Shannon (kungfuwaynewho) wrote,
Shannon
kungfuwaynewho

NaScreeWriMo - Day Two

I actually heard the phrase "plurality of tweets" on CNN.  It's the end times, folks.

EXT. VILLAGE - DAY

The snow-cloaked peaks of the Carpathians loom all around. Mira leads a small WAGON, pulled by an old MULE, down a narrow lane. Dominik, heavily swaddled, is nestled into the hay filling the wagon.

Mira makes her way to the village center - instead of a marketplace or a town square, there is the CEMETERY. She passes it, hooking her fingers out and SPITTING to ward off evil.

She approaches a BUTCHER’S STALL. Freshly carved meat hangs, bloody mud underneath.

MIRA
Greetings, Todor. I have eggs for you.
 
TODOR (50), the rotund butcher, waddles over to the wagon. He examines the eggs in one of the baskets in the hay. TOSSES one aside - it breaks.

MIRA (CONT’D)
Todor!

TODOR
Too small.
 
He cracks another into the palm of his hand, prods the yolk.

TODOR (CONT’D)
Look at this yolk. Barely yellow.

MIRA
It’s winter. The hens have no grass to eat.
 
Todor wanders back to his stall, idly licking away the yolk.

TODOR
Two baskets instead of one.
 
He HACKS down with a cleaver. The sound of metal against bone.

MIRA
And in return I will get two cuts of
meat instead of one?

TODOR
Don’t be silly, girl.

MIRA
No deal.
 
Todor actually looks at her face for the first time.

TODOR
What did you say?

MIRA
One basket of eggs for one cut of
meat. No more, no less.

TODOR
Who do you think you are? You’re a
cast-off. You may as well be an
orphan. Fuck you, and fuck your eggs.

MIRA
(furious)
Fine.
 
Head held high, she leaves.

INT. MIRA’S COTTAGE - NIGHT

Mira’s husband, SAMUEL (30), drips a spoonful of thin liquid back into his bowl. He looks at Mira with disbelief.

SAMUEL
What is this?

MIRA
Turnips.

SAMUEL
Turnips?
(beat)
Where’s the meat?

MIRA
No meat today.

SAMUEL
I don’t understand.

MIRA
Todor wanted two baskets instead
of one, so I told him no deal.

SAMUEL
Do you have any idea how hard I worked today?
I need meat, Mira, not hot turnip water!

MIRA
I traded Todor’s basket for some nails.

SAMUEL
I cannot eat nails!
 
Mira gets up from the tiny table with a scrape of her chair. She pulls out BREAD on a wooden paddle from the wood stove, drops it in front of Samuel.

MIRA
There. You can eat bread.

SAMUEL
Why didn’t you just give him
the extra basket?

MIRA
Because I will not be pushed around!
I will not let some fat lump
speak to me in such a way!
 
Samuel tucks the bread under his arm, heads to the door.

MIRA (CONT’D)
Where are you going?

SAMUEL
To eat in the barn with the
mule. He is better company.
 
He leaves, a gust of wind blowing in snow. Mira shoves her bowl of turnip soup away.
CUT TO:
INT. CASTLE - DINING HALL - NIGHT

A long, long table between Ilka and Bathory. She has put on a gown - it is too big, or rather, she is now too small. She does not eat, while the Count eats hugely.

ILKA
My Lord.
(beat, raises voice)
My Lord.

BATHORY
What?

ILKA
I was hoping my Lord would choose
to visit my rooms tonight.
 
His only answer is a dark chuckle.

ILKA (CONT’D)
How can I give my Lord a son
if he never lies with me?

BATHORY
(dangerous)
Why would I wish to lie with you?
Nothing but skin and bones.

ILKA
I have been praying. I have sacrificed.

BATHORY
Sacrifice! What do you know of sacrifice?
 
He stands, KNIFE in hand. He gestures with it, tip always pointed toward Ilka.

BATHORY (CONT’D)
God is not interested in your blood.
That child priest has deceived you.
 
Ilka avoids his gaze. Bathory stalks down the length of the table.

BATHORY (CONT’D)
Your blood is weak, watered down
by sheep herders and outlaws.
 
He grabs her chin, turns her head side to side. Rough.

BATHORY (CONT’D)
To think when I married you, you
were considered a great beauty.
 
He draws his knife blade down her cheek.

BATHORY (CONT’D)
Rut with your priest if you like.
I will not visit your bed - you are no longer my wife.
 
The knife disappears into his SLEEVE, and Bathory leaves. Ilka sits a beat, trembling.

INT. CASTLE - CORRIDOR - MOMENTS LATER

Ilka rushes down the hall. A SERVANT crosses her path - she points a shaking hand at him.

ILKA
(screams)
Bring me Janos!
Tags: imaginary twitter posts, nascreewrimo, writing
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