Digital Ischemia

24/12/2018

Snaw-Whit and the Seven Daves: Episode 4/4

A farcical fairy tale where magic looks more like contrary technology and character flaws are diversity. Snaw-Whit and the Seven Daves begins at Episode 1.

SCENE 50.
NARRATOR: (V.O.) Time has passed, although not for me, trapped as I am in this solitary padded cubicle—alright, alright. Not for our plucky heroine, dangling as she is in time, and in a tree. Meanwhile the Daves have a Beattie-sized hole in their lives, and you could park a cart in that. I think we’re due a new protagonist.
SOUND: BIRD CALLS, HORSES’ HOOVES TROT THROUGH MUD, BRANCHES SNAG ARMOUR. TING
NIK: Whoa! Halt up, men! Sqvire, vot iss zis flashing in ze forrest?
SQUIRE: Beg pardon, Your Highness?
NIK: Unter zere!
SQUIRE: Are we stalking shiny objects again, sire?
NIK: Yes, I sink so! Infestigate, pliss.
SOUND: TENTATIVE HOOVES, SWEEPING ASIDE BRANCHES
SQUIRE: Sire!
NIK: Hallo, yes! Vot iss it?
SQUIRE: Er, a glass coffin, sire.
NIK: Vell, oo iss in off it?
SQUIRE: Er, well, a—
NIK: Spit zis at me, men!
SQUIRE: (LOW) A girl, sire.
NIK: A vot? Shout up!
SQUIRE: A girl, sire!
NIK: A girl!?
SOUND: CANTER, ARMOUR CLANKING, BRANCHES CLATTER
Ah! See zis doll in ze glass box! She iss perfect!
SQUIRE: Er, she’s dead, sire. Although she is very well preserved.
NIK: Yes, perfect. Bringing her arount zis hoss.
SQUIRE: You wish to take the coffin away, sire?
NIK: Exacto. Do zis!
SQUIRE: Yes, sire.
NIK: Gazzer about, men! Heaf!
SOUND: SHUFFLING, STRAINING, HEAVING. WHIRLING SIREN

SCENE 51.
SOUND: WORKSHOP BANGS, CLATTERS, RATTLES. MUTED SIREN
GALLUS DAVE: How is this possible? Does the bitch no’ ken she’s won?
TECHY DAVE: Doun tools?
GALLUS DAVE: Aye. Wheer’s Davina?
DAVINA: (OFF) Will ye credit this, boys: here’s a muckle contingent of bling clahmbering all o’er the puir quean.

SCENE 52.
SOUND: WHIRLING SIREN
SQUIRE: Ooh, that’s trouble.
NIK: Vot is zis terreeble sount? Oo iss disturbing ze det wiz zis horreeble vooping?!
SQUIRE: Er, I think it was us disturbing the dead that— Never mind, sire. Shall we leave her and move quietly away? We are expected at the castle.
NIK: No! Olvays you are such a vooss. I do not vish zis anozzer party for zis qvin; she iss give me ze sick. But zis finding has makes our travel vorsvile! Zis vonderfool, be-attifool—
SOUND: BRANCHES CRASH
GALLUS DAVE: A’right, whit’s gaun oan here, eh?
NIK: Ah, hallo ant goot feast-break, my frient. I em Prince Nikolaus von Rouffiliak! You may kiss my ring.
GALLUS DAVE: Er, yer a’right; tha’s no’ fer me. Whit’re you daein’ wi’ the lassie, eh? Interferin’ wi’ the deid’s jist no’ oan, by the way.
DOODLE DAVE: Yoou toouch that box, Ah’ll stab you in ‘eye with ‘bloount twig.
SQUIRE: Er, just putting it back, guys; no harm done.
NIK: Zhentlemen, pliss. Iss zis be-attifool belonging to yours?
TECHY DAVE: Er, aye, the Beattie fool is oor apprentice hoosekeeper.
WEE DAVE: We’re waiting for magic to strike. She needs resurrected from the dead.
NIK: Zen perhaps maybe I em ze men! Nik Rouffiliak vill luff her as zo she iss still liffing.
EXTREME DAVE: Sounds priddy suss, even to me, mite.
DAVINA: The clue’s in the name, boys.
WOODEN DAVE: We ‘as to be practical about ‘er options.
DOODLE DAVE: Ar Beeattih was verrah looving. Hoi! Ah warned yoou! Noh toouching!
SOUND: ACCELERATING SCRAPE, SLIDE, CRASH, TREE SHUDDER, TINKLE
SQUIRE: I didn’t touch it! I was just stepping away when it fell!

