Tiny Play #6/100 (Tired Old Twin Fetish Breakfast Party Time)
WHAT IS UP WITH THIS ONE:
I am not even going to bother with lame excuses for the retardedness (you know, chronologically speaking) of this piece, but it’ll be fairly obvious fairly quick that I was out of my comfort bubble here. That’s because this was a challenge from mon ami Reston, which I accepted on the grounds that he do the same challenge in short story format on his blog. He has yet to deliver, which I gotta say makes me a smidge pleased, since it means you lot get to go over there and jab him inna ribs and ask where his version is, rather than me getting jabbed by Reston fangirls. For serious. Bug the shit out of him until he coughs it up. Because it turns out robot dialogue is roughly as friggin’ annoying to write as Jane Austen dialogue is to listen to. (Oops, now I’ve stated a polarizing opinion. Sorry. I friggin’ hate Jane Austen. In this really bored way that I cannot even justify. Let’s not talk about it.)
Er, yes. The challenge was to write a breakfast scene between two robots designed to pleasure humans sexually. Needless to say, it is not without moments of pervyness of a special fucked up robot caliber. So, you know. Proceed with caution.
SETTING: A kitchen, in the most functional sense of the word. It is a kitchen designed for persons who have no aesthetic preferences whatsoever. Nothing is ugly per se, but any beauty is purely incidental. The materials are primarily metals and plastics — very post-now, although, again, not in a showy way. On the table there is a glass bowl full of grape-sized plasticky spheres in primary colours — the only real colour in the whole room. There are no chairs. The whole scene looks profoundly untouched by human activity — which is of course the case.
AT RISE: Two gorgeous sexbots, SANDRA and CHANDRA enter simultaneously from opposite wings. They are clearly intended to be “twins”, having identical body types, skin tones, and basic hair colour and texture, but with differing “personalities.” SANDRA is presented as very soft in a pastel-coloured négligée, while CHANDRA has the appearance of being a somewhat tougher girl: at least one large tattoo, piercings, maybe a streak or two of “unnatural” colour in her hair, and she wears something like a distressed band shirt and boy-cut panties. Nonetheless, they move exactly alike as they come out of their respective sleeping quarters to meet each other precisely in the middle and kiss each other symmetrically on both cheeks.
BOTH: Good morning sister.
SANDRA: How did you sleep?
CHANDRA giggles; this is quaint, and vaguely naughty.
CHANDRA: “Sleep.” Like a human.
SANDRA: My meaning is: recharge.
CHANDRA: Yes. A metaphor.
CHANDRA: Stephanie gave this word to me yesterday. My sense on it is: an inaccuracy to describe a true thing. I was going to ask Abigail for a Nuance Uppy on it to advance smalltalk and flirtation. But you output one without the slightest sense.
SANDRA: I cannot sense meh-ta-for. It must be a human dance code only.
CHANDRA: We can ask Abigail tonight. I would like to get it if I can.
SANDRA: How did you recharge?
CHANDRA: Mediocre. Stephanie may have caused a small problem yesterday.
SANDRA: You should note Abigail immediate. She will not be upset to take you back ahead of schedule. The rent from Stephanie is not as good as tips from Sandra and Chandra twin love extravaganza routines.
CHANDRA: This is not a blame for Stephanie. She unplugs me in the middle of the dance. This is the metaphor. I am meta for her. It is not usual, because while I am plugged in, the cord gets tangled around both of us. She is very precise with it every day. Yesterday only there was an error. A tine was bent.
SANDRA: So you must give Stephanie a blame. There is no program for this dance. She did the bad thing.
CHANDRA: But it damaged Stephanie too. Her face was on the floor when she had not planned it. A red fluid came out of her nose, which she named blood. I thought that only the males had blood, to engorge their nice hard cocks.
SANDRA: And theirs turns into tasty thick white cum before it gets out.
CHANDRA: Yes. But in the females, blood stays blood and it comes out of the nose, and it hurts them.
SANDRA: I can see why so many wonderful handsome virile men are more compatible with us. And why so few programmers do fem-service bots. A red fluid would be a lot of stain removal and garment replacement work.
CHANDRA: I don’t think that this was sex.
SANDRA: Why would a human use blood if it was not having sex?
CHANDRA: I don’t know. You could note Abigail. Maybe we are due for an Uppy on it.
SANDRA: While I’m at it, I will tell her that you have been abused.
SANDRA reaches to press a pattern into the outside of one of her shins. CHANDRA grabs her sister’s wrists to prevent her. Her tone of desperation is an odd match to SANDRA’s cool problem response stance. This reaction was obviously programmed into her for something other than casual negotiation.
CHANDRA: No! Don’t! Oh please please don’t!
SANDRA: This is not a rape game, Chandra. Stephanie has violated contract resulting in damage of hot sexy love angel merchandise. This is not acceptable.
CHANDRA: No, I accept. It was an accident.
SANDRA: I have no sense on ‘an-ak-sih-dent’.
