|A Braveheart Therapy Session
Author: The Barracking Bard PM
The cast of Braveheart sit on a chatshow, ready to speak out how they feel about one another. Insanity ensues. Written late at night :D r&r?Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Parody - Words: 2,704 - Reviews: 9 - Favs: 9 - Published: 02-15-08 - Status: Complete - id: 4074537
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a bit – er insane (lol) – but as much as it pains me to mangle canon, I couldn't resist writing something of this style. I hope you enjoy it ... Reviews much appreciated! Nothing makes me happier :)
"A Braveheart Therapy Session – Trisha Style."
We open in on a large brilliantly lit studio. The stage is decked with numerous chairs, with the characters of Braveheart seated upon them. They are set in a semicircle shape about a large, elaborate red velvet sofa which is in the shape of a pair of lips. We zoom in on a sign which is hastily selotaped to a backstage door. It reads: 'to all those involved with today's Braveheart therapy session, please dispose of all rusted swords, flagons of stale ale and ukuleles in the nearest bin. Thank you.' Upon the lavish sofa lies the host (a somewhat portly woman) who is dressed in a glittery, red evening gown. She speaks, is in a light, lilted Southern Texan accent.
Host: Hello y'all, welcome to today's therapy session. Hopefully in this hour you can each discuss what issues you have with one another.
She grins toothily.
We now pan round the semicircle to see Isabelle casting an angsty glance at Longshanks, Prince Edward glower fearfully at his father, a squashed faced Phillip attempting to smile warmly at Edward, Murron who looks ready to throw a chair at Isabelle, William who is preening himself in a pink mirror, a zombie Malcolm Wallace smothered in bandaes waving clumsily at the audience without his left arm falling off, Robert the Bruce tapping his foot testily whilst glowering at his father who is staring grittily at his welted hands, Hamish who is serenely plaiting his beard and finally Stephen who looks as if he is minding his own business, save he is holding an empty Ukulele case.
Host: So … who would like the pleasure to go first? Stephen? [Looks at Stephen who blinks and simply stares back at her as if in deep concentration) okay … how about you William?
William: Give us just a sec love [the Host blinks in surprise as she watches William carefully pencil his eyebrows with a thin, twirly dark line.)
Host: That is very disturbing William.
William: [Looks blearily from behind his mirror) eh?
Host: Never mind. How about you Prince Edward? Would you like to start us off first?
Prince Edward: [Shuffles uncomfortably about as if he is sitting on a hedgehog) if father bids it, then yes.
Longshanks: I would rather nail my King heirlooms to this floor with an axe, than listen to your tripe.
Prince Edward: [Yells madly) I – I'm going first father whether your "kingly heirlooms" like it or not! [Composes himself) hi, I'm Prince Edward and I am being starved of attention off my father and for him to accept the way I am.
All: Hi Prince Edward
Longshanks: must we listen to your infernal jabbering?
Prince Edward: [Standing up and pointing a quivering hand at Longshanks) y' see! This is what I'm talking about! You love killing rebel Scots more than you love me. It's so unfair.
Longshanks: [shrugging indifferently) so? You gotta problem with that?
Prince Edward: [Face screws up looking as if he is about to burst) well CLEARLY!! Can't you see that? You ruthless, small brainless, peni-
Host: - calm down Prince Edward, calm down. Now, any comments Longshanks?
Phillip: If I may add, I have noticed that the majority have considered Longshanks' reputation to be that of a tyrant –
Longshanks: [menacingly) - do you remember what happened last time you tried to interfere with affairs that do not include you? Pancake boy?
Phillip: [Traces his hands over the squashed half of his face and gulps) y- yes.
Prince Edward: Don't you threaten my Phillip!
Longshanks: Did I hear something?
Phillip: How rude of you!
[Strides up from his chair, grabs Phillip by the ankles and tosses him over the nearest window (which is conveniently left of the studio, humming as he goes. We hear a prolonged "yyyyyyyyaaaaaaaoooooouuuuuuu iiiiiiiiiiinnnsssssssooooolanntt baaaaasstarrrrr – OW!!! Thunk." Longshanks returns from the window, wiping his hands and smiling humorously to himself.)
Prince Edward: [Agog with sheer terror and rage)
Why … you …
[Races towards Longshanks but he catches him deftly by the ankles, and like Phillip throws him easily out of the window. We hear the same sound effects and Longshanks returns promptly to his seat, smiling serenely to himself.)
Longshanks: Lovely day by the way everyone.
Everyone sits in a stupor of shocked silence which is broken by a few sobs from Isabelle.
Isabelle: you're a monster.
Longshanks: [smiling) thanking you.
Murron: [in an obnoxious tone) you can't have them both.
William: [glances one eye over his mirror, looking at Murron. He puts down his lip liner and brushes his kilt) Girl's please. I know I am absolutely fabulous but I can't be a complete heartthrob? Can I?
Robert the Bruce, Murron, Hamish and Stephen all groan and roll their eyes.