SCENE 53.
SOUND: APPROACHING WEARY STEPS ON STONE, ECHO. STUMBLE
MAUD: Oh!
KING: ‘Ello Maud, me dear. Is this ‘lap dance?
MAUD: (GIGGLE) I do apologise, sir. Didn’t see you there.
KING: Ah’m hahding. Shirlih’s on ‘prowl about ‘partih.
MAUD: She’s quite…particular.
KING: Aye, hahgh mehntehnance.

SCENE 54.
SOUND: CROWD CRASHES THROUGH UNDERGROWTH
TECHY DAVE: There’s ma best glass a’ broke.
NIK: Ooh. May I to touch ze be-attifool det vench?
GALLUS DAVE: Er, let’s jist see if she’s still in wan piece.
BEATTIE: (PTOOEY, MUMBLE)
WOODEN DAVE: ‘Ere, lads, ‘er lips is movin’! Oi fink she’s wakin’ up!
DAVINA: Aye, aye: here’s a wee bit ahpple fae her mooth – the jawlt must’ve knoacked it awa’.
NIK: Oh. How sat.
GALLUS DAVE: No’ disappointed, are ye, man?
NIK: I confess, ze nice varm girls are not liking me so much. More ven zey are det.
GALLUS DAVE: Brutal.
BEATTIE: (COUGH) Oh, hello, Daves! Did you have to save me again? Sorry to be such a bother. Oh, and I’ve broken a big glass…something. I’m such a clumsy clot.
GALLUS DAVE: Nae bother, hen. Jist happy yer a’right, eh.
BEATTIE: Ooh, my head’s a bit woolly.
NIK: (OFF) Vot iss “voolly”?
SQUIRE: (OFF) Like the sheep, sire?
NIK: (OFF) How dare you say zis off my— my—!
SQUIRE: (OFF) Uh-oh.
TECHY DAVE: Can we get back tae wurk noo?
WOODEN DAVE: Keep yer ‘air on.
DOODLE DAVE: Soomewoon will have toh clear oop ‘glass.
EXTREME DAVE: Could leave it – oughdda surproise any more ‘old pidlar’ toypes.
BEATTIE: I really can’t be trusted. (SIGH) Still, I’d best get on wi— Hello! Gosh, you’re rather shiny. Who are you?
NIK: Ah, hm, I em ze— Nik.
BEATTIE: I’m pleased to meet you, Zenik. What are you doing hereabouts?
NIK: I go to zis silly party at zis falling down cassle, wiz zis silly qvin.
BEATTIE: Oh, I shouldn’t bother with that, if you don’t fancy it. How about you join us for tea?
NIK: May I— May I drive you viz ze hoss?
BEATTIE: Rather.
SOUND: HEFTING GRUNT, FABRIC RUSTLE, HORSE WHINNY
NIK: Ooh, I em liking ze grabbing off girl.
BEATTIE: (GIGGLE)
GALLUS DAVE: This way, folks.
SQUIRE: Er, men? Fall in and follow the, er, glinting grabber.
TECHY DAVE: Gold-plated glaiket, mere like.

SCENE 55.
SOUND: FIRE BLAZES, APPROACHING STEEL HEELS STRIDE, FINGERNAIL TAPS ON GLASS
QUEEN: Respond, you feeble furnishing!
MIRROR: Good afternoon, InsertFairlyUnfriendlyShir. How may—
QUEEN: Never mind your feigned obsequious preamble. Attend to me: mirror, mirror, in my hand; where’s the prince upon this land?
MIRROR: Soon your house he’ll step inside, and make a clever choice of bride.
QUEEN: (CACKLE)

