I can't believe I actually got credit for this...
This semester I have had the pleasure of writing, for a class, fanfiction (of a sort)-also known as my theatre class paper. For the assignment, I took two play characters Peter Stockman from An Enemy of the People and Leonid Gayev from The Cherry Orchard...and slashed them. XD
"An Epilogue in Paris"
Peter Stockman (from Henrik Ibsen's An Enemy of the People)
Gayev Ranevsky (from Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard)
[The year is 1905, autumn. Scene opens onto the kitchen of a neat little apartment in Paris. A stove is on the far right of the room, facing the audience. A little table with two chairs sits center stage. There are two doors, one on each end of the room. The door on the left side of the stage opens, and Peter Stockman enters looking uncharacteristically flustered.]
P: He's coming; he's coming! I'm late! Dear God, I must... I must-tea! [Goes to the stove and puts on a kettle of hot water. During the following dialogue, he prepares tea and sets the small table for two people.] I'm so late-that meeting! Damn those clumsy new stage hands. Ah, the note I left told him to come at noon, and it's practically time already. Five years, I can hardly believe it's been five years. Should I really have given him the note? He didn't seem to notice me when I was passing by, and then I just accosted him, pulled out a pen and paper on the spot and handed him such a hastily scribbled invitation. Bold as brass, hmph. I don't even know what came over me... [opens and shuts his pocket watch] If only that meeting hadn't run late-
[There is a knock at the door.]
P: [He fidgets with the teacups one last time and then straightens his cravat. However, when he speaks, he keeps his voice perfectly composed despite his nervousness.] One moment, please.
[Taking a deep breath, Peter goes and opens the door. It's Gayev Ranevsky.]
G: Good afternoon. *smiles nervously* I see from your note that your French has improved considerably since we last saw each other.
P: [pauses for a moment, honestly not sure what to say] It has. [another pause] Won't you come in? [takes Gayev's coat and hat] Please have a seat.
G: Thank you. [Peter pours tea for them. Gayev's tea is significantly darker than Peter's.] And I am drinking...?
P: Regular black tea. I apologize for not having any milk or sugar to offer you. Had I time to procure some...
G: It's quite alright. I recall you never liked them much with your type of tea.
P: Yes, I still generally prefer the herbal tea. As you know, it [simultaneously with Gayev:] helps my digestion.
G: -helps your digestion.
[both men smile awkwardly at each other]
P: So... So. What are you up to in Paris?
G: Living, more or less.
P: [trying for small talk:] Not teaching French? Or Russian or something? Despite our personal...shenanigans, you did make a skilled-if somewhat absent-minded-tutor.
G: Thank you, but no, that was simply a fortuitous happenstance for both of us. I, ah, needed the money in my travels, and you wanted a nobleman French instructor.
P: And now you're doing... What are you doing here?
G: [cough] Er, working. A real job actually.
P: You?
G: No need to say it like that, Peter. I am a secretary and minor administrator at a gaming house-yes, with billiards among other things. Don't give me that look. [more somberly:] My family has fallen on quite hard times. I shan't burden you with the details. Though I must say I'm equally surprised to find you doing...?
P: Stage management. I work at a theatre.
G: [slightly mocking] You? Participate in something as frivolous as theatre?
P: [stuffily] Perhaps I have a deep love for the theatre.
G: Perhaps, but not likely. Being a mayor seemed much more suiting, and yet I find you here. Pardon me, that was rude. Double the red into the-
P: [Casually waves away the billiard reference. Clearly they've spent enough time together for Peter to have grown accustomed to Gayev's verbal tic.] There is no offense. It's been a couple years since I left my hometown, and I am no longer so broken up over it. The sting of my departure has dulled somewhat.
G: Was it due to the problems with the baths? I had heard of their failure in '02. Is that why you left?
P: That whole ordeal was trying, but it wasn't what drove me out. The townspeople were behind me on the matter of the baths, but in the fallout between my brother and me, certain facts came to light. I was... My peculiarities of taste... Well let's just say that the townspeople were finally given good reason as to why I never married.
