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Jun. 3rd, 2011 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taharielSeriously what
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hedgehogs
A community devoted to the love of hedgehogs. A great place to learn cool facts about this intriguing, spiky creature, find out how to adopt a pet hedgehog, or exchange tips on proper care. And, for those proud guardians who wish to show off, users are encouraged to share pics of their nocturnal, insect-loving companions.
IN OTHER NEWS, I am probably going to be submitting my tiny bit of a script to a scriptwriting workshop my teacher/friend is running but now I am scared to so I am going to paste it up here for you guys to look at and hopefully say things?
The scene is set in a warm-looking, well-furnished kitchen/living-room, cottage-y and well but eclectically decorated. The front door opens into the living room; the lighting is dim here. Toby opens the door and walks in slowly, taking off his coat. He is dressed practically for cold weather, nothing fancy; he has gloves and appears to be in his late twenties. He wears heavy-framed glasses and is of average height and build. He turns towards the kitchen and is obviously surprised to see the lights on. He hurries towards the door and stares at Michael sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bacon sandwich. Michael is tall and strongly-built, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, very casual and low-maintenance. His hair is cut short in a military style; he carries his left arm carefully, as though it hurts.
Tobias: Who the hell are you?
Michael: Looks up, surprised. Oh. Hello.
Tobias: What are you doing here? His voice is angry but he looks ready to flee.
Michael: Your mother didn’t tell you, then.
Tobias: Tell me what?
Michael: Fishes out his wallet, flips it open to show Tobias. I’m Greg’s brother, Michael. She was supposed to call you.
Tobias: Checks his phone. Oh. Battery’s dead. I didn’t know he had a brother.
Michael: I’ve been overseas. Missed the funeral.
Tobias: What are you doing here?
Michael: Helping you with the house.
Tobias: Pauses. I don’t need help. I can manage.
Michael: I’ve got nothing better to do. Going to throw me out? You’re not the only one who’s lost someone here, you know.
Tobias: You couldn’t even be bothered to come to her funeral.
Michael: Fuck you. Stands; picks up a cane that was hidden before. He limps out of the room, past Tobias. It is obviously painful.
Toby: Fuck. Sits down at the table and stares at his hands. He does not move again for a while, just blank. Light slowly fades from afternoon to dusk.
After a time Michael comes back onstage, and stands in the kitchen doorway looking at Toby in a reverse of their original positions.
Tobias: I didn’t know he had a brother.
Michael: Shrugs. They don’t talk about me much. Like it’s bad luck or something when I’m out in the field to mention me, in case it brings me to the universe’s attention.
Tobias: He lets out a huff. There is a long pause. You’re in the army.
Michael: Hefts his cane in his hands, turns it over idly. The cane he holds is functional and unembellished. I was in the Navy. I got back just a couple of days ago.
Toby clearly wants to ask a question, but doesn’t. Instead they sit in silence for a while more, Toby staring into space and John moves to the table, sits down and goes back to his newspaper, making little sounds of approval or disapproval at what he reads, the paper rustling and the clock ticking and the sound of their breathing all blending into white noise.
Michael: Are you alright?
Toby: Head snaps up to look at Michael. His mouth opens and shuts but no words came out until he finally manages, What?
Michael is watching Toby calmly, shadows across his face now. It is getting dark outside.
Toby: I’m fine.
Michael: Nods, picking up his cane and getting up slowly, favouring his right leg as he comes around the table, newspaper in hand. I’ll go start a fire. I took the spare room upstairs, but there’s another bed in Greg’s study.
Toby: By the time Toby speaks, Michael has already left the room, limp obvious as he leans over to move Toby’s bag out of the doorway. Thank you.
Toby goes upstairs, moving stiffly and rubbing at his neck. There are four rooms on the second floor, technically three bedrooms and a bathroom, though one of the bedrooms is clearly used as an office. Toby passes the first door, the Master Bedroom, with averted eyes. He opens the door and goes in, jiggling the duffle on his shoulder to get it to rest somewhere more comfortable, and leaves the door open behind him.
It looks as though Greg is about to come back any moment, his papers still spread out and computer keyboard still askew on the desk. Toby looks at it for a moment, biting the inside of his lip, before dumping his bag on the bed and slumping down beside it, head in his hands.
Toby comes back downstairs to find Michael has moved into the living room, sat with his leg stretched out in front of the fireplace.
Toby: You need to go away.
Michael: I’m sorry, what?
Toby: You need to go away. I’ve thought about it and it’s the only option. I can’t have you here, so you’ll have to leave.
Michael: Now wait just a minute. You’re trying to kick me out?
Toby: Yes.
Michael: It’s not even your house! And I was here first!
Toby: I can’t work with you in the house, people are always interrupting and I never get anything done.
Michael: You can’t pack boxes with an audience?
Toby: I can’t come up with a reasonable proof of a smooth solution to fluid dynamics in three-dimensional space with an audience, no.
Michael: Run that one by me again.
Toby: Maths hard. People stupid. People go away, maths easier.
Michael: I thought you were here to collect Susie’s things.
Toby: Why would I do that?
Michael: Because she’s dead, Toby.