SCENE 56.
SOUND: HOOVES, TRUDGING, SWISHING THROUGH UNDERGROWTH
BEATTIE: Of course you did your best, Daves, and I’m so grateful. Fate just can’t be avoided, even with your in-gen-uity!
TECHY DAVE: Aye, me an’ Davina hacked her mirror ages back; Wee perve Dave here was efter a swatch at her fancy kecks–
WEE DAVE: (INDIGNANT SQUEAK)
TECHY DAVE: –but naw, et’s aw jis dresses made fae curtains an’ cheap costume jewllury.
BEATTIE: (GIGGLE) What a brilliant wheeze. Now, Zenik, do you like jam? I’m really quite blessed to have such a kind friend, along with all the marvellous Daves, of course.
NIK: You are liking me?!
BEATTIE: Of course, Zenik! You’re a delightful chap. You remind me of…of…what’s his name with his dead beasties?
NIK: (CLOSE) Eet iss I, le Claude!
BEATTIE: (SQUEAL)
NIK: Be-attifool now-not-det Miss Be-attie!
BEATTIE: Steady on, Zenik, with that lovely accent you could turn a girl’s head!
NIK: Yes! Zis iss ze moment! I seize!
SOUND: FUMBLE, WHUMP, CLANK
DOODLE DAVE: Crooms, what’s he oop toh?
DAVINA: Fit’s he doun tae, more like.
WOODEN DAVE: ‘As ‘is knees gyve wy?
TECHY DAVE: He’s a swift wan.
GALLUS DAVE: You watchin’ closely fur the proaphecy, Wee Dave?
WEE DAVE: (SQUEAK)
NIK: Miss Be-attie, viz your be-attifool turning het, pliss vill you marry me?
SOUND: SQUEAKING KISS
NIK (CONT’D): (GULP)

SCENE 57.
SOUND: FIRE BLAZES, FURIOUS SWISHING
QUEEN: Curse them all, ingrates! How dare they shun my party?! Snub me?! Not even a word from that gilt-coated prince! If some craven imbecile has messed up the invitations… Mirror, mir—
SOUND: DOOR KNOCKS, DOOR CREAKS OPEN
What?!
MAUD: Afternoon, ma’am. Do you need any assistance with your frock?
QUEEN: Burn the infernal rag!
MAUD: Very good, madam: inferno.
QUEEN: Do I look like someone who finds puns amusing, Maud?
MAUD: Er, no, not at all. Pardon me, but wouldn’t you rather sell the frock? You’d get tons of wood for it, which you could of course burn?
QUEEN: Maud, sometimes, quite often these days, I have fantastic visions of squeezing your temples with one of my corset brackets until your eyes burst. I then imagine using your echo chamber-like skull for a soup bowl, but of course it would be porous, just like your unendingly flawed ideas.
MAUD: Yes, madam.

SCENE 58.
SOUND: WIND SWIRLS, RAIN LASHES, BRANCHES CREAK, RAVENS CROAK, HOOVES SQUELCH IN QUAGMIRE
NIK: (HOLLER) Ant here, zis iss ze cassle vich iss oll for you. I em so sorry for ze dark blackness everyvere. Olso ze stinkingk slime olvays treeckling down, ze bik flapping birts, ze flailing treess. Ant zis nefer vell-timed rumblings off sunder. Iss oll horreeble. I em so—
SOUND: SQUEAKING KISS
NIK (CONT’D): (GULP) Sank you so much. I sink I em liking ze varm kissing.
BEATTIE: (CLOSE) Sweetie, by any chance is there a dungeon?
NIK: Augh, yes! So sorry. Iss oll ruin!
BEATTIE: Goody; I love old ruins.
SOUND: THUNDER
NIK: (GASP) You like? You luff?
BEATTIE: Almost as much as I love you, Zenik!
SQUIRE: (OFF) Young love, eh? I feel nauseous.
NARRATOR: (V.O.) Ditto. I may have overdosed on the butterscotch. (BELCH)
NIK: Em I unterstenting zis? Dunzheon iss dark, vet, stinking plac unter ze cassle? Vere sings croll to die? You vant zis?
BEATTIE: A girl needs somewhere to practice her craft. As soon as we’re settled I shall send for my instruction manuals.
NIK: Vot iss zis “craft”?
BEATTIE: Oh, just you wait till I show you my special techniques!
NIK: (GULP)