William: Oh ... [Blushes) silly me. I already am, aren't I? Hence the big strapping, Highland sculpted body, the roguish, impish grin garlanded by irresistible auburn stubble and the icing on the cake which is a specially Scottish grown item which is kept under wraps, as my friend does not like the sunlight.
Host: too – too much information needed William. Would you like to introduce yourself … briefly?
William: Hi, I'm William Wallace and I have commitment issues.
All: Hello William.
Murron: too true you do!
Isabelle: Oh please, you're already dead.
Murron: would you like a knuckle sandwich?
William: [grinning at their argument, whilst spraying Britney Spears Perfume under his armpits) ladies, please, let's have a bit of decorum.
Isabelle: Fine, but anyway, I'll have you know when I was born, they fired a 21 gun salute.
Murron: well it's a pity they missed.
Hamish: [whilst braiding his hair) as far as I'm concerned, I'm satisfied as long as William is happy, with or without a wife.
Host: well said Hamish. Would you like to introduce yourself?
Hamish: hello everyone, I'm Hamish and my –
All: [cutting him off) hi Hamish.
Hamish: and my problem lies with … [he falters as his gaze strays uncertainly over at William who winks at him)
William: Don't be shy now, my hairy friend.
Hamish: [Blushing and grinning largely) I - I … thank you sweet-cheeks. My problem lies with my love life.
Longshanks: [groaning) oh God, not another one. I thought I'd disposed of them all in this room.
Hamish: Do I sense some jealousy? Is that why you hate the Scot's so much? They are bigger um – men than you are?
Longshanks: [looking aghast and revolted) jealousy?! My dear man, far from it!
Host: [grinning slightly) l … calm down. Let's not get in a flap.
Stephen: [cluelessly chiming in ) what time is it Almighty?
Host: Pardon me Stephen?
Host: would you like to share any thoughts with us?
Stephen: [suddenly grinning)
Yup! Two seconds –
[Leaps from his chair, scuttles out of the studio and returns a second later carrying nothing, save for a crestfallen expression. He talks to the ceiling)
You lie to me God! You said the ukulele was in the left bin, along the sixth corridor beside the empty crate of red bull next to the wishing well.
Host: [looking confused) Stephen, the psychiatric department is just down the –
Stephen: [starting to panic and wave his hands) you don't understand! I must serenade my thoughts through the medium of dance and music.
There is a knock at the studio door. A small band of delighted looking Leprechauns come marching into the studio, dressed in green sequined dungarees which are emblazoned with the Irish flag. They each carry green/red and white streamers, much to the "ooo's" and the "aas's" of the audience. They march up behind Stephen and he gets off his chair and stands in the middle of them.
Random Leprechaun: [in a squeaky voice, sounding like the male mice out of Disney's Cinderella) here is your ukulele Mr. Stephen sir.
[Stephen takes the ukulele and strums it skillfully. Immediately the Leprechauns begin to spin and wave their streamers in rhythm to a jolly Irish ditty Stephen begins to play upon his Ukulele, as he skips merrily upon the spot.)
Stephen: Ooo righty my sprites! Dance for me! Dance for me laddies! DAAANCE!
The jolly, frantic strumming of the ukulele ensues for a couple more minutes before finally it concludes with one last wavering note. The leprechauns somersault into the air and land on their knees, holding the Irish streamers aloft, grinning widely, ending their dance in a spectacular show. Stephen kneels in the middle of them, beaming the widest.
Stephen: Now, does that answer your question?
Everyone gawks wordlessly at Stephen and the leprechauns from their seats.
Robert the Bruce: this is very disturbing.
Stephen: glad to hear it! Now sprites, off ye go! Silently as you can be!
The Leprechauns dance merrily out of the door. Their insane cackling can be heard echoing for several seconds along the walls of the corridors.
Robert the Bruce: Oh please, how ridiculous can you get?
Leper: well said, son.
Robert the Bruce: don't you "son" me. You are no father of mine.
Leper: do I seemingly look it?
Robert the Bruce: no,you are not a man.
Leper: What, couldn't think of anything original so you took a line right from the script?
Robert the Bruce: you –
Host: and who might you be?
Robert the Bruce: [Glaring at his father) I, ma'am, am Robert the Bruce
Leper: the 17th Earl who was given land and entitlement, only wishing to choose to recklessly fly off into an impassioned battle, started from a commoner.
William: My ears are burning.
Leper: hell, anyway, where was I in my reprimanding? Oh yes, and so Robert my son you must act like a man. Be a king.
Robert the Bruce: [Through gritted teeth) I – am – a – King – and – can – be – so – without – your – "strategies" and "subterfuges".
Leper: [shaking his head) stubbornness will not get you anywhere. Is that how you wish to be King? Stubborn? Reckless? Mindless?
Robert the Bruce: I...I...TOO MUCH PRESSURE!!
Longshanks: Get used to it.
Zombie Malcolm Wallace: Try getting used to this!
