up and starts to walk away in disgust.

Llewelyn, to Ythrak: Don't be like that. I've seen what your type does with
each other.

Ythrak: (turning back indignantly) That's different! We only do those things
with the people we're closest with.

Delena, to Ythrak: You mean like your relatives?

Ythrak: (emphatically) Exactly!

Delena: smirks sanctimoniously.

Ythrak: (a moment later, frowning) No, wait, hold on...

Rhanell: This isn't getting us anywhere.

Byron, to Rhanell: (flipping through his journal) I told you, it's all futile.
I wrote a poem about futility, here it is. Dripping, blood red, from a rose,
black. Thorns--

Byron: abruptly stops his recitation in response to the acidic glares from the
other four.

Byron: Aww, but that was a good one.

PAUSE

Rhanell: How about this. I had an idea for a play about Grutina Oakvine, and
all her secrets. At the end of the play, Hartstone becomes a Glomdoring guild,
and Blacktalon a Serenwilde guild.

Delena: Boring!

Ythrak: I hate to agree with a merian but that is boring.

Llewelyn: (scarcely audible) It would be better if they both ended up in
Glomdoring.

Ythrak: How about a play about torture?

Rhanell: What about torture?

Ythrak: (taken aback) I don't know... just a play in which someone gets
tortured. A lot.

Delena: (appraisingly) That could bring in a lot of gold.

Llewelyn: (in shock at this idea) Ewww! Why can't we all just get along?

Rhanell, to Ythrak: Someone gets tortured, and?

Ythrak: (straining for an idea) And... and...

Ythrak: (triumphantly) And then there's a betrayal!

Delena: yawns dramatically.

Ythrak, to Delena: (in furious indignation) Don't yawn at my ideas! This is
art here!

Delena: (flippantly) It's boring. Hey! Did you just enemy me to... three
guilds, two orders, and your city?

Ythrak: (smirking) That'll teach you to yawn at me.

Byron: It'll all end in tears. Here, I wrote a poem about tears.

Byron: flips through his journal.

Llewelyn, to Ythrak: How dare you enemy her! I'm getting you enemied to
*three* orders and *four* guilds!

Rhanell: throws her hands up in consternation, as a general melee breaks out
amongst the actors.

Byron: (reciting in a monotone, oblivious to the fighting) In shadows, a rose,
dripping tears of red blood. Tender flesh bit--

Llewelyn: interrupts Byron by careening off of him in the fight, knocking the
journal from his hands.

Rhanell: moves towards the audience with a heavy sigh.

EFFECT Q2 (0): Behind her, dozens of people of all affiliations are teleporting
in, shrine powers are being raised, shadows choke the aetherplex, and the sounds
of music and spells are punctuated by the ringing of weapons and grunts of
punches.

Rhanell: (directly to the audience) I think I'll write a book instead. Any
ideas what it should be about?