G: Yellow in the corner-ahem, I mean was it Thomas? You told me once that your brother knew-
P: God love him, no! [grudgingly:] If I say only one thing about Thomas, it's this: he does have some honor. Science and reason, however bombastic, are his ways, but he wouldn't ruin a man's good name out of simple spite. It was an accident really. One of my nephews-Lord only knows how the boy found out! Ugh, but rumors spread quickly regardless of their source. And how could I defend myself against all that scrutiny, all that vitriolic whispering? In the end the town... [suddenly slams his fist on the table; the teacups rattle slightly] Impeached! After everything I did for the town! [embarrassed, he folds his arms on the table, resting his head against them.]
G: [gently touches Peter's shoulder; Peter reaches up to cover Gayev's hand with his own] So you came to Paris?
P: [looks up] I was suffocating; I had to leave. Unlike you, I know only one language besides my native tongue. That rather limited my choices. So yes, I came to here.
G: To the theatre. And do you like it any better now?
P: [corners of his lips turn up a tiny bit] Not really though I admit I've had little choice but to acquire a taste for it. I do have a passion for organizing, I needed the money, and the theatre needed a stage manager.
[Silence for half a minute. They sip tea.]
G: Why did you ask me here?
P: I, well... I didn't really think it through. I missed you; I always missed you... I know what they said about me back home! Lonely old Peter! No wife and no children, but oh he does have his work. And his tea.
G: And his spendthrift nobleman.
P: Is that so? I have heard nothing of him for the past six years.
G: 1899 was a dreadful year for me, for my whole family. While you were a few days' travel away at your brother's scientific outpost drafting plans for the baths, I received a telegram that my nephew, my poor little Grisha, had drowned. My sister was out of her mind with grief, and I had to return immediately. I had wanted to wait for you, I had wanted to leave more than just a vague note, but surely you can understand my urgency? I had hoped to return, but in her grief, my sister all but fled to Paris, and I was needed more permanently back home.
P: My condolences.
G: I assure you that it was only the direst of circumstances that prompted me to leave you, especially so abruptly.
P: [softly:] I believe you. But will you not be leaving Paris eventually to go home?
G: Ah, home no longer! The cherry orchard has been sold, and I shall remain here indefinitely, I should think.
P: Whether the baths are fixed or not, I too shall be staying in Paris. This city has greatly calmed my disposition strangely enough. I find that I am happier to let bygones be bygones. Maybe it was that which prompted me to contact you so spontaneously when I caught sight of you this morning.
G: [feigns shock]
P: [swats him with a napkin] I have my spontaneous moments!
G: Yes, and I wager you can count all of them on one hand.
P: Hmmph. Maybe I shall spontaneously ask you to join me for supper tomorrow evening.
G: I would accept.
P: Good, very good. For now though, you are welcome to join me for tea. I have some plain scones here as well.
G: Thank you.
[Peter brings the scones to the table, and he also refills both their teacups. When Peter hands Gayev back his teacup, their fingers brush and linger for a second as both men smile.]
END
----------
Author's Note:
Hi, David! As you can see, I completely rucked up the timeline for Enemy of the People by, um, 20 years. Sorry about that (artistic license?). When the class was reading Enemy of the People, I mentioned Peter Stockman to a friend of mine. She laughed and said he was "totally repressed!", and the ensuing conversation more or less eventually inspired this odd crossover. Anyway, I don't have much practice writing plays, but hopefully this wasn't too terrible to read. I imagine it should at least be sufficiently different from everybody else's papers. Ibsen and Chekhov are probably rolling in their graves right now...
~Sam
----------
e-mail response:
"Sam, Ibsen may be rolling in his grave, but Chekhov, I have no doubt, is quite amused. The scene is splendid--subtle, witty, very smart. I admire your handling of both characters--and your liberties with Ibsen's timeline are quite justified. Scene II under the Paris chestnut trees?
A
This paper is a keeper."
*dead from lolz* It was certainly the most fun I've ever had writing a paper, haha. Now I'll just have to come up with something good for the last paper.
