(Characters: Roman, Jack
Setting: Choir loft, Iglesia de los Naufragos Santos. Midnight.)
Roman: The smell of churches is a profound depressant don’t you find.
Jack: It rather depends on the time of year I think.
Roman: Happy memories then or some at least.
Jack: Neither happy nor unhappy.
Roman: I can guess if you like.
Jack: Distance please.
Roman: Yes that would make sense.
Jack: I do find this dismissive tendency one hears so much these days too common by far.
Roman: Ah a bid to out-vinegar the cynics.
Jack: No I wouldn’t really.
Roman: Perhaps I’ve misjudged you.
Jack: You owe me nothing if that’s what you mean.
Roman: I’m not entirely certain what you think it is I intend.
Jack: All this.
Roman: It displeases you.
Jack: Not particularly.
Roman: Wrong word perhaps you find it all a bit heavy-handed a tad cartoonish.
Jack: You must admit there’s nothing terribly subtle about a Black Mass is there.
Roman: Oh harrumph don’t let’s spoil it for the others now.
Jack: You and your precious others.
Roman: Mock me at your peril half of them are in love with you after all.
Jack: And you could turn them against me in an instant I’ll bet.
Roman: Only I wouldn’t dream of it angel.
Jack: No never not even a nudge of a glimpse of.
Roman: They need you too much as do I since you didn’t ask though perhaps you should have.
Jack: You flatter me.
Roman: Oh balls we flatter each other which is why I haven’t a moment’s hesitation in using your delicious body as the instrument with which my equally delicious ego is to be trussed out on the altar for the bloodthirsty delectation of all those blank faces beaming at us down there.
Jack: And is she down there.
Roman: I’ve picked the one yes.
Jack: And she isn’t afraid.
Roman: As afraid as you were dear although.
Jack: Have you.
Roman: She knows how it will end it seemed to have a calming or no.
Jack: A narcotic.
Roman: Yes yes her eyes went a little dull that tiny bubbly split second of complete surrender.
Jack: I should be getting ready then.