The Block & Axe (St. Patricks Day) Prelude: The

The Block & Axe
(St. Patricks Day)
Prelude:
The Four Horsemen
Groans and moans of torment and torture echo through the background. A crease in the screen
increases to reveal a sizable but silent crowd; a short walk to the the block & axe is lined by many gravefaced soldiers. A battered, young, Indian man named Juan is hurled into the opening before the gate
slams behind him. Now facing the soldiers and a curiously captivated audience, he’s resigned, and his
stare is resillient.
Lucinda: a haunting, sultry voice with an english accent & the faintest flavor of quavering, from above
and behind the audience All that Juan can do is tell the truth, and shortly now he’ll lose his head for
trying.
The road forward leads only to the exeutioner’s chair, all the soldier’s stoic faces staring straight
ahead. Juan sinks, exhausted, to one knee, then the other. He leans back on his tar-stained, bloodiedbare-heels. He gasps for air, blinks three times, and unleashes a howl and a yawp and a yell and a
monstrous shout that has been building through the most of the film. Black.
[insert cool song & stylized credits here]
Juan blinks three times, disoriented by his premonition and still on his knees, it’s late and the streetlights
are few along the worn, grassy footpath running alongside the SW Houston urban thoroughfare. A block
behind him sits a hot-pink-neon minarette marking an Indian food restaurant, The Four Horsemen. A
minivan slows & rolls down the window on the street next to Juan; a red face teenager bellows with his
not-hot-girlfriend giggling at his side.
Red-Faced-Teenager: Hey Hakim, why don’t you pray on your own time?!
Juan: standing and brushing the dust off his knees Sure thing man, and what time is that exactly?
Glancing up halfway out of the corner of his eye
The not-hot-girlfriend has woven her way through the passenger side window, she’s looking over the roof
of the minivan & wielding a 64 oz jug of liquid.
Not-Hot-Girlfriend: Game time WHOOP! She fastballs the drink at Juan and strawberry shake splatters
across his gray jacket. The couple cackles madly to each other and scurries away, cranking up the
classical.
Juan: to himself Come on... I’m Hindu biatch! holding his arms out like a scarecrow, dripping with pink &
fake strawberry chunks, still astonished at this sudden craziness She’s defineitly got an arm on her.
He flings some shake from his hand onto a passing car by mistake, it’s a big scary dude who slows down.
Juan hustles off & away from The Four Horseman towards The Block&Axe&Fish&Chips&Arms.
Juan stops, takes off his jacket and notices he’s mostly clean aside from some conspicuous strawberrry
shake draping across his crotchal region, he wipes the gooy creaminess off with his middle finger and
plops the morsel in his mouth. Juan folds the jacket in his arms & jogs across four lanes of light, latenight traffic to the other side of the street; still walking swiftly he eyeballs some rims at slim jim’s 20%
discount rims & gym & ambles into an intersection before reaching the corner bar, The
Block&Axe&Fish&Chips&Arms. He pushes his jacket into the trashcan, the trashcan’s electronic & says
“Thank You”. Juan jogs nimbly up the stairs as the door evidently anticipates his approach. It’s Joe the
Just Doorman.
Juan: Hey Joe. Still just, a doorman? Juan emphatics thumbs up strolling into the foyer
Joe: cringing on the inside Hey Juan. Before the door shuts itself, Joe notices a sleeve dangling out of the
trash, the trashcan door lid thing is flapping open and shut & stuck on a loop saying, “Thank You, Thank
You, Thank you” What happened to your jacket?
Juan: spins 180 degrees on his bootheel (or chuck taylors?) & points both index fingers at Joe the Just
Doorman like Buddy Christ Some overzealous ball-pumpers hit me with a strawberry shake, it’s all gravy
baby!
Joe: to himself or to Juan or to both, confused Ok, but I don’t think that made any sense. Joe sits back in
the corner of the foyer on his barstool by the door and resumes smoking an obnoxiously long & twirllylooking pipe. What an odd fellow.
Juan: Truth! Juan beams & shuffles back around, twisting-half-dancing his way through the moderately
crowded bar, past sorta-costumed waitresses, [light-applebees, medium-rare-bennigans, heavy-fauxenglish] before stumbling almost wildly out onto the wide paito overlooking the street after missing a
step-up clearly marked, mind-the-gap. Juan nearly crashes into a waitress who’s distributing strawberry
shakes to a hefty family of five when two very strong arms wrangle him from the side.
Elegantia, Ellie, the cook everybody knows is actually a former celebrity chef with a shade of a diguise,
turns Juan squarely by his shoulders ‘til he’s facing Lucinda who’s shining brightly, resonating a ways
away across the patio, waitressed-up and affectionately declining a shot of tequila from an older black
gentleman with a red-tinted beard and a soothing, generous and heart-warmingly-hearty smile. She’s
smiling beautifully too for you as well also.
Ellie: Elegantia is very beautiful, but also very big and very strong, much bigger and stronger than Juan,
shes speaks in a possibly fake heavy scottish accent. She leans in and whispers sweetly and suggestively
in his ear. That’s the one you’re supposed to be crashing into bud.
Juan: sighs, smiles a self-knowing and reacknowledged-to-himself-grin and looks to his shoes I know
Ellie, that’ll do.
Ellie: Aww, he’s blushing, I can feel it though those scrawny shoulders, I can! Just don’t be a pussy Juan,
that is all.
Elegantia kisses him gently behind the ear and pats his bottom before jostling in her way back into the
kitchen.
A throwed roll suddenly flies across the patio through a tiki torch’s flame.
Juan is hit in the temple with the throwed cornbread, not especially English, delivered via Tim sitting in
the trio’s usual booth. Juan turns, looks, smiles and points; Claren and Tim are laughing & holding hands
at the table. Tim’s a white, not crazy-attractive, smart-looking guy, Claren is thin, female, black, longbraided hair & a little gothie
Claren: Staring isn’t going to get you anywhere amigo. Smiling from the side of her mouth while Juan
shuffles over once again.
Juan: Are you two about to arm wrestle? That’s darling, really.
Tim: embarassed, stops playing handsies with Claren who smiles and glides the inside of her bare sole
along Tim’s inner thigh below the table, he starts glowing red, to Juan Aren’t you chipper today.
Claren: to Tim Honestly, who say’s chipper, kiddo?
Juan: finally sliding into the booth I’d love to, but I’m just Juan man!
Tim: Oh god... head to his hands
Claren: shaking her head grinning That’s truly awful.
Juan: Do what I can, can what I do...
Claren: squints smh
Tim: To be fair, there’s quite a bit there worthy of stare, don’t look now... (Tim’s from New Zealand,
Claren is Russian btw)
All three turn and look at toward Lucinda, she’s much more white and voluptuous than Juan.
Tim: light sigh, harumph Well, nevermind then.
Claren: That’s a lotta body, maybe more than you can handle man. raising an eyebrow and turning to
Juan
Juan: I don’t even know where I’d begin... suddenly his gaze was redirected
Ramie, looking beautiful as usual, glowing gorgeously from her deeper-caramel-colored-alabaster-lower
–limbs, through her pristinly fitted green-denim shorts, all the way up to the kindest eyes a guy could
ever try, approached from the east (the bar inside) with drinks.
Act 1
chips&fish&fish&chips&chips&fish&fish&chips