31 Plays in 31 Days: #16 - "Confronting It"

And we're back to The Stand as subject matter! This one is about frontier dwellers Zachariah Harper and Clarissa Dunn as they make their decision to go back to the town of Reston together, to confront their respective responsibilities. I don't believe there's anything spoilery about this one, so it's fair game to all.

Day #16 - "Confronting It"

(ZACHARIAH HARPER, a young man dressed in buckskins, sits beside a campfire reading a letter, a distressed expression on his face.)

(Enter CLARISSA DUNN, a teenaged girl similarly dressed, with her big rifle Matilda strapped to her back. She is nervous and distraught.)

CLARISSA: Zachariah? Is that you?

ZACHARIAH: Clarissa? Hey, Little Sister. I ain’t seen you in months.

CLARISSA: I been looking all over for you. Mind if I set here with you a while?

ZACHARIAH: Course not. Any time.

CLARISSA: Thank you kindly.

(She sits, taking the gun from off her back and cradling it like a baby.)

ZACHARIAH: You all right there? You look like you seen a ghost.

CLARISSA: No ghost, but… things… things been rough. But-but what about you, you got a mug as long as a horse.

ZACHARIAH: Yeah. Stepped into the trading post this morning. There was a letter waiting for me.

CLARISSA: Oh, no. Was it bad news?

ZACHARIAH: From my mother. She’s… she’s real sick, Clarissa. She thinks she might not have much longer.

CLARISSA: Aw, Zach. I’m so sorry.

ZACHARIAH: She wants me to come back home. Before it’s too late.

CLARISSA: Well, sure.

ZACHARIAH: I never wanted to go back.

CLARISSA: Zach! Your ma might be dying! You got to go see her one more time!

ZACHARIAH: That ain’t it! If it were just that, wild horses couldn’t keep me from going back. She’s my mother, for Christ’s sake.

CLARISSA: Then what’s the hold up?

ZACHARIAH: She… she wants me to come back for good.

CLARISSA: For good? Why’s that?

ZACHARIAH: If she’s not going to be around much longer, she says… she says I got to take over her work in town.

CLARISSA: Her work? What work does she do?

ZACHARIAH: I’m not sure, exactly. All my life, she and my pa and my grandfather, they sat behind that big desk, doing what they called “town business.” I never rightly knew.

CLARISSA: But she wants to pass it over to you.

ZACHARIAH: It’s my family’s job, taking care of that place. I told you about my Grandpap, right?

CLARISSA: Sure did. About how he was a real roaming frontiersman before he settled in the territory and founded his own town.

ZACHARIAH: Right. I heard how he talked about those early days. Adventures, travels. Could hear the love in his voice. And I knew right away that was the life I wanted. Not… not the other part. The part with the desk and the same old patch of ground forever and ever.

CLARISSA: Going back would mean leaving everything you love.

ZACHARIAH: Just like Grandpap. And my ma’s worked her whole life to take care of it.

CLARISSA: Means a lot to them, don’t it?

ZACHARIAH: I can’t just… throw that all away.

CLARISSA: I see. Maybe… maybe you don’t got to give up your life. Maybe you can find a way to set things in order… find the right person to take of things. Do right by all you.

ZACHARIAH: It’s supposed to be my responsibility.

CLARISSA: Might be the right person is the person what wants to do it. Not somebody what got to be dragged back by wild horses.

ZACHARIAH: I just don’t know.

CLARISSA: Well… only one way to find out.

ZACHARIAH: Yeah. Got to do the right thing. I got to go back.

CLARISSA: The right thing, huh?

ZACHARIAH: It’s all a man can do.

CLARISSA: What if… you thought you was, but you don’t know anymore?

ZACHARIAH: Sis? What’s eating you?

CLARISSA: I done the wrong thing, Zach.

ZACHARIAH: What wrong thing?

CLARISSA: Zachariah… I killed a man.

ZACHARIAH: You did? What man?

CLARISSA: That’s it, Zach, I-I don’t know.

ZACHARIAH: Then why’d you kill him?

CLARISSA: I thought— I thought it was him!

ZACHARIAH: Him?

CLARISSA: The one I been looking for!

ZACHARIAH: You mean, the varmint what killed your father?

CLARISSA: Yes!

ZACHARIAH: Well— what happened? Weren’t it him?

CLARISSA: You got to understand— he had everything I remembered! I told you, the black hat, the Spanish silver coin hanging off the chain of a watch! How many fellows got Spanish silver hanging off the chain of a watch!?

ZACHARIAH: I don’t know, Sis.

CLARISSA: But… he didn’t have no mole. I shot him, and then I turned him over, but there weren’t no mole.

ZACHARIAH: You’re sure?

CLARISSA: I remember that mole, clear as day! So it couldn’t have been him, Zach. He couldn’t have been. I killed an innocent man.

ZACHARIAH: Gentle Jesus.

CLARISSA: I didn’t mean to. I never meant to kill no innocent man!

ZACHARIAH: I know, Sis!

CLARISSA: I ain’t no murderer!

ZACHARIAH: I know!

(He hugs her tightly.)

CLARISSA: What do I do? How can I… how can I fix this?

ZACHARIAH: Ain’t no fixing now, hon.

(CLARISSA sobs a little.)

ZACHARIAH: All that’s left is owning up to it.

CLARISSA: Owning up. Yeah. I’ve got to own up. Or else… what makes me any better than the outlaw what shot my father? I just…/ don’t know how.

ZACHARIAH: Come with me.

CLARISSA: What do you mean?

ZACHARIAH: Come with me back to Reston. There’s folks there what knows things about what’s gone on around here. Might be they can help you.

CLARISSA: How?

ZACHARIAH: I don’t know. But both of us got to try something. With what we got ahead of us… don’t want to face that alone.

CLARISSA: All right. I guess… there ain’t no running for either of us. Might as well go on together.

(They clasp hands, and begin packing up their camp.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #11 - "The Triumph of Law"

And we're back to plays based on The Stand! Apologies again that this one also contains a spoiler from the game. This one is about the backstory of Carson Hill, the PC played thus far by , , and . There's not much I can say about it at the moment, except that I think the ending needs work, but I think this is a very dramatic scene. Again I kind of took it for granted that you knew what they were talking about, so I hope it still reads.

Day #11 - "The  Triumph of Law"

(Three southern gentlemen in suits sit around a table. The two older men, brothers JACKSON and PRESTON HILL, celebrate with whiskey, while the younger man, CARSON HILL, sits staring moodily with his tumbler untouched before him.)

JACKSON: This is it, this is it! Carson, my boy, you’ve done it!

PRESTON: To states’ rights and Carson’s victory!

JACKSON: To the triumph of law!

(They cheer, raise their glasses, and drink. PRESTON then pours them another.)

JACKSON: Hill and Hill Associates… sweet Jesus, I always dreamed of this day. They’re going to be citing this case for decades to come. Any suit about returning runaway slaves, hell, any states’ rights case that comes along, they’re going to trot out Corbett versus the State of New York and that’ll be the end of it. This could be the making of your career already. Who knows what’ll come next? Judgeships, political office… hell, my boy could be a senator someday!

PRESTON: I always knew you’d take them Yankees by storm!

JACKSON: And you made quite an impression on your esteemed client as well.

PRESTON: I’m telling you, boy, it ain’t just anyone that Richard Corbett invites down to his plantation to meet his lovely daughter. Got a high estimation of you and no mistake.

CARSON: Must be.

PRESTON: And how about that Miss Lilah? Pretty little thing, wasn’t she?

CARSON: Sure was.

PRESTON: I hope you were a proper gentleman to her. If she takes a shine to you like her old man has, well, you might just get yourself in a position to inherit the whole place one day!

JACKSON: That’s quite a little kingdom to come into! Look at you, son, you’ll be a king in Georgia, and a conqueror in New York!

(They click glasses and laugh uproariously. CARSON forces a sickly smile.)

JACKSON: What’s the matter with you, now? You been frowning like a bullfrog ever since you got back. Things went well, didn’t they?

CARSON: Not certain I’d say that they did?

JACKSON: What? What happened?

CARSON: Been back east all this time, haven’t been on a plantation in so long. Wasn’t prepared.

PRESTON: For what?

CARSON: Seeing them. All the… all the slaves. Never saw so many before. Old ones, sick ones, covered with scars… pretty awful.

PRESTON: You’re from a plantation family, boy, you know we run on slaves.

CARSON: Yeah, but… I haven’t seen it, not with my own eyes…

JACKSON: Is that all that’s bothering you?

CARSON: No. I… I heard what happened to those boys.

JACKSON: What boys?

CARSON: Those boys we got sent back to Mr. Corbett.

JACKSON: You mean the runaways? What of them?

CARSON: I asked him what became of them when they got back. He told me he had them all killed.

(JACKSON is mildly surprised, but PRESTON shrugs.)

PRESTON: Did he, now? Well, sometimes it’s necessary. Make an example to the others.