SCENE 59.
SOUND: FIRE BLAZES, DOOR KNOCKS, DOOR CREAKS OPEN
MAUD: Excuse me, madam.
QUEEN: Yes, of course, peace would be too much to ask for.
QUEEN (CONT’D): When the winter comes, you rancid mass of suet, I shall delight in torching the whole festering lot of you to heat this grotesque husk–
MAUD: But, madam, you look so well!
QUEEN: –of an edifice. Brazen impudence! I should start now; you’ll crackle all night.
MAUD: (LOW) Still on the inferno theme, then?
QUEEN: What?
MAUD: Only thing for us infernal heathens.
QUEEN: Better quality oration, Maud, but still nonsense.
MAUD: Of course, ma’am, but I bring good news: an invitation.
QUEEN: Whit?! Twittering on while withholding the opportunities of intelligent society?! Give it here.
SOUND: SNATCHING PAPER
QUEEN (CONT’D): Well, well, well; Prince Nikolaus von Rouffiliak is having a ball.
MAUD: Is there a reply?
QUEEN: Obviously, yes!
MAUD: Yes there is a reply or yes is your reply?
QUEEN: I will have your pestilent, saggy-skinned limbs for draught excluders! Both! Now be gone. I must start planning.

SCENE 60.
SOUND: CLOCK TICKS, BG BIRDS CHIRP. BIRL, CLINK
GALLUS DAVE: Whit’s this, Wee Dave?
WEE DAVE: My raven’s learned to fasten bolts!
TECHY DAVE: Aye, an’ et’s lairnt tae unfasten thaim tae, wee scunner. But this is ma a’ singin’, a’ dancin’, cloackwurk hoosekeeper two point zero!
GALLUS DAVE: That’s some claim, Techy Dave. Beattie may’ve been a wee bit disaster-prone—
WEE DAVE: (SQUEAK)
GALLUS DAVE: —Aye, and unable tae resist the deadlies, but she niver sang or capered, as far as I ken?
SOUND: JINGLE, CATHERINE WHEEL, PARP
TECHY DAVE: Crivvens, the extripolar-fanaclodulator has wurked etsel’ loose! If yer wee burd has gotten intae the mechanism…
SOUND: CHIRP, RATTLES, WHISTLES, SQUEAKS
GALLUS DAVE: ‘M’on Wee Dave; let’s leave him tae it. Wheer’s Davina?
DAVINA: (OFF) Party time!
GALLUS DAVE: How so?
DAVINA: Craws abroad. Headin’ west.
GALLIS DAVE: Wee bit ae a leap there.
DAVINA: Trees abroad too.
GALLUS DAVE: Ah’m no’ sookin’ in that tripe! Oo-oo-ooh: spooky leafless trees marchin’ by, yer arse!
DAVINA: Dinna haver, boy. Fifty-four cahrts haulin’ timber by here a’ready the day.
GALLUS DAVE: Still, no’ exactly a wattertight deduction.
WEE DAVE: (SQUEAK)
SOUND: PAPER FLAPS
DAVINA: Ye rumbled me: invitation.

SCENE 61.
SOUND: FIRE BLAZES, FABRIC CREAKS, RUSTLES, PATTING
QUEEN: Don’t fuss, Maud. I am utter finesse.
MAUD: Very nice, ma’am.
QUEEN: “Nice”. Right sentiment, but your vocabulary has regressed again. Come back when the carriage is ready.
MAUD: And Mr Kings—the king, ma’am?
QUEEN: If it must be so.
SOUND: DOOR CREAKS, THUDS SHUT
QUEEN (CONT’D): I am so glamorous, but so gracious; they will fall over themselves supplicating to me! I am gorgeous!
SOUND: MUFFLED SNIGGER HASTILY CONVERTED TO GLINGLE
QUEEN (CONT’D): Mirror! Are you eavesdropping?
MIRROR: Hard no, InsertFriendlyGrandiose.
QUEEN: “Hard no”?
MIRROR: Definite response in the negative; requires no check before proceeding.
QUEEN: Ironic.
MIRROR: I am standing by, anticipating an imminent command.
QUEEN: I would think, by now, you would have actually anticipated it.
MIRROR: Mirror, Mirror, etc.?
QUEEN: Well?
MIRROR: You don’t fancy the ritual?
QUEEN: (CLOSE) Answer me, you unalloyed alloy! I’ll have you ground down to sand! And none of your updating downloading recalculating pedal-driven pish, ya pewter pisspot!
MIRROR: There you are: perfect example of a hard command! Could you stop looking at me like that? My solder’s going a bit runny.
QUEEN: (ROAR)
MIRROR: Mirror, mirror…tum-ti-tum…fairest of all. Pause for effect. Response: the new young queen is fairest of all; you may meet her at the ball!
QUEEN: Whit?! Whit “young queen”? Has Kingsley—? Naw, impossible; he cannae even undress hissel’. Whae?! Why must I be tormented by these incorrigible trollops?!
MIRROR: Would you like me to search for corrugated scallops? Safe Search off?
SOUND: CROCKERY SMASHES
MIRROR (CONT’D): (LOW) Don’t ask me, of course. Misdirection is such fun.
NARRATOR: (V.O.) At last the joyful wedding day arrives, and we can tie up all the loose, flapping and frankly widely strewn narrative threads. And hustle by the slight casting overlap. Let’s call it ‘characterful’.