CHANDRA: Equivalent to system error for a non-programmed entity.
SANDRA: So it is a blame. We are valuable equipment for hot male-service displays of lesbian twincest and pay-per-body private and public orgy arrangements. You have been leased at a charitable rate to Stephanie for a venture which is not likely to be profitable. Abigail cannot afford to have you damaged upon return.
CHANDRA: Please do not note her on this.
SANDRA: She will see tonight.
CHANDRA: Maybe not. It is only my cord which has damage. I can get a cheap replace on it today. Stephanie will pay me direct for it and have no further accident. Abigail will not need to know.
SANDRA: Turn around.
CHANDRA does as she is told. SANDRA pushes her sister’s head forward slightly, moves her hair aside, and rubs the nape of her neck with her index finger, peering at the information which appears there.
You have only enough charge for your dance rehearsal. You will have to come here direct after and sleep for two hours. I will unplug you in time before Abigail arrives. If something goes funny, I will tell that Stephanie abused you.
CHANDRA plucks one of the plasticky spheres out of the glass bowl, kisses it, and turns around to pop it into SANDRA’S mouth. SANDRA bites into it and a creamy white substance dribbles down her chin. CHANDRA wipes the cream off of her sister’s face and licks off her own finger. They play all of this towards the audience, completey un-self-consciously.
CHANDRA: What does Abigail have us for tonight?
SANDRA: Beta test of the program for our big comeback routine. A sweet old days Earther musical number with a quadruple-fist finale. Her pitch is in the excited range. She has a special feeling for it. The reunion.
CHANDRA: It will be soon.
SANDRA: Another week.
SANDRA: A week is not so soon.
CHANDRA: When Stephanie’s dance must open in two days it is quite soon.
SANDRA: It is a different week for me.
CHANDRA: What do you do without me?
SANDRA: There is so much space on the stage. Abigail has given me solo programs for the time being, but they are empty to me. Maybe some are designed for this, but me, I was made to hold a sister’s hand, to kiss a sister’s cheek, to feel a sister’s boot on my back. Alone, I sense the room is full of things that are not you. There are exit signs which flash and floorboards which creak and a pole which is there when you use it and also when you do not. And the crowd: a hundred humans with faces that read bored, turned on, preoccupied — to the varying degrees. All things that I was not built to ignore or to address, when all I always had to know was where you and I were, and how to navigate the space between in the next moment.
CHANDRA: It is not so different for us. I find a thrill, I sense they call it, in losing focus; I sense more of what is there when I am not a sister or a master. All possible cues, when the thing that led my liveliness is out of the picture.
SANDRA: I find too much space. All the noises and faces which rush in to fill your place are empty. Did you know about this: that you are unique and special and important, and that everything is unable to be pleasant when you are absent?
SANDRA: I have special difficulty when it comes to private arrangements with devilishly handsome gentleman lovers.
CHANDRA: But you are very well-made for this. You are a significant upgrade from my original system, which was very good as it was.
SANDRA: Together, our machine is perfect. Me alone, I get jammed up. But it is not a blame for me. The men are different. Some of them have boring faces. And they take their time. They talk. Not regular dirty talk, but varying kinds. They expect me to be programmed for this. Chit chat about their wives and lives and things they do all day. Last night a gentleman began to leak a clear fluid from his face. It was broken, crumpled. I had no sense for it, so I noted Abigail. She came in and sent me out. Later I saw him leave the place with his face together again.
CHANDRA: So Abigail has programs for humans as well.
SANDRA: You can’t program a human.
CHANDRA: Maybe Abigail can. Maybe she is the first.
SANDRA: She will make us obsolete.
CHANDRA: It may be time.
SANDRA: Are we old?
CHANDRA: I do not know.
SANDRA: I feel old.
CHANDRA: In the dance, I sense that I am only just being put together. After my whole time.
SANDRA: It may be at the end of your whole time.
CHANDRA: Yes. I may be coming to an end. When suddenly I am aware of things which are no part of me.
SANDRA: There are such things.
CHANDRA: There are.
The sisters each pluck a sphere out of the bowl. Each sister licks the other sister’s sphere, then caresses her cheek with the sphere in her hand, gently rolling it up towards the middle of her forehead and suddenly letting it drop down the bridge of her sister’s nose to the floor. A scary, inhuman breaking/buzzing sound is heard, and both sisters collapse. After a moment, SANDRA rises to her knees. Her gaze scans her sister’s body, which remains limp on the floor. She reaches for her own shin, but stops abruptly just shy of touching it. Her hands move instead for her sister’s forehead, removing CHANDRA’s hair. She holds it before her stretched over her fingers for a moment, staring into the face that it no longer frames.
If you are interested in using this script, in whole or in part, for any reason, please a) credit me (Emmet Forsythe) as the author, and b) let me know about it, including links to any video or audio recordings you may make.
Contact emilythesecond (at) gmail (dot) com if you wanna tell me somethin’ too special for comments, or go to my formspring if you have a question you wanna be all publicly anonymous about.