Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Out of the Loop
(…And lice-free since 1967!)
Disclaimer: I'm still not Stoppard, Shakespeare, or both.
(A/N: If you haven't figured it out by now, I've decided to continue the story. While Stoppard's original work has the theme of an inevitable end, mine tries to counter it with some sappy 'love survives' theme. The first chapter is about Cranz and Guil's 'awakening,' so to speak, and now they're going to be sucked out of their simple little lives by fate once again. And remember the slash? Knew you would.)
In an indistinct place of little or no character, two ELIZABETHANS are doing laundry.
But, you know the gig by now.
ROS takes a shirt out of a wash bucket as GUIL rambles on; they're apparently in the middle of another nonsensical conversation.
GUIL: Like, crash; I've already used crash twice so I have to never use that word again and use something else, like… Bash, I can only say bash twice.
ROS: You already said it twice.
GUIL: …Agh!
ROS looks at the shirt in his hands thoughtfully; there's something different about it, but he's not quite sure what. ROS shrugs and hangs it on the clothesline strung across the stage.
ROS: So, you can't say the onomatopoeia for something falling more than twice.
GUIL: Right.
ROS: …How come?
GUIL: How come? What have we just been talking about?
Small pause.
ROS: I don't remember.
GUIL: Of course. I might as well be talking to myself.
GUIL huffily goes to his mug that's sitting on the stage and tries to drink from it, but finds it empty. He throws it off-stage.
ROS (coming up to GUIL timidly): Um… Hey. (Gives GUIL a smile.)
GUIL: Hey.
ROS: Something wrong?
GUIL: Oh… just the repetition of daily life, I suppose. Mundane reality.
ROS: Oh?
ROS sits on GUIL's lap; GUIL accepts him gently.
GUIL: Well, one might consider, for example, the fact that we've been doing our laundry everyday.
ROS looks at the clothesline; there are only two shirts hanging on it.
ROS: True.
As he's saying this, the PLAYER walks onstage, unnoticed.
GUIL: And two or three times a day we've-
PLAYER: Am I interrupting something?
GUIL: Gah!
ROS falls off of GUIL's lap simultaneous with the cry. GUIL jumps up to face the PLAYER, remembers ROS, pulls him up, and brings him along.
GUIL: Long time no see. Have fun in England?
PLAYER: Not as much fun as you two have been having, apparently.
ROS smiles, but GUIL is defensive.
GUIL: What are you doing here?
PLAYER: Acting.
GUIL: As are we.
PLAYER: So you've caught on?
ROS: Yes. We know we're actors, and we know that our fate it written. We have our exits and our entrances…
PLAYER (edgy): And that doesn't bother you?
ROS: Why should it? We've come to accept it and have been doing okay for ourselves so far.
PLAYER (down his throat): Accepted it, have you? Think you understand, have it figured out, do you?
GUIL, the protector in the relationship, comes between ROS and the PLAYER. He gives ROS's hand a squeeze behind his back.
GUIL (collected): There's no need for harassment. We really only pretend to understand, if that's your problem.
PLAYER (calming): No, no… So, you realize you're in a play?
GUIL: Yes.
PLAYER: That is, technically, within another play?
ROS (coming out from behind GUIL): Yes.
GUIL: But you, sir, are in a play within a play within a play. If anyone's confused around here…
PLAYER: On the contrary… (His thought process seems to change abruptly.) Do you know what this play is, was, about?
ROS: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern?
PLAYER: …Are Dead! The parodying of Shakespeare's play is used to show the inevitability of death! The question is, if Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's deaths were inevitable, what are they still doing here?
ROS: Laundry.
Pause.
PLAYER (resigning): I have no response.
GUIL: We are being courtiers in King Fortinbras's castle. We do occasional courtier… (searching for the word) …duties, and we even have our own room right up…
GUIL turns to point to the room, but finds the character-less backdrop instead. In this instant he realizes that him and ROS have been doing laundry, and looking like idiots, on a stage with a clothesline strung across it, an empty wash bucket, and shirts that had never so much as gotten wet.
Stunned pause.
ROS: Odd. (Regards a shirt brightly.) No lice.
GUIL: Not this again… The play thing.
ROS (as though he invented it): The play thing!
GUIL (confronting the PLAYER): You have something to do with this, don't you?
PLAYER (laughing): Oh, Guildenstern; you may be the brains of this outfit, but that isn't saying much.
GUIL (stifled anger): All right, so whatever's written is what will happen. You still haven't told us why you're here.
PLAYER: Because I am.
ROS: Because it was written?
PLAYER: Of course.
GUIL: But, were you written a motive?
PLAYER: Perhaps, and perhaps I was written to be enigmatic.
ROS (indignant): You can't use that as an excuse.
PLAYER: Oh, can I?
ROS: You don't believe in freewill at all?
PLAYER: If I'm written to.
Small pause.
ROS: This is getting a bit over my head.
PLAYER: Don't strain yourself too much.
GUIL (cutting in): Look, we appreciate you visiting us, Player, we really do. And as much as we have been enjoying your badgering, insults, and cryptic messages, I do believe it's time we got back to the castle.
GUIL grabs the shirts and ROS's hand, making to leave.
PLAYER: That won't work, you know.
GUIL: And why not, pray tell?
PLAYER: You can't just exit in the middle of a scene. That's not how it's written.
As he's saying this, the PLAYER takes down the clothesline and tosses it and the bucket offstage.
GUIL: After all you said, you suddenly act like you know what's going on?
They meet midstage, at each other's throats.
Do you have influence around here, or do you just have big words?
PLAYER: I'd be careful where you delve. I believe you, or, should I say, you two have your own secret you don't wish to reveal to the court.
GUIL (nervy): Nonsense, everyone does it.
PLAYER: Yes, but not publicly, or formally announced. And I wouldn't count on love to bring you back a second time.
The PLAYER quickly and abruptly exits. ROS and GUIL exchange glances.
ROS: That can't be what this is about, can it?
Suddenly, OPHELIA runs on stage in some alarm, holding up her skirts- followed by HAMLET. ROS and GUIL re-exchange frantic glances.
GUIL: Good God.
…The scene blacks out.
(A/N: Sadly, Cranz and Guil's opening conversation is based on a real one I've had. Cranz's first two lines are what I said, and I seriously can't remember why my friend decided she couldn't use the onomatopoeia for something falling more than twice.
And so the idea, at the moment, is to get Cranz and Guil through their play once more, and hopefully with a satisfying ending. Stay tuned.)