Department of Realistics Orientation

Link to article: Department of Realistics Orientation.

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[[include :scp-wiki:component:screenplay]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar]]

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[[/module]]

[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]

[[div class="script"]]

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+ __ORIENTATION__
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+ SCREENPLAY

= by

+ MISSY COMMUNICATION
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+ STORY

= by

+ CINDY TANNER
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[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 1.
+++ Int. Break Room - Morning

A cramped common room with flat, unlacquered, wooden floors. The walls are covered on all sides with a drab floral wallpaper, interrupted on the left and rightmost sides with four portholes each, and ending just before the floor in an off-white wainscotting. THE CLOCK is on the wall, held up by sharp wooden pegs. Thin sunlight beams through the left ports at a harsh angle.

A rotund and elderly man in an over-formal suited attire is sitting towards the lower stage-right reclining in a well-worn rocking chair and is preoccupied with adjusting something on his outfit. This man is SIR. A stick thin middle-aged woman in a semi-formal floral dress is sitting at the middle stage-left at a desk with a typewriter, she sits at attention but looks blankly forward as she types. This woman is MISSY. A younger androgynous individual wearing an open priest's vestments and no undershirt is sitting just behind Missy atop a pile of crates and is holding a lit cigarette. This person is ALI. A younger woman in business-casual attire is standing at the upper stage-right in the break room's kitchenette, rifling around in the cupboards. This woman is ABBIE.

+ Abbie Norman
The cupboards are empty.

All continue to idle for an uncomfortably long period of time.

+ Abbie Norman
I am hungry.

Abbie opens the fridge. She notices something inside and grabs it, revealing a LITTLE BLACK BOX that she shakes a little before starting to wander to the middle of the stage. She struggles to use her nails to pry the top lid of the box off, though it eventually yields. Pulling it from the box with one hand, Abbie reveals THE OBJECT and places it on the dark green velvet tablecloth of the LOW TABLE sitting in the middle of the room.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 2.
+ Abbie Norman
I have found something.

Nobody reacts. Abbie sits down next to the low table, setting the little black box besides her. Her hands slide across the floor as she searches for a comfortable sitting position. She then flinches, retracting one of her hands and looking at it.

+ UnRev. Ali Thomas
+ (distant)
She opened the box.

Abbie removes the splinter and raises it between two fingers for the room to see.

+ Abbie Norman
A splinter.

Ali cringes, then turns towards the window without responding. Smoke from their cigarette floats gently out of their mouth. Their gaze does not return.

+ Sir Realistic
+ (Matter-of-Factly)
Indeed she did, good unReverend, but we mustn't get ahead of ourselves.

Sir begins to sit up.

+ Sir Realistic (cont'd)
+ (to Missy)
The minutes?

+ Ms. Communication
+ (already typing)
The minutes...

+ Sir Realistic
The date is thirteenth may. The time is eleven-hundred thirty. The object in question was retrieved from a little black box within the fridge.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 3.
+ Ms. Communication
Eleven-hundred thirty...

+ Abbie Norman
So is it food?

+ Sir Realistic
Realistically, one could be led to assume such. A fridge is a household container for primarily foodstuffs, and as the object was retrieved from such a refrigerator, we could be led to conclude that the object is thus a foodstuff.

Abbie daintily uses her previously splinted hand to grab a black lump from the white mush comprising the body of the object.

+ Sir Realistic (cont'd)
But one must not be so hasty! The refrigerator is known primarily as a foodstuff cooling device, yes, but realistically could be used for the cooling of any some-such object of want of cooling. By this measure, we have no guarantee that the object thus contained was in fact a foodstuff if we are evidenced only by the observation of its removal from the refrigerator as you have so done, Abbie.

+ Ms. Communication
Must not be so hasty...

Abbie lowers her hand slightly. GURGLING echoes from somewhere non-distinct.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 4.
+ Abbie Norman
I am hungry. It must be food.

+ Sir Realistic
If we could be so lucky, Abbie, but you must remain realistic here. If mere hunger was a valid evidence to consuming an object one must encounter, then at any time one would be hungry, one must shove the nearest object into one's mouth and swallow it, foodstuff or not. I see no valid basis to this course of action. Do you?

+ Ms. Communication
Do you...

+ Sir Realistic
Of course not.

+ Ms. Communication
Of course...

+ Abbie Norman
So I may eat it?

Abbie's hand moves towards the plate again, from above. A small bead of blood can be seen forming around the entry point of the removed splinter.

+ Sir Realistic
In due time, perhaps.

+ Ms. Communication
Time...

+ Sir Realistic
+ (exasperated)
Yes it's time to look to the object, now. You will see it is resting upon a plate. Plates are utilized for the temporary housing of food that has

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 5.
+ Sir Realistic (cont'd)
been deemed fit for consumption, by some. This could lend strong credence to the running theory upheld by yourself, Abbie, that this may be a foodstuff.

+ Abbie Norman
So I may eat it?

Her hand moves again towards the plate, loosening the drop of blood from her finger. It lands on the dark green velvet.