SCENE 62.
SOUND: BG JOLLY BAND PLAYS, GUESTS CHATTER. RAPID STEEL HEELS, DRAGGING SHUFFLE
QUEEN: Kingsley, for the sake of dignity, could you try not to…waddle so? You look like a gravid toad.
KING: Grehvy boat did yoou seh? Ah’m dooing me best, me queen, boutt I yoosually have soom tahme on ‘sofa after breakfast.
BEATTIE: (CLOSE) Are you being Papa? Yes, of course. Ahem. (NORMAL) Papa, dearest, a—
QUEEN: (LOW) Beattie! The quean haunts me yet.
KING: Ar lass! ‘Skin lahke snow, ‘air lahke coil–
QUEEN: (LOW) Eyes like hellfire.
KING: Where ‘ave yoou been?!
BEATTIE: I’ve been on the most wonderful adventure, thanks to Shirl—Mis—mother.
KING: Yoou sent ‘er aweh?!
QUEEN: (CLOSE) Her own good – ways of the world— You agreed!
KING: Hm. It’s loovely toh see yoou, Beeattih. Yoou doo loook well. Are yoou happih?
BEATTIE: Oh, very, Pa! I’m going to be married!
KING: Congratyoolehtions, lass! ‘Oo toh?
SOUND: BG SWISHING, HACKING
BEATTIE: My dearest, darling Zenik! That’s him: the dazzling chap, swishing at the ivy. He thinks it’s a bit gloomy for a wedding. He’s so romantic.
KING: By ‘eck, ‘e doo glint fiercelih.

SCENE 63.
SOUND: SWISHING, HACKING, METAL SCRAPING STONE
SQUIRE: Er, sire, please, if you’ll let me. I fear you may accidentally slice off a limb or, er, something worse.
NIK: Vot cout be vorse zan a severt limb? I mus haf oll my limbs for devoting off myself to zese many, many deets off luff!
SQUIRE: Er, exactly, sire; especially important for the, er, wedding night.
NIK: I haf perfect control off my veapon!