CARSON: That’s exactly what Mr. Corbett said.

PRESTON: I’m sure he did. He knows how to run his own concern.

CARSON: We sent them back to their deaths.

JACKSON: Carson, be reasonable. Sometimes a man’s got to take drastic steps to take care of his own business. If he had to put a little discipline down—

(CARSON leaps out of his chair.)

CARSON: Pap! He beat them within an inch of their lives, and then he set a pack of dogs on them! They were ripped limb from limb!

PRESTON: Sure, that’s rough. But ain’t nobody going to run from that plantation anytime soon.

CARSON: Jesus Christ.

PRESTON: It’s the way of things.

CARSON: It’s sick.

JACKSON: What’s gotten into you, boy? Weak stomach all of a sudden? Well, you’d best get a handle on that if you’re going to move forward with your career.

CARSON: Can’t do it. Not anymore.

JACKSON: Can’t do what?

CARSON: I can’t… strut around Albany like I’m cock-o’-the-walk knowing that… this is what everybody respects me for. Fighting so hard to get five boys sent back to a whip and a pack of dogs.

JACKSON: Look here, now. I’m sorry you had to see the ugly side of things, but Carson, every case isn’t going be about slave law. You don’t got time to wrestle with a soft heart, you got a chance to make history here. You got to seize that chance while you can. This is just one case—

CARSON: No, Pap. You don’t understand. Everywhere I go, it’s all anybody can talk about. It’s the headline of every newspaper. How clever I was, how well I argued my case that the state was obligated to return Mr. Corbett’s property to him. “Congratulations, Carson.” “Job well done, Carson.” All I was thinking about was the law, and making it work for me, and the reward that would come once I did. But now… all I got is the blood of those boys on me. They wouldn’t have even been there if I hadn’t argued for it! And now they’re using my win as precedent for other cases against runaways. There are going to be others just like them. That’s my legacy, Pap. Sending boys back to Hell!

PRESTON: Jesus Christ, Carson!

JACKSON: Just what are you saying?

CARSON: I’m saying… I’m done. Done with the law, done with New York and Georgia, done with all of this. I’m moving out west. As far as out as I can go.

JACKSON: And why in God’s name would you do a thing like that?

CARSON: To get as far away as I can from all this. And from you.

PRESTON: You ungrateful wretch! What are you going to do out on some dusty godforsaken frontier? There ain’t no law out there!

CARSON: So much the better.

PRESTON: Have you lost your mind!? What about your career?

CARSON: I don’t want a career built out of dead boys’ bones.

JACKSON: You’d throw everything you ever worked for away… and everything we gave you so you could get there? You were such a smart boy, Carson, you was destined for something big. At sixteen you graduated Harvard Law at the top of your class. Your uncle sent this case your way to help you make your fortune. And you made it, Carson, you made it so that every jurist in the country is going to know your name. This could take you anywhere— the Supreme Court, to Washington, even to the White House someday. And you’d throw it all away for a pack of runaway niggers!?

CARSON: No, Pap. For five murdered men.

(CARSON turns on his heel and storms out.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #9 - "One Drop"

Another spoiler-packed piece based on The Stand, not for the eyes of those who hope to play someday. I like the idea behind this piece a lot, but I am very dissatisfied with the execution. It is forced and needs work, so I will have to seriously edit it when I have time.

This piece is about Bonnie Reston Harper, the mother of PC Zachariah Harper who has just passed away at the start of game. The other character was difficult for me to decide on, given the point in the timeline and the subject matter of the discussion. I wanted to use someone already established in the universe, but nobody seemed to work, so I made a new character. I think it works, but I may change her to someone else if I think of any already existing character.

I am working on implying things in my dramatic writing without making them explicit. I wrote this as if taking it for granted that the reader knew what these two women were talking about. I hope it reads even without that definite prior knowledge.

Day #9 - "One Drop"

(Enter two middle-aged women, fair-skinned BONNIE HARPER and black-skinned IDA BOW, who sit at two simple chairs with a table between them. There is a cloth-draped rectangle upstage. BONNIE is frail and wan from illness. She lights a small lamp on the table.)

BONNIE: Ida, you shouldn’t have come back all this way. What if somebody catches you?

IDA: Had to, Bonnie. I heard you was real sick, and you’s all alone in the world now. After everything you done for me, I couldn’t let… anything happen to you, not without seeing you one more time.

BONNIE: Aw, honey, God bless you.

IDA: Is it so?

BONNIE: It’s so.

IDA: How bad is it?

BONNIE: Real bad. Bad as can be.

IDA: Aw, sweetheart. You sure?

BONNIE: Had Doc Harris check me out. He said it were certain.

IDA: The drunken war doc? Not sure I’d bet the farm on what he says.

BONNIE: Wouldn’t matter if he was the surgeon general, I can feel it. There’s a… rattling, like, in my chest. Getting a little worse every day. Won’t be long now, I expect.

IDA: Honey, I am so sorry.

BONNIE: It ain’t the worst thing there could be. It’s just… all this. After I’m gone… who’s going to keep things going? Who’s going take care of everyone who comes through?

IDA: You learned from your papa, didn’t you? Couldn’t you pass it on to your own children?

BONNIE: Believe me, Ida, I been thinking about it. But it’s not so simple. Can’t be my girl Julia, she’s married to a carriage-maker all the way in Alabama. Doubt I could even reach her in time.

IDA: In time?

BONNIE: Before it’s too late.

IDA: Oh. Well…what about that boy of yours? Zach… Zachary?

BONNIE: Zachariah.

IDA: What’s become of him? He… he went off into the frontier, didn’t he?

BONNIE: He’s a good boy. Done well for himself, made a bit of money by finding the right spot at the right time. Sends most of it home to me, the dear, and I see a letter from him once a month.

IDA: A real good boy. So what’s the trouble?

BONNIE: Lots of trouble, love. First off… he don’t know. Him nor Julia know.

IDA: They don’t? Twenty years you been helping runaways through, and you never said nothing about it?

BONNIE: When they was growing up, we hid it from them. Maybe it were foolish, but we thought that way we might not bring anything down on our children’s heads if ever we was caught. I… I have an awful lot of explaining to do.

IDA: I see. But you ain’t afraid he won’t understand, are you?

BONNIE: Not that, Ida, never that. Sure, the Indians are the darkest folk he’s ever seen, but we raised him better than that. Still… it’s a lot to ask of a young man.

IDA: Sure it’s a hard thing to do alone. I remember when your Lucas passed.

BONNIE: That was rough and no mistake.

IDA: But a decent boy like your Zach would want help you. Wouldn’t he?

BONNIE: It’s ain’t that, Ida. It’s only… it’s ain’t what Zachariah wants. Being bound to some patch of ground for any reason. He used to listen to his granddad’s stories of living on the frontier, and… his eyes would go wide as dinner plates. He went off to live those stories for himself the minute he was old enough to go. He writes about how he has an adventure every day and sleeps under the stars every night. He ain’t never been happier in his life. Asking him to take it over would be asking him to give all that up. Every time I start writing him… I hate myself for trying to drag him back here.

IDA: The boy would want to see his sick mother before she goes.

BONNIE: But he wouldn’t want me to chain him here.

IDA: Ain’t just anyone who’d risk it all just to do right by some other people.

BONNIE: Oh, Ida. Did I ever tell you why I got to doing this?

IDA: No, honey, don’t think you ever did.

BONNIE: It were my ma and pa, you know.

IDA: Wish I could have met them. Walter Reston must have been quite a man. Ran his own town, and still worked to help folks what didn’t have anyone else.

BONNIE: More than that, dear. I never showed you their picture.

(She goes to the cloth-draped rectangle upstage.)

BONNIE: My father and mother… Walter and Daisy Reston.

(She unveils a huge portrait of a distinguished-looking couple, a white man and a black woman.)

IDA: That’s your ma and pa? But you look…

(BONNIE touches the image of her mother reverently.)

BONNIE: She had a white papa herself. Reckon I take after that part of her.

IDA: Was they married?

BONNIE: In secret. She belonged to a tobacco baron in Virginia. I was lucky. When I was born, because of how I looked they sent me to go live with my auntie. So I wouldn’t have to live that life. That’s why Papa went out west. To earn the money to buy her free, and bring us out here with him.

IDA: She never made it, did she?

BONNIE: Daddy worked his whole life so he could get her out. Get her somewhere where nobody could stop them living as man and wife. But she died a slave. He wasn’t going to wait for anybody to buy their out ever again.

IDA: Oh, honey… I never knew. And you done so much for us... when you could’ve lived your life forgetting all about it.

BONNIE: What’s that they say? One drop is enough. If they ever found us out, I would have been in the same place as you were. As my mother was. I couldn’t do nothing else.

IDA: The children… do they know?

BONNIE: No. They never had to think about it. And now my boy’s free. Freer now than any of us. But… I can’t let this thing die. Ida… what do I do?