+ Sir Realistic
Of course not! Though it is incredibly highly likely that an object placed upon a plate would be a foodstuff, we have no legitimate reason to believe that would always be the case.

+ Ms. Communication
No legitimate reason...

+ Sir Realistic
Realistically, we should confirm whether or not the object upon the plate is itself understood to be a foodstuff.

+ unRev. Ali Thomas
+ (without looking)
So what is it?

A pause.

+ Sir Realistic
By all respects, a delicious plate of olives.

+ Ms. Communication
Delicious...

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 6.
+ Sir Realistic
Yes. And the olives are sitting in a white mash of some sort.

+ Ms. Communication
White mash...

The GURGLE sounds again. Ali turns away from the window and searches as though trying to find the source of it. They look at Missy and frown. After a few seconds, they turn away again.

+ Abbie Norman
+ (hopeful)
Delicious sounds like food.

+ Sir Realistic
It does indeed! A plate of olives is a well known delicacy back in your homeland of the Americas. They eat a side of olives with every dish and drink, and dished as those olives are, they eat them whole.

+ Abbie Norman
So I //can// eat it?

Abbie begins to move her hand in the same manner she has, then stops. She glares at her hand.

+ Abbie Norman (cont'd)
+ (angry)
Won't you be patient!

IT lowers to the floor.

+ Sir Realistic
Alas, these olives are buried in a mysterious white mash of which I, for my blindness, cannot decipher.

The LOUDEST OF ALL GURGLES sounds. It shakes the room terribly.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 7.
+ Ms. Communication
+ (fading)
White... mash...

++++ Fade to darkness:

A BLACKLIGHT flicks on, illuminating the stage.

Most of the members of staff are in the exact same positions that they were prior to the gurgle, unmoving. The exception is Missy, who is slumped over in her chair. In the absence of her typewriter's clacking, the room is finally completely silent.

The audience will hear the sounds of A SHIP AT SEA. THE WIND, GULLS, and WAVES are ALL DISTANT, but perceptible now in the silence. Through this, A SINGLE DEEP YAWNING CREAK, as from a rocking ship, will sound. The ambient noises continue until Ali's cigarette burns right up to their lips.

When this happens Ali will wince and look around. After a short search, they will see Missy slumped over and will walk to her. They will shake her awake. When she begins to stir, they will return to their crate. There, they will retrieve another already lit cigarette from within their vestments and place the lit end between their lips.

++++ Fade to darkness:

The light returns to stage gradually. As it does, the typing resumes, picking up speed.

+ Sir Realistic
As we cannot decipher what this white mash is, it is not realistic to consume the potential foodstuff dish. The white mash could very well be poisonous. As such, it is not worth the risk to our staff.

+ Abbie Norman
Then just the olives? I can clean them.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 8.
A pause. Missy's TYPEWRITER CLACKING can be heard. These are the words she just typed, having finally caught up to the happenings she missed. She then stops, as the pause is going on much longer than expected.

+ Sir Realistic
+ (avoidant)
Alas, it is not yet lunch. It is simply not realistic to be eating before our allotted staff meal time. Very inefficient.

+ Ms. Communication
Very inefficient...

+ Sir Realistic
+ (dutifully)
Yes indeed, inefficient. I would dread to see our Department, founded on such noble tenets of Ethical practice, Efficiency, and of course, Realism, to fall even a notch in that regard.

A pause.

+ Abbie Norman
When //will// be lunch, then?

+ Sir Realistic
When? Oh-

+ Ms. Communication
+ (interrupting; rapid)
Twelve-hundred on the dot. Twelve-hundred minutes on the dot. Standard Procedure.

+ Sir Realistic
Yes, thank you Missy.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 9.
+ Sir Realistic (cont'd)
+ (To Abbie)
It is no discredit to you as a greenhorn amidst our department to be presently unacquainted with Standard Procedure, Abbie. There are many things you will learn with time, and amongst them are that lunch is twelve-hundred minutes on the dot.

+ Ms. Communication
On the dot...

+ Abbie Norman
But I am hungry.

+ Sir Realistic
And hunger by no means necessitates that it is presently lunch time, you must gather. Hunger can gather before breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper, tea-time, brunch, or any such meal-time, and yet it cannot be all of them at once. Clearly, hunger is no time telling device, Abbie, no more than it would give one liberty to shove a splinter into their mouth.

Abbie suddenly flinches, retracting a hand from the floor. A number of long splinters can be seen jutting out from her hand at different angles. She sits staring at her hand, dazed.

Abbie will slowly begin to open her mouth. Even slower, she will begin to draw her splinter-ridden hand towards it.

Ali will cough, freeing Abbie from her daze. She will then remove a single splinter from her hand and put it in a pocket, somewhere. A thin, bright red line of blood is seen running from the fresh wound. Abbie looks at the blood.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 10.
+ UnRev. Ali Thomas
+ (to no-one in particular)
Time and time again...

Abbie flattens the rest of the splinters against her skin like hairs, wincing.