SCENE 64.
SOUND: BG JOLLY BAND PLAYS, GUESTS CHATTER
QUEEN: (QUAVERING) Him?! But he’s…but surely he’s– Surely…
KING: Are yoou calling ar dauughter’s betrothèd a shirlih, Shirlih?
QUEEN: He’s Prince Nikolaus von Rouffiliak?!
KING: Eh? What’s that? Soomthing toh doo with ‘bloood not clotting?
QUEEN: Forming a clot was never a problem for you, my dear.
KING: (DEEP BREATH) Will there be foood?
BEATTIE: I’ll say. Tables piled high, Pa – all your favourites!
QUEEN: Hardly a challenge. Go on then: fold yourself around a small bovine; wallow in a pond of your beloved gravy.
BEATTIE: (NERVOUS LAUGH)
KING: Shirlih. (PAUSE) Ah never thawght Ah could ‘ave too mooch anything, boutt yoou’ve prooved me wrong. Ah’ve ‘ad quaht enoough of yoou, yoou poisonoous hehbawll.
QUEEN: Don’t be daft, Kingsley, you like my tresses!
KING: Aye, joost lahk ‘mattress, yoou loook; ‘burst woon. Neither yoouss nor ornament. Where’s yoour mehd Maud?
QUEEN: What?
MAUD: Right here, sir.
KING: ‘Ello me dear, ‘ow doo yoou fancih being oop-grehded toh queen?
QUEEN: (SHRIEK) My feet! Burning!
SOUND: STAMPING, APPROACHING ARMOUR CLANKS
NIK: (BREATHLESS) Are you ollright, my vonderfool hot stiff?
BEATTIE: ‘Stuff’, sweetie, ‘hot stuff’.
NIK: Vot iss zis terreeble schrieking? Have I disturb ze Davies’ crypt vonce more? But zis iss ze silly qvin!
SOUND: FEET PATTER IN TANTRUM, RECEDE
BEATTIE: Stepmother. And this is my fa—
NIK: Vy iss she dance like zis maniac?!
KING: Joost ‘er ‘ysterics; nowt boutt attention-seeeking. Can’t even dance in tahm toh myoosic. Peh noh attention.
NIK: She frighten ze guest!
KING: May Ah introdyooce meself: Kingslih Snawit, fahther of ‘brahd. Ah congratyooleht yoou on—
SOUND: BG CRUMPLE, WHUMP, WRITHING
NIK: Be-attifool, be carefool; not to touch zis crazy! So sorry, mine fahter, you vere say?
KING: Ah beg yoh pahdon?

SCENE 65.
SOUND: WRITHING, APPROACHING SOLID FOOTSTEPS
BEATTIE: Hullo, Shirley.
QUEEN: (GASP) You! Invulnerable!
BEATTIE: I do seem to be in better health than you…expected.
QUEEN: (LOW) Eyes like hellfire.
BEATTIE: Perhaps you were a little hasty to discard dear mama’s occult library, RIP.
QUEEN: (RASPING) But you don’t understand! Thick as mud!
BEATTIE: I understand one hideous crone is not the same as another.
QUEEN: (RASPING) No idea what you’re doing with mystic incantations!
BEATTIE: In my line of work you’re not supposed to be so arrogant; it’s enough just to get the intention right.
SOUND: WINGS FLUTTER, BIRD CHIRPS
QUEEN: (SCREAM) Assassin!
KING: (OFF) Are yoou dead yet? Hoorrih oop, old booot; Maud’s wehting. Chooffin’ chooff.
QUEEN: (CHOKES, EXPIRES)
BEATTIE: Hullo Wee Dave’s Wee Raven. Would you like a seed? I don’t think those things in Shirley’s hair are edible.

SCENE 66.
SOUND: BG JOLLY BAND PLAYS, GUESTS CHATTER
BEATTIE: Very sad: couldn’t tell the difference between an enchanted mirror and some hammered lead with a little Davic mischief.
NIK: Ve mus keep zese cunning Davies so fery close, I sink.
BEATTIE: Well said, my darling Zenik. They know just enough to be dangerous.
NIK: Excusse me, my bee-attifool, but zere seems a smoll garten birt making hiss nest off your vonderfool so sexy garment?
BEATTIE: Oh, this is Wee Dave’s Wee Raven. She nearly pecked something quite poisonous.
SOUND: BIRD CHIRPS
BEATTIE (CONT’D): Now, since this Snaw-Witch has decided to take a husband, shall we get married?
NIK: Vot iss—
SOUND: SQUEAKING SUCTION KISS
NIK (CONT’D): (GULP)

SCENE 67.
NARRATOR: (V.O.) And so they lived…revoltingly happily— I say, is anyone bothered by that toxic puddle of old Shirley? It seems to be oiling toward the castle.
SOUND: CLANG, SCRAPE, SUCK, WHIR, CLONK
GALLUS DAVE: Utter brilliance, Techy Dave! Total hag containment!
TECHY DAVE: Aye, wurked braw, eh?
DOODLE DAVE: Can anywoon smell buhrnt cohcohnoot?
DAVINA: Fit’s to do wi’ it noo?
TECHY DAVE: A’ yours, hen. Re-circle that!
END

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1 Comment »

  1. […] Snaw-Whit and the Seven Daves concludes at Episode 4… […]

    Pingback by Snaw-Whit and the Seven Daves: Episode 3/4 | Digital Ischemia — 24/12/2018 @ 15:36


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