Toby: Don’t call me Toby. And yes, obviously. But I need somewhere to work and it’s not as though anyone is complaining about the mess or anything.
hedgehogsA community devoted to the love of hedgehogs. A great place to learn cool facts about this intriguing, spiky creature, find out how to adopt a pet hedgehog, or exchange tips on proper care. And, for those proud guardians who wish to show off, users are encouraged to share pics of their nocturnal, insect-loving companions.
IN OTHER NEWS, I am probably going to be submitting my tiny bit of a script to a scriptwriting workshop my teacher/friend is running but now I am scared to so I am going to paste it up here for you guys to look at and hopefully say things?
The scene is set in a warm-looking, well-furnished kitchen/living-room, cottage-y and well but eclectically decorated. The front door opens into the living room; the lighting is dim here. Toby opens the door and walks in slowly, taking off his coat. He is dressed practically for cold weather, nothing fancy; he has gloves and appears to be in his late twenties. He wears heavy-framed glasses and is of average height and build. He turns towards the kitchen and is obviously surprised to see the lights on. He hurries towards the door and stares at Michael sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bacon sandwich. Michael is tall and strongly-built, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, very casual and low-maintenance. His hair is cut short in a military style; he carries his left arm carefully, as though it hurts.
Tobias: Who the hell are you?
Michael: Looks up, surprised. Oh. Hello.
Tobias: What are you doing here? His voice is angry but he looks ready to flee.
Michael: Your mother didn’t tell you, then.
Tobias: Tell me what?
Michael: Fishes out his wallet, flips it open to show Tobias. I’m Greg’s brother, Michael. She was supposed to call you.
Tobias: Checks his phone. Oh. Battery’s dead. I didn’t know he had a brother.
Michael: I’ve been overseas. Missed the funeral.
Tobias: What are you doing here?
Michael: Helping you with the house.
Tobias: Pauses. I don’t need help. I can manage.
Michael: I’ve got nothing better to do. Going to throw me out? You’re not the only one who’s lost someone here, you know.
Tobias: You couldn’t even be bothered to come to her funeral.
Michael: Fuck you. Stands; picks up a cane that was hidden before. He limps out of the room, past Tobias. It is obviously painful.
Toby: Fuck. Sits down at the table and stares at his hands. He does not move again for a while, just blank. Light slowly fades from afternoon to dusk.
After a time Michael comes back onstage, and stands in the kitchen doorway looking at Toby in a reverse of their original positions.
Tobias: I didn’t know he had a brother.
Michael: Shrugs. They don’t talk about me much. Like it’s bad luck or something when I’m out in the field to mention me, in case it brings me to the universe’s attention.
Tobias: He lets out a huff. There is a long pause. You’re in the army.
Michael: Hefts his cane in his hands, turns it over idly. The cane he holds is functional and unembellished. I was in the Navy. I got back just a couple of days ago.
Toby clearly wants to ask a question, but doesn’t. Instead they sit in silence for a while more, Toby staring into space and John moves to the table, sits down and goes back to his newspaper, making little sounds of approval or disapproval at what he reads, the paper rustling and the clock ticking and the sound of their breathing all blending into white noise.
Michael: Are you alright?
Toby: Head snaps up to look at Michael. His mouth opens and shuts but no words came out until he finally manages, What?
Michael is watching Toby calmly, shadows across his face now. It is getting dark outside.
Toby: I’m fine.
Michael: Nods, picking up his cane and getting up slowly, favouring his right leg as he comes around the table, newspaper in hand. I’ll go start a fire. I took the spare room upstairs, but there’s another bed in Greg’s study.
Toby: By the time Toby speaks, Michael has already left the room, limp obvious as he leans over to move Toby’s bag out of the doorway. Thank you.
Toby goes upstairs, moving stiffly and rubbing at his neck. There are four rooms on the second floor, technically three bedrooms and a bathroom, though one of the bedrooms is clearly used as an office. Toby passes the first door, the Master Bedroom, with averted eyes. He opens the door and goes in, jiggling the duffle on his shoulder to get it to rest somewhere more comfortable, and leaves the door open behind him.
It looks as though Greg is about to come back any moment, his papers still spread out and computer keyboard still askew on the desk. Toby looks at it for a moment, biting the inside of his lip, before dumping his bag on the bed and slumping down beside it, head in his hands.
Toby comes back downstairs to find Michael has moved into the living room, sat with his leg stretched out in front of the fireplace.
Toby: You need to go away.
Michael: I’m sorry, what?
Toby: You need to go away. I’ve thought about it and it’s the only option. I can’t have you here, so you’ll have to leave.
Michael: Now wait just a minute. You’re trying to kick me out?
Toby: Yes.
Michael: It’s not even your house! And I was here first!
Toby: I can’t work with you in the house, people are always interrupting and I never get anything done.
Michael: You can’t pack boxes with an audience?
Toby: I can’t come up with a reasonable proof of a smooth solution to fluid dynamics in three-dimensional space with an audience, no.
Michael: Run that one by me again.
Toby: Maths hard. People stupid. People go away, maths easier.
Michael: I thought you were here to collect Susie’s things.
Toby: Why would I do that?
Michael: Because she’s dead, Toby.
Toby: Don’t call me Toby. And yes, obviously. But I need somewhere to work and it’s not as though anyone is complaining about the mess or anything.
