Durhamageddon

Or how I learnt to stop worrying and love the bubble

Act One, Scene Five

The Street. MARY and MELT enter. MARY is skipping jubilantly, caressing the knuckles with which she had hit Cuthbert. MELT is dragging himself after her.

Mary: (light-hearted, romantic). Did you see him? Wasn’t he beautiful?

Melt: (grudgingly). He was all right.

Mary: Don’t you think he was beautiful?

Melt: I said he was all right.

Mary: He’s more than all right, he’s all perfect. That body, that voice, that face.

Melt: But you hit him.

Mary: Yes, a brief, perfect touch…

Melt: I don’t think he’d see it as such…

Mary: …Of unfathomable depth and profundity.

Melt: …Seeing as how you punched him.

Mary: We have a connection now. In that one moment, I could read his mind perfectly.

Melt: Yes, so could I: it said ‘ow’.

Mary: Oh, his mouth may have said that – that may have been his superficial reaction – but his eyes – the true windows into his soul – they revealed an unsullied emotion of love.

Melt: Right before you punched out his lights.

Mary: It was a glancing blow, no more. Didn’t you hear him calling after us?

Melt: Obviously you didn’t do it right. Should’ve used the axe – I find it’s very difficult to go wrong the axe: people are always much more reluctant to chase after you then.

Mary: I can hear him now, calling me back. (Rushing over to MELT). We need to go back; I need to see him again.

Melt: What, so you can hit him again? Can I help?

Mary: No! And I wasn’t hitting him, it was a demonstration of the passion I feel towards him.

Melt: Mary, look that may work on me, but I think you should know, I’m not like most men.

Mary: (aside). You can say that again.

Melt: I may be able to brush that sort of stuff aside, Klute, I may even enjoy it, but this boy of yours, he’ll probably take one look at you and call his guards. Now, I’m not one to say no at the opportunity of a good scrap, but I don’t think you’re gonna get what you want.

Mary: You think I’m deluded, don’t you?

Melt: What I think of you could feed a starving family for a month.

Mary: (sharply). All right, what’s wrong with you? You’ve been like this all morning.

Melt: (pause). It’s my head.

Mary: What’s wrong with it?

Melt: “What’s wrong with it?” It’s missing.

Mary: O-kay… Melt, put the axe down. Now, let’s go through this again: (patronisingly) your eyes are in your head, looking out, so you can’t see your head. This doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, why using a mirror…

Melt: (angrily). Oh, shut up. Not my head, my head. (MARY looks blankly). Oh, for Klute… my head, (holds up an empty fist) the one I was carrying, that I took to the ball.

Mary: Oh, that one. Well, what’s the fuss? Get a new one: the city’s full of heads.

Melt: No, I want that one, it’s… special to me.

Mary: (sighing). Fine, when did you last see it?

Melt: I know I had it in the banqueting hall, so I must have left it there. (Pause). Your punch bag probably has it.

Mary: (brightening). Well, we’d best go get it. Not now, of course, we’ll never get in. No, we’d best go see the bishop, find out the best course of action. Then we’ll get into the castle and find him.

Melt: You mean her.

Mary: What? Oh, right, the head, sorry, yeah, that too.

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