Episodes

pt 60: BEASTS

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Scampi: Well, Peter.

 

Peter: Well.

 

Scampi: It seems to me.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Or, to look at it another way.

 

Peter: Hm?

 

Scampi: I’m just trying to appreciate all angles here.

 

Peter: Okay.

 

Scampi: However.

 

Peter: Indeed.

 

Scampi: I wasn’t finished.

 

Peter: Oh.

 

Scampi: Have you ever gone to Australia?

 

Peter: I have not.

 

Scampi: Oh. I knew that, actually.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: How do you imagine it to be?

 

Peter: I don’t, really. I don’t think about Australia that much.

 

Scampi: And why would you?

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: But really the question is, why wouldn’t you? Eh?

 

Peter: Because it is not in my brain. There is no need.

 

Scampi: Maybe you need to learn a little more about your neighbours. Did you ever think of that?

 

Peter: What neighbours?

 

Scampi: On this earth. Your fellow men. Your humanoid compatriots.

 

Peter: Humanoid? Do you mean human?

 

Scampi: Don’t patronise me, mister. I know what I mean.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: And I’m not the only one. You know what I mean, too.

 

Peter: Oh really.

 

Scampi: Yes. Anyway, if we need to learn about Australia, we can jolly well learn about Australia.

 

Peter: If.

 

Scampi: That’s right. Besides, I bet you know a lot more about Australia than you let on.

 

Peter: How much are you betting?

 

Scampi: It’s an expression. It means, I am correct.

 

Peter: Hm.

 

Scampi: For example, in Australia, everyone walks around upside down. Did you know that?

 

Peter: Please.

 

Scampi: What? What?

 

Peter: Refrain from this prattle.

 

Scampi: Prattle? Pardon me?

 

Peter: You just said that in Australia people are walking around upside down.

 

Scampi: Perhaps I did. Perhaps they are.

 

Peter: SIGHS.

 

Scampi: The world is rife with strange beasts.

 

Peter: PICKS AT HIS TEETH.

 

Scampi: And perhaps we are the strangest beasts of all. Some of us anyway.

 

Peter: Are you talking about me?

 

Scampi: No. I am talking to you.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Fungi floppily cushion the forest floor. Behind the trees, brown bears dip their magnificent paws in wild honey.

 

Peter: Is this a children’s tale?

 

Scampi: Is that what you think? Bears and mushrooms belong in fairytales?

 

Peter: Perhaps.

 

Scampi: Well, I think they belong in the world. We are all in the world.

 

Peter: Is this what passes for philosophy these days?

 

Scampi: Don’t start with me. Philosophy is welcome to take a long walk off a short pier.

 

PETER REMOVES HIS EYEGLASSES AND RUBS HIS EYES WITH ONE PALE, CRUMPLED PAW.

 

Scampi: I am sure you have no wish to deny the existence of bears, mulching leaves, mushrooms, and Australia.

 

Peter: The existence of them?

 

Scampi: That’s right. You do not deny it. Do you?

 

Peter: Uh. No.

 

Scampi: Precisely! That’s what I’m saying. We’re all in this together.

 

Peter: Well, now—

 

Scampi: Don’t well now me. We are all crunching and whispering across the forest floor. Going from here to there. Looking for a soft place to sleep.

 

Peter: Well yes.

 

Scampi: Of course. There could be a blanket of snow, there could be a blanket of leaves, there could be a blanket of fine alpaca fur.

 

Peter: One has to have dreams, I suppose.

 

Scampi: What?

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: What was that?

 

Peter: Uh.

 

Scampi: Dreams? Are you talking about dreams?

 

Peter: It was a just a.

 

Scampi: Do you have dreams? Is this what you’re saying?

 

Peter: I wasn’t really. Saying anything.

 

Scampi: Dreams. The finely silted dreams of Peter.

 

Peter: Silted? What are you talking about?

 

Scampi: I don’t know.

 

PAUSE.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: I don’t know.

pt 29: TRADE WINDS

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Scampi: You know what time it is?

 

Peter: I believe it is approximately two p.m.

 

Scampi: It’s time to start counting down the snowflakes.

 

Peter: What snowflakes?

 

Scampi: They’re on their way.

 

Peter: Are you gesturing at the advent of winter?

 

Scampi: The season is upon us.

