Murtogg and Mullroy Are Undead
Title: MURTOGG AND MULLROY ARE UNDEAD
(A parody-of-a-parody* in one act with apologies to Mr. Tom Stoppard)
Author(a.k.a. lampooner): -M
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
Characters: Murtogg, Mullroy
Warning: I got the sillies.
Feedback: Lusted after; what's new?
Disclaimer:
meletor_et_al: now... how does one go about writing a disclaimer if one has basically raped and bastardized the first few pages of a Stoppard play?
british_pickle: you could put that in it, and then say something like 'I make no profit from this'
I make no profit from this. Murtogg and Mullroy belong to Disney et al.
Note: For the "zombies and literature" challenge at undead_monthly. And since shrieking_ell blamed me for her piece, I'll return the favor and blame her for this.
The moon rises on two ROYAL MARINES passing the time in a place whose visible character is one of eerie decay.
They are properly turned-out -- hats, coats, swords and all -- and their uniforms hang off their bones.
MURTOGG has a large leather money bag; MULLROY sits on the corner of a large carved chest.
MURTOGG's bag is nearly full.
The gold in MULLROY's chest seems undiminished.
The reason being: they are betting on the toss of a medallion, in the following manner: MULLROY (hereafter "MULL") takes a medallion out of the chest, tosses it, letting it land. MURTOGG (hereafter "MUR") finds it on the pile of treasure, studies it, announces it as "skulls" (as it happens) and puts it into his bag. Then they repeat the process. When MUR's bag fills, he tips it into the chest and MULL continues tossing. They have apparently been doing this for some time.
The run of "skulls" is impossible, yet MUR betrays no surprise at all -- he feels none. However, he is anxious enough to repeat at intervals that he is not lying. Let that be his character note.
MULL is well alive (in a sense) to the oddity of it. He is not worried about the treasure, but he is worried by the implications; aware but not going to panic about it -- his character note.
MULL sits. MUR stands (he does the moving, retrieving medallions). MULL tosses. MUR studies the medallion.
MUR: Skulls.
He picks it up and puts it in his bag. The process is repeated.
Skulls.
Again.
Skulls.
Again.
Skulls.
Again.
Skulls.
MULL (tossing a medallion): There is an art to the life without mortality.
MUR: Skulls.
MULL (tossing another): Though it can be suffered with resentment alone.
MUR: Skulls.
MULL: If that's the point I'm after.
MUR (carries his bag to MULL): Eighty-eight -- naught.
MULL watches the medallions tumble in. He scoops up a handful of them and stands. Then he flips another medallion over his shoulder without looking at it, his attention being directed at his environment, spotlit by the moon.
MULL (to MUR): That's a tenth of it. Did you hold counting?
MUR: No. Skulls.
MULL tosses another medallion. MUR searches for it among the heap, finds it.
MUR: Skulls.
MULL: A weaker man might be moved to re-examine his faith, if in nothing else at least in the tradition of mortality. (He turns a medallion through his blue-gray fingers, eyeing it contemplatively as he tosses it and walks away from the moonlight.)
MUR: Skulls.
MULL, examining the known geography of the cave, flips over two more medallions as he does so, one by one of course. MUR announces each of them as "skulls".
MULL (musing): The Aztec curse, it has been oddly asserted, is something to do with the proposition that if sick monkeys (he has surprised himself) ...if sick monkeys were...
MUR: Lying?
MULL: Were they?
MUR: Are you?
MULL (shrugging): Not sure. (Tosses a medallion.) The Curse of the Black Pearl, if such a thing exists, means that if sick monkeys were thrown overboard for long enough they would rot through to their --
MUR: Skulls. (He picks up the medallion.)
MULL: Which even at first glance does not strike one as a particularly natural speculation, in either sense, even without the monkeys. I mean, I wouldn't believe in it. I mean you would, but I wouldn't... (As he tosses a medallion.)
MUR: Skulls.
MULL: Would I? (Tosses a medallion.)
MUR: Skulls.
Repeat.
Skulls. (He looks up at MULL -- embarrassed laugh.) Getting a bit of a bore, isn't it?
MULL (blankly): A bore?
MUR: Well...
MULL: What about the suspense? (Corrects himself.) --mortality?
MUR: What mortality?
In the small pause, bone fingertips can be heard fidgeting over red turnbacks.
MULL: The heathen gods must be reconsidering ... I feel the spell about to be broken. (Energizing himself somewhat. He picks up a medallion, throws it high, catches it with a clink against his metacarpals, turns it over on the back of his other hand, checks the medallion quickly -- and watches it slide through a gap between tendon-streaked bones. His energy deflates and he sits.) Well, it was an even chance at least ... if my suppositions are correct.
Another pause, longer. MUR squats at MULL's feet and studies the medallion, then drops it back in the chest. He sits beside MULL.
MUR: I don't imagine having one land the other way would turn us back.
MULL: No.
MUR stands; MULL lifts a handful of coins. They resume their game. The play fades out, overtaken by dark and music.
*The parodist understands that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is not in truth a simple parody, but a crafted commentary and a self-conscious literary and dramatic work. The phrase was used here for economy of expression only.