[Waves dead, limp arm in front of Longshank's face. He makes a noise of disgust and unsheathes a sword and severs the arm. It falls to earth creating a sickening "squelch". )
How dare ye!
Longshanks: ha-ha! Even in death you are useless. You are nothing more than cringing worm.
Zombie Malcolm Wallace: pffft. It takes one to know one, buddy.
William: Well said dad! Hi five! [Attempts hi-five but Malcolm Wallace falls limply off his chair as he attempts to wave his hand. He lies in a pathetic heap on the floor, on top of Isabelle's feet.)
Isabelle: [To host) please, get it off me!
Host: oi! All rusted swords are banned, Longshanks.
Longshanks: Right. I've had it up to here with all of you. I'm leaving!
[Without another word, he swiftly strides from his chair and makes his way to the exit. However he trips as the zombie hand of Malcolm Wallace slithers across the floor like a snake (leaving a trail of gooey ectoplasm behind it) and grabs him by his ankles, forcing the King to trip over. As he stumbles, he clumsily tumbles head first towards the window and falls from it. We hear a rather sickening crack and the zombie arm punches the air in its triumph, whilst doing several backward flips)
Zombie Malcolm Wallace: heh, going so soon eh?
Isabelle: [hissing at Malcolm) get- off-my-legs!
Zombie Malcolm Wallace: oh, Sorry. [Rolls over onto his back, with a 'flump'. Isabelle closes her eyes and breathes deeply in disgust)
Murron: aww, the poor dear can't handle a bit of corpse.
Host: now, now …
Isabelle: [seething) just you wait till I –
Murron: oh please, you're blinding my virgin eyes; must you have the face of a slapped donkey?
Isabelle: speak for yourself! You're face is so ugly I'm surprised your mother didn't die of shame!
Murron: [laughing contemptuously) that coming from you my dear, is a compliment.
Isabelle: [springs up from her chair, and charges over to Murron. But she is ready for her and she picks up the Zombie arm starts battering Isabelle over the head with it. Malcolm yells his protest and Isabelle now lies unconscious on the floor)
Murron: Wooo yeah!
Host: [shakes head and instructs for two burly security guards to drag Murron and Isabelle's body out of the room.) sorry y'all but we don't stand for violence on the show. William would you like to comfort them both?
William: [looks up vaguely from applying a beauty spot to his face) yeah, why not, I'm having some trouble trying to adjust to my latest purchase from Ann Summers. The problem needs the er – feminine touch.
Host: no comment.
Hamish: [huffs) well if he's going, I'm going.
Host: okay …
Leper: if you're interested Hamish, I would like to buy you a Bacardi and coke after the show.
Hamish: [standing up and looking highly affronted) (pause) … pardon me?
Leper: well … I just thought …
Hamish: you thought ... [Puffs chest out in indignation) ... how very dare you.
[Strides angrily from the room, joining William who is waiting by the exit. Only Stephen, Robert the Bruce, Malcolm and the Leper remain)
Host: any comments? Anyone?
Zombie Malcolm Wallace: yeah. I want my arm back.
Host: [ignoring Malcolm Wallace) any valid comments?
Stephen: [mumbles quietly to himself)
Host: did you say something Stephen?
Stephen: Oh, aye … the sprites call me home. [Mumbles again and he looks at the Host delightedly) they say they be having bangers and mash accompanied with me pint of Guinness. So, I be leaving you now [gets off his chair, dips a bow and strides happily out of the room, with a spry spring in his step. They all watch him go, none choosing to comment.)
Robert the Bruce: well I suppose I best be going, if he's going.
Leper: back to being a King.
Robert the Bruce: [nerve begins to twitch in his left eye) No … I mean yes… without you - I mean.
Leper: [grinning sadly) well I'm your father no matter what. Leper or not.
Zombie Malcolm Wallace: I'd rather be a leper than a zombie
Leper: It's a hard one to call my festering friend.
[They both grin)
Zombie Malcolm Wallace: [begins to slither over to the Leper ) Aye … now what were you saying about that Bacardi and Coke earlier?
[They both walk out of the show room, chattering animatedly. The leper hands over Malcolm's arm and he screws it in place. Robert churlishly watches them go)
Robert the Bruce: [groaning) I'm losing the will to live.
Host: [humoring him) I think you might have lost that a long time ago. Would you like to round up the show?
Robert the Bruce: no, I have a Kingdom to run -
Leper: [His lecturing voice echoes from outside the room in the hallway) - and fail miserably, you should have taken my advice son!
Robert the Bruce: I – I – [covers ears and yells loudly) I'm not listening!! La la la la laaa [he gets up from his chair and runs from the studio, barging through the exit door, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. His pounding footsteps are heard charging down the corridor. The host fixes a smile to her face and turns towards the camera)
Host: well that was productive. Join us next time folks when I shall be interviewing the cast of Lord of the Rings, until then, goodnight!
The theme music of the show rolls and the main lights of the studio flicker on. The show ends.