 

Peter: What season?

 

Scampi: The season of DEMOCRACY!

 

Peter: Like, pumping your fist in the air?

 

Scampi: That’s right. DEMOCRACY is on its way. I can feel it in my teeth.

 

Peter: My teeth hurt.

 

Scampi: You should brush them more often.

 

Peter: I do brush them often.

 

Scampi: With a toothbrush I mean. And paste.

 

Peter: This may or may not be the correct interval to mention that I see no evidence of democracy or snowflakes in the air.

 

Scampi: I’m not sure that was the correct interval. I will make a note of your suggestion, and address it in due course.

 

Peter: Thank you.

 

Scampi: Speaking of snowflakes, I am finding the air uncommonly warm.

 

Peter: Yes, it buffets us about with its uncommon warmth. We are truly blessed.

 

Scampi: We are.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: I have made a pot of tea. Would you like some?

 

Peter: No thank you.

 

SCAMPI DRINKS HER TEA. IT IS UTTERLY DELICIOUS.

 

Scampi: This tea is delicious.

 

Peter: I have no doubt.

 

Scampi: I do. I am plagued with doubts. They shimmy with me across the floor. They steep in my cup.

 

Peter: Oh.

 

Scampi: Have you ever looked out, way out, to the edge of the water?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Me too.

 

Peter: You’re looking a little queasy.

 

Scampi: I am?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: It’s the waves. They’re swamping me.

 

Peter: Oh. Perhaps I will have some tea after all.

 

Scampi: Help yourself.

 

PAUSE.

 

Peter: You, ah—

 

Scampi: Don’t say it.

 

Peter: Right.

 

Scampi: Your hands are still so delicate. They are like moths.

 

Peter: Um.

 

Scampi: They’re practically phosphorescent. I can tell you’ve been reading lots of books.

 

Peter: How can you tell that?

 

Scampi: From your hands. They’re as delicate as your synapses.

 

Peter: There’s nothing delicate about my synapses.

 

Scampi: Of course not. Your synapses are firing a sixteen gun salute as we speak.

 

Peter: How terrifying.

 

Scampi: For my part, I salute your synapses, and their utter lack of delicacy.

 

Peter: I think I’m getting a migraine.

 

Scampi: It’s all that gunpowder going off in your hippocampus.

 

Peter: [SHUDDERS.]

 

Scampi: That was theatrical.

 

Peter: Yes well.

 

Scampi: Can you feel the wind on your face?

 

Peter: Why wouldn’t I?

 

Scampi: As we have previously discussed, you have hair growing out of your face.

 

Peter: So what?

 

Scampi: So maybe you can’t feel the wind. I don’t know anything about it.

 

Peter: I can feel the wind.

 

Scampi: Can you feel it rifling through your beard, looking for secrets?

 

Peter: No. There are no secrets in my beard.

 

Scampi: If I had a beard, I would fill it to the max.

 

Peter: With secrets?

 

Scampi: Yes. It would be the ultimate piggy bank.

 

Peter: Well, good for you.

 

Scampi: Thank you. Covert operations are my specialty. What direction is this wind coming from?

 

Peter: It’s coming from the far side of the world.

 

Scampi: It smells a bit like yesterday.

 

Peter: Yes. This is due to physics.

 

Scampi: Tell me.

 

Peter: Tell you what?

 

Scampi: Something I don’t know.

 

Peter: First I will have more tea.

 

Scampi: Go ahead. I’ve got all day.

pt 15: MAD, BAD, FLINT

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Scampi: You, Peter, have never read anything by Gumilev. You are like a nightmare that takes place on Gladstone Avenue in a foreign language.

 

Peter: I am in the bath. I am taking no note of this invective.

 

Scampi: You are like a girl sitting outside a butcher shop in September wishing she wasn’t too mad to cry. Except the opposite.

 

Peter: Sometimes, you don’t make any sense at all. When this happens, I prefer to absent myself.

 

Scampi: You sellout piece of shit.

 

Peter: I’m not listening.

 

Scampi: Due to hearsay, I am aware that Gumilev also wrote a poem about a giraffe. You’ll never guess what it’s called.

 

Peter: I hate guessing.

 

Scampi: This is because you are a sore loser.

 

PETER IS NOT LISTENING.