IDA: Bonnie… your pa gave all his rambling up to help folks what needed it. That’s the mark of a good man. And I ain’t never met your boy, but… I think any man raised by you is going to be just as good. You write that letter, Bonnie. I’ll see that it goes out.

(BONNIE considers, then nods. She takes out a pen and paper and begins to write. IDA holds on to her hand.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #8 - "Earned a Little Something"

This play works better than it has any right to. It depicts a birth gone awry, a situation like the last piece's in that it is kind of tough to portray onstage. I think it gets away with it by coming into the story at the right moment, after the labor is done with, and by implying with lighting changes that they have moved from one room into another.

This is another bit of backstory from The Stand. This time it's non-spoilery, but it is sad, and dark, and creepy. It depicts the day that Amelia was to give birth to her and Sheriff Malcolm Royce's only child... only things do not go as planned. This was hard to write, and I ended up having to just force it out onto the page, so it's rough. But might be salvageable with editing, even given the difficult theatrical setup.

Day #8 - "Earned a Little Something"

(Lights up on the right side of the stage only. Sheriff MALCOLM ROYCE paces across the stage, casting worried glances stage left. There is an empty crib behind him.)

(SAMUEL HARRIS the town doctor comes out from the dark, disheveled and with the red face and shaky hands of a longtime alcoholic. He carries a swaddled bundle in his arms.)

MALCOLM: What’s happened?

SAMUEL: It’s bad, sir.

MALCOLM: I know that, that’s why I called you.

(MALCOLM notices the bundle.)

MALCOLM: Is that… is that the baby?

SAMUEL: Sheriff… she come out cold.

MALCOLM: You was supposed to fix this!

SAMUEL: She was already dead! Poor little thing…

MALCOLM: What about Amelia? Is she…

SAMUEL: Too much blood… can’t stop it coming.

MALCOLM: What did you do, you worthless gin-soaked fool!?

SAMUEL: Might be I am, but she was already too far gone.

MALCOLM: Couldn’t you pull yourself together just one night to do your damn job!?

SAMUEL: Weren’t nothing I could do!

MALCOLM: You bastard… get your hands off her.

(He snatches the bundled baby from SAMUEL’s hands.)

MALCOLM: Get out! Get going!

(SAMUEL stumbles out. When he is gone, MALCOLM peels back the blanket to look at her, and his face breaks.)

(Lights up stage left, revealing AMELIA in the bed. She stirs.)

AMELIA: Malcolm? Is that you?

(MALCOLM lays the little body in the crib.)

MALCOLM: Darling? Oh, Jesus.

(He goes over to her.)

AMELIA: Where is she?

MALCOLM: She’s… in the cradle.

AMELIA: I didn’t… I didn’t get to see her.

MALCOLM: You didn’t?

AMELIA: Doc Harris… carried her off. She… she’s not crying. Malcolm, why ain’t she crying?

(MALCOLM says nothing. AMELIA begins to cry.)

AMELIA: She’s dead, isn’t she?

MALCOLM: I’ll kill that drunken wreck of a sawbones. I’ll drag him down Main Street behind my horse.

AMELIA: Stop it. He done nothing that nature hadn’t already done worse. Nothing can bring her back now…

MALCOLM: We’ll… we’ll have another, dear. We’ll have a houseful. Remember what we said? God thought we’d earned a little something.

AMELIA: Malcolm… you know there ain’t going to be any more.

MALCOLM: We can’t say that! We never thought we could have this one.

AMELIA: No, love. That’s it… that’s it for me.

(She pushes off her blanket, revealing sheets that are soaked through with blood.)

MALCOLM: Jesus Christ. Oh, honey… oh, no, honey.

AMELIA: Should have known, eh? Too old for birthing babies. Poor little girl… she had no chance with me… never even got to hold her…

MALCOLM: Ain’t your fault, honey, these things… things happen.

AMELIA: No matter now. I’ll be with her soon.

MALCOLM: No! No, don’t talk like that.

AMELIA: It’s too late, Malcolm. It’s real bad.

(He starts stroking her hair and face.)

MALCOLM: It’ll be all right. We’ll find you a real doctor, even if I have to ride all night.

AMELIA: Malcolm.

MALCOLM: Was a miracle we even made that baby. Why not have another miracle? It’ll be all right.

AMELIA: It ain’t all right, love. I never wanted to go like this… not with something hanging between us.

MALCOLM: Hanging between us? There ain’t nothing, darling.

AMELIA: I never meant to keep nothing from you. You’re the best man I know. Can’t leave things like this with you.

MALCOLM: You’re right with me, honey. You’re right with me.

AMELIA: I wanted to tell you, I just made a promise…

MALCOLM: What are you saying, dear?

AMELIA: Malcolm, I should have told you. Before now. But… you must promise me you can forgive.

MALCOLM: Tell me what, honey? Tell me what?

(AMELIA’s head drops back and her eyes flutter closed.)

MALCOLM: Amelia? What is it? Amelia!

(Her hands slip out of his. MALCOLM’s face contorts in pain, and he lays his head down on her chest in grief. After a moment, he rises. He smooths her hair and takes the clean blanket and lays it over her, concealing the blood. He regards her a moment in sorrow.)

MALCOLM: Thought we earned a little something.

(He then goes to the crib. He gathers up the body of their baby girl, and steeling himself, carries the small bundle out.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #7 - "Pierced Silver Piece"

Another short piece based on The Stand. This one is slightly awkward, as it attempts to depict an instance of backstory from the game that probably doesn't especially lend itself to theatrical portrayal. It needs a good deal of cleaning up, but I was pushing to finish, and it plays a little abruptly. But I think if I could manage to whip it into shape it might fit nicely into a theoretical larger piece, featuring a certain character I have been lately inclined to write about.

Again, this is EXTREMELY SPOILERY for the game, so do not read if you have not played and someday intend to. But for those who have, this piece features the PC Clarissa Dunn, played so far by in_water_writ*, wired_lizard*, and Sam LeVangie, in a rather significant moment in her short life.

Day #7 - "Pierced Silver Piece"

(CLARISSA DUNN , a young girl in buckskin clothes, sits at a small campground eating jerky. An enormous rifle lays at her side.)

(Enter DAMON BARRETT, a middle-aged man in frontier garb and a black hat with a pack on his back. He stops short when he sees CLARISSA, surprised.)

DAMON: Howdy there.

(She snatches up her gun.)

CLARISSA: You stay back now.

DAMON: Why, you’re just a slip of a thing.

CLARISSA: Matilda here makes it so that don’t matter so much.

DAMON: Matilda, huh? That’s a big gun for a little girl.

CLARISSA: And I know how to use it! So don’t try anything funny, you hear?

DAMON: Fear me not, I seen what pretty little things can learn to do with those. Mind if I rest awhile, if I promise to behave myself?

CLARISSA: If you want.

(She lays the rifle across her lap. DAMON sits down a little ways off from her, laying his pack aside.)

DAMON: Don’t see too many girl children out here on their lonesome. Where’s your ma and pa?

CLARISSA: Ain’t got ‘em no more.

DAMON: Well. Nothing for that. Reckon you must take care of your own self, or else you’d not have made it out here.

CLARISSA: That’s for damn sure. I know most of the trappers around these parts, but I ain’t never seen you before. You from hereabouts?

DAMON: Used to be sometimes, not anymore. I just… go out every now and then. Roam around, see what I see.

CLARISSA: Yeah? What for, if you got settled someplace now?

DAMON: Looking for… for something, I suppose. Not even sure I know for what any more. Probably something I can’t find.

CLARISSA: Well, I know exactly what I’m after. Justice for my old papa.

DAMON: Yeah? What happened?

CLARISSA: Some varmint shot him. And I mean to see him pay for it.

(She hefts the gun.)

DAMON: Aw, hell. That’s a heavy load for a young thing to bear.

CLARISSA: Ain’t nobody else going to do it.

DAMON: Would your mama want you dragging that gun around the woods just to get vengeance?

CLARISSA: Sure as she didn’t. But she left after my papa died.

DAMON: Christ. That’s rough, sweetheart.

CLARISSA: Can’t say as I blame her. She was all alone in the world after that. The woods was no place for her. And I ain’t your sweetheart.

DAMON: No, that’s plain. Well. I wish you good fortune on your way. Hope you find it before it’s too late.

CLARISSA: Too late for what?

DAMON: For everything else. Can be right hard to have a different life when you spend so much time another way. Things slip away before you know it.

(He leans back thoughtfully. He takes hold of a length of chain hanging off his vest with a silver coin on the end of it and begins idly twirling it. CLARISSA notices it and starts.)

CLARISSA: What’s that!?

DAMON: What’s what?

CLARISSA: That there! On your watch chain!

(He holds it out to look at it.)

DAMON: This? Nothing, just an old Spanish coin.

CLARISSA: I remember that thing, that thing on the watch chain dangling off his belt… it was you. It was you who done it!

DAMON: Me? Done what?

CLARISSA: And your black hat! I remember that black hat too!

(She hefts the gun and clambers to her feet.)

