Da Capo

DA CAPO 

Transcript made and edited by jack

Content Warnings: memory loss, murder, discussions of gore/eye trauma

 

(BEGIN Da Capo.)

 

(Muffled voices, growing louder. A slow piano melody starts.)

 

UNKNOWN MAN (muffled): – smart enough.

 

ARTHUR (muffled): It’s not about smartness.

 

(A door creaks open. The voices become distinct. Footsteps.)

 

UNKNOWN MAN (gruff): Now, we both know you’re the brains of the operation.

 

ARTHUR: Shut up. (Keys jingling. The door shuts.) I mean to say, I wouldn’t know…

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Where to begin? (Fabric shifting.) 

 

ARTHUR: Don’t mention your fucking sister again.

 

UNKNOWN MAN: Come on, we could be brothers! You’ve already met our parents, they love you.

 

ARTHUR: Parker, I feel like I’m still adrift here. I-I’m… a guest in someone else’s life. (Glass clinking.) 

 

PARKER: That’s your problem, Artie. You’ve been here long enough. Hell, you’re a regular at Jack’s. No one feels like you’re a guest, only you do.

 

ARTHUR: Yes, that’s what I’m saying.

 

PARKER: Ah, phooey.

 

ARTHUR: And even if it is just me, so what? What’s so wrong? 

 

PARKER: You gonna put that box down?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. 

 

(A short pause.)

 

PARKER: Just put it on the piano. (Arthur sighs. A thump.) Are you ever actually gonna play that thing? I didn’t move it here just to store boxes. 

 

ARTHUR: Listen. I’m just saying… I need time.

 

PARKER: Time, time. Always with the time. You know what your problem is, Artie?

 

ARTHUR (sarcastically): Oh, please, tell me.

 

PARKER: You’re always pushing the ball down the road. You’re always putting off what you could just do today. You need time? Bullshit. You don’t fuckin’ need time. What you need to do is stop making yourself a victim of your own past and move on.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, well. Look who’s talking.

 

PARKER: Hey. If I could take my own advice, d’you still think I’d owe two large at Edwin’s?

 

ARTHUR: Two large!? I thought it was one, maybe one and a half!

 

PARKER: Lighten up, Artie! It’s just life. (Arthur sighs.) It’s all a guess, anyway.

 

(A heavy scrape against wood.)

 

ARTHUR: What I wouldn’t give to see the world through your eyes.

 

PARKER: It’s covered in dollar signs and angels. (Wooden creaking.) Or is that angles? Go get the mail. (A metal creak.) 

 

ARTHUR: Oh, yeah. 

 

(Paper rustling.)

 

PARKER: Who’s up first?

 

ARTHUR: Uh, a lady, I forget the name. It’s on my desk. I wrote it down. (A teakettle starts to whistle.)

 

PARKER: And she called last night, right?

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, late, too. She seemed skittish. (Wooden scraping. Footsteps. Paper crinkling.)

 

PARKER: Hiding from the husband, I bet.

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, maybe. Did you…?

 

PARKER: What? 

 

ARTHUR: Did you order a book? (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.) 

 

PARKER: A book? (The kettle stops whistling.) 

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, JD Ackerman. Rare Books. 

 

PARKER: Now, that sounds more like your bag, Artie. (Ceramic clattering.)

 

ARTHUR: Yeah, I didn’t, though.

 

PARKER: Well, what’s that book? (The sound of pouring.)

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know, it’s wrapped. 

 

PARKER: Maybe wrong address.

 

ARTHUR: Well, no, it says here…

 

PARKER: Well, then, open it!

 

ARTHUR: Yeah. (Ripping paper.)

 

PARKER: I want to check out Fischer Avenue again today. See if Emmanuel is there. I think we spoke to him last week and I know he saw something for the, uh… uh. What’s the name that… 

 

ARTHUR: The Tanner Case.

 

PARKER: That’s it, the Tanners. What’s the book? (Rising ominous tone.)

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know, no title.

 

PARKER: No title?

 

ARTHUR: Just a symbol.

 

PARKER: What’s inside?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t know – (Pages turning. An otherworldly zap, and the Entity growls.) Jesus! 

 

ENTITY (distorted): Mortal! 

 

PARKER: Arthur, you okay?

 

ARTHUR: What the fuck?

 

ENTITY: I… am the King in Yellow! 

 

ARTHUR: What the fuck is…

 

PARKER: Hey, just breathe, buddy, you’re okay!

 

ENTITY: Tell your friend to stay back!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

PARKER: What?

 

ARTHUR: I h-hear something! A voice, I –

 

PARKER: Just breathe!

 

ENTITY: Tell him!

 

ARTHUR: It’s telling me…

 

PARKER: Arthur, come here.

 

ARTHUR: No no no no no, stay back! Stay back! (The Entity grunts. An impact. Parker shouts. Heavy clanging.) No! (The Entity cackles.) What the fuck is going on? No!

 

ENTITY: Your friend is dead. And I will kill you as well.

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

ENTITY: Unless. You read from the book you hold. 

 

ARTHUR (panicking): What is it… I don’t, I don’t…

 

ENTITY: Read from it!

 

ARTHUR: But…

 

ENTITY: Read from the book or I will make you suffer in ways…

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

ENTITY: You could never have imagined.

 

ARTHUR: W-What will happen?

 

ENTITY: Read it! 

 

(Pages turning.)

 

ARTHUR (amidst otherworldly echoes): Sepid…

 

ENTITY: Yes!

 

ARTHUR: Lorin…

 

ENTITY: Yes! 

 

ARTHUR: Drisgul… (He groans in exertion.)

 

ENTITY: No! No! 

 

(Arthur jerks in pain. A thump. At a distance, a car honks. A radio clicks, flicking between upbeat music and static, before settling on ‘Some Call It Madness’. It grows louder, eventually distorting with echoes. Polite applause, and a house band starts up.)

 

ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the Waylay stage, the comedic stylings of Jerry ‘The Jokester’ James! 

 

(Applause. The band stops.)

 

JERRY: Hey! Hey, hey there. Thank you, thank you folks. Well, it’s so good to be back in the Waylay, I… I can’t say this was my destination, but, uh, we all know it’s just a stop-over. (Ba-dum tss. The audience laughs.) Thank you, thank you. Seriously, I love it here. Free drinks, gambling, music of Vic Tenetta –

 

(He continues his set underneath John and Arthur’s conversation.)

 

ARTHUR: What? I’m… 

 

JOHN (groggy): Arthur?

 

ARTHUR: John. 

 

JOHN: Arthur, we…

 

ARTHUR: John!

 

JOHN: What’s happened?

 

ARTHUR: You’re here!

 

JOHN: The last thing I remember… Kayne was… we…

 

ARTHUR: The Waylay, John! (Ba-dum tss. The audience laughs.) This is the Waylay.

 

JOHN: It’s a club, of some sort. A nightclub. What is going on? 

 

ARTHUR: I have no idea. (The audience laughs.)

 

JOHN: Wait. This seems… 

 

(Approaching footsteps.)

 

JERRY (to an audience member): Let’s see, who we got here?

 

WAITER (whispering): Uh, Mr. Lester?

 

ARTHUR: What? What?

 

JERRY: You sir, where you from?

 

JOHN: A waiter, Arthur. 

 

WAITER: The Manager is waiting for you.

 

JERRY: Oh, yeah? Were you there long?

 

ARTHUR: Still… waiting? For me?

 

JERRY: Oh, he won’t tell.

 

JOHN: Arthur, what on Earth is –

 

JERRY (to Arthur): What about you, buddy? Where are you from? 

 

ARTHUR: Oh, uh, w-where am I from? I-I-I was just in… England.

 

JERRY: Oh, yeah, there was no way to tell. (Arthur chuckles awkwardly.)

 

ARTHUR: I have to go. Uh, speak with the Manager. (Wooden scraping.) Excuse me.

 

JERRY: Aw, come on now, it was a joke!

 

JOHN: Arthur, you’re…

 

JERRY: It was just a joke! (The audience claps. The house band starts again.)

 

JOHN (in realization): Where… you… you know where you’re going.

 

(The band and audience grows more faint.)

 

ARTHUR: I guess… I think I do? I can’t… 

 

JOHN: I… know, I… I feel the same way. A-As if… as if we already know the way. (Continued footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Here? It’s… It’s here. 

 

JOHN: Yes. 

 

ARTHUR: The name on the door.

 

JOHN: It just says… The Manager. (The handle starts to turn.) A-Arthur! We… we died back there. In the woods, in England. 

 

ARTHUR: I know. 

 

JOHN: I watched as Kayne… severed your hands, your legs… as he gouged out your eyes… and now… 

 

ARTHUR: And now we’re here. And the reason why… is through this door.

 

JOHN: Well, then. (They open the door.) Arthur! It’s… It’s… 

 

KAYNE: Hello, boys! (The door shuts.)

 

ARTHUR: Kayne! 

 

KAYNE/THE MANAGER: No no no no no. You have me confused with someone else.

 

(‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.) 

 

JOHN: What? How?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t… you… sound like him.

 

JOHN: And look like…

 

THE MANAGER: Have a seat. (Wooden creaking.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, the man sits behind a desk. We’re in a small office, a-almost a backroom of sorts. (A chair scrapes.) He looks… just like Kayne, only… he wears a white suit. And his eyes… they’re… less… 

 

THE MANAGER (more exuberant): Frantic? Chaotic? Wild? I try to… even out his wild and unfettered nature. At least, in my look.

 

ARTHUR (realizing): Nyarlathotep.

 

JOHN: You’re… another version. 

 

THE MANAGER: As you live and breathe! Well… no to both of those, b-but yes to your guess! (He laughs in a more muted version of Kayne’s cackle.)

 

ARTHUR: Kayne said he killed all of the versions of himself.

 

THE MANAGER: He thought he did. But here I am.

 

JOHN: I can’t believe it, the –

 

THE MANAGER: Well, believe it. And I’m so glad I don’t have to explain as much this time. 

 

ARTHUR: This time?

 

THE MANAGER: Yes, well. You two were all so jumbled up before. No context, no clue. 

 

JOHN: What do you mean ‘before’? (The Manager sighs.) Kayne, he’s –

 

THE MANAGER: No no no no no. Not Kayne, please.

 

ARTHUR: Well, what do we… call you? Nyarla –

 

THE MANAGER: The Manager! If you would be so kind. 

 

JOHN: He’s standing by a large… cork board. With lists on it. (Paper rustling.) Things pinned and –

 

THE MANAGER: The specials for this week!

 

ARTHUR: The specials?

 

THE MANAGER: Yeah! Crab cakes are a big hit right now. Just can’t seem to get enough crab meat to satisfy our hungry patrons.

 

JOHN: Patrons?

 

ARTHUR: What is this place?

 

THE MANAGER: The Waylay? My little hideaway. My home away from home. Or, more aptly… the last bastion from Kayne.

 

ARTHUR: You’re hiding?

 

THE MANAGER: In a way. I created this place, this reality is a safe haven. A place to scoop up the select souls that I wanted to protect! And to entertain me.

 

JOHN: It’s a club, there’s –

 

THE MANAGER (indignant): What? I can’t add a little personality to my hideaway?

 

ARTHUR: Personality?

 

THE MANAGER: Some music, some jokes, some gambling. Some people even recite poetry. What’s the harm? Though, we did have to move the craps table to the back. The dice rolls were bothering the patrons.

 

ARTHUR: You’re the last version of Nyarlathotep and you’re hiding! Do you not realize what he’s going to do, how could you – ?

 

THE MANAGER: Hey now! You think I want it this way?

 

JOHN: What way?

 

THE MANAGER: Have you considered for a second what happens if he finds me? Right now, the only reason you’re here again… is because of me. And I am the only thing keeping this entire existence around right now, so how about a little respect?

 

JOHN: There. You said it again. You said… again.

 

ARTHUR: Yes. I’ve been here before, but not both of us.

 

THE MANAGER: Oh, haven’t you?

 

JOHN: No, I haven’t.

 

(The Announcer speaks unintelligibly, at a distance.)

 

ARTHUR: I don’t think so. L-Last time I… there was a drink ordered, but…

 

(Muffled, Vic Tenetta starts to sing ‘You Call It Madness’.)

 

THE MANAGER: Oh, boys.

 

JOHN: Have we?

 

THE MANAGER: Oh. Sounds like Vic is on, playing my favorite song! 

 

JOHN: That song. I’ve heard it before. 

 

ARTHUR: A few times, we’ve –

 

JOHN: No, I-I heard it… here, before! (‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

THE MANAGER: It’s easier to remember when you’re here. Don’t worry. You weren’t… meant to remember. (He snorts.)

 

ARTHUR: Meant to remember what?

 

THE MANAGER: The last time we met, you two were at odds with each other. Well, not just at odds… you were at each other’s throats! The King, ugh, sorry, John… had just killed your partner and yourself, and you had only known each other for a few minutes, at most!

 

ARTHUR: I… don’t… remember that, I… I remember waking up on the floor of my office, I…

 

JOHN: Me too.

 

THE MANAGER: I know. And so, I wiped you both clean. 

 

ARTHUR: You…

 

JOHN: You erased our memories?

 

THE MANAGER: I had to! Otherwise you wouldn’t have played nicely.

 

ARTHUR: How!? There’s… there's no way!

 

THE MANAGER: Oh, Mr. Lester, you are not the first to have walked this path. Even Kayne knows that. Remember what happened with Yellow?

 

ARTHUR: I…

 

THE MANAGER: No no no no. You two are just the first that I… helped. 

 

JOHN: You helped us?

 

THE MANAGER (clearing his throat): Say. Do you have a light? 

 

ARTHUR: I… no, I-I don’t have anything. I’m… m-my stuff is…

 

JOHN: Somewhere back in England.

 

ARTHUR: In a different century.

 

THE MANAGER: Mm. Mm. Mhm. You sure? Why don’t you check?

 

(Fabric shifting.)

 

ARTHUR: Oh… my lighter. (The lighter flicks.)

 

THE MANAGER: Mhm.

 

ARTHUR: But, but I’ve… I’ve had this lighter before all of this, I…

 

THE MANAGER: Mhmm!

 

ARTHUR: You… (Not understanding.) What?

 

THE MANAGER: The lighter was mundane. I needed something… simple. Something… small. Something special. To you. 

 

ARTHUR: For what? What is it?

 

THE MANAGER: What it is… doesn’t matter. (Sing-song.) But what it does… has made all the difference.

 

(The lighter flicks on.)

 

JOHN: What does it do?

 

THE MANAGER: What lighters are meant to do! Provide light. (The sizzle of flame. The Manager starts to smoke. The lighter flicks.) Look, Mr. Lester, I can’t give you all the answers. Suffice to say, your job isn’t done just yet. 

 

JOHN: It’s not?

 

THE MANAGER: No! The Day of Wrath has come and gone and Kayne… still plans to kill Azathoth. And that can’t happen. 

 

JOHN: How do we… how can we…

 

THE MANAGER: You have the means, you have the… ability. You just need… to let go. 

 

ARTHUR: To let go?

 

THE MANAGER: Yes. And with that… the hour draws near. (A growing otherworldly whoosh.)

 

ARTHUR: Hold on, I-I have so many questions! (The whoosh stops.) The lighter, it’s… someone told me. My… daughter is –

 

THE MANAGER: Your daughter is not the lighter. Mr. Lester, fire exists within, and, well, she is simply drawn… to your light.

 

JOHN: Are you sending us back, then?

 

THE MANAGER (startled): Back! (He laughs and stops himself.) Oh, no no. No no, no. The only way is forward, boys.

 

JOHN: Forward?

 

THE MANAGER: Yes. 

 

JOHN: You mean…?

 

THE MANAGER: The Dark… World. 

 

ARTHUR: The Dark World.

 

JOHN (shaken): I can’t…

 

THE MANAGER: Relax, listen! Keep your lighter close… it is many things to you, it is hidden from Kayne that keeps your purpose safe, but also… it will help you in the dark.

 

JOHN: You don’t understand!

 

ARTHUR: John, w-we’ll —

 

JOHN (angry): No, Arthur. The Dark World, it will… it isn’t just a place filled with death and despair. The air itself, the act of being there is… oppressive beyond belief. Just being there changes you!

 

THE MANAGER: He’s not wrong. The Dark World isn’t just a junkyard. Well, think of it this way. (Theatrically.) Imagine when you die, all the lovely beautiful parts of your life, your memories and your soul… disappear! And what’s left gets dropped into the Dark World.

 

JOHN: It brings out the worst in me, Arthur. The worst in everyone. We won’t survive. 

 

THE MANAGER: You will. If! You keep that lighter close. 

 

ARTHUR: So… you met us before. You set us on this path. 

 

THE MANAGER: We’ve had this conversation before. 

 

JOHN: Entirely?

 

THE MANAGER: Well, you two were much more antagonistic of course, but yes. I told you about the lighter, your roles… and that we’d meet again. We all hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but. You have no body to go back to, boys. Kayne made sure of that. 

 

ARTHUR: And in the Dark World?

 

THE MANAGER: You are naught but a whisper, if you want to call it that. You’ll appear as you are now! (Chuckling.) But… hold that lighter close. It’ll be the difference between losing what’s left of yourself… and saving this reality. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay.

 

JOHN: I still have so many questions!

 

THE MANAGER: And hopefully in the end, I’ll be able to answer! (He laughs.) But-but, I’ve held you long enough already. Don’t want anyone getting suspicious. (Chair scraping. ‘Faroe’s Song’ begins.)

 

ARTHUR: A-Alright, okay.

 

THE MANAGER: And boys!

 

JOHN: Yes?

 

THE MANAGER: That lighter won’t just help… you. The Dark World is… is aptly named, but… only help those who want help. Some don’t wish to be saved, others… others belong there. 

 

ARTHUR: Okay.

 

THE MANAGER (earnestly): Remember. You can’t save them all.

 

JOHN: Alright. Thank you. 

 

(A snap and an otherworldly whoosh.)

 

THE MANAGER: If you two should succeed, I’ll be the one thanking you! (He stifles a cackle.) So long, boys. ‘Til next time. (Rising unintelligible whispers, a whoosh, and silence. The Manager exhales.)

 

Now, how on Earth did you piggyback here? (An ethereal hum.) You know what? I don’t wanna know. I’m holding them for a moment longer before I send them off to the Dark World. I think when they go… you’re gonna go, too. But listen. (Wooden creaking.) You need each other. Whatever plan you have… you better work with him. ‘Cause you’re sewn into him in a way… I didn’t think was possible. Good luck. And don’t fuck it up this time.

 

(A snap and an otherworldly whoosh.)

 

(END Da Capo.)