And now for something completely different... I'll need this to distract me when I want to take a break from my financial accounting project tomorrow. -__-' Swiped from jestana:
Give me a character or pairing and I will write snippets of ten different alternate universe for it. One line, ten lines, a ficlet if you're lucky. [ETA: Or if you're very, very lucky a quick sketch. But that's a big maybe. XD]
1. wild west:
2. cyberpunk:
3. furries:
4. pirates:
5. ...in SPACE!!:
6. born another gender:
7. schoolfic:
8. police/firefighters:
9. urban fantasy:
10. harem:
"An Epilogue in Paris"
Peter Stockman (from Henrik Ibsen's An Enemy of the People)
Gayev Ranevsky (from Anton Chekhov's The Cherry Orchard)
[The year is 1905, autumn. Scene opens onto the kitchen of a neat little apartment in Paris. A stove is on the far right of the room, facing the audience. A little table with two chairs sits center stage. There are two doors, one on each end of the room. The door on the left side of the stage opens, and Peter Stockman enters looking uncharacteristically flustered.]
P: He's coming; he's coming! I'm late! Dear God, I must... I must-tea! [Goes to the stove and puts on a kettle of hot water. During the following dialogue, he prepares tea and sets the small table for two people.] I'm so late-that meeting! Damn those clumsy new stage hands. Ah, the note I left told him to come at noon, and it's practically time already. Five years, I can hardly believe it's been five years. Should I really have given him the note? He didn't seem to notice me when I was passing by, and then I just accosted him, pulled out a pen and paper on the spot and handed him such a hastily scribbled invitation. Bold as brass, hmph. I don't even know what came over me... [opens and shuts his pocket watch] If only that meeting hadn't run late-
[There is a knock at the door.]
P: [He fidgets with the teacups one last time and then straightens his cravat. However, when he speaks, he keeps his voice perfectly composed despite his nervousness.] One moment, please.
[Taking a deep breath, Peter goes and opens the door. It's Gayev Ranevsky.]
G: Good afternoon. *smiles nervously* I see from your note that your French has improved considerably since we last saw each other.
P: [pauses for a moment, honestly not sure what to say] It has. [another pause] Won't you come in? [takes Gayev's coat and hat] Please have a seat.
G: Thank you. [Peter pours tea for them. Gayev's tea is significantly darker than Peter's.] And I am drinking...?
P: Regular black tea. I apologize for not having any milk or sugar to offer you. Had I time to procure some...
G: It's quite alright. I recall you never liked them much with your type of tea.
P: Yes, I still generally prefer the herbal tea. As you know, it [simultaneously with Gayev:] helps my digestion.
G: -helps your digestion.
[both men smile awkwardly at each other]
P: So... So. What are you up to in Paris?
G: Living, more or less.
P: [trying for small talk:] Not teaching French? Or Russian or something? Despite our personal...shenanigans, you did make a skilled-if somewhat absent-minded-tutor.
G: Thank you, but no, that was simply a fortuitous happenstance for both of us. I, ah, needed the money in my travels, and you wanted a nobleman French instructor.
P: And now you're doing... What are you doing here?
G: [cough] Er, working. A real job actually.
P: You?
G: No need to say it like that, Peter. I am a secretary and minor administrator at a gaming house-yes, with billiards among other things. Don't give me that look. [more somberly:] My family has fallen on quite hard times. I shan't burden you with the details. Though I must say I'm equally surprised to find you doing...?
P: Stage management. I work at a theatre.
G: [slightly mocking] You? Participate in something as frivolous as theatre?
P: [stuffily] Perhaps I have a deep love for the theatre.
G: Perhaps, but not likely. Being a mayor seemed much more suiting, and yet I find you here. Pardon me, that was rude. Double the red into the-
P: [Casually waves away the billiard reference. Clearly they've spent enough time together for Peter to have grown accustomed to Gayev's verbal tic.] There is no offense. It's been a couple years since I left my hometown, and I am no longer so broken up over it. The sting of my departure has dulled somewhat.
G: Was it due to the problems with the baths? I had heard of their failure in '02. Is that why you left?
P: That whole ordeal was trying, but it wasn't what drove me out. The townspeople were behind me on the matter of the baths, but in the fallout between my brother and me, certain facts came to light. I was... My peculiarities of taste... Well let's just say that the townspeople were finally given good reason as to why I never married.
G: Yellow in the corner-ahem, I mean was it Thomas? You told me once that your brother knew-
P: God love him, no! [grudgingly:] If I say only one thing about Thomas, it's this: he does have some honor. Science and reason, however bombastic, are his ways, but he wouldn't ruin a man's good name out of simple spite. It was an accident really. One of my nephews-Lord only knows how the boy found out! Ugh, but rumors spread quickly regardless of their source. And how could I defend myself against all that scrutiny, all that vitriolic whispering? In the end the town... [suddenly slams his fist on the table; the teacups rattle slightly] Impeached! After everything I did for the town! [embarrassed, he folds his arms on the table, resting his head against them.]