DAMON: What are you doing?

CLARISSA: I ain’t going to forget in a million years! It was you that day! He was a trader up in the territories named Marlon Dunn, and you killed him!

(He knocks the barrel aside just as she pulls the trigger.)

DAMON: A trader from around here? I killed no such man!

CLARISSA: He was my father and you killed him!

(With effort she swings that massive gun back toward him. He begins backing up hurriedly.)

DAMON: Swear on my mother’s grave!

CLARISSA: And for that, I’m going to kill you!

(She fires again and hits him in the leg in an explosion of blood and bone fragments. He falls to the ground, howling in pain.)

CLARISSA: I know what I saw! He had a black hat, a black mole on the back of his neck, and a pierced piece of silver on a watch chain!

DAMON: Jesus Christ!

CLARISSA: I was six years old! He was working at a trading post, and you gunned him down before me and my mother’s eyes!

DAMON: A trading post…? Wait! Wait! What was that name? What was your father’s name?

CLARISSA: Marlon Dunn.

DAMON: Marlon Dunn— oh, Jesus. Oh, gentle Jesus.

(He collapses in on himself.)

CLARISSA: Now shut up! I been waiting years to say my piece. His name was Marlon Dunn. He was my father and you killed him. And for that, I’m going to kill you.

DAMON: I see. Well, little lady, I do not blame you one bit.

(She hefts her huge gun and levels it at him.)

DAMON: Flora, my girl, you and Jesus forgive me.

(CLARISSA fires. DAMON collapses in a heap, dead. She lets the heavy gun drop, gasping for breath, almost sobbing. After a moment, she goes to the body and yanks off the silver piece on the watch chain. Then she kicks him over so that he lays face down and kneels beside him.)

CLARISSA: Where is it… where’s your damn mole…?

(She pulls down his collar and pushes away his hat so she can look at the back of his neck.)

CLARISSA: There… there ain’t one. No. No. Can’t be.

(She searches intently for a minute, then backs away quickly.)

CLARISSA: Black hat, silver piece. It has to be him, it has to be. But… he ain’t got no mole. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus.

(She snatches up Matilda and clings to it as if for comfort. She dithers there a moment, back and forth.)

CLARISSA: If you ain’t him… what did I just do?

(She scrambles to pack her campsite back up, holds her gun to her chest, and scurries off like a hunted animal.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #6 - "Public Enemy"

Who would have thought that my biggest source of inspiration for short plays would be the backstory of The Stand? I was always proud with how rich the storyline for that game was, and as I cast about for subject matter for this writing challenge, I find there are many scenes from the larp that are perfect for dramatizing. I have done three already, two in this month alone, and I expect there will be many more. Maybe I can use that connectedness for performance reasons, and someday produce an evening of Stand-related theater.

That said, the following scene, unlike the other two, is EXTREMELY SPOILERY FOR THE GAME. If you have not played The Stand and someday intend to, do not read this piece. For those who have played, it may interest you to know that it involves two important NPCs, Amelia Royce, the wife of the sheriff, and Caleb Coleman, a rival to the Sinclair Company in the local cattle business.

Day #6 - "Public Enemy"

SETTING: 1847, the small cattle town of Reston in the Northern California Territory

(CALEB COLEMAN, a wealthy middle-aged gentleman, sits at the desk in his study. AMELIA ROYCE, a nice-looking woman, simply dressed, enters deferentially.)

AMELIA: Mr. Coleman?

CALEB: Why, Mrs. Amelia Royce! What brings you out here?

AMELIA: Forgive me for just showing up, I’m sure you’re real busy, but I was hoping you might have a moment to speak with me.

CALEB: Always got a moment for the charming wife of the sheriff. Please, come sit.

(AMELIA takes a seat across the desk from him and smooths her skirt.)

AMELIA: Thanks very much for your time, sir.

CALEB: It’s good to see you. I’ve been meaning to say thank you for that mighty fine pie you sent over. I am right partial to cherries.

AMELIA: It were for all that money you gave to Bonnie Harper’s charity. A pie’s a small token for that.

CALEB: Oh, think nothing of it.

AMELIA: It was a right generous thing for you to do, Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: Well, thank you kindly for saying so, ma’am.

AMELIA: My husband is happy to see so more and more decent citizens moving out west here.

CALEB: Reston’s been lucky to have him come out too. They say he’s the best in the territory.

AMELIA: Well, at chasing varmints at least.

CALEB: He’s got a hell of a record for that. Nobody else could’ve cornered Red Jed Palmer in that cider mill, and chased the Mad Indian through six miles of burning countryside. He collared all of them.

AMELIA: Except for one. Deadeye Damon Barrett. You know about him?

CALEB: Everybody knows about him. He’s got a hell of a price on his head.

AMELIA: He was the real outlaw. Tricking townies, outriding cowboys, better shot than the governor’s best marshals. Malcolm chased him for years, but never did catch him. We still don’t know what became of him.

CALEB: I reckoned he was dead. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him in ages.

AMELIA: Well, they’re not about to forget about him. Not after he knocked over that US Treasury wagon. Folks still talk about it.

CALEB: Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It were the biggest robbery pulled in the territory since the US took it on.

AMELIA: I know— one hears things as the sheriff’s wife. Sometimes the little details that don’t get in the papers.

CALEB: That so?

AMELIA: Yes, sir. You see, it was something at the Easter picnic. I heard some of you fellows talking about that robbery. I remember you saying that… that Deadeye run off with ten thousand dollars in bullion. Is that so?

CALEB: That’s what I said.

AMELIA: That’s just it, you see. That weren’t in the papers, Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: What? I’m sure that can’t be.

AMELIA: I’m sure that it is, sir.

CALEB: Well… must be I heard it somewhere, I traveled around.

AMELIA: And then you turn up in town one day, richer than almost anybody.

CALEB: What are you saying, Mrs. Royce?

(AMELIA takes a crumpled piece of newspaper out of her handbag, smooths it carefully, and lays it on the desk.)

AMELIA: There ain’t no good pictures, so they weren’t enough to be sure. But when I heard what you said… I got sure. I think your name ain’t Caleb Coleman. I think it’s Damon Barrett.

(CALEB looks down and grows very still. He makes a fist on the desk.)

CALEB: It’s been thirteen years since anybody called me by that name. Thirteen years since I left that life.

(He rakes a hand through his hair.)

CALEB: Can I count on Sheriff Royce coming up after you to march me away in cuffs?

AMELIA: He doesn’t know. I haven’t told him.

CALEB: You didn’t? And… why would you do a thing like that?

AMELIA: I wanted to talk to you my own self first.

(CALEB rises from his chair and paces a little, finally pausing with his back to AMELIA.)

CALEB: Tell me, Amelia, ma’am… am I what you thought I’d be? Face to face with the most hunted man in the western territories… is this what you expected?

AMELIA: No. No, nothing like that.

(He marches up close and stares her down.)

CALEB: So how can you think you can march into my house play judge and jury on me like you know who I am?

AMELIA: Sir. I came out here, a woman alone, to accuse a man of being the most feared bandit in the west. Do you think I would have done that if I thought him just a beast? Do you think I don’t mean to give him a fair chance?

(He takes a few steps back. AMELIA stands.)

AMELIA: So here’s your chance. What should I make of you, Mr. Barrett? Wild, wanted Deadeye Damon Barrett?

(Some of the ire goes out of him and he deflates a little.)

CALEB: I know you got no reason to cut me any slack. Everything you heard about me, all the cons I pulled, all the crimes I did… they’re all on my head, I ain’t going to deny it. Any woman in your place would hand me over to her lawman husband on a silver platter and see it make his career.

AMELIA: Not to mention protecting folks from a public enemy.

CALEB: Right you are. But, ma’am… I ain’t no public enemy. Not anymore. I’m no danger to people. On the contrary, you said it yourself, I been good for this town. I gave jobs to decent men. I been generous, I gave cash to folks what needed it. Ain’t I?

AMELIA: Yes. Yes, you have.

CALEB: I done good since I got here, Mrs. Royce. The first real good I ever done anybody in my life.

AMELIA: And that means you’ve atoned? For everything you’ve done?

CALEB: Might not be, ma’am. Might be I got a long way to go before I’m right with Jesus. But I can’t do no good to anybody in a cell. Or swinging off the end of a rope.

AMELIA: A lot of folks suffered for what you did.

CALEB: I know. And I quit because I regretted that. Because I wanted to put a stop to that. I know it don’t make up for it, but I suffered for it too.

AMELIA: How? All those lawmen chasing after you with their guns—

CALEB: You think I mean about comfort and safety? That ain’t nothing of what that life cost me!

(He struggles a moment, then reaches into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdraws a lock of brown hair tied with a blue ribbon. He tosses it down on the desk. Carefully AMELIA picks it up and examines it.)

AMELIA: Oh, Caleb… Damon… was she…?

CALEB: The sheriff ain’t the only one to judge me for what I did. And that’s one hell of a penance from where I stand. You remember that when you go home into the arms of the husband that loves you.