 

Scampi: People with inflated notions of themselves that do not appropriately correspond to materiel/other success are often sore losers. This is a fact.

 

Peter: Oh really?

 

Scampi: Yes. It is in the dictionary.

 

Peter: Which one?

 

Scampi: You have never seen a dictionary, and wouldn’t know anything about it.

 

Peter: I give up.

 

Scampi: Don’t think I mistake the flint in your voice for something [exhaustion/depression/general irritable nature] else. Everyone gives up on me.

 

Peter: It’s hard to imagine why.

 

Scampi: I believe that people give up on me due to your lack of imagination.

 

Peter: [THIS PORTION OF WHAT PETER BELIEVES HAS BEEN CENSORED BECAUSE IT IS TOO BLEAK. IT IS AS BLEAK AS A HOUSE]

 

Scampi: Maybe you don’t absorb enough vitamin C.

 

Peter: Sometimes, I wish I had never met you.

 

Scampi: So what.

 

Peter: Stop mis-hearing me.

 

Scampi: I know what you meant.

 

Peter: I just pointed out that it’s past your normal bedtime. You’re tired.

 

Scampi: I hate you.

 

Peter: Don’t talk to me like that.

 

Scampi: I hate fighting with you.

 

Peter: You need to calm down.

 

Scampi: How come your eyes are every single colour?

 

Peter: They’re hazel.

 

Scampi: Freaky.

 

Peter: We should spend less time together.

 

Scampi: Someday, there will be no Peter, and no Scampi, and we won’t have a choice.

pt 65: I HAVE LONG BEEN A SLEEPER BUT I TRUST

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Scampi: Antarctica is full of snow.

 

Peter: What’s this?

 

Scampi: Valleys and plains, all made of snow. Lakes of snow.

 

Peter: Oh, really? Have you been?

 

Scampi: You know I have not.

 

SCAMPI REFLECTS UPON THESE AND OTHER FACTS FOR ONE OR TWO, PERHAPS SEVERAL DAYS.

 

Scampi: I am in the air on the subject, like a weather balloon.

 

Peter: What subject?

 

Scampi: I have been thinking.

 

Peter: Laudable.

 

Scampi: Is it?

 

Peter: Well, I suppose.

 

Scampi: You suppose so. Do you?

 

Peter: I suppose I do.

 

Scampi: Suffused with supposition. That’s you.

 

Peter: Where’s this going, now?

 

Scampi: Where do you want it to go? To the mountains?

 

Peter: Onward and upward.

 

Scampi: As they say.

 

Peter: They do. Wait, who does?

 

Scampi: They say it all the goddam time, Peter. You know this.

 

Peter: Are you in a violent frame of mind this morning?

 

Scampi: Who, me? I am a dove, a dove.

 

Peter: [PERTURBED]

 

Scampi: [ATTEMPTS THE QUIET OF MOUNTAIN RANGES.]

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Would you like to play a game?

 

Peter: Unlikely. What sort of game?

 

Scampi: A parlour game. An old-fashioned rigamarole of a time.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: This diversion is called “Fill in the blanks”. Ready?

 

Peter: I suppose.

 

Scampi: Ahem. The death of a loved one is ______?

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: You’re supposed to fill in the blanks.

 

Peter: I don’t understand this game.

 

Scampi: Why not?

 

Peter: It doesn’t make any sense.

 

Scampi: No. It doesn’t.

 

Peter: I would like to clear my throat.

 

Scampi: I support that.

 

Peter: Thank you.

 

Scampi: Have a clearance sale. Folks will come for miles. PETER’S BIGTIME THROAT-CLEARANCE SALE! EVERYTHING MUST GO!

 

Peter: I don’t know what manner of amphibian is setting up shop in there.

 

Scampi: In your throat?

 

Peter: Indeed. But I feel he should select a different habitat.

 

Scampi: Sometimes one has to move.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Sometimes one is in the wrong spot.

 

Peter: Quite.

 

Scampi: The significance of this is not lost on me. For example.

 

Peter: Oh, very little is.

 

Scampi: Very funny.

 

Peter: I thought so.

 

Scampi: I could tell.

 

PETER CLEARS HIS THROAT.

 

Scampi: Did we ever make it to Mexico?

 

Peter: I don’t know.

 

Scampi: Are we leaving them behind? Or are they leaving us?

