Megan (dinenglamor) wrote in mercuryfur,
Megan
dinenglamor
mercuryfur

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In which I actually managed to write something

For the first time in aaages, I've managed to start writing something and not have it die a horrible death after the first page. Which is great. So I thought I'd post the first bit of what I've done to liven this place up a bit. I see we've got a few more members, which is lovely. Feel free to post anything and everything you want.

Title: Doesn't have one. Sorry. I'm getting there.
Author: dinenglamor
Brief synopsis: It's the first part of the first act, because I work methodically. There aren't scenes - the whole thing happens in real time - but it's the first section, if you will. Violet's a rather cynical bitch of a homeless woman and Clive's a rather non-confrontational hotel worker.



Night, outside the back of a hotel. The only light is coming from a few windows. Violet is sleeping hunched up next to the back door. Clive comes out of the back door with a couple of rubbish bags. He throws them into one of the wheelie bins. As he turns to go back inside, he sees Violet.

Clive: Oi.

Violet wakes up.

Violet: What?
Clive: You aren’t supposed to be here.
Violet: I’m not supposed to be anywhere.
Clive: I told you that you couldn’t come back. The manager doesn’t want...people like you hanging around.
Violet: Your manager doesn’t want...well, the park don’t want me, the flats don’t want me, the shops don’t want me...if I weren’t where I wasn’t wanted, I wouldn’t bleeding exist.
Clive: You can’t stay here. I told you.
Violet: Please. I’m not at the front no more. I’m not putting off your nobby customers, am I? (In a ridiculous caricature) “Oh, I say, let’s not stay here Margery, there’s a filthy commoner passed out at the front door.” (Back to normal) No more of that. Nobody can see me here. Please. I got nowhere else to go.
Clive: (After a long pause)...all right. But if anybody sees you, don’t tell them I said you could.
Violet: Cheers. I won’t. Promise.
Clive (uncertainly): Right.

Clive starts to leave.

Violet: You couldn’t spare some change for a cuppa tea, could you?
Clive: What?
Violet: Change. For a cuppa tea.
Clive: Where would you get tea from this time of night?
Violet: I don’t know. It’s the thought that counts.
Clive: I don’t have any money.
Violet: Poor boy. And yet you struggle on. How much did that watch cost? Bet you made it yourself from tin cans and newspapers.
Clive: I meant, I don’t have any on me.
Violet: Huh. Well, maybe you could just grab me a cup from the kitchens, or something.
Clive: No.
Violet: Why not?
Clive: I have work to do.
Violet: Oh, of course. I’d forgotten how integral you were to the running of this fine establishment. They’d never do without you for another five minutes.
Clive: Bloody hell...all right! I’ll see what I can do.
Violet: You’re a saint.
Clive: I’m not making any promises.
Violet: I know.
Clive: Good.

Clive exits.

Violet (calling after him): It’s milk and three sugars.
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