RIP LEONARD MORIBUND: The tentative beginnings of a new play, or a merely a load of wank?

So in the past week or so, I had the idea for a play, emulating Pinter (amongst others) somehow without ripping them off completely. Well here’s first or two of a little something entitled “RIP Leonard Moribund”. I’ll leave specific plot detail thin, just read and give me your impressions on the opening… Even I recognised how terrible it is. Or perhaps? I plan to develop the character of Nick to hold a significantly more entrenched Londonesque/working-class accent and then build around these class stratifications and antagonisms…

The waiting room of a somewhat opulent funeral parlour. Two men dissimilar in every way from one’s shabby attire to another’s bespoke suit sit opposite each other. A low coffee table with a withered flower and magazines separates them. They eye each other with disdain.

A morose-looking receptionist sits silently at the back her head deep into a copy of Nietzsche’s Beyond good and evil.

Nick: You think you’re so much better than me don’t you?

Richard : No.

Pause

Nick: You phoney Oxbridge twat.

Richard: I resent that.

Nick: Why?

Richard: You could’ve been anything, anything you wanted to be. Leonard merely noticed my potential….

Nick : Here comes the holier than thou diatribe! The fucking bourgeois prerogative!

Richard (Emphatic screaming): No! No! No!

The receptionist rises abruptly from her desk.

Receptionist: Gentlemen! Please!

Nick: (Without meaning it) Sorry.

Richard (To receptionist): I apologies for my brother.

Nick: Oh, you finally acknowledge me as your brother?

Richard: Be quiet, daft cretin.

Nick: How’s the book Rich? Eh? Eh?

Richard (Suddenly quiet and feeble): Be quiet.

Nick: What? I didn’t-

Richard (consumed with rage): I said, be quiet!

The receptionist hisses with a zealous shush.

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