+ Ms. Communication
+ (to ali in particular)
On a clock. On a clock on the dot. Time.

+ Sir Realistic
Why yes, one could look to a clock to find the time. Clocks have been used to tell time for as long as they could speak, and it's no crime to coerce them. For something so useful, we do not extend the liberty of consent.

They all look at The Clock. Ali quickly turns away.

The Clock takes a moment to notice the new attention, then looks up. His fingers flex around his splinter-pinned palms, dry with old blood. His legs hang limply, shriveled with disuse.

+ THE CLOCK
+ (parched)
Eleven-hundred thirty.

+ Sir Realistic
And as it is not twelve-hundred on the dot, it is not lunch. Categorically proven.

+ Ms. Communication
Categorically proven...

Sir and Missy stop looking at the clock.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 11.
+ Abbie Norman
The Clock cannot move.

+ Sir Realistic
+ (More condescendingly than normal)
Yes, Abbie. This is another element of Standard Procedure that you have yet to learn. Were the clock able to move, it would not be Realistic to catch up with it when it gets away from us, so we keep it stuck to the wall. Here, it can most efficiently tell us time, and we are at the liberty to ask it such whenever necessary, as it is not at the liberty to either move or refuse.

Abbie stops looking at the clock.

+ Abbie Norman
Then how will it be lunch?

+ Ms. Communication
Twelve-hundred on the dot.

+ Sir Realistic
Yes, Indeed. Twelve-hundred on the dot.

+ Ms. Communication
Yes, Indeed. Twelve-hundred on the dot...

The lights around Abbie dim, creating a spotlight around her and the low table. She looks at a delicious plate of olives.

+ Sir Realistic
Yes, Indeed. Twelve-hundred on the dot.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 12.

+ Ms. Communication
Yes Indeed. Twelve-hundred on the dot...

It rises from the floor.

+ It
I can no longer resist.

It grabs an olive from the plate and shoves it into Abbie's mouth. The olive is covered in white mash.

+ Sir and Missy
Yes, Indeed. Twelve-hundred on the dot.

+ Abbie
It is delicious.

Abbie collapses to the floor. As she falls forward, her pocket full of splinters empties in a rushing wave. Some splinters will travel far enough to fall off of the front of the stage.

+ Sir and Missy
Yes, Indeed. Twelve-hundred on the dot.

Abbie is motionless. Ali is motionful. They finish their cigarette in one swallow and walk slowly over to the center of the room.

+ UnRev. Ali Thomas
We will need to contact the Department of Commissioning for a new tablecloth. This one is bloodied.

+ Sir and Missy
Yes, Indeed.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 13.
Ali takes THE POLAROID CAMERA from within their vestments and takes a picture of a delicious plate of olives. The picture beings to print.

[[div style="border-style:solid;border-color:white;border-width:2px;margin:auto;box-shadow: 0 1px 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, .25);width:200px"]]
[[div style="border-style:solid;border-color:white;border-width:8px"]]
[[image http://emilybox.wikidot.com/local--files/a-delicious-plate-of-olives/hummusolives.jpg style="width:auto"]]
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Then they swallow it. It is a picture of a delicious plate of olives. It is disgusting.

+ UnRev. Ali Thomas
It is delicious.

+ Sir and Missy
Yes, Indeed.

Ali leans down next to Abbie's unmoving body and picks up the little black box. They open it in one motion, and put the plate in the next. Once properly sealed, they walk over to the fridge, open it, and place the box inside. They walk back to the center of the room, between Sir and Missy.

+ UnRev. Ali Thomas
An allergic reaction, realistically.

+ Sir and Missy
An allergic reaction, realistically.

The spotlight that was on Abbie and the low table switches off.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 14.
+ UnRev. Ali Thomas
Of course.

Ali begins to walk to the front of the stage and onto a platform jutting into the audience. Once they reach the precipice, the audience can hear the sound of a door opening, coupled with a bright light and a whoosh of wind that flourishes Ali's hanging vestments behind them.

+ UnRev. Ali Thomas
I am taking my smoke break.

The gust continues to grow around Ali until their vestments are only hanging on to them around their neck. Countless tiny wooden splinters can now be seen, covering their torso and arms like hairs.

They step out of the stage. The light and wind stop. The rest of the scene continues in darkness.

+ Sir Realistic
+ (towards the floor)
So as I was saying, Abbie, another element of Standard Procedure you will come to understand is that once an item has been put in a little black box, we no longer look at it. The little black box protects us from seeing what is inside the little black box. If we cannot see what is inside the little black box, it cannot be any risk to us, because we cannot see it. By this proof, it is only realistic that we leave all things in a little black box well enough alone, and if something must be put in a little black box, it will be.

[[/div]]

[[div class="script"]]
++++ 15.
+ Ms. Communication
It will be...

+ Sir Realistic
Do you understand?

Abbie lays unconscious on the floor.

++++ Fade to black.

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+ __THE END__

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[[/div]]

Department of Realistics Orientation

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