(AMELIA considers, then carefully goes to CALEB and places the lock of hair back in his hand.)

AMELIA: Malcolm doesn’t have to know.

CALEB: You mean that?

AMELIA: I do. You got a long way ahead of you before you atone. I ain’t going to stop you now.

CALEB: Thank you.

AMELIA: This you can’t quit. You can’t ever quit.

CALEB: I won’t. I swear it.

(CALEB presses the fist clasping the lock hair to his chest. AMELIA nods.)

AMELIA: Good day, then. Mr. Coleman.

CALEB: Thank you, Mrs. Royce.

(AMELIA exits. CALEB collapses against his desk.)

31 Plays in 31 Days: #4 - "Colors in the Sky in Rain"

Today's piece uses characters from The Stand. It's spoiler-free for the game, so it's all right to read if you haven't played yet. It tells a bit of the backstory of two of the characters in the game, Negahse'wey the Yurok woman and a certain former US Marshall who once called himself Kenneth Dillon. I'm pretty good at writing the voice of a cowboy from the 1840s, but I struggled more with figuring out how a Yurok Native American who didn't know perfect English would talk. I tried to give it some verisimilitude without descending into stereotypes.

And hey, this one's not dark! In fact, it was playing these characters that and Adam were legally married while in my larp. I'm still tickled by that. :-D

Day #4 - "Colors in the Sky in Rain"

(A white man, KENNETH DILLON, dressed in flannel and denim lies asleep on a pallet. A Native American woman, NEGAHSE’WEY, sits a ways off mixing herbs and mud in a bowl.)

(After a moment, KENNETH stirs, moaning softly. He claps his hand to his forehead in pain, then pushes himself up to rest on one elbow.)

KENNETH: Jesus Christ, Buck… feel like a bull run me over… Buck? You there?

(He looks around and is surprised by his surroundings.)

KENNETH: What…? Where am I?

(He looks at NEGASE’WEY in shock. She looks back at him, considering.)

KENNETH: God damn! Who in the hell are you?

(He scrambles awkwardly back a bit.)

KENNETH: Jesus… one of them Yuroks, ain’t she. Gonna be lucky to get out of here with my scalp still on. Oh, Jesus. What in the hell does she want?

NEGAHSE’WEY: I know your talk some.

KENNETH: Oh! Oh. Uh, sorry, there, miss. Ma’am.

(As an afterthought he goes to take off his hat, and realizes he isn’t wearing it.)

KENNETH: Uh, where’s my…

(She reaches for it and hands it to him. He holds it to his chest.)

KENNETH: Thank you, miss. Feel naked without my…

(He clutches his hair again.)

KENNETH: You ain’t cut off my scalp.

(NEGAHSE’WEY looks at him as if he’s an idiot. KENNETH suddenly feels a fool.)

KENNETH: I guess… I reckon you had plenty of chance if you was going to do that. Sorry, ma’am. Can you… can you tell me where I am?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Yurok village. The old plank house where nobody goes.

KENNETH: Yurok village? How’d I get here?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Found you half-dead. Washed up in the river.

KENNETH: The… the river…

NEGAHSE’WEY: Very stupid, swimming with hide and wood and iron on your feet.

KENNETH: We got no choice! We was on the trail, after some varmint! Me and Buck… Oh, Jesus… Buck! He must think I’m a dead man.

(He struggles to stand, but collapses back onto the pallet.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Buck?

(She comes over with her bowl of herbs and tries to quiet him. She examines him, checking his pulse and looking into the whites of his eyes.)

KENNETH: My brother, my partner in the marshalls… he was with me. Going after the varmint. We chased him to the river, but the storm was picking up. Water was running wild, made it hard to cross, but we couldn’t just let him get away. Had to go in after him. But… the rain, and the current…

NEGAHSE’WEY: River swept you away.

KENNETH: Yeah… yeah, it did. Hit me like a freight train. That’s the last thing I recollect.

(She begins dabbing at his cuts with the contents of her bowl.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Found you after. In the mud after storm. Only a little breath, much blood. Though you dead, but… I saw your breath.

KENNETH: No wonder my head’s pounding like a stampede. So I been here since last night?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Three nights.

KENNETH: Three nights!?

NEGAHSE’WEY: You sleep. I wonder if you never wake.

KENNETH: Oh, Jesus. Gone all that time… I gotta get back, gotta tell Buck I ain’t dead…

(NEGAHSE’WEY tries to keep him still, but KENNETH staggers to his feet. He goes to leave but sways helplessly.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Not good to go out there.

KENNETH: Why?

NEGAHSE’WEY: People out there. Yurok.

KENNETH: Yurok?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Want you not here. Rather you die.

KENNETH: Oh. Oh, Lord.

(He sways. NEGAHSE’WEY helps him back to the pallet.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: I think you not go far.

KENNETH: Might… might be right, ma’am. Oof… like I was drunk of a week, I’m so dizzy. Reckon I’m stuck here until I can defend myself on the way out.

(He allows NEGAHSE’WEY to continue ministering to him silently for a moment, then looks to her.)

KENNETH: Wait a breath… if nobody wants me here… how in thunder did I get here?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Me.

KENNETH: You? Just you?

NEGAHSE’WEY: And my spotted pony. Lay you on his back, bring you here.

KENNETH: But… you said they don’t want me here.

NEGAHSE’WEY: Yes. They say, no white man here. Should leave you where you lay, leave you die. I say no. I say, carry you back here, lay you in the old plank house, tend your wounds. Much anger at me.

KENNETH: Why’d you do it, then?

NEGAHSE’WEY: Sad for you. Lying there, blood and hurt, with no one. Sad.

(KENNETH takes off his hat again.)

KENNETH: That was… that was right kind of you, miss. And… sounds like brave too. Thank you.

(Pause.)

KENNETH: Ah… the name’s Dillon, by the way. US Marshall Kenneth Dillon.

(She stares.)

KENNETH: Just… call me Kenneth. If you please.

(Awkwardly he extends his hand for a handshake. He is a little thrown when she touches it palm to palm.)

KENNETH: What’s your name?

NEGAHSE’WEY: (Considering) You say… Colors in the Sky in Rain.

KENNETH: “Colors in...?” Your name’s Rainbow?

(She stares.)

KENNETH: Uh… what do you say? In your tongue?

NEGASEH’WEY: Negahse’wey.

KENNETH: Negah— Negahse’wey.

(She laughs at his pronunciation.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: I have your tongue. You have no Yurok.

KENNETH: Well… I could! I think… I think I might be here for a little while. I could learn.

(She laughs again.)

KENNETH: (Trying hard.) Negahse’wey! See there! I know one word already! Might be… might be you could teach me more.

(NEGAHSE’WEY walks over to the pallet, tipping her head back and forth.)

NEGAHSE’WEY: Might be. Might be not. So stupid you swim with your boots.

(KENNETH stares a minute, then, realizing she’s made a joke, bursts out laughing. Negahse’wey smiles.)

Festival 2012 Con Report, part I

Oh, beloved Festival.

Friday night was Jesriah, the new game from morethings5*, lightgamer*, and ninja_report*. I was not alone in regarding it as the most anticipated game of the con, and friends, it did not disappoint. I loved my character, a former pop diva who had been committed to the asylum against her will by her shady politician husband and felt completely used-up by the ripe old age of thirty-three. What was interesting was how I expected my game to be one thing from my sheet, and then a curve ball in the beginning turned it ninety degrees, adding a new and challenging dimension. There was a ton of things to do and explore, between the plots I had to pursue, the fascinating other characters I had to interact with, and the elaborate environment of the hospital around us. The atmosphere the GMs generated was great, a little creepy, a little sad, a little tense, like something was hanging over all of us. Despite it being set in the same universe as the earlier game, The Prince Comes of Age, it was remarkably different sort of game with a very different feel that still managed to incorporate cool throwbacks for players who'd played both. I had a great mystery to unravel, which is one of my favorite sort of larp plots, and I'm only sorry I didn't manage to dig up more. There was a long clue chain, and while I did get a fair bit along the way there was a ton more still left to dig up. I was also lucky to have a fantastic group of larpers to play with, which always makes a game better. If you want something dark, atmospheric, and psychologically thrilling, this is a great choice; I highly recommend it.

The next morning on Saturday I ran my third solo game The Stand. This was going to be interesting because I had a lot of relatively inexperienced people in this run. niobien* and Daniel Burns have played about five and Prentice a bit more than that, while this was katiescarlett29*'s third and the first for Sara Brande and Samantha LeVangie. I am very invested in bringing more people into the community, so I wanted very much for them to have a good time. But fortunately I think this is one of the best runs we've ever had. I think plots were more fully explored in this run than ever, even some that got off to slow starts. I just need to make sure that certain character connections get made so they can share their information and start working together, and it also helped that I spoke to a couple of the savvier players (usernamenumber* in particular) to let them know they may need to let their own secrets out. I also have to thank morethings5* for AGMing, even with everything else he had going on. He had this great idea to incorporate the Bear Man from the new True Grit movie (which the whole GM team are fans of) as this wandering figure out on the map who, while being an interesting weird encounter, also proved a way to inject information into the game about things that happened outside of town. I am writing the Bear Man in as a permanent NPC and codifying the things he knows so as to allow him to help the game keep moving. So I am really happy with this run. Thank you, awesome players who were awesome, especially you newbies who all did so well!