 

Peter: Who?

 

Scampi: Our loved ones.

 

Peter: I don’t know.

pt 76: BLACKPOOL

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Scampi: What if you had been there and heard it on the radio?

 

Peter: And? What if I had?

 

Scampi: Actually, let’s abandon this line.

 

Peter: That should be quite simple.

 

Scampi: I don’t want to talk about the bombing of Coventry.

 

Peter: Okay.

 

Scampi: Horrible stuff.

 

Peter: What brings this up?

 

Scampi: Who cares?

 

Peter: Right.

 

Scampi: I don’t want to think about it, hearing the war on the radio.

 

Peter: I’m sure it would be nicer than hearing the war in your ears.

 

Scampi: What do you listen to the radio with? Your nose?

 

Peter: No.

 

Scampi: Well then.

 

Peter: SIGHS.

 

Scampi: It’s too hot.

 

MUSICAL INTERLUDE.

pt 63: DUNKIRK

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Scampi: I had heard – Peter, are you listening to me?

 

Peter: Hm?

 

Scampi: Peter. I’d heard that Jane Austen.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: You know who that is, right?

 

Peter: Of course I do.

 

Scampi: (Yeah, right.) Anyway, she signed her letters, “your affectionate sister, JA”.

 

Peter: Did she sign all of her correspondence in this manner? How unusual.

 

Scampi: Ugh. I mean her letters to her sister. Not her letters to like, the Archduke of Mumbleford or whatever.

 

Peter: Oh? And how did she sign those letters?

 

Scampi: Humph. Well, think about this: Seventeen thousand Senegalese people died defending France in 1940. Did you know that?

 

Peter: I did not.

 

Scampi: I find it very upsetting.

 

Peter: You do seem agitated.

 

Scampi: Thank you.

 

SOFT PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Oh god.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: The air is full of snowflakes.

 

Peter: So it is. Is there a problem?

 

Scampi: I don’t know, Peter. Sometimes the massive beauty of the world is just too much for me. I don’t know what to say.

 

Peter: I don’t understand your use of italics there.

 

Scampi: Peter!

 

Peter: Am I missing something here?

 

Scampi: Pay attention! Seventeen thousand troops from Senegal were killed defending France. The air is full of snowflakes.

 

Peter: There you go with those italics again.

 

PETER RUBS HIS FOREHEAD.

 

Scampi: I was quoting myself. I was summing up.

 

Peter: What’s the difference between quoting yourself and repeating yourself?

 

Scampi (valiantly): Please look out the window.

 

Peter: The snow is falling.

 

Scampi: Or are we falling? Peter.

 

Peter: We seem fairly stable, as compared to the snow.

 

Scampi: (snorts)

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: Oh, you can have your opinions. Oh, certainly.

 

Peter: (offended)

 

Scampi: My tea is cold.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Peter, I wonder –

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: I’m not sure.

 

Peter: With whom are you speaking?

 

Scampi: You.

 

Peter: I see.

 

Scampi: Peter, I’m adressing you.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: Like a letter. Haw haw.

 

PETER POLISHES HIS GLASSES. SCAMPI PIROUETTES.

 

Scampi: You know what we should do?

 

Peter: I do not.

 

Scampi: We should go to church!

 

Peter: Pardon me?

 

Scampi: I know that you heard me.

 

Peter: I confess, I did.

 

Scampi: Confessing already! Let’s go find a church.

 

Peter: Why would we do that?

 

Scampi: I think it could be a fun adventure.

 

Peter: Don’t we have enough adventure in our lives?

 

Scampi: HA! That’s rich. The last tweed-covered person who had as many adventures as you was Sherlock Holmes. Ha ha.

 

Peter: I have no idea what you’re speaking of.

 

Scampi: Imagine: a church in the midst of all these snow flurries. So quaint. We will pretend to be foreign emissaries. We will receive a hero’s welcome.

 

Peter: From the rector?

 

Scampi: The rector! Hilarious.

 

Peter: What do you want to visit a church for?

 

Scampi: I want to light candles.

 

Peter: Ah.

 

Scampi: I want to see in the dark.

 

Peter: But it isn’t dark out.

 

Scampi: In a church it is.

pt 134: DETAIL

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Scampi: Well, your hands are in good condition.

 

Peter: As is the top of your head.

