30 January 2007

Dysentery Episode 1 - A dirty little secret

Evening. The Cast assemble in a fabulous penthouse apartment in the 5eme arrondissment of Paris, to enjoy ones company and partake of a sumptuous seventeen course banquet. One looks fabulous, and everyone in the room knows it.

Cuentin: Welcome, everyone! My insincerest apologises that it has taken so long to invite you all around: this has been on my list of things requiring urgent attention, but one has been distracted by all manner of distractions… bad writing, serendipity, and even Christians! But you’re all here at last, except F… where can he be? How unlike him to be late for a meal. Still, never mind, he’ll show up! Let us waste no time in deliberation about the seating arrangements: G, my good and loyal friend throughout the last twelve turbulent years, please take a place at my side, along with your partner who one also loves and cherishes. Let’s try a boy/girl arrangement: C1 and C2 next, yes, it’s best to place you opposite one another. Which leaves T and J at the far end of the table, with M sitting between both of you. Please behave yourself, M; remember, all of the gentlemen in the room are homosexual, so there is no need to get excited. Guests, under no circumstances is she to be allowed one of my champagne glasses, they were manufactured in the 18th century by highly-skilled French peasants! In any event, one anticipates that champagne won’t agree with her delicate Australian constitution; those schooners of cheap bear are for her. Best to let her drink out of the bottle, T: it’s what she’s used to. Just let her open it with her teeth… Oh, M, please wipe that froth off your mouth on… not on T’s sleeve! Oh dear, I am sorry about this!

T: That’s alright, Cuentin. She’s quite charming… owch! She just bit me! Oh, but never mind: it didn’t really hurt… so anyway, who’s that empty place for?

J: I expect it’s for Z.

Cuentin: Ahem… no, it isn’t.

Cue loud melodramatic aria in the background

Everyone in the cast looks around in bewilderment

Everyone (except Cuentin): What was that?

Cuentin: What was what?

G: That deafeningly loud, melodramatic music?

Cuentin: Best to ignore it: it must be the neighbours.

Cue mysterious dramatic aria in the background

Cuentin: As I was saying, that empty place at the table is for P, but since he refuses to step out of the darkest, most miserable closet in the building, one expects that place will remain empty for the remainder of the evening. Normally, one would summon the help to clear it away, however I’ve given them all a night off… so you’ll have to pour champagne for yourselves, dears… oh, I see you all already have! In that case, please raise your glasses everyone, because I would like to propose a little toast to something fabulous, something you all quite love almost as much as I do-

C2: (Squealing excitedly) Someone just touched my leg!

Everyone: Really?

Cuentin (to D): Is there something you’d like to tell us?

D: It wasn’t me!

C1: Why, there’s something under the table!

Cuentin: Already? I know that’s where most of us will be at the end of this evening, but it’s a little early…

T: Oh, it’s a dog! How cute!

C2: (disappointedly) Oh!

Cuentin: Why, there you are, F! Why don’t you come out?

F shakes his head.

Cuentin: We’re having salad… I made the dressing myself.

F hesitates, but continues shaking his head.

Cuentin: Hmmn, it’s a bit ominous that F has decided to settle there; his instincts are quite uncanny. However, I’d better keep tonight’s entertainment moving along at a brisk pace: I was in the middle of a toast, wasn’t I? To something fabulous, something you all love… but what can one say about myself that hasn’t already been said? To moi!

Glasses clink.

Suddenly, doors to elegant room thrown open.

X enters, looking distinctly ruffled, but with his hair looking immaculate, of course.

X: Hijo de puta! Hijo de puuuuuuta!

Cuentin: Why, what an unexpected surprise!

X: Cabron de mierda! No los ha dicho…

Cuentin: Darling X, my guests are not all familiar with your passionate tongue... I hope!

X: …naaaaada de tu secreto, pero ya lo sospechaba… y ahora lo se! Si, cabron, si: he encontrado tu blog de mierda, escribiendo todo sobre nosotros desde hace tres meses, sin decirnos nada!