The afternoon was tightly scheduled for SLEEP LIKE DEAD time. And oh, Jesus, am I glad that I slept like dead.

To be continued in part 2!

Readying The Stand for Festival, and Pride and Prejudice opening

I sent out all the character sheets for The Stand. I'm pleased with myself for getting them out a month in advance, because it gives people time to read all the materials (there's a fair bit of them) and to get their costuming together. I hope my players like them.

I wrote a short play last semester about two characters, a PC and an NPC, in The Stand. My teacher liked it and I was happy with how it came out. It occurs to me that there's probably more ten minute plays I could get out of the characters in this game. Something between Tall Bear and Negahse'wey, for example. Hmm. Might be worth thinking about. I do want to write more ten minute plays, and they get easier to perform all in an evening of theater when they're related in some way.

I am excited to get cast in the games I'm playing, Jesriah and Folding the River. They both sounds like they're going to be awesome. I desire very strongly to costume these games out of my own closet. I have made a number of interesting acquisitions from thrift stores over the last few months, fortunately none expensive but they do add up after a while, that I would really like to make use of. Both to justify their purchase and to prevent me from spending any more on costuming in the near future! ;-)

Tonight is the opening of the play that Jared, Tegan, and Jenn are in, Pride and Prejudice. Unfortunately I won't be able to be there tonight, but I know it will be great and I'm really excited to see it. I am going with a large group Saturday night, so anyone who'd care to come with company is welcome to join us. I'll be going again next Friday night, and have yet to make plans to join anyone, so please let me know if you'll be there then. Jared shaved off his beloved beard for this role, so go if only to ensure that its sacrifice will not be in vain!

With trouble and at length, The Stand is cast for Festival

Cast The Stand for Festival last night, one of the longest and hardest casting sessions I've ever had to do. Took me literally five hours yesterday. Frequently I'll get a run where everyone wants to be the same character. Usually everyone wants to be the heroic white hat, and finding a villain is next to impossible. This time around everyone wants to be a baddie, or a shifty shade of gray. I've got some of those but not an entire game, so I struggled to fit people in as best I could. I really hope people like their characters even if they're not perfectly what they ask for, I tried really hard to make do. :-P Hints are out now, as well as bluesheets and rules. I want to look over the full character sheets before I send them. Even though the game's been run twice before, I like to make sure there's nothing that needs tweaking between runs before I give them out.

There's one player who I have not heard any communication from whatsoever. No casting questionnaire despite numerous pokes, no nothing. I'm a little afraid she's not going to show up. I cast her in what I consider to be the easiest character to excise from the game just to be safe, but still, I want that character there. I think what I may do is engage a pinch hitter to be on standby to step in and take over the role if necessary. Of course, I would technically be within my rights to replace her entirely. Last year when I was con chair of Festival, one of the GMs contacted me to say that she had a player who was completely unresponsive, even to an email asking to please even confirm that he was still interested in playing. I made the call that she could cut him off her list and put the first person on the waitlist in. I'll give this person a little more time and at least one more ultimatum to respond and confirm that she wants to be involved, then I may just do that myself.

Anybody interested in doing me a huge favor and possibly taking over this role? :-)

Festival signups and Titus build

Both of my games at Festival, The Stand and Paranoia, have now filled. The Stand will be interesting because this time it seemed I was getting a lot of female players, so in order to accommodate them I opened up a few neutral slots. Now I have thirteen men and twelve women to play seventeen male and nine female characters, which is more skewed to the female than either of the previous runs were. If any of these lovely ladies are willing to be cross cast that will make everything a snap, but if not enough of them are, I will have to consider what currently male characters I can gender swap. Given the setting and historical time period, it's a pretty gendered game, and while there are plenty of people stepping outside of their proscribed roles, it's usually pretty significant to their plot. Still, that should actually be a fun and interesting challenge should the need arise. Festival looks to be a good con overall; it's a good roster of games at this point, and they're almost all completely full. Well done, ninja_report*, for making this happen!

Build for the current HTP show, Titus Andronicus, has begun. Though the show is still several weeks off, their unfortunately early performance dates mean there is no show in the theater before them, so they were able to move in and get started. I hope the extra time proves to be of benefit to them. I went by the last couple days to lend a hand here and there where I could. I really enjoy helping with build week. With work and school I spend so much time doing mental, sedentary work that my body craves a chance to pit itself against physical work of some kind. And It's not often that I get a chance to build things. Carpentry is one of the many things I'd love to learn if it weren't something that required a significant money and space investment, so it's nice to have an outlet every now and then to experience it. And I like the challenge to my body to do that kind of work.

Larpocalypse signups begin!

Festival signups opened last night, and the flurry for game registration began! As I predicted, Jesriah filled within the first few minutes, but I was fast on the button and made it in. Glad I made that my first-round pick. Congratulations, morethings5*, lightgamer*, and ninja_report*! You win the brass ring for this Festival. The tiered system I think is really good, as nobody will get shut out of everything they want. There were some minor technical issues that some people observed in that some of the games didn't have a signup button appear even though signups were open-- both The Stand and Paranoia were affected by it. But our intrepid con chair and heroic webmaster were on it, and before long all issues were solved. We even got a few people making those two their first round pick! I am flattered that katiescarlett29* and nennivian* chose The Stand-- can't wait to cast them! --and there's also a young man I don't recognize but who appears to be a Brandeis student. Yay, new larping blood! In Paranoia we have, among others, Prentice and niobien*, Emily Baum, and Nat Lathrop. I am confident that everything will fill within the next few rounds, and I look forward to the final cast roster.

My next pick will be Folding the River, and if I don't make it into that, High Rollers. I want to play both of them very much so I won't be disappointed either way. Jared's going for High Rollers as well. Remember to be at your computer at 7PM this coming Thursday so you can get into the game you want before it fills!

Musing on larps I could write

Harrumph. I know I'm not supposed to be focusing on this, but I am feeling frustrated and restless, so I welcome anything that might relieve it a bit, and right now, I want to muse about larps and larp writing.

Currently my name is listed as author for six larps. They are, in chronological order, Alice, Oz, Paranoia, The Labor Wars, Resonance, and The Stand. Alice, Oz, and The Stand I wrote alone. The other three I was a member of the writing team, The Labor Wars and Resonance with Alleged Entertainment, Paranoia with Bernie, Joe, lightgamer*, and witticaster*. I find I write best when there is a clear hierarchy of creative control in a game. It is not easy for me to collaborate well, so it helps if I don't see the project as "my idea" when I do. As a guest of Alleged's, fleshing out notions conceived by another person, I did not have the problem where I was so invested in the concept that didn't want to concede to someone else's idea. Paranoia was Bernie's baby, which also made it easier to step back. I'm not so good at working with others on projects that are MY idea unless there is a clear understanding that I get the final word.

Most of those larps have or will have been run quite a bit. Alice has run five times, Oz has run six. The Stand and Paranoia will have their third runs at Festival, while at Intercon Resonance will have its fourth. The Labor Wars has only run once, which I know I would like to put on again if time and my co-writers permit. I tend to be very concerned about whether or not a game has run too many times recently, as I have a fear of the larp not filling. That's why Alice has not come out in a couple years now, and I think Oz should not come out again anytime soon either. Which makes me itch for a new piece to debut. I love the feeling of people rushing to play in my larp, and I get a huge amount of validation for my work when players enjoy the piece.

I have several concepts for larps that I could write. Some of them have been rolling around in my head for several years and for some reason I just never got to them. It's worth mentioning that I thought of most of these considerably before The Stand, which had the weirdest genesis ever-- I just found myself bored at work one day thinking about how I liked cowboys, and would like to write a cowboy larp. I was suddenly jotting down ideas and becoming engaged, when I became struck with the desire to bid it for Intercon. It was that bidding that forced me to work on it as opposed to any other game, which is why it got finished while these others are still just ideas.

I know someday I must write that Peter Pan larp that I've always been talking about, to complete my planned triptych of larps based on what are most likely the three most iconic children's stories in the Western Canon. I will call the game simply Pan, both to fit with the punchiness of Alice and Oz, and to fit in with a notion I am adopting from the movie Hook that Pan is used as a title. The trouble is, while I have a few vague conceptual ideas, and I think I want to go with a kind of fairyland setting, I don't really know what the plot is. I went into writing most of my other games with an idea of that already, so I think that may be what's been stopping me from really digging into it.