 

Scampi: Yes. And a bowl of tangerines by the window.

 

Peter: A green bowl.

 

Scampi: Sea green.

 

Peter: The light perhaps hurts my eyes.

 

Scampi: You should perhaps get your eyes checked.

 

Peter: Perhaps.

 

Scampi: I dreamed of open water.

 

Peter: I dreamed of a coastal village.

 

Scampi: The fishermen are mending their nets.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: You look flushed.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: And yet your hands are very pale.

 

Peter: Not very pale.

 

Scampi: White. Like the bleached bones of sardines.

 

Peter: My hands are white.

 

Scampi: The sea off the coast is green. Green as a bowl of tangerines.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Fruit ripens in the sun.

 

Peter: By the window?

 

Scampi: And one day we ourselves become dust.

 

Peter: Aye.

 

Scampi: Pale bones.

 

Peter: Including the top of your head.

 

Scampi: Your hands.

 

Peter: The tangerines.

 

Scampi: The light in the window and the bowl and the sea?

 

Peter: The sea contains dust.

 

Scampi: Silt. S’il te plait.

 

Peter: Also, crustaceans.

 

Scampi: Of course, at night the water’s black.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: Can you do me a favour?

 

Peter: Such a thing may be within my powers.

 

Scampi: Next time, light a fire on the beach.

 

Peter: What beach?

 

Scampi: Of the village.

 

Peter: To what end?

 

Scampi: Just curious.

 

PAUSE.

 

Scampi: I want to know how far I am from shore.

pt 10: WHAT PEOPLE SMELL LIKE, AND THEIR HAIR

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Scampi: Let’s talk about how I would ask just anyone to dance.

 

Peter: [QUIETLY READING].

 

Scampi: Hey Peter, remember when ________________________________________ ________________ __________________ ___________________________________________?

 

Peter: [SIGHS.]

 

Scampi: Anyway, I would ask anyone to dance. That’s the whole point of it. I would ask a toadstool! I would ask your mother, on your sister’s wedding day, and she would weep upon my shoulder. Eh? How do you like that?

 

Peter: I really don’t think that seems plausible.

 

Scampi: Ha! Naturally! And that shows just about how much you know. I don’t see anyone weeping on your shoulder. Unless those flakes of skin are really the tears of a loving mother on her daughter’s wedding day. Which I do not suppose they are. Not even for a second! This is simply not the case! I would dance with ANYONE. ANYONE.

 

Peter: Yes, I think we’ve all apprehended that.

 

Scampi: I should hope you have. Because it’s true.

pt 20 ¾: PETER DABBLES THROUGH THE VALLEY

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Scampi: Ok, Peter, let’s get some things straight.

 

Peter: My mouth is like, full of pizza.

 

Scampi: Why are you talking that way?

 

Peter: There is pizza sauce on each one of my fingers.

 

Scampi: Disgusting.

 

Peter: God, I feel good.

 

Scampi: You rococo thumbprint.

 

Peter: What?

 

Scampi: What’s up with your freshly minted tackiness incarnate?

 

Peter: Is this what passes for belligerence these days?

 

Scampi: You know what’s hilarious? Someone trying to say shit while his mouth is full of nasty old pizza.

 

Peter: It’s funny you should mention that.

 

Scampi: Oh yeah?

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: Why?

 

Peter: I think you know why.

 

Scampi: Maybe you don’t think at all.

 

Peter: I think that I am eating pizza instead of talking to you.

 

Scampi: I think you’re wearing suspenders.

 

Peter: Yes. You’re correct.

 

Scampi: You anachronism.

 

PETER STUFFS HIS MOUTH WITH SHITTY PIZZA.

 

Scampi: It looks good on you.

 

Peter: Tomato?

 

Scampi: Another time.

 

Peter: Melted cheese?

 

Scampi: No, the trappings of the past.

 

Peter: Oh?

 

Scampi: They’ve trapped you, all right.

 

Peter: Hm.

 

Scampi: But that suits you.

 

Peter: I’m gonna get a cellphone and a girlfriend. Once I’ve got a cellphone and a girlfriend, I’ll never get off either.

 

Scampi: Yeah.

 

Peter: I will drive the word pedestrian right through your cerebral cortex with a darning needle. I’m gonna paint this town taupe with mediocrity.