J: (Whispering) Is that X? Shit, he is hot! Does anyone understand what he’s saying?

T: Actually, I speak a little Spanish. Apparently, for the last three months, without telling anyone, Cuentin has been writing about every one of us in a blog-

Glasses fall, smashing into smithereens upon the elegant table, with the exception of T’s own glass…set down carefully, whereupon seized and smashed by M with a vindictive cackle

G: Is this true, Cuentin?

X distributes a printed copy of the bloguette to all guests, who hastily peruse at the cast list.

G: Why, weren’t you going to say something?

Cuentin: (Nonplussed, but remaining dignified) About what? About the seating arrangements, about the myself?

Everyone: No! This blog!

Cuentin: It is not a blog! It is still in it’s infancy: it is a bloguette.

Deafening silence. Guests await explanation… not of the distinction between a blog, a blogue and a bloguette. Cuentin flusters.

T: Why, I expect Cuentin wanted it to be a surprise, and that’s why he brought us all together this evening… to tell us! Isn’t that right?

Cuentin: Er… yes, of course, that’s exactly right, T! Surprise, everyone!

All of the remaining Cast exchange suspicious glances, before devoting their attention to the printed bloguette.

C2: Hang on, I don’t get this… you say he’s been writing about every one of us, and there’s a list of the cast, but there’s only one C on this list!

C1: That’s because he’s merged us.

C2: What?

D: Hang on a minute, C1. How did you know that?

C1: Cuentin explained, in a posting back in November-

D: So you knew?

Cue loud melodramatic aria in the background

G: What the hell is making that noise?

Cuentin: It’s for theatrical effect: without stage directions or musical signatures to guide them, there is a risk that the high drama might escape my gentle readership

Everyone: What readership?

Cuentin: I thought you were pretending not to know about my blogette?

D: Sorry, but I’m still confused about C1… if you weren’t surprised, why did your glass drop?

C1: Because I had no idea Cuentin hadn’t told all of you!

Everyone: Oh!

G: Why did you tell her, and no one else?

Cuentin: She helped alert me to the potential dangers involved when blogging… so it seemed only fair.

C1: What dangers?

Cuentin: Ahem… I don’t think we should talk about that here.

C1: Why? On your blogue, surely you are not going to hide the fact that-

Cuentin: Sssh! Most certainly I am! I have no intention of revealing quite so much about my life and character as others who shall remain unnamed and unmentioned have done, in consequence of the unfortunate and fortunate consequences one may suffer. I am not going to hide all of the facts… just relevant and important ones; hence the name- Fact or Fiction- or, if you prefer, It’s not really happening... or you can call me Ms C, or Ms C Quisp... anything whatsoever provided you link to me. Besides, I do not want to risk our tenuous and delicate friendship: you have quite enough to deal with without more unwanted attention… by association with a fatuous, badly-written bloguette! So let’s change the subject.

C2: Yes, let’s… why don’t I get to have an individual character, when everyone else does?

Cuentin: It’s part of the disguise to protect you both. Besides, I don’t know either of you well enough to formulate a fictionalised character.

All of the remaining Cast exchange bewildered glances

G: (Whispering) Cuentin, I hope you’re not intending to… publish this, are you? You must realise this is really, really badly written.

Cuentin: (Whispering) Sssh, they’ll hear you.

C2: I still don’t get why I’ve been merged with C1: we’ve got nothing whatsoever in common!

Cuentin: (evasively): You’re both single… you both have the same number of children… you’re both female… isn’t that enough?

C2: Well, we have a different ethnic background – she’s English Caucasian and I’m a Black American.

C1: We’re also two decades apart.

M: bleedinell, whafeckinshite, yehbrawtmeovafremfeckinstrailyerferthis? Gimmeanothawonathemfeckinskoonas, willya?

Everyone: Excuse me?

Cuentin: Another bottle for the lady, T.

D: (Whispering) What language is she speaking?

Cuentin: (Whispering) Australian.

J: Does anyone else know about all of this?

Cuentin: About what?