Imperium has really been nagging at me. I love the Ancient Roman setting, and I am really enjoying the possibilities that are open to me because I have decided to have my characters be only vague analogues to figures from Roman history so I can deal with some of the same issues but take them in totally different directions. I've had a couple really exciting ideas in the last few days, which pull me more and more towards wanting to work on it, but as it's currently my newest idea, maybe it shouldn't get priority. I am amused by the fact that I seem to write "series" of games-- there's my children's-story-inspired triptych, and apparently there's also my pseudo-historical period games like this one and The Stand.

Jared and I have been working on and off for years on our New York Mafia game, Men of Respect. I love the transitional period in the history of Italian-American gangs, the time immediately post-World War II in which the Godfather is set, after the Golden Age was over but before things just devolved into plain old street crime. We have a lot of work done and a ton of good ideas, but probably because we've never set a work schedule for it we've only ever managed to chip away at it off and on. Maybe the time is approaching to set meetings for it and lay deadlines, because this I think has the potential to be a truly epic game. (I wonder if it counts among the "pseudo-historical" type.)

Then there's one that I have never talked about much because I'm not sure if it's a good or workable idea, but it's been kicking around in my head for several years now. It is tentatively called Jabberwocky, and would be designed as a sequel to my first game Alice. Suggested to me by Jared, it would be examining what happened to the state of Wonderland now that the Jabberwock is gone. I've always been unsure about it for several reasons. First, larp sequels are a tricky proposition. It's hard for them not to spoil the content of the previous game. Also, I'm concerned what the hook would be now that the one hopeful thread that had been in the storyline has by now left Wonderland to never come back. I don't think I want to just tell a story of lots of horrible people fighting to screw one another. But maybe the story can be that without the major suppressing force of hope there, there's a chance of people rising out of the despair that holds them there. Alice was a rather successful game, liked by the majority of its players, so maybe there is an audience for this one.

Lastly, as I mentioned recently, I would love to write a small short game that I could put together quickly and easily just to have something new and fun to run. I am imagining it as a two-hour game where the players are explicitly confined to a tightly limited space with an interactive environment that facilitates the movement of the plot. The trouble is, I have no idea what the circumstance or the story should be. That's always my problem when I come up with the project without already having an idea for it. Somebody give me a scenario, and if I feel inspired by it, I would love to write a quick, short, fun larp for it.

Festival schedule almost ready

Our lovely Festival con chair ninja_report* just sent out the preliminary schedule for Larpocalypse. It looks to be a very good con. Shannon looks to have balanced the schedule nicely, meaning there should be a good variety of games in every time period with an appropriate number of slots. And she and natbudin* have arranged to have tiered signups-- as in, one signup total per person for the first round, two signups total for the second round, and then as many signups as you like for the third round --which Festival has needed for a while now. We've had a problem in the past when people who logged in at 7:03 rather than 7:00 when signups opened and got shut out of their preferred games in every slot. Everybody should get a shot at getting into at least one of their first-choice games.

Oh, and I don't believe I ever mentioned the final verdict on which games I would be running. I did bid The Stand first, as I am quite proud of that game and it's only been run twice before. I'm excited to put it on again. My one concern is that maybe the map needs one more GM, so more traveling and exploring can happen at once. But after some discussion with my co-writers, we elected to run Paranoia as the second one. Despite having debuted it in 2009, if I remember correctly, because of its particular space requirements and the need for the right players (not everyone's into that style of game or the Paranoia setting), we've only run it two times. Bernie in particular has wanted to run it again. We've been waiting for the right time and place, but it did well at Festival in its maiden run so now seems as good a time as any. The edit we made for the second run was really strong, so players should be in for a treat.

Melancholy memories in the graveyard

I've taken to walking through Mt. Feake Cemetery when I want to get into town. Since moving to Illyria an extra mile was tacked onto all my normal walking routes, and while the effort isn't tough for me, it makes a walk take significantly more time out of my day. I like cemeteries. They're a tiny glimpse of history. They're great for a writer trying to gather names. (Apparently there are a lot of "Blaisdells" who died in Waltham.) It's actually a lovely place, carefully arranged and beautifully maintained, full of big expensive-looking cookie cutter headstones. It's got nice trees and healthy green grass and a great view of the river with the picturesque old watch factory on the opposite bank. I don't know how even people who don't like cemeteries could find this place unpleasant. Of course I like old weird rundown ones too. And I really like sort of run-of-the-mill working class ones that are neither too nice nor too bad. My great-grandparents on the Roberts side are buried in a place like that, where all the headstones in the Catholic section of the yard are the flat kind that are easier to mow around, and cheaper than the ones in the Protestant section. It's a piece of my family's history-- Catholic, working class, Burgettstown, the names Frank and Christina Roberts --and a small tangible piece of relatives I've never met.

Whenever I'm in a graveyard I always find myself thinking of the baby my Gigi, my paternal grandmother, lost a few years after my dad was born. In the eight years between having my dad and my uncle, my Gigi had several miscarriages and one stillborn baby girl. I'm not sure I'm remembering this correctly, but I believe Gigi fell down some stairs at some point during the pregnancy and the baby was born dead. She's buried somewhere in that same cemetery as my great-grandparents, but at the time Gigi and Granddad couldn't afford a headstone, and so without a marker in the intervening years no one remembers where she lies.

I've never heard anybody call her by a name. This didn't seem strange to me; I don't really believe stillbirths are people, so I don't approve of giving them names. I've seen too many instances of people personifying their lost babies in unhealthy and unrealistic ways. I always assumed Gigi's lost baby never had one. But I've heard enough people have expressed shock to me upon hearing that that I wonder if maybe she did, and it's just that no one uses it. Difficult enough to lose a baby, perhaps even if worse if you turn her into a person too. I don't think it's anything superstitious or even hung-up; I think my family is just inclined to not dwell on old tragedies, nor to investing personhood in someone who never was. But if that's so, I feel a strange connection between the name never being mentioned and the lack of a headstone. No setting down of the name, no speaking of the name hereafter.

In my larp The Stand there is a headstone to a stillborn baby girl in the graveyard, the child-that-never-was of the sheriff Malcolm Royce. I was thinking of Gigi's lost baby when I included it. I decided that the stone in the game would read Baby Girl Royce. I did not want them to have named her, and what else could you put on a tombstone for a child that never lived before it died?

It was a long time ago. Gigi has since passed away. Granddad is around ninety now. My dad and his older sister and younger brother all have children of their own. My uncle's oldest daughter is about to have her own baby. And my family is full of resilient people. Sickness, loss, struggle, death, may be mourned but are eventually taken in stride with the knowledge that there is always hardship in this life. Not even Granddad and Gigi were really scarred by this. But still, somewhere there is a baby with no name buried fifty years ago who died without ever having a chance to live. We don't remember where. The people who knew have forgotten, and they are beginning to pass away themselves. I'll never know. But she existed. She had people wanted to know and love the person she would have been. People who cried that she was dead.

And she has a niece who thinks about her. Who has made art from the thought of her. Who remember that she existed.

I don't really have a point to this. I don't have anything I learned or concluded from this. I still don't think she should have had a name. And I don't think it's a big deal that she doesn't have a headstone. But I still think she mattered, if only for this.

Biweekly Theater Writing Challenge #5 - 10-Minute Play based on The Stand

This was written for my first assigned ten-minute play. As I mentioned, it is inspired by some of the backstory of my larp The Stand. I'm actually pretty happy with this, though I imagine I will want to revise the draft. For the posting here, I have changed the names that actually appeared in The Stand to avoid spoilers, so it should be safe to read if you still want to play the game. To those of you who have played, I'll happily tell you who these characters actually are, in case it's not already obvious.

            (A man dressed as a cowboy, RED JED PORTER, sits outside a canvas tent, holding a rag compress to a wound in his shoulder. A young woman in frontier garb, POLLY WALKER, comes out of the tent to check on him.)

POLLY: You sure you’re all right there?

JED: Nothing but a scratch, love. I dug bigger’n that out of my shoulders before.

POLLY: Let’s have a look.         

(She lifts the compress to look at the wound.)

POLLY: The bleeding’s slowed. You should be all right, thank God.

JED: Takes more than a peashooter like that to slow down Red Jed Porter. Still, wouldn’t have thought folks at a trading post would have that much fight in them. No matter, was worth the furs we nabbed.

POLLY: I suppose.

JED: Sure were. Beaver and bear and rabbit. We’ll get a good price for them.         

(POLLY doesn't respond.)

JED: And how are you, missy?

POLLY: I ain’t hurt.

JED: Not that. You been awful quiet since we got back to camp.       

(Pause.)

JED: I know things went bad in there.

POLLY: It was just... that inside man of yours. Diego having to shoot him.

JED: Yeah. Wasn't expecting him to turn on us like that.

POLLY: Seeing that was awful hard.

JED: Folk’s gotten killed before on our jobs.

POLLY: I know, hon… just not with their family right there looking at them.

JED: Yep. That was rough and no mistake.         

(Pause.)

POLLY: Did you see his wife there?