 

Scampi: I bet you’ll miss the ocean when you’re gone.

 

Peter: What ocean?

 

Scampi: You thrive on that shit. You like missing the ocean sixty four percent more than you like swimming in it.

 

Peter: Whatever, Scampi.

 

Scampi: You’ll be licking the salt off your skin.

 

Peter: My skin is none of your business.

 

Scampi: And you’ll remember how it carried you.

 

Peter: Perhaps I will be using my newfound social capital to purchase a flotation device. This will likely carry me far more efficiently than the unpredictable saline depths.

 

Scampi: Yes, Peter.

 

Peter: I’m glad you see reason.

 

Scampi: I do.

 

Peter: Good.

 

Scampi: I see it floating away.

 

Peter: I often neglect to shave.

 

Scampi: We are a delicate race.

 

THIS SILENCE WILL GO UNEXPLAINED.

 

Peter: My eyes are changing colour.

 

Scampi: They always do that.

 

Peter: So, what’s the big problem with me eating pizza? I’m not allowed to feed myself?

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: Is that it?

 

Scampi: No, that’s not it.

 

Peter: Well?

 

Scampi: Well, nothing. I don’t even know how tall you are.

 

Peter: I am six feet tall.

 

Scampi: That’s what you say.

 

Peter: It is.

 

Scampi: Go to sleep, Peter.

 

Peter: I’m already sleeping.

pt 19: SCIENCE IS OBVIOUS

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Scampi: Is this a good time to talk about beauty?

 

Peter: What are you talking about?

 

Scampi: [glares]

 

Peter: Okay, okay. What do you mean?

 

Scampi: You know what I mean. Maybe you don’t.

 

Peter: Maybe I don’t.

 

Scampi: No.

 

Peter: Well. That’s settled, then!

 

Scampi: I don’t believe a word of it.

 

Peter: Do you think I’m lying?

 

Scampi: You’re a sucky liar, for a liar.

 

Peter: Don’t call me a liar!

 

Scampi: What was that, liar? I mean, uh, Mr Lying-Pants.

 

Peter: I object. I really do.

 

Scampi: Peter’s mad and I’m glad.

 

Peter: [is livid.]

 

Scampi: Have some more coffee. Here, I’ll pour it for you, all nice. And, I mean, you see that bird? At the top of the tree out the window? I don’t even know what kind of bird that is. See it? What is that?

 

Peter: We have already ascertained that none of us know what kind of bird that is.

 

Scampi: And all the leaves. What do you call that?

 

Peter: Foliage.

 

Scampi: But it’s spring, it’s springtime. I can feel it in the muscles of my arms. Aren’t you excited?

 

Peter: I am unamused.

 

Scampi: Liar! You’re totally amused!

 

Peter: [stony silence]

 

Scampi: Oh. Sorry. (Pause.) You know that wasn’t on purpose. Come on.

 

Peter: Well.

 

Scampi: I told you. I wanna talk about like, beauty. Like, mercy in the world. You know?

 

Peter: Que la vie est dur.

 

Scampi : You look nice today.

 

Peter: Thank you.

 

Scampi: I want to touch you and those green leaves at the same time.

 

Peter: There have always been leaves that are green. There have equally been leaves of other colours.

 

Scampi: Not to mention no leaves at all.

 

Peter: Yes.

 

Scampi: I like your plumage just fine, Peter. I think you are nicely plumed.

 

Peter: Hm. Ah.

 

Scampi: It’s the season. It’s the season to march out the door in your feathered best.

 

Peter: I don’t have a feathered vest.

 

Scampi: What? What’s wrong with you?

 

Peter: Excuse me?

 

Scampi: I said feathered best. BEST.

 

Peter: Oh.

 

Scampi: You and your eyelashes. Don’t get so cagey with how gorgeous things can be. Open up your eyes, baby. Drink up.

 

Peter: W—

 

Scampi: I’m talking about everything. I’m talking about how good everything looks, or at least some things, at least right now. I’m saying you should pay attention. I’m telling you to effing pay attention to this shit.

 

Peter: Sometimes, you are very noisy.

 

Scampi: Goddammit Peter.

 

Peter: Don’t swear at me.

 

Scampi: But you have such beautiful hands.

 

PETER INSPECTS HIS HANDS.

 

Scampi: No wonder you have no money.