J: You know perfectly well… the bloguette?

Cue loud melodramatic aria in the background

Cuentin: Er… come to think of it, no! Why do you ask?

J: Oh… no reason!

Cue EVEN MORE loud melodramatic aria in the background

T: Well, I think this is really swell and generous of Cuentin, to spend his spare time immortalising us for people that we’ve never met, so I’d like to be the first to say thanks. In fact, let’s have a toast to… oh, I forgot about the glasses! Shall I run out to buy some 18th century French crystal?

Cuentin: Sit down, T!

G: (Whispering) He’s such a sweet guy!

D: (Whispering) And he’s damn handsome!

G: (Whispering) Are you quite sure that you don’t fancy him?

Cue several different tempo aria, creating a confused atmosphere

Cuentin: That’s it… I’ve had enough. I think we’ve had enough entertainment for one evening, ladies and gentlemen, don’t you?

Everyone: Excuse me?

Cuentin: Yes, I was just saying, that’s quite enough for tonight.

J: But you invited us for dinner and we haven’t eaten!

C2: We can’t go until you have explained why Z isn’t here!

Cue loud melodramatic aria in the background

X: And I haven’t say anything in my English yet!

Cue EVEN MORE loud melodramatic aria in the background

D (to G): From what I can see, we haven’t had a chance to say anything in his bloguette… he hardly mentions us!

G (to D): But Cuentin is barely acquainted with most of these people: I’m his best friend in this city, he’s said so himself! If he’s going to write a full and honest account of his day to day life, then he’s got to write about me!

D (to G): Well, he doesn’t!

G: Can there be a reason?

Cue loud melodramatic… you get the idea.

C1: And isn’t there still someone in the closet who hasn’t introduced?

P: (Shouting from a distance) Yes!

Cue loud melodramatic-

Cuentin: Silence, all of you! And that includes the orchestra!

Deafening silence

Cuentin: Everyone, this is my bloguette… do you hear? I am the star of my own fabulous show! So I’ll be the one who decides what we are silent, when we are singing, what we all talk about and when we all do it!

J: You mean there’s going to be sex?

Cuentin: No… I mean do talking!

J: (disappointed) Oh!

Cuentin: Then again, if a single photograph boosted my daily visits by 25%, perhaps…

J perks up

Cuentin: Anyway, as I was screeching: this is my bloguette is all about me, do you hear? Me, me, me!

Another deafening silence

G scribbles a note. Cuentin reads it.

G: "Can you say something?" Really, it ought to be ‘may’, because ‘can’ suggests that you might be incapable of speech… I’m babbling, aren’t I? I should probably stop right now.

Yet more deafening silence

Cuentin: It’s going to get very boring if you don’t speak at all. Say something, please!

C1: But you just said-

Cuentin: Yes, I know… and I’m contradicting myself. Do you have a problem with that?

T: I guess Cuentin is feeling a little bit stressed and tired tonight, so if he wants us to leave, maybe we should all just-

Cuentin: You don’t have to leave… no, of course not!

C2: But you just said-

Cuentin: What I mean is that this isn’t really happening, so I can make all of you disappear, whenever I want! All I have to do is stop writing, or… no, even better: I can have you all abducted by aliens!

D: What kind of aliens?

J: Are they… like, hot?

Cuentin: Perhaps I can go find an attractive man in the shower at Raidd, realise everything has been a dream… oh, wrong series. But wait! Perhaps I can… yes, of course! Everyone, please wait here!

Cuentin smiles benignly, heading to the French doors.

X: Where you going, hijo de puta?

Cuentin: To get another bottle of champagne, of course … and make a quick phone call to my terrorist friends in Moldavia… won’t be long!


X said...

Well, well, well I hope, in next episodes, X character be gentler … I don’t like that he be swearing all the time. I do not behave like that! Lovely detail about my hair looking… he, he, he it’s absolutely true.
See you cabron!

Ms C Qrisp said...

Dearest X,
On next episodes, one will make your English be worser

Ms C Quisp