JED: I did.

POLLY: You see how big she was? She’s going to have a baby soon.

JED: Most like.

POLLY: I never knew they was having a baby.

JED: Nor I. He didn't say nothing to me about it. But ain’t no surprise to me, Polly. Men often get into rough work when they’re going to have more mouths to feed.

POLLY: And there was that little girl.

JED: We didn’t hurt none of them.

POLLY: She was right there when her papa got cut down.

JED: It's a crying shame. That man done them real wrong not seeing them safely away. Best put it out of your mind, hon.

POLLY: My God, Jed, we got their daddy killed.

JED: I could do nothing for him, Polly. He knew what he was getting into.

POLLY: I know he did.

JED: Was his choice to do the job with us.

POLLY: I never even knew his name. Did you?

JED: Sure.

POLLY: What was it?

JED: It was Fred, love. He was Fred Gable.          

(Pause.)

JED: Look here, love, the man was a damn fool. Way we planned it, nobody had to get hurt. We made a real sweet deal with him. Should have known better than to try and sell our gang out.

POLLY: Sure should have. But... did Diego have to kill him, though? Right there with his gravid wife and daughter looking on?

JED: Polly, you was there. The man went yellow on us. He was going to give up the whole scheme. Diego had to take care of him or he would have done for us all.

POLLY: He would have done for us because he didn’t want no trouble going on in front of his family.

JED: He knew we was coming. He didn’t have to bring them there. Sure it’s a terrible thing to put a man down before his baby girl’s eyes, but he didn’t leave us no choice!

POLLY: Can’t you do something, though?

JED: Weren't me that pulled the trigger on him.

POLLY: That's right, love. If you thought it was right, it would have been. You're the boss, Jed. If you don't like it, you could say something.

JED: It's not that simple, hon.

POLLY: Diego worships you. He listens to what you tell him.

JED: What you want me to say, Polly? That he's gotta be a kinder, gentler outlaw?

POLLY: I don't know. He's just so fast hauling off with that gun.

JED: Times like that, staying your hand's a good way to get a body killed. Back there, Diego took care of business. It's a hard thing.

POLLY: He’s a hard boy.

JED: Have to be, to run with a life like ours.                             

POLLY: I don’t think that’s so.

JED: Course it is, Polly. We got to do what we got to do.

POLLY: You ain’t like that, Jed. You don’t just fire a bullet to solve all your troubles. You're clever and brave and not just some murdering bandit. Everybody knows you for that.

JED: That’s for sure. Ain’t no man this side of the territory hasn’t heard of Red Jed Porter. Or his best gal Polly Walker neither.

POLLY: Remember the first time we saw us in the papers?

JED: That was after we ran off with half the stock in the Gregson Cattle Company. Weren’t that a thrill!

POLLY: Remember how you talked that rancher into hiding his herd in the ravine to protect them from rustlers?

JED: When the rest of the gang was down there waiting to make off with them.

POLLY: And what about the time you disguised yourself as a preacher to find where that rich widow hid her good silver?    
 
(JED laughs.)

POLLY: And what about the time you outrode a whole team of marshals to lead them away from our camp?

JED: That was a wild ride, to be sure.

POLLY: That’s why you’re the biggest bandit in the west, love. Ain’t no gunshots did that. That’s why I came out here with you.

JED: And you stuck it out with me all this time. Was better than I could have believed.

POLLY: I'd follow you to hell gates, Jed. Course I'd follow you here.

JED: Of course, a gal like you was never going to spend forever in that one-horse town. You were going to want something more. And we got a lot out here. Freedom, adventure. Being together. I know times like these it ain’t always pretty, but you been happy, right?

POLLY: Of course I been. But... you ever think you'll have enough of it?

JED: Enough of what, the outlaw life?

POLLY: With the killing and such. I swear, Jed, I been glad to be out here with you, but do we want to still be sticking up wagons and rustling cattle when we're old fellows?

JED: True it ain't going to be easy to weather bullet wounds when I'm a graybeard. Maybe you could make a nice little prairie marm, Polly, but I'm not sure with this old reputation of mine I ever could settle down into some little town like I was some respectable gentleman.

POLLY: Nobody'd have to know what you really were. It’s your name that’s famous, not your face. With a different name they might not think anything of you.

JED: I suppose that's something. But what if they ever found out? They’d hang me soon as look at me.

POLLY: Might be.

JED: I fear that may not be for me until I'm a real old graybeard, love.         

(Pause.)

JED: It ain’t always like it was today. Tomorrow we’ll move on from here, and things will be like they always are. You’ll forget about this in time.         

(Pause.)

JED: Best get to packing, love. We’re moving out in the morning.        

(JED stands and goes into the tent. POLLY sits alone, looking off into the distance.)

Status update

Finished my first blank verse assignment. Jesus Christ, that was hard. My brain felt like melted Jell-o by the time I was done with it. I can't put off starting on the next verse piece for too long or it will be harder than it has to be, but I definitely needed a mental rest after that.

Now I have started on a ten-minute play for my next regular drama assignment, which as I mentioned involves a PC and an NPC from The Stand. I am quite pleased with it so far; these were always some of my favorite characters in this game, and this is a dramatization of something that actually happened in the backstory of the larp, though I am considering changing the ending so that the scene ends on a more climactic note. I will post it here as I've been posting my other pieces, but it's a bit spoilery if you haven't played the game, so I may post it with the names changed so that people can read it even if they still want to play.

Oz has filled at Bridgewater Larp Day. Still awaiting a number of casting questionnaires, but it looks to be a good cast. I haven't run Oz in over a year now, but because it's relatively small at fifteen players even with five previous runs it didn't completely exhaust the player pool. Looking back over the materials, I am amused with the ways I emulated the novel's sense of slightly disjointed fantasy. I love, in particular, the weird and silly names I picked, like Dapperjohn Greatgourd and Glinda Aralinda. For some strange reason one of the most satisfying things I find about writing is to that when you come up with a name, people who read or perform or play your work will use it. So when people go around in my game calling each other Jubilation and Perpetua and Phineas because I chose those names, it gives me a real warm fuzzy.

Soon I am going to start taking an adult beginner ballet class. It was by blendedchaitea*'s suggestion, and I'm really excited. That's something I've always kind of wanted to do but never really had time for it, but now seems like the right time to work it in. I want to get more into dancing, as well as have an exercise habit I actually enjoy. And it will be fun to go to it with Rachel.

Also trying to get some household stuff accomplished. Yesterday I got a box with plastic dividers in it to hold all my various sewing odds and ends. So I organized my work table and got everything put away. Then I promptly messed up the space all over again working on some projects. It's funny how often I mess up my room because I'm busy doing something, then spend a day cleaning it up so I have space to start another project that messes everything up again.

Finally, yesterday my iPhone battery broke. It will work as long as it's plugged in, but it won't hold charge anymore. I'm going to have to go to the Apple Store today to get them to take a look at it. My mom mentioned my brother had sort of a similar problem with his, and when he took it in they just gave him a brand new replacement phone. His is newer than mine, though, I think, so mine may not be under warranty anymore. And I know we're getting to the point where we're all eligible for upgrades. So I'm not sure what the most efficient response to this is. God knows I rely on that damn thing for just about everything.

Let's write more stuff for Palamon

So last night I did some serious work on my blank verse writing assignment. I don't know how good it is, but it's something, it's an honest effort with some substance to it. But I kind of like the topic at least, because I am writing about the conflict between Palamon, the fan favorite character from To Think of Nothing, and the younger brother of his who craves his approval.

There is a quick mention of a person in To Think of Nothing named Zephyrus as someone who attended an earlier show written by Cassander. Zephyrus is, in fact, Palamon's younger brother, who, to create contrast with his sibling, I decided is an actor who wants and never feels he gets the approval of the renowned theater critic he's related to. With that in mind, stuck for something to write about, I decided to write about the brothers working their crafts against one another.

I love the character of Palamon, It's weird to say about your own character, who hopefully ends up as whatever you designed him to be, but I find him so fun and charming and funny with an honesty that cuts through the bullshit to the bone, and I love it. This is shaped not only by my own intentions but by the fabulous performance of morethings5*. Nobody could have played him more perfectly than Kindness, whose rendition made the character loveable, amusing, and yet still with that sharp incisiveness that gives him weight in addition to his comedy.

There you have it, the only one with the guts to sit in Cassander's chair. I just want to write reams and reams about him, so I've been craving a chance to use him in something again. And I'm amused by the fact that I'm writing him to speak in blank verse. I will post the results when I'm finished, which knowing me will likely not be before Friday, the last possible day I have to work on it.

I also need to get started on my regular playwrighting assignment. I was struck today with the notion to use two characters from The Stand, of all places. A PC and an NPC, the one who kind of captured my imagination and made me think there could be all kind of cool stories written about him. I can't work on that until I finish the stuff with the more pressing deadline, but that could be interesting to work on as well. Heh, though I think it would be spoilery for those who have not played the game.