G: [gently touches Peter's shoulder; Peter reaches up to cover Gayev's hand with his own] So you came to Paris?
P: [looks up] I was suffocating; I had to leave. Unlike you, I know only one language besides my native tongue. That rather limited my choices. So yes, I came to here.
G: To the theatre. And do you like it any better now?
P: [corners of his lips turn up a tiny bit] Not really though I admit I've had little choice but to acquire a taste for it. I do have a passion for organizing, I needed the money, and the theatre needed a stage manager.
[Silence for half a minute. They sip tea.]
G: Why did you ask me here?
P: I, well... I didn't really think it through. I missed you; I always missed you... I know what they said about me back home! Lonely old Peter! No wife and no children, but oh he does have his work. And his tea.
G: And his spendthrift nobleman.
P: Is that so? I have heard nothing of him for the past six years.
G: 1899 was a dreadful year for me, for my whole family. While you were a few days' travel away at your brother's scientific outpost drafting plans for the baths, I received a telegram that my nephew, my poor little Grisha, had drowned. My sister was out of her mind with grief, and I had to return immediately. I had wanted to wait for you, I had wanted to leave more than just a vague note, but surely you can understand my urgency? I had hoped to return, but in her grief, my sister all but fled to Paris, and I was needed more permanently back home.
P: My condolences.
G: I assure you that it was only the direst of circumstances that prompted me to leave you, especially so abruptly.
P: [softly:] I believe you. But will you not be leaving Paris eventually to go home?
G: Ah, home no longer! The cherry orchard has been sold, and I shall remain here indefinitely, I should think.
P: Whether the baths are fixed or not, I too shall be staying in Paris. This city has greatly calmed my disposition strangely enough. I find that I am happier to let bygones be bygones. Maybe it was that which prompted me to contact you so spontaneously when I caught sight of you this morning.
G: [feigns shock]
P: [swats him with a napkin] I have my spontaneous moments!
G: Yes, and I wager you can count all of them on one hand.
P: Hmmph. Maybe I shall spontaneously ask you to join me for supper tomorrow evening.
G: I would accept.
P: Good, very good. For now though, you are welcome to join me for tea. I have some plain scones here as well.
G: Thank you.
[Peter brings the scones to the table, and he also refills both their teacups. When Peter hands Gayev back his teacup, their fingers brush and linger for a second as both men smile.]
END
----------
Author's Note:
Hi, David! As you can see, I completely rucked up the timeline for Enemy of the People by, um, 20 years. Sorry about that (artistic license?). When the class was reading Enemy of the People, I mentioned Peter Stockman to a friend of mine. She laughed and said he was "totally repressed!", and the ensuing conversation more or less eventually inspired this odd crossover. Anyway, I don't have much practice writing plays, but hopefully this wasn't too terrible to read. I imagine it should at least be sufficiently different from everybody else's papers. Ibsen and Chekhov are probably rolling in their graves right now...
~Sam
----------
e-mail response:
"Sam, Ibsen may be rolling in his grave, but Chekhov, I have no doubt, is quite amused. The scene is splendid--subtle, witty, very smart. I admire your handling of both characters--and your liberties with Ibsen's timeline are quite justified. Scene II under the Paris chestnut trees?
A
This paper is a keeper."
*dead from lolz* It was certainly the most fun I've ever had writing a paper, haha. Now I'll just have to come up with something good for the last paper.
And now for something completely different... I'll need this to distract me when I want to take a break from my financial accounting project tomorrow. -__-' Swiped from jestana:
Give me a character or pairing and I will write snippets of ten different alternate universe for it. One line, ten lines, a ficlet if you're lucky. [ETA: Or if you're very, very lucky a quick sketch. But that's a big maybe. XD]
1. wild west:
2. cyberpunk:
3. furries:
4. pirates:
5. ...in SPACE!!:
6. born another gender:
7. schoolfic:
8. police/firefighters:
9. urban fantasy:
10. harem: