Work Text:
A medieval tavern. The lighting is warm; a fire crackles cheerfully beneath a mahogany mantle. Many tables sit lined up, full of hot food and hearty draughts. A bard wrapped up in colorful fabrics prances betwixt the chairs, plucking a tune on a lute and singing a tale of heroics.
Around a small, square table, off to the side and cluttered with empty tankards, are three men. The first, ROLAND, is big-boned and speaks exclusively with his diaphragm; the second, DANTE, is slight of form and engages in conversation with a shy sort of curiosity; the third, DON QUIXOTE, is an older gentleman with a pointed beard and a broad smile. Each experiences varied forms of inebriation.
DON QUIXOTE But, dearest Dante, don’t leave me in suspense! The river of blood—you say you saw Alexander the Great swimming its murky depths?
(Dante is clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Don Quixote does not seem to notice. To the side, Roland observes discontentedly.)
DANTE Indeed was it so. Illustrious as he was, he swam the Phlegethon among the ranks of many valiant leaders. (He takes an uncomfortably long pull from his tankard. Don Quixote blinks innocently.) T’was a harrowing experience, to have trod the fiery depths of Hell itself…
DON QUIXOTE Fascinating!
ROLAND (Speaking bitterly; envious of the attention. Extraordinarily drunk.) Fascinating indeed was the journey of Dante through Hell, / Though does it truly compare to the thousands of Saracens my knights of Spain felled?
DON QUIXOTE Yes, of course, but—no offense—Dante here, is easier to understand. He doesn’t speak in rhymes, you see.
DANTE (Avoiding Roland’s gaze.) Is the Old English forsooth more easy on thy ears than a rhyme scheme?
ROLAND (Infuriated, but trying to hide it beneath a veil of humor.) Truly, Quixote, your words lance me deep / This sort of back-stabbery, I would never have expected from thee! / How ever will I cope with an injury of this degree?
DON QUIXOTE (Obliviously.) Perhaps, Roland, ask after Oliver for advice! I hear he has much experience in the matter.
(Dante chokes on his drink.)
DON QUIXOTE Zing!
(Dante moves to stand. Roland grabs him by the upper arm and pulls him firmly back into his seat. His face is taking on an angry red flush.)
ROLAND Friend, I sincerely hope my ears deceived me just now / Gravely would you insult me, and this, I cannot allow. / I give you one chance, old man, to take back what you have said… (Rising to stand. He sways a little on his feet, but is still clearly larger and stronger than Don Quixote.) / Before I raise the pommel of mighty Durendal and bring it down upon your head .
(Don Quixote leaps into action. With an enormous smile and rather unusual spryness for a man of his age, he springs up onto the table; metal tankards fall to the ground and cause a loud ruckus. On his way up, he snags a butter knife and brandishes it like a rapier in Roland’s direction. Roland draws Durendal.)
DON QUIXOTE En garde!
DANTE Gentlemen, please—
(Roland and Don Quixote are deaf to Dante’s pleas. Roland raises his longsword and tries to slash at Don Quixote’s legs; Quixote dodges by leaping down into his chair. As Durendal’s mighty steel splinters the table clean in two, Quixote finishes his graceful maneuver by falling off his chair onto his face.)
ROLAND You are no true knight of Spain, you dull old man / With your rusted set of plate and cutlery in hand! (He swings again at Don Quixote. Durendal carves a divot into the floor as Don Quixote skitters out of the way.)
DON QUIXOTE Oh-ho! But, Count Roland, how in this bout does mighty Durendal… (As Roland makes another attack, Don Quixote, impossibly, parries the longsword’s blow with his trusty butter knife.) …seem as useful as the five-pronged fork!
DANTE Ah, yet Virgil is not here to witness… (Grabs a tankard of beer with both hands and tosses it back. He drinks like a person who really, really doesn’t like to go out.) May as well!
ROLAND (Chasing Don Quixote as he leaps onto another table, sending its tenants scattering.) You will not escape the wrath of mine sword so bright / I swear to you, this day, your skin my steel shall bite!
(Dante watches, starry-eyed and pink-cheeked, as the two knights brandish their weapons at one another: Don Quixote’s butter knife glints menacingly in the firelight, and Durendal slips a little in Roland’s grip before he corrects.)
DON QUIXOTE Fair is your point, Count! But did you, ha, a-count for this?! (He reaches for his side and pulls something from a pouch. His clenched fist makes it invisible to the viewer.)
ROLAND ARGH! / ARGHHH!!! (He brings Durendal up over his head in preparation for a vicious downward blow.)
DON QUIXOTE Pocket sand!
(Don Quixote flings his handful of sand into Roland’s eyes. Roland yowls, releasing his grip on Durendal to clutch at his face. Don Quixote performs a few decorative, but ultimately useless, flourishes as Roland screams; then, he smacks Roland across the chest with the butter knife. Roland, whose motor control was already failing, falls backwards off the table and onto the ground with a great clatter of heavy armor. He is too drunk to stand again.)
DANTE No fucking way.
DON QUIXOTE ALAS! And I, Don Quixote de la Mancha, triumph against impossible odds once again! 'Gainst he who would call my weapon cutlery! 'Gainst he who would call me no true knight of Spain! But he was no match for the greatest knight this country has ever seen…
(As Don Quixote proudly proclaims his victory to all who are listening—just Dante, for the most part—Roland lies, defeated, on the floor. OLIVER, alive and well, enters the scene from the direction of the bar. He holds four tankards and looks unsurprised. As he approaches, standing over Roland’s head, Roland offers an intoxicated, but genuine, smile from the floor.)
OLIVER Charming.
FIN