(A parody-of-a-parody* in one act with apologies to Mr. Tom Stoppard)
Author(a.k.a. lampooner): -M
Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean; Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
Characters: Murtogg, Mullroy
Warning: I got the sillies.
Feedback: Lusted after; what's new?
Disclaimer:
meletor_et_al: now... how does one go about writing a disclaimer if one has basically raped and bastardized the first few pages of a Stoppard play?
british_pickle: you could put that in it, and then say something like 'I make no profit from this'
I make no profit from this. Murtogg and Mullroy belong to Disney et al.
Note: For the "zombies and literature" challenge at undead_monthly. And since shrieking_ell blamed me for her piece, I'll return the favor and blame her for this.
The moon rises on two ROYAL MARINES passing the time in a place whose visible character is one of eerie decay.
They are properly turned-out -- hats, coats, swords and all -- and their uniforms hang off their bones.
MURTOGG has a large leather money bag; MULLROY sits on the corner of a large carved chest.
MURTOGG's bag is nearly full.
The gold in MULLROY's chest seems undiminished.
The reason being: they are betting on the toss of a medallion, in the following manner: MULLROY (hereafter "MULL") takes a medallion out of the chest, tosses it, letting it land. MURTOGG (hereafter "MUR") finds it on the pile of treasure, studies it, announces it as "skulls" (as it happens) and puts it into his bag. Then they repeat the process. When MUR's bag fills, he tips it into the chest and MULL continues tossing. They have apparently been doing this for some time.
The run of "skulls" is impossible, yet MUR betrays no surprise at all -- he feels none. However, he is anxious enough to repeat at intervals that he is not lying. Let that be his character note.
MULL is well alive (in a sense) to the oddity of it. He is not worried about the treasure, but he is worried by the implications; aware but not going to panic about it -- his character note.
MULL sits. MUR stands (he does the moving, retrieving medallions). MULL tosses. MUR studies the medallion.
MUR: Skulls.
He picks it up and puts it in his bag. The process is repeated.
Skulls.
Again.
Skulls.
Again.
Skulls.
Again.
Skulls.
MULL (tossing a medallion): There is an art to the life without mortality.
MUR: Skulls.
MULL (tossing another): Though it can be suffered with resentment alone.
MUR: Skulls.
MULL: If that's the point I'm after.
MUR (carries his bag to MULL): Eighty-eight -- naught.
MULL watches the medallions tumble in. He scoops up a handful of them and stands. Then he flips another medallion over his shoulder without looking at it, his attention being directed at his environment, spotlit by the moon.
MULL (to MUR): That's a tenth of it. Did you hold counting?
MUR: No. Skulls.
MULL tosses another medallion. MUR searches for it among the heap, finds it.
MUR: Skulls.
MULL: A weaker man might be moved to re-examine his faith, if in nothing else at least in the tradition of mortality. (He turns a medallion through his blue-gray fingers, eyeing it contemplatively as he tosses it and walks away from the moonlight.)
MUR: Skulls.
MULL, examining the known geography of the cave, flips over two more medallions as he does so, one by one of course. MUR announces each of them as "skulls".
MULL (musing): The Aztec curse, it has been oddly asserted, is something to do with the proposition that if sick monkeys (he has surprised himself) ...if sick monkeys were...
MUR: Lying?
MULL: Were they?
MUR: Are you?
MULL (shrugging): Not sure. (Tosses a medallion.) The Curse of the Black Pearl, if such a thing exists, means that if sick monkeys were thrown overboard for long enough they would rot through to their --
MUR: Skulls. (He picks up the medallion.)
MULL: Which even at first glance does not strike one as a particularly natural speculation, in either sense, even without the monkeys. I mean, I wouldn't believe in it. I mean you would, but I wouldn't... (As he tosses a medallion.)
MUR: Skulls.
MULL: Would I? (Tosses a medallion.)
MUR: Skulls.
Repeat.
Skulls. (He looks up at MULL -- embarrassed laugh.) Getting a bit of a bore, isn't it?
MULL (blankly): A bore?
MUR: Well...
MULL: What about the suspense? (Corrects himself.) --mortality?
MUR: What mortality?
In the small pause, bone fingertips can be heard fidgeting over red turnbacks.
MULL: The heathen gods must be reconsidering ... I feel the spell about to be broken. (Energizing himself somewhat. He picks up a medallion, throws it high, catches it with a clink against his metacarpals, turns it over on the back of his other hand, checks the medallion quickly -- and watches it slide through a gap between tendon-streaked bones. His energy deflates and he sits.) Well, it was an even chance at least ... if my suppositions are correct.
Another pause, longer. MUR squats at MULL's feet and studies the medallion, then drops it back in the chest. He sits beside MULL.
MUR: I don't imagine having one land the other way would turn us back.
MULL: No.
MUR stands; MULL lifts a handful of coins. They resume their game. The play fades out, overtaken by dark and music.
*The parodist understands that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead is not in truth a simple parody, but a crafted commentary and a self-conscious literary and dramatic work. The phrase was used here for economy of expression only.