umbrella academy as things my friends and i have said (part 7):
luther:
“what day of the week was sunday?”
diego:
“i have a note of what i want for a birthday present so i can write down ideas throughout the year. it just says ‘legos’ on it and i don’t think i’ve touched it since i was 14.”
allison:
“just because i said ‘fuck you’ for having a reese’s doesn’t mean you get to call me a dumb bitch for calling my ex”
klaus:
“anyways i’m in so much pain here’s a funny video!”
five:
“autumn? you mean autism?”
ben:
“so klaus has just been vibing this weekend and i was wondering where he was at. boston. he’s in boston. he has somewhere he has to be in exactly twenty-six minutes and he’s in fucking boston.”
viktor:
“tchaikovsky is gonna be the death of me. i can’t believe it. the gay man. is gonna be the one that takes me out. i can’t believe this.”
lila:
“you gotta use your thinker to get a good thunk”
stan:
“i just said that ‘saturday’ in spanish is ‘marrón’”
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cw suicide mention & imagery
original play idea where people seem to live their normal lives but the audience gets the feeling that something’s wrong, there’s a tension and there are things that obviously go unsaid that hang in the air between the characters uncomfortably long enough until the last member of the audience has filled in the blanks in their own way.
there is a figure off to the side, a very young man in a suit, watching them, unmoving and silent, and as the scenes and progress, as characters leave and appear, as the setting changes, the young man is always there. no one interacts with him, but there are moments when they almost do. when the characters stop what they’re doing when they stand close to him, and appear to listen. but there’s nothing.
the sound of TV news reports, all playing over each other, create an uncanny and uncomfortable buzzing that never, never stops, and there are too many to really make out the words. they get more silent the closer they get to the young man in the suit, quieting down to nothing when they stand by him to listen — but the characters seem unaware of the change. so does the young man, statuesque though he is.
then there’s a little girl, covered in dirt, her hair askew, her cheeks rosy — the image of having spent the day outside, playing in the dirt, a smile on her face, her eyes big, as she skips towards the young man and asks, “can we go now? can we play?”
the young man cards his hands through her hair and says, “you go ahead, i’ll be right there.”
but still he stays there, seated.
everything continues as before, but the characters slowly undergo a complete change in character, in routine, in appearance. the old man who wore suits is not dressed in sweats and old, worn out, dirty shirts. the sweet, kindhearted young adult is now quiet and apathetic. the woman who, in the beginning, was talking her friend’s ear off and could barely stand still is unmoving now, staring out into nothingness.
the buzzing and bustling background noise is slowly, gradually getting louder as the characters become increasingly nonverbal and unmoving. the lights dim down.
then all at once, after a crescendo, the noise stops suddenly, the lights turn off completely, before, with warm, yellow light, a woman we’ve seen before — as she stares into nothingness — appears on the stage, slowly approaching the young man as if unsure of her body but undeniable in her grace.
they smile at each other for a moment.
m, whispering: you’re not supposed to be here, not yet
w, cradling his cheeks: i was always supposed to be here long, long before you
m: i know. i’m sorry, i—
w: i know. i forgive you. i’ve always forgiven you
m, after a while: but not yourself
the woman shakes her head.
w: a mother will never forgive herself for burying her child, and a father will forgive himself even less. (a beat) you have such a handsome face.
m: it’s not your fault
w: so beautiful, those eyes, i’ve missed you so much
m: listen to me, it’s not your fault!
w: and your hair! papa would be so glad to know that—
m: mother. mama. listen to me. it’s not your fault
w, tearful and whispering: you were supposed to be fine. you were always supposed to be fine. it was never supposed to be this bad, we were supposed to help, but—
m: i know. i tried, i really did. both times
in that moment, the little girl comes skipping on stage again, approaching them with her wagging ponytail.
g: what are you doing here, mama? will you play with me now? it’s been so long!
the woman gasps, her tears getting the better of her as she falls to her knees and pulls the girl to her chest, who readily returns the hug
w, sobbing, kissing her cheek: hi, baby. yes, i’ll play with you, of course i will. let’s go.
the young man helps his mother up, allowing her to pull him into a hug, and she whispers: “as much as i love her with all my heart, i’m so proud of the young man you’ve grown into. and now i have you both, just as i always did.”
the young man brushes a kiss to her cheek, then lets her go, watching as his mother disappears with the little girl.
m: i have to stay a while. i’ll follow you soon.
(woman and girl, hand in hand, exeunt)
the lights dim, and the buzzing returns, accompanied by the sound of dragging footsteps the audience cannot see, until everything’s back in total darkness. the noise stays. growing louder in increments, leaving the audience uncomfortable and unsure if this was it.
as they quiet down, we hear a man, sobbing uncontrollably, before eerie silence takes his place, too.
the curtain falls.
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“When you laugh like that, it just — you’re so beautiful, you know that?” for the ficlet prompt pls !! love your writing so so much ❤️
Tim is a very serious guy, busy doing very serious work.
"—still don't know why anyone would write this! Actually, who the fuck paid them to write this?! Is this the state of journalism in today's world?" Bart flails a hand at his laptop screen, laughing so hard he's turning red. "Someone—someone got paid to write—to write this?! This is a self-help article?!"
"I just don't—why would you—" Kon stares at the screen, too, fingers steepled and pressed to his lips in deep consternation. "I can't even finish my dramatic reading! Why would—why would—who even wants to phone a friend in the middle of doing an enema?"
Tim is a very serious guy, busy doing very serious work, by which he means playing Minesweeper while listening to his very un-serious friends read a how-to guide on, for some reason, coffee enemas. It happens. He really did mean to get work done, but sitting in the common room was a mistake; he's just been listening and swallowing laughter for the past ten minutes.
"I can promise you this. If any of you ever phone me with anything up your ass, we are not friends anymore," Cassie says, sounding disturbed.
That does it. Tim's finger slips and clicks a bomb instead of a safe tile as he wheezes with sudden, explosive laughter.
All three of them whip around to look at him; Bart is the first to crack into giggles, too, then Kon smothers a chuckle into his hands, and finally Cassie slumps back onto the cushions behind her, cackling. Tim really, truly does try to get ahold of himself, but it's a losing battle at this point.
"Where did you even find this article, Bart?" he manages, grinning breathlessly. "Send me the link." It sounds like a great way to harass Dick, and Tim needs to do that yesterday.
"Why?" Bart shoots back immediately. "Feeling inspired?"
"You better not call me when you try it out," Cassie wheezes.
Kon, meanwhile...
Oh. Wait. What's up with Kon? He's still grinning, but it's a softer look than before; his eyes sparkle with warmth as he looks at Tim, perching in the bay window. That's a very, ah... fond? Yes, fond. A very fond look for someone whose companions are currently losing their shit about a self-help article about coffee enemas.
Tim meets his gaze and quirks an eyebrow. Kon blinks at him, seeming surprised; did he think Tim wouldn't notice him gazing over like that?
"Sorry, sorry," Kon says, though he certainly doesn't sound particularly sorry. “When you laugh like that, it just—man, you’re so beautiful, you know that?”
Tim's face immediately flames. That's rich, coming from the most beautiful guy in not just the room, but the entire city. Country. World? Yeah, world. "Uh."
"Oh my god, shut the fuck up, you're so sappy!" Bart groans, smacking Kon on the shoulder. Kon, because he's Kon, just preens at his complaints. "Stop being a cheese before I kick your ass!"
"Be careful that it doesn't have coffee in it!" Cassie snickers into her hands.
Normally, Tim would join in on the ribbing. Right now, though, he's still a little stuck on Kon just casually calling him beautiful for laughing. What the fuck. They've been officially dating for two weeks! He can't just spring that kind of thing on Tim! And the worst (best) part is, because he's Kon, Tim knows he's being completely genuine about it!
Why did this have to happen during this, of all conversations?
"Now, Bart," Kon says, and aggressively ruffles Bart's hair. "You know Tim is the only one here with the rights to touch my ass, kicking or not."
Bart blows an obnoxiously loud raspberry. Tim drops his face into his hands.
Yeah, he's a serious guy, alright. Real serious about... starting a new game of Minesweeper and listening to his friends continue to be a bunch of comedians.
♥ soft